Violator of the Poetic Arts.

So I got back some "work" back from my professor the other day...I've discovered I'm very bad at poetry...

THE FOLLOWING IS ACTUAL REAL-LIFE FEEDBACK (UNFILTERED) FROM PROFESSORS CONCERNING MY "POETRY". VIEWER DISCRETION ADVISED:

"L-
This isn't quite the level I'd like to see you performing at. The sentiment I won't quarrel with, but its presentation really isn't artful. It's much more like a greeting card than a work of utterance. I know you have it in you to do strong, complex work. I'll need to see your "Block, Pillar, Slab, and Beam" assignment very soon please. I really don't want anymore of the abstract expression or deep emotional feeling stuff for awhile--you need to work long and hard to learn how to handle that. It's not like the material is forbidden in all cases. It's more like we need to practice making a sandwich before we attempt a souffle."


"L-
I want you to try a poem that is primarily descriptive, all of the rhetoric and wisdom and praise business you have going on herte is still a bit beyond your reach. Build towards it. You need to work in description, images, concrete stuff. Look at Marianne Moore's work, I want another poem at the same level of artfullness as your "Me"/running poem."

"L-
The poem is very haunting, the scene, the mood, even the rhyme all conspire to make a dreamlike encounter. I love the passion and energy of your writing but be careful not to let your langauge lapse into a yester lexicon."

On that note V-readers: the following "poem" is a half-hearted attempt to meet the very unclear and vaguely verbose demands of a college professor...

OCEAN-EYED THOUGHTS.

My grey matter’s hyper-wanderings have distinct personalities; exactly the same twice the same about the flecked river;

they are born, they live,and then die as a sunset is always a different flavor-bursting and pulsing in a cadence of heartbeats.

Morphing every hemisphere: spunk-infused quirk.

With tilted-head the Universe of bitten-cuticles assembles a double helix: code manifested puzzle-creating an erotically breathing mural.

Shuffling profiles in a modified familiarity:

I mine for the model of a moment.

Yet for such a stare- I could not recall a hue!

Immense ocular complexities whisper so much truth that everything becomes a lie:

Sunsets, like virginity, can never be sold twice.

So I thirst for stability in a reality pot-marked with rage;

but the only thing of certainty is unrelenting change.

Morphology: an untamable beast I insist to adorn

with cage and a titanium leash.

Flitting beneath an amorphous veil of intangibility;

held by a gaze that’s everywhere in a nowhere-

but I share a hunger that’s well-kempt for squelchy traits so foreign and fair.

A melting visualization in primordial stone (without the neccesary heat)

--Is like feathers made of scales flying with limbs that consistantly fail.

Bobbing in and out,

to tend to those ceaselessly-consumed sandcastles oozing salty drool;

I float with a current

permeable as leather skin.

That passive grit of sand--

bejeweled by waves of opals

(that crashy splash, with crashy splash)

It banishes me with scaley-feathers to wander idly

through tidal waves of irises

--absorbing only the nocturnal depth of a cornea.