Would you comment and critique this poem please?

Question

"From the Notebook that I Burned"

Make all the world a river,
and time the only lie.
Turn all beliefs invalid,
let nature testify;

let Whitman's Ghost sing
"Song of Myself",
keep Frost's one road diverging.
Poe's raven still quoths
"Nevermore"
to wishful poet emerging.

All I have are broken rhythms,
and quaint, simplistic rhymes,
my iambic can't beat Shakespeare's...
though it's tried a million times.

I search and seek out meaning
in a world turned dark and gray,
gray with an 'a' not 'e' you see,
because that's this world's way.

Anachronism is my word,
a thing out of its time;
no sweeter definition,
no greater freaking crime...

Make all the world a river,
and time the only lie.
Turn all beliefs invalid,
no one need justify

a poet cursed to never write
a word that glitters gold,
but trivial thoughts to fade away
on parchment,
battered,
old.

© ♪♫♪ tori ♫♪♫ · Accepted Answer

I am in awe of this wonderful poem, Eva.  

The beginning couplet used once again in stanza 6 is eloquent. The third line of these sections lead well into the fourth for both of them; no one needs to justify. Excellent.

I enjoyed your explanations throughout the poem; well said. Poets who forget what is what should be able to remember Anachronisms; I can never find iambic pentameter either, though I've tried so many times.

I loved it.
.

Caz :) x · Answer

Make all the world a river ,  ?  Its good about the poets of the world you have rhythm nice

visitacion · Answer

It's marvelous. Be the poem so, would or not it's as candy? Erased like as come the summer time, and prefer as be the iciness. Winds and partners come and move, winds like so linger. Directed each fall.

Anonymous · Answer

Same tic tac

Upon paths dreary to travel,
time will favor my sails abaft
when my dreams will unravel,
of that story I 've built to last;

Stories drop off, and there die,
in worlds we favored to open,
our solitude will become nigh
a monody of my soul to molten;

There the wind whistles a tune,
cold in my eyes sheds a tear,
shy of sorrow, a song distuned,
our encounter will be to adhere.

Same tic tacs echo on window,
upon a glass our mizzle's aisles,
my eyes search for a meadow,
Where a rain kissed your smiles.

My solitude became a dream,
to pass around a cause failed,
my song trailed on same stream,
upon same glass, away sailed!

? · Answer

Eloquent with ease...
liquid words, poured without splashing
Love it Eva.

cassie58 · Answer

A fine write, but then I've never been disappointed by any of your work. Thank you

. · Answer

I think this is someone doubting her own talents...in a poem that's, ironically, pretty well-written.

insignificant_other · Answer

time is a woman, her child she calls a god...demanding us all chaste
...& if we overflow...time be woe! the curse has become a blessing

Iggy · Answer

Just four words: I love this poem.

neonman · Answer

One of your best I've read. Congrats.

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Would you comment and critique this poem please?

10 Answers