complacency - Writers Forum

ostersauce · 09-30-2004, 10:40 PM

why do i sit and stare when feebler folks will shield their eyes
and lesser men than i will go to answer frightened cries
love hidden by the panels and the woodwork ‘round my heart
i tell the finer points of what we must but never start
but never did i think that i could make myself so old
that even as i live and breathe i feel my blood run cold
i wash my hands and wash my face and wash my butcher’s knife
i never take the time to wash my conscience of my strife
the blood of brethren runs so deep that naught could set it free
and so i’ll sit and watch you die with calm complacency

Soñadora · 10-01-2004, 12:50 AM

Oo, it's dark but yet, nice job.

Pawn · 10-01-2004, 10:39 AM

Pretty contrived and, towards the end, melodramatic, but I actually quite liked it. As a poet, I generally find ABABAB rhyming quite weak. There are so much more interesting schemes.

ostersauce · 10-01-2004, 10:58 AM

I originally wrote at least 30 lines of this one night off the top of my head, with little rhyme or rhythm. Most of it sucked, so I reduced it to 8 and added the last 2 because it didn’t sound finished, but I still don’t necessarily love it yet. The 1st three rhymes are too obvious, the 4th line especially is bad, the 5th and 6th lines were needed for a little transition, but are also clichéd, and the last 2 lines, as you said, are too melodramatic. Plus, in an introspective poem, I hate using the word “you.”

For me, the poem isn’t contrived, but I can understand why it reads that way. Some suggestions, maybe?

Pawn · 10-01-2004, 11:17 AM

Were I you, I would rewrite everything from the mention of blood onwards. Such an overused form of imagery. I agree that your initial rhymes are too predictable. Stuff like old/cold and knife/strife could use some work as well. I'm sure it could be substantially less wordy if you wanted it to be; possible you are adhearing to a syllable count? Here's my take on your work (I've butchered the rythm):

why do i sit and stare when feebler folk shield their eyes,
and lesser men from cries won't shy?
when love's hidden in panelled woodwork 'bout my heart,
i tell the finer points of what we are, and fail to start.
never did i think that i could make myself so old,
that this life-long travesty is by increments sold.
i wash my hands, wash my face and soil my life.
a consciousness failing,
inescapably bound,
inactions taper softly, slowly to the ground.

The above is some strange conglomeration of my style and yours. I write it only that it might suggest something to you.

ostersauce · 10-01-2004, 12:01 PM

I still don't like the forth line, but try this on...

why do i sit and stare when feebler folks will shield their eyes?
ashamedly i watch, though lesser men from cries won’t shy.
love hidden by the paneled woodwork built about my heart,
i tell the finer points of what we must and fail to start.
no, never did i think that i could make myself so old,
my time a travesty, and now by increments it’s sold.
i wash my hands and face to hide the soiling of my life.
my conscience, though unfailing, never rid of any strife.
the blood of brethren runs so deep, forever now i’m bound
to watch the slow descent of my inactions to the ground.

eh... still doesn't work...

this is AABBCC, by the way. Even boringer.

ostersauce · 10-02-2004, 02:01 PM

why do i sit and stare when feebler folks will turn their heads?
and shake my own to say i care not quite enough to act.
love in paneled woodwork, so when frightened cries attract,
my heart cannot be found, and lesser men go in my stead.

i wash my face and hands to hide the stain upon my life,
a life that’s just begun, and yet I’ve made myself so old.
a conscience made so weary will steal years away untold.
damned conscience, so unfailing, never rids me of my strife.

my brethren’s blood has stained so deep that naught can set it free,
a medal of my failure, earned by my complacency.

Pawn · 10-02-2004, 07:44 PM

I think your first stanza is very much better now. Really good stuff.

Your second still feels weak to me. I preferred the original version of the second line here - the stanza's final line is just plain bad.

Your pentultimate line could do with some pairing down. Feels a bit long to me. Nice to see an author really working on their poetry.

ostersauce · 10-03-2004, 09:33 PM

here's the latest revisions...

why do i sit and stare when feebler folks will turn their heads?
and shake my own to say i care not quite enough to act.
love in paneled woodwork, so when frightened cries attract,
my heart cannot be found, and lesser men go in my stead.

i prosper in their absence, yet i fear i’ve lost my life,
no, never did i think that i could make myself so old.
a conscience made so weary will steal years away untold.
my conscience loathes the stain but cannot rid me of my strife.

The blood of brethren stains so deep that naught can set it free,
a medal of my failure, earned by my complacency.