I've been feeling the critics lately,
They've been quiet but murmuring.
Miss Heart, from the trauma...
And the medicine I abandoned her for, through force.
Lady Liver and Dame Kidney,
Who I legally and knowingly abused for years.
Monarch Mind and her anxieties,
Who I didn't, nor couldn't keep from harm.
The critics... They're gathering .
Mrs Microbiome, married to my choices and unable to divorce.
Countess of Amygdala,
Begging her now, not to go to war again.
Her Highness, Queen Fascia...
Hardens again monthly to be broken free.
Sitting frustrated at dinner,
Their host is hard to be kind too these days.
The menu must evolve again,
It's critical to improve retention and reviews.
If you hang out fresh meat
the wolves will come
Once they have eaten
the faster they run
Blood from their fangs
remarking the trail
Where vermin can hide
— to attack and impale
(Dreamsleep: November, 2025)
Golly, gee willikers, gee whiz
My punch lines have lost all their fizz ~
Where has that fizz gone
It’s missing since dawn ~
Critics say: ‘Tis what ‘tis what ‘tis
I shun criticism, sharp or kind
For my soul seeks not to be defined
My art, my life - a sacred flame
Not meant for judgement, not for fame
Joy escapes when I share my heart,
For the world tears each piece apart
Yet my spirit longs, it aches, it pleads for a whisper of worth, a balm for needs
Little I knew, as a child, as grown
That feelings are valid, even unknown
So I write, I paint, I dare to create,
Not fearing if it's ugly or second rate
Dear Soul, make art- let it be wild,
Be it raw, imperfect, tender, or mild
For Rome wasn't built in a day
Nor is a masterpiece, come what may
Embrace your potential, nurture the spark,
Let it blossom, light up the dark.
Be your own critic, gentle and wise,
For truth lives within, not in others eyes
A thing from the soul, pure and sincere
Is a piece of you - precious, clear
Not to be hated, nor judged, nor sold
But to be acknowledged - a treasure untold.
(2-4-6 syllables).
Seagulls,
Carping, such dulls,
A peaceful smiling lulls.
Vietcong
sank restaurant
critics
Vietcong
bombed movie
not that bad
Critics Beware!
Poets are vulnerable no less than anyone,
when fallen victim to outrageous critics.
As Shelley wrote, critics' darts struck Keats,
who blindly, cruelly, mocked 'Endymion.'
Lethal no less the heady potion fame.
Some drowned, took poison, died paupers or insane.
Yet poet-baiters must themselves take warning,
wrote Heine in his 'Winter Fairy Tale.'
Eternal lines, if barbed, outdo Hell's fierce burning.
'Time shall not heal when poets wield the flail.'
Our foes, wrote Paul, are not of flesh and blood
but powers of evil inhabiting high places.
Promethean fire consumes the evil and the good,
Iniquities have many masks and faces.
Alone the Word that spares the infant's life
to wrong proves mightier than every art of strife.
When people love to criticize
Please do not stay there long
Quit that spot by being wise
Or else you may prove wrong
When your efforts are not lauded
Instead when they are attacked
Then, only agonies get added
Happiness can never be tracked
When only criticisms badly flow
And terrific opposition is there
To smartly exit, you must know
Or else you will suffer, dear sir
When too many rules are quoted
With really no good intention at all
Your original talent gets cremated
Then in a deadly trap, you just fall
Never give serious attention to that
Where your genius is easily buried
In case you love to develop regret
Listen to the discouraging deed.
Look a little deeper if you must
Never be ashamed of challenging your thoughts.
We are our own worst critics -
A line I know and trust.
Hallow beating of a heart that never got the chance to love.
Eyes that feel so much but are attached to a system that is not hooked up. The only energy around drains the surrounding plugs.
There is good and bad, but it looks very different for each of us.
The path you are on is only yours to judge.
it was time
spent my dime
on soup prime
try to rhyme
long hard climb
lyrics weak
critics seek
petty clique
black and bleak
tried turn cheek
1/1/2022
What's New Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Joseph May
3 syllables per line..
The rhyme scheme is a/a/a/a/a for the first stanza
and b/b/b/b/b for the second stanza.
https://www.howmanysyllables.com/
Fragrance of words I’m, who are you?
Romance of lines brought in from blue,
Make words dance in rhythm,
Cut out noise in freedom,
A poet asked: so, what’s your view?
I wield a sword vibrant of hue,
A species that poems review,
A slayer called critic,
I tick ye off, one tic,
I work in ways you’ve not a clue.
This is how a poet might view,
But critic would contest and sue:
I keep pens pry, whetted,
That, words are well-vetted,
Unless I rate, whither will you!
__________________________________
Tongue-in-cheek |29.12.2020|
Topic: poets, critics
My cat’s become so critical
of the pieces that I write
he kneads to express his opinion
and he always thinks he’s right.
He twitches his ear-itation
if I don't write in Senryus.
If what I write displeases him
he’s under the bed for refuge.
He’s worse than many teachers -
his reviews are seldom neutered -
he pointedly wags that twitchy tail
or cat-calls disapproval.
He laid across my laptop
for half the afternoon
‘til I promised an ode to tuna
which earned purrs of hallelujah!
If someone mocked my poetry, I will maintain silence,
Not a word I will write in response
I am not answerable to my critic!
Comments of critics are visible to all
With their comments they tarnish their own image
Some people are egoistic, negative and critical.
That's the way God has made them, I cannot change them.
But my happiness is my responsibility I owe it to myself
It's in my hands and no one can steal it if I don't allow
I have learnt over years, to keep mind in present moment
Present moment is thoughtless and peaceful
I don't think much especially negative thoughts I shun
I respect myself and my poetry,
Poetry is God's blessing to me
Whatever I write comes from deep within,
I don't think I am the author
Date: 10/31/2020
Contest Name : Judged By A Jury Of Your Peers
Sponsor : Mark Koplin
Hard to fathom the logic of
the following
How in sporting terminology
even the great Tiger Woods
in his pomp and prime employed
the service of a swing coach
with not a single major title to
his name
And Jose football's special one manager never even played professionally himself
As neither is any so called expert
critic in any of the field of art be
that film , poetry , painting , sculpture
or photography
Because surely if in reality
they we're any good at all
in there field of expertise
they would be competing not
teaching or passing comment
So given that Tiger Woods has
20+ plus majors and is considered
to be the greatest golfer to ever play
the game
Then why on earth would he need
to employ the service or be willing
to listen to the opinion of a coach
without a single major title to his
name
Likewise why should or would any credible artist or come to that fact member of the general public value
the critical opinion of someone or anyone
With in essence no more clue than
you or i yet given a platform to
indoctrinate other's
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