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Anatomy of a Poem

The Anatomy of a Poem

I’ve been working on this poem for the past month or so. I entered it in the poetry competition when it was still in its early stages. I have since did some revisions and came out with a apocalyptic vision that fits my overall thematic philosophy of my working book the “Apocalypsia”.

I’ve been a judge on the PIP competition for a few cycles – This is how I revise- my poems are never finished until it yells completion.

An Apocalyptic Glimpse (1st draft)

A hint and a whiff of magic, a
glimpse of something truly tragic-
On a sickly breeze do---
dead leaves and shivering trees,

weep for the dead who no longer
have a voice. The shadows have
no choice--- but to wander mute
amongst the living who are deaf
to their silent pleas-

The miasmata spills out of its cracked
cauldron---drip, drip, drip, and whoosh~
it empty’s itself into the mud,
where pixies and fairy-flies snap
out their tongues to lick on its fetid
and foul tasting slime. It’s a cosmic
crime to let the magic die--- but that’s
what the lies of the living do. The
dead howl in despair---It’s simply not fair—

It’s only fair that Death swallows those
who love to cheat through deceit-
--iT
dangles out false hope to those corpses
that reek with decay---that better days
lie ahead if they fill the living with dread.
Only the righteous and pure of heart can
ride upon the unicorn and let its magic
be released in the air. The trumpets will
announce the coming of a new age.

tat dat dada da tat dat dada da tat dat dada da~~

In the end is the beginning and in the
beginning it starts all over again and again and again…

An Apocalyptic Glimpse (revised) 2nd draft

A hint and a whiff of magic, a
glimpse-
something truly tragic~
took out the 'of'

(did line break)

On frigid breezes ---
dying leaves from decaying trees-
weep for the dead who no longer
have a voice. The shadows have
no choice--- but to wander mute
amongst the living who are deaf
to their silent pleas-

The miasmata spills out of its cracked
cauldron---drip, drip, drip, and whoosh~
it empty’s itself into the mud,
where pixies and fairy-flies snap
out their tongues to lick on its fetid
and foul tasting slime. It’s a cosmic
crime to let the magic die--- but that’s
what the lies of the living do. The
dead howl in despair---It’s simply not fair—

With great care--- Death swallows those
who love to cheat through denial and deceit
---iT dangles out false hope to those corpses
that reek with decay---that better days
lie ahead if they fill the living with dread~
Those of the dead without hope, silently
cope with the emptiness that lies waiting instead-

Only the reborn and pure of heart can
ride alongside the unicorn and receive her gifts.
She offers them her blood to drink and body to eat-
Her lifeforce and magics are dispersed throughout
the contaminated and putrefied air. With a majestic
flair--- her horn will trumpet the coming of a new age~

tat dat dada da tat dat dada da tat dat dada da~~

In the end is the beginning and in the
beginning it starts all over again and again and again…


An Apocalyptic Glimpse (revised) 3rd draft

A hint and a whiff of magic-
backward glances,
---glimpses-
something truly tragic~

On weather-beaten stones ---
petrified bones covered in dust and dirt~
weep for the dead who no longer
have a voice. The shadows have
no choice--- but to wander mute
amongst the living who are deaf
to their silent pleas-

The miasmata spills out of its cracked
cauldron---drip, drip, drip, and whoosh~
it empty’s itself into the mud,
where pixies and fairy-flies snap
out their tongues to lick on its fetid
and foul tasting slime. It’s a cosmic
crime to let the magic die--- but that’s
what the lies of the living do. The
dead howl in despair---It’s simply not fair—

with great care--- Death swallows those
who love to cheat through denial and deceit
---iT dangles out false hope to those corpses
that reek with decay---that better days
lie ahead if they fill the living with dread~
but those of the dead without hope, silently
cope with the emptiness that lies waiting instead-

Only the reborn and pure of heart can
ride alongside the unicorn and receive her gifts;
a sacred delicacy that purifies the world-
She offers those of the wood and leaf---
her body and blood to drink and feast upon-
---Her lifeforce and magics are dispersed throughout
the contaminated and putrefied air. With a majestic
flair--- her horn will trumpet the coming of a new age~

tat dat dada da tat dat dada da tat dat dada da~~

In the end is the beginning and in the
beginning it starts all over again and again and again…


I like this last version, it feels finished but you never know…

Comments

Maestro, I love this poem.. the first, second and third edition..hahaa.. I do like the changes, some subtle and some not.. I think you will know when you are through with it, your inner demon will sigh with relief...
 

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rcallaci
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