Poetry Forum

ThomasK - all messages by user

3/1/2019 2:49:42 PM
The Stylite	I'm looking for a critique of this poem. It's a lyric poem, religious in nature, that narrates the demise of a stylite monk during the Byzantine Era. The Stylites were ascetic monks who would sit atop of poles and columns that they erected, sometimes for decades. the Stylite On the spire stands the Stylite Who -for thirty years alone- Has in his ascetic fervor, Severed joint from bone. One legged he stands, and arms held high, Deaf to the world beneath. The Stylite clenches closed his mind And grasps it in his teeth. Held bound by cords of Providence That have grown into his soul, The Stylite voids himself of thoughts That circumspect his role. His role is humble, straight and true, Though ravaged he may be. As wind and rain break down his flesh And strip him by degree. In long past time, men near and far Sought out his wise decrees. Below him now, so few remain To tender to his needs. For one last time, he clears his mind, And purges lust and sin. He shores the wall that guards the light And purity within. The cords have snapped! Old limbs give way Through desperate, chilling calls. He sought to separate himself, But to the earth he falls.
pages: 1

3/1/2019 2:49:42 PM

I'm looking for a critique of this poem. It's a lyric poem, religious in nature, that narrates the demise of a stylite monk during the Byzantine Era. The Stylites were ascetic monks who would sit atop of poles and columns that they erected, sometimes for decades.

the Stylite

On the spire stands the Stylite
Who -for thirty years alone-
Has in his ascetic fervor,
Severed joint from bone.

One legged he stands, and arms held high,
Deaf to the world beneath.
The Stylite clenches closed his mind
And grasps it in his teeth.

Held bound by cords of Providence
That have grown into his soul,
The Stylite voids himself of thoughts
That circumspect his role.

His role is humble, straight and true,
Though ravaged he may be.
As wind and rain break down his flesh
And strip him by degree.

In long past time, men near and far
Sought out his wise decrees.
Below him now, so few remain
To tender to his needs.

For one last time, he clears his mind,
And purges lust and sin.
He shores the wall that guards the light
And purity within.

The cords have snapped! Old limbs give way
Through desperate, chilling calls.
He sought to separate himself,
But to the earth he falls.

pages: 1