Sunday, December 18, 2011

Fear for the Examination of One's Art

If painted by an unflattering brush
What concoction shall the subconscious construct?
I dream too many awful dreams
And fret each the words used in dejecting me

Index librorum prohibtorum, will my work be cast unto the forbidden
Or will redacted treatises compose themselves, only to be allotted the resemblance of being seen, by those whom my work’s intended for?

Index Expurgatorius.  If this redact does devour, my precious words, in their enlivened hour, why may I ask, are some loved and others dispatched, to where broken chapters wriggle so very slow?

Potteresque terms for sure,
Yet as with magic,
The fear is real

Invective natures I may assume
Vituperation certainly could become my friend in flame
As can vexation when brewed within

To create a Jeremiad,
Before the eyes can even scroll
Seems premature, blinding
And a waste of thought and time,
Which serves no purpose, none at all.

 Yet, it does seem like a place,
Where too often poets tend to stroll


  1. True sometimes we over examine much, at least by just a touch. Can be our own worst critics too. Not wanting to let others in to view. For fear of hearing what they may say. Even though it could be good and without showing, never know at ones bay.

  2. i agree with pat...i tinker and tinker and many times over tinker with something...or think about something to add after...i note it but save it ready for another day...