I know you wouldn't approve
of this inebriated rambling that
i'd dare call poetry,
but i only promised to etch
these words on parchment
(not skin, no, never).
i promised myself to never speak
about the stardust in your eyes,
i always get lost in them
as if it were last year's
lightening up the city's sky.
i stayed up late to catch a glimpse of it,
like i did with you -
to catch a glimpse of your naked heart,
that you would never share,
(as stupid as I was,
i knew that romanticizing it
and likening it to a blizzard
will only leave me
tonight, i write these verses for you;
i knew better to kiss you with tinder lips
with fervor that left me scorned,
(but i'd still kiss you again)
i knew better
the thought of you is deliberately recursive
and I lie down, waiting for the inevitable
because unlike you,
i knew this was faulty logic
(you were the
with beautiful syntax but
as obscure as forced smalltalk
(i realize you are not a program,
but if you were ,
i just might be able to understand
and debug what went wrong)
but I remember reading somewhere that
art ceases to be,
so you are art to me.
you are so much more;
warm sleepy nights,
coffee drunken on cold mornings,
a word to recite for momentary peace,
(you/the thought of you
ravage(s) me like my
but there is no pill
i can swallow
to stop it)
you are love/hatred.
i know i write too much about you,
but your ghost still haunts every
Just rereading old stuff and I'm not sure how or when the heck I missed this. There's a lot going on in this, but it flows together well.
The part where the art ceases to be when it needs to be explained- I read that somewhere, too! Lol it's something that always stuck with me because I feel it's true. To me, art is subjective (unless it's clearly not lol). Whether it's poetry, music, paintings, or even some forms of dance. They can all be interpreted in so many ways by different people and I feel like, once you have to explain a painting or the meaning of a poem, it loses that. Anyway, that's me. I guess i enjoy the art of mystery behind certain things.
Hey there, here's my judge's comment from a long long time ago. Sorry it took so long, I was on a hiatus:
"The thing I appreciated most about this poem was its emotional vulnerability that seems to be backed up by a poetic spine of carefully chosen metaphors. The poem goes through many phases. Right in the beginning it tugs at the heart strings due to the honest confession of wanting to open op, whether it would be regarded as rambling or true poetry. Don't we all, as poets, struggle with this thin line between venting and making true art?
The poem quickly ventures into the greatness of nature, which is tricky as it can easily turn cliche or over-the-top. But Senyru pulled it off nicely, pulling the reader into a romantic vibe, yet neutralising it with a hint of reality. Something we as readers can relate to: staying up late to catch a glimpse of something.
But my favourite part was when the poet manages to pull in coding without it sounding too geeky and out-of-place. The mention of a stack overflow was subtle enough for me to not wake up from the romantic vibe from the previous stanzas. I feel like, in the beginning, the persona seemed to have communication problems in the relationship (stuck in between what his love might consider ramblings, yet he consider poetry). The inclusion of code-talk and syntax enforced this struggle to me. Kudos to Senyru for juxtaposing so many different images from different areas. Because right after the coding, the poem subtly goes through art and love again.
Overall, I think the poem portrayed an inner struggle very well. The images are jumbled yet create an unique entity together. Well done."
Mark, this is truly a masterpiece and on first read I was somewhat confused by it so I read it again, twice.
Here is my conclusion: I feel that this is about someone you truly cared about once upon a time but now the Meer thought or site of them really brings out the worse in you. Maybe it's because you loved them once upon a time and then they changed for the worse which brought out the worse in you, unfortunately or maybe its because your love for them haunts you because they could never love you back maybe because of past experiences.