There are people in the big wide world out there who share my views on modern English-language poetry after all.
I am not alone in my thoughts, but may be a solitary voice, which brings me to the title of this month's offering.
To expand, I call it The Emperor's New Clothes Syndrome.
Strangely, I was discussing this very topic with a colleague from work a week before one of my commentators also mentioned it.
The so-called "modern" forms of today's poetry (free, fractured verse with faulty phrasing and flawed language) are being touted throughout the hallowed halls of Acadaemia, the clubs and societies of writers, the Internet, and (Heaven-forbid!) even the offices of certain publishers, to the extent that they have become the "correct" and almost exclusive form of English-language poetry today.
What if it is all one big glorious confidence trick?
Perpetrated by a bunch of failed English-language professors, the scheme sees them clutching tightly to each others coat-tails as they experience a meteoric rise to fame (not fortune, as there's no money in poetry today!) and kudos. Their new rules dictate how poetry will now be written and promoted and (Wow!) everyone can be a poet, although you are obliged to belong to a recognised clique for you to be recognised in turn.......
(quote)
So off went the Emperor in procession under his splendid canopy.
Everyone in the streets and the windows said, "Oh, how fine are the Emperor's new clothes! Don't they fit him to perfection? And see his long train!"
Nobody would confess that he couldn't see anything, for that would prove him either unfit for his position, or a fool. No costume the Emperor had worn before was ever such a complete success.
"But he hasn't got anything on," a little child said.
"Did you ever hear such innocent prattle?" said its father. And one person whispered to another what the child had said, "He hasn't anything on. A child says he hasn't anything on."
"But he hasn't got anything on!" the whole town cried out at last.
The Emperor shivered, for he suspected they were right. But he thought, "This procession has got to go on." So he walked more proudly than ever, as his noblemen held high the train that wasn't there at all.
(unquote)
I leave you to draw your own conclusions..........
NIGHTFALL
Grey and white ramparts edged with fire,
Violet mountains in turquoise sea.
Scenes shift and darken as I watch,
Last rays of sunset turn and flee.
Dull red echoes of daylight's demise
Brush the horizon as night begins.
Stars call each other from places far,
Fair maiden moon stirs velvet limbs.
© Kim Randell
AGE OF AQUARIUS
Pathways convoluted, twisting, turning.
Journeys short and long near speed of light.
Flames of information flickering, burning.
Glowing channels pulsing day and night.
Electrons, spheres of power, are the lifeblood,
Clumped in convoys, driving hard and fast.
Ferrying large loads of data drygoods,
Until their keyed address is reached at last.
Giant conduits, glass and copper highways
Clothe our humble planet in a web.
Terminals pour streams on ether highways,
Flowing far on astral spanning legs.
Sounds and flashing colours fill the world now,
Painted, splashed and shouted pole to pole.
Spinning tales and tunes with cunning knowhow,
Psychedelic bonds which wrap us all.
Gone are days of Caesar's humble runners,
Carrying commands on tired legs.
Highways that took two of Man's short summers,
Now long traversed before he's out of bed.
© Kim Randell
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