I yearn for characters to orbit me
as sycophants revolve around their kings
portraying duty jeweled with repartee
as Jove has Ganymede, Saturn his rings.
I cling to things which can’t return my love–
old toys I grasp with misplaced sympathy–
and sadly sigh at smiles which never move,
projecting mindless, endless empathy.
Disloyal, things I own! You will not be
grave-goods to burn or bury in a tomb;
mute matter, you cannot accompany
my dissolution, so disdain my doom.
But meanwhile, toys I value more than friends,
help me forget what smiles, and who pretends.
edit2;
I yearn for characters to orbit me
as sycophants revolve around their kings
portraying duty jeweled with repartee
as Jove has Ganymede, Saturn his rings.
I weep for things which cannot love me back–
old figurines I own, toys thought to life–
and sadly smile at knowing grins I lack
on painted faces, mindful as a knife.
Inconstant, things I own: they shall not be
grave-goods to burn or bury in a tomb;
mute matter, they cannot accompany
my dissolution but outlive my doom.
You toys, you things I value more than friends–
help me forget what smiles, and who pretends.
edit1;
Friendless Friday
I yearn for pleasing minds which orbit earth
as goldfish circle in their crystal bowls
pretending reason, simulating worth,
provoking conversations without souls.
I weep for things which cannot love me back–
old figurines I own, toys dressed as life–
and sadly smile at knowing grins I lack
on painted faces like a cake-top wife.
Inconstant, things I own: they shall not be
grave-goods to burn or bury in a tomb;
mute matter, they cannot accompany
my dissolution but outlive my doom.
You toys, you things I value more than friends
who might distort my dream with means and ends.
original version;
The wonder of these minds which orbit earth
as goldfish circle in their crystal bowls
defies all majesty, all terms of worth
by its ubiquity, untouched by souls.
I weep for things which cannot love me back–
old figurines I own, toys dressed as lives–
and sadly smile at eager grins I lack
on painted faces false as man contrives.
Inconstant, things I own: they shall not be
grave goods to burn or bury in a tomb;
mute matter, they cannot accompany
my dissolution but outlive my doom.
You toys, you things, I love you more than time
I waste in dusting you, on tears and rhyme.
Passing through a patch of poet's paralysis... can/should this one be saved?
The wonder of these minds which orbit earth ... I didn't understand what minds were being referred to
as goldfish circle in their crystal bowls
defies all majesty, all terms of worth
by its ubiquity, untouched by souls.
I weep for things which cannot love me back– ... nice
old figurines I own, toys dressed as lives– ... 'toys dressed as lives' is reaching
and sadly smile at eager grins I lack
on painted faces false as man contrives. ... don't like the inversion here, solely for the rhyme
Inconstant, things I own: they shall not be ... nice
grave goods to burn or bury in a tomb;
mute matter, they cannot accompany
my dissolution but outlive my doom.
You toys, you things, I love you more than time ...the time, or wasted in the next line would be correct
I waste in dusting you, on tears and rhyme. ... 'on tears and rhyme' is a forced rhyme. The thought logically ends in 'dusting you'.
Passing through a patch of poet's paralysis... can/should this one be saved?
Definitely worth saving and reworking. The thought is there, but the rhyming scheme forces contortion.
I yearn for pleasing minds which orbit earth
as goldfish circle in their crystal bowls
pretending reason, simulating worth,
provoking conversations without souls.
I weep for things which cannot love me back–
old figurines I own, toys dressed as life–
and sadly smile at knowing grins I lack
on painted faces like a cake-top wife.
Inconstant, things I own: they shall not be
grave-goods to burn or bury in a tomb;
mute matter, they cannot accompany
my dissolution but outlive my doom.
You toys, you things I value more than friends
who might distort my dream with means and ends.
Having difficulty recapturing the state of mind when this was written (the first quatrain almost certainly drunk). Probably just as well
@busker - good critique, the first quatrain still doesn't make much sense. Hoping some of your criticisms are addressed without dumping the good parts.
I yearn for pleasing minds which orbit earth
as goldfish circle in their crystal bowls I like the image but this line feels disconnected from the rest of the poem
pretending reason, simulating worth,
provoking conversations without souls.
I weep for things which cannot love me back–
old figurines I own, toys dressed as life–
and sadly smile at knowing grins I lack really nice
on painted faces like a cake-top wife. cake-top wife does not really work for me here and does not add anything to the verse
Inconstant, things I own: they shall not be beautiful, favorite line
grave-goods to burn or bury in a tomb;
mute matter, they cannot accompany
my dissolution but outlive my doom.
You toys, you things I value more than friends
who might distort my dream with means and ends. this last line lacks impact for me, it does not do justice to this poem
Having difficulty recapturing the state of mind when this was written (the first quatrain almost certainly drunk). Probably just as well
@busker - good critique, the first quatrain still doesn't make much sense. Hoping some of your criticisms are addressed without dumping the good parts.
It does still rhyme, though.
The opening is very thoughtful and engages the mind nicely. In the second verse the contrast of weeping and (sadly) smiling fits the scene perfectly. I do not like "cake-top wife" too much, but cannot think of something else from the top of my head (that also fits the rhyming pattern). Overall, I enjoyed reading and going through this poem a lot.
Remarks/Improvements:
- The title does not fit the poem (why Friday?)
- The last line feels forced and detached from the rest (though the second last line is great).
I yearn for characters to orbit me
as sycophants revolve around their kings
portraying duty jeweled with repartee
as Jove has Ganymede, Saturn his rings.
I weep for things which cannot love me back–
old figurines I own, toys thought to life–
and sadly smile at knowing grins I lack
on painted faces, mindful as a knife.
Inconstant, things I own: they shall not be
grave-goods to burn or bury in a tomb;
mute matter, they cannot accompany
my dissolution but outlive my doom.
You toys, you things I value more than friends–
help me forget what smiles, and who pretends.
Hope this is not now over-egged or smelling of the lamp. Still working those rhymes...
(06-16-2025, 05:28 AM)dukealien Wrote: Friendless Center
I yearn for characters to orbit me
as sycophants revolve around their kings
portraying duty jeweled with repartee
as Jove has Ganymede, Saturn his rings. This first stanza speaks of narcissism, for me. well executed, no pun intended.
I weep for things which cannot love me back– 'weep' throws me some but does invoke some ambiguity which comes and goes for me. Connecting the conceit of S1 to S2 would help. After thought, 'me back' is unnecessary
old figurines I own, toys thought to life– what about adding and 'I' after toys?
and sadly smile at knowing grins I lack at to with?
on painted faces, mindful as a knife. not sure about mindful, but like connection to 'knife'. actually maybe cut this line
Inconstant, things I own: they shall not be seems like the opposite, but like the line break, seems like a turn away from the material
grave-goods to burn or bury in a tomb;
mute matter, they cannot accompany
my dissolution but outlive my doom. any other word...to, and, then
You toys, you things I value more than friends– Another turn at the end, rejecting the rejection to return. If this is the intent, I think, needs better indication.
help me forget what smiles, and who pretends. great last two lines though
edit1;
Friendless Friday
I yearn for pleasing minds which orbit earth
as goldfish circle in their crystal bowls
pretending reason, simulating worth,
provoking conversations without souls.
I weep for things which cannot love me back–
old figurines I own, toys dressed as life–
and sadly smile at knowing grins I lack
on painted faces like a cake-top wife.
Inconstant, things I own: they shall not be
grave-goods to burn or bury in a tomb;
mute matter, they cannot accompany
my dissolution but outlive my doom.
You toys, you things I value more than friends
who might distort my dream with means and ends.
original version;
The wonder of these minds which orbit earth
as goldfish circle in their crystal bowls
defies all majesty, all terms of worth
by its ubiquity, untouched by souls.
I weep for things which cannot love me back–
old figurines I own, toys dressed as lives–
and sadly smile at eager grins I lack
on painted faces false as man contrives.
Inconstant, things I own: they shall not be
grave goods to burn or bury in a tomb;
mute matter, they cannot accompany
my dissolution but outlive my doom.
You toys, you things, I love you more than time
I waste in dusting you, on tears and rhyme.
Passing through a patch of poet's paralysis... can/should this one be saved?
Hi Duke,
I've made a lot of comments above. I've tried to indicate my interpretation in the notes above. To me, it reads as the celebration of, then the rejection of narcissism. Then a rejection of that. Take care
bryn
Hello duke- been a while. Seems that maintaining control of this sonnet is messing with yer head.
It reads to me like a can't take it with you poem, by an N who puts too much value on keepsakes/toys. Perhaps writing in a person other than the N might offer some interesting counterpoint to the inanimate objects.
I think this one would work better if it colors outside the lines of the strict sonnet form. You seem to shoe-horn words in to fit the meter. If you loosen it up I think you may find a more natural, conversational rhythm that better fits the tone. Maybe this idea was just not meant to be expressed in iambic pentameter. ? Still, it's a good idea...
Build around lines and phrases like these: I weep for things which cannot love me back– perhaps, pine for thngs
old figurines I own, toys thought to life–[/i] for me, this is the best phrase in the poem
...things I own: they shall not be
grave-goods to burn or bury in a tomb
I yearn for characters to orbit me
as sycophants revolve around their kings
portraying duty jeweled with repartee
as Jove has Ganymede, Saturn his rings.
I cling to things which can’t return my love–
old toys I grasp with misplaced sympathy–
and sadly sigh at smiles which never move,
projecting mindless, endless empathy.
Disloyal, things I own! You will not be
grave-goods to burn or bury in a tomb;
mute matter, you cannot accompany
my dissolution, so disdain my doom.
But meanwhile, toys I value more than friends,
help me forget what smiles, and who pretends.
Thanks to all critics, particularly @brynwawr1 but also @Mark. In terms of losing the rhyme scheme, best I could manage was one eye-rhyme
To @brynwawr1 specifically, I think the narrator has evolved (over edits) into more of a sometimes self-analytical schizophrenic who bounces between understanding his situation and merely dramatizing it. Hence the required two turns. I've met some prize narcissists, and they run *toward* other people, not away from them!
Non-practicing atheist
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