Run, Run, Run…

[Erthona]

Run, run, run
an autobiographical poem

"Cowards die many times before their deaths;
The valiant never taste of death but once."

—William Shakespeare
The Life and Death of Julies Caesar

You knew he was a courageous young man,
he wore a medal for bravery when they buried him.
For it is said, “To whom little is given, little demand!”
Ergo: Those of little live, while those of much die.
Littles* must live so they can live their insignificant lives.
While those of much, must of significant deaths…die.
Yet, significance dwells even in insignificance and all,
even those of less and little, one day to death must also fall.



I Was On The Bus…
—I was on the,
"You're either on the bus, or off the bus"
BUS!

Yet…, it is hard to keep spiritually focused when your mind
continually dissolves and runs like oil paint creating
multi-rivulet paths as it slides down the
glisteningly slick and overly-linseeded,
flat, very off-white mat canvas.

So I got off the Merry Prankster auto-fuss
as soon it was due to crash.
My noodle though often bruised,
I did not want completely bashed.
Afterwards, I ran into a lovely diversion:
she invited me to her wondrous home,
and smiling asked if in her feathered bed
I would care to bare it all and roam.

Ecstasy she was, but too single-minded
and would not take no for an answer:
simply refusing to be bluffed or rebuffed!
Still I resisted her insistent affirmations!
Things took a tumble and got a little rough
and in the confusion of this tussle,
I somehow went astray,
it seems my welcome had departied*
and that I had over-stood my stay.
Somewhen* between what I thought
happened and what really did,
through an inept effort to find myself
I lost my way instead.

I must have stepped through a wrong turn
or maybe somewhere I simply tripped,
fell and hit my stupid head.
I guess maybe -- it must of happened -- when and while
I reflectively tried to shed some light
on the dark reassesses of what I had been told
were the darkest places in my unenlightened soul.
Using a black light I succeeded in only growing mold;
using a spotlight I succeeded in only growing old.
Then… and completely unbeknownst to me
I found too late that I had my soul, sold,
if I had not outright had it stole:
because for all of that I had not a penny in my pocket.
Neither did I an imprint of your captured image
have to put into my semi-golden base metal locket.

To my astonishment as I now recall
I have no memory of you at all, or
from whence you came,
or at what moment you did leave?
Though neither loss it seems,
gives me cause to grieve,
Although I fear my memory falters,
but it must not be blamed;
it is simply to dependent on
this untrustworthy brain.

So for most of my life
this was my thinking and on such thinking one cannot depend:
by going inward I thought, I was going on and forward
through the fog, as we were want to say back then.
It seems however, I succeeded only in going down
and now here I hang at the end of my rope, waking up
cold as usual on this hardened dew covered ground.
I thought I had some morals once or more upon a time,
but somewhere, somehow I lost them trying to survive.
Though I think, it is far better to have regrets and live,
than to be free of remorse with peace of mind, yet dead.
That is what I think–I think–but I have learned,
to my chagrin over time to mistrust anything
that comes from the thinking of my mind.
Though cowards may die many deaths,
each death taste as different as each cup of wine.
There is much variety of life in death
so of death in life I will not whine.

That raging mist that has never quite dispersed,
the words hanging there oft repeated, unrehearsed,
filled the air as you were always fighting here and there.
Laying about with your flaming sword of delusional ire,
ever burning an inextinguishable and angry fire
and while not fighting I was just as plainly dying there.
No mention ever of the other casualties of your war:
understanding not, or how and why it happened for.
Why what they cherished most was torn
from them in the dark lying of night
and by you born… away.
You know, as I, in no way was it ever their fight.
Still, you made sure that they paid the price!
Love is what you called it. I suppose you can
call it what you wish no matter how wrong,
as you say it is your right!
I sometimes wonder though if you were ever here
or if you were only a painful illusion
that somehow lacking substance
has left a throbbing contusion.
My eyes do not lie on the eve of your destruction.
I still see the wake trailing behind you in your
clumsy effort, of a very un-poetic deconstruction
waving your hands that way and this
a deaf conductor searching for the beat:
an insignificant act of hubris by a petty god.
Here once…now long gone.

Now here I am stripped of all defiance and defense,
a most un-nerving happenstance, while
tears leak out from my pregnant swollen eyes,
giving birth to a saline child:
one who would not be called over mild.
I did not know this happened if you never let tears cry.
Weeping, seeping out at the drop of a thought
and for the silliest and most senseless reasons.
Who was to know that unused they would pile up
then one day catch me all alone,
and unbidden come unctuously oozing forth
from these smooth and colorless crystal domes:
tepid water from this old and leaky wall of stone?

Why now? It is way past noon, almost twilight.
You can’t wish on the first star of evening
for more sunlight!
I wouldn’t mind that this day should end,
here alone, without a friend;
except there still seemed
so much more I wished to do.
Instead of just one day,
I think I could make better use of two.
Especially as I spent the first
learning all the things I shouldn’t.
Quite a pity really,
this setup seems more than silly.
Why is it that only with loss
does appreciation come?
Our dreams we lose in waking,
as night’s comfort with the rising of the sun.
Oh! What a joy to begin again, blissfully young
and on fresh strong untested legs to run, run, run…

erthona

*Yes all are spelled as I meant

[Philatone]

this is a piece that i would really rather have on paper, but lacking a printer at the moment, i'm going to give my best shot and hope it is helpful

.
.
.

Cowards die many times before their deaths;
The valiant never taste of death but once.

—William Shakespeare
“The Life and Death of Julies Caesar”

_______________________________________________________

You knew he was a courageous young man,
he wore a medal for bravery when they buried him.
For it is said, “To whom little is given, little demand!”
Ergo: Those of little live, while those of much die....undecided how I feel about the "Ergo:"
Littles must live so they can live their insignificant lives.
While those of much, must of significant deaths…die....though the ellipsis I am not fond of, though I understand with the repetition of the rhyme, some difference is needed
Yet, significance dwells even in insignificance, and all, ...played with switching to "insignificant" instead to mix up the sounds of the line, though it does sacrifice the wordplay a tad
even those of less and little, one day to death must also fall.

_____



I Was On The Bus…….

—I was on the, ...why the comma?

"You're either on the bus, or off the bus"

BUS! ...think the caps and exclamation point work well here

Yet…, it is hard to keep spiritually focused when your mind
continually dissolves and runs like oil paint creating ..."oil paint" sounds a bit harsher to me than just "oil" (though the latter is slightly more cliche, I'll admit); with the "canvas" and "mat," I think it becomes clear the speaker is talking about art and not, say, working on a car. interesting image, the mind being a sloppy medium of art
multi-rivulet paths as it slides down the
glisteningly slick and overly-linseeded,
flat, very off-white mat, canvas,....not usually a fan of adverbs, but I like the "very" with the "off-white"
(or like this run on sentence)! ...not sure how I feel about the meta-touch here

So I got off the Merry Prankster auto-fuss...not sure if the "So" is needed", but personal preference
as soon it was due to crash.
My noodle though often bruised,...may want a comma after "noodle"
I did not want completely bashed....had reserves about this line; perhaps a bit too direct
Afterwards, I ran into a lovely diversion:
she invited me to her wondrous home,
and smiling asked if in her feathered bed ...commas wanted? or even made into an...adverb? although, not a pretty one. also, why the inverted structure that hasn't appeared since the epigraph?
I would care to bare it all and roam.

Ecstasy she was, but too single-minded,
and would not take no for an answer:...colon didn't do much for me
simply refusing to be bluffed or rebuffed!...I liked
Still I resisted her insistent affirmations!...and two exclamation points? and this line really needs one? the one above I'm ok with
Things took a tumble and got a little rough,
and in the confusion of this tussle,
I somehow went astray, ...the 3 lines above felt a little too direct for me
it seems my welcome had departied,..."departed"
and that I had over-stood my stay....I like the /d/ sounds of these lines
Somewhen, between what I thought..."somewhen?"
happened and what really did,
through an inept effort to find myself,
I lost my way instead....these four lines I felt could be condensed, or eliminated. I think the next stanza gets you going pretty well

I must have stepped through a wrong turn,
or maybe somewhere I simply tripped,
fell and hit my stupid head.
I guess maybe -- it must of happened -- when and while..."of" or "have" or going for slang?
I reflectively tried to shed some light
on the dark reassesses of what I had been told,...could be "reassesses", but I read "recesses" first and it sounded fine
were the darkest places in my unenlightened soul....this line....I have reservations
Using a black light I succeeded in only growing mold;
using a spotlight I succeeded in only growing old.
Then… and completely unbeknownst to me,
I found too late that I had my soul, sold,
if I had not outright had it stole:
because for all of that I had not a penny in my pocket.
Neither did I an imprint of your captured image
have to put into my semi-golden base metal locket....i'm guessing the aim is away from grammar for the few lines above. interesting wordplay, but, with grammar taken away, it loses some of its effect on me

To my astonishment as I now recall,...this line did little for me
I have no memory of you at all, or
from whence you came,
or at what moment you did leave?...think a period is fine
Though neither loss it seems,
gives me cause to grieve,
Although I fear my memory falters,...and you could drop the "although"
but it must not be blamed;
it is simply to dependent on ..."too"
this untrustworthy brain.

--So for most of my life
this was my thinking, and on such thinking one cannot depend:
by going inward I thought, I was going on and forward...I like the idea
through the fog, as we were want to say back then.
It seems however, I succeeded only in going down,
and now here I hang at the end of my rope, waking up,
cold as usual on this hardened dew covered ground.
I thought I had some morals once or more upon a time,
but somewhere, somehow I lost them trying to survive.
Though I think, it is far better to have regrets and live,
than to be free of remorse with peace of mind, yet dead.
That is what I think – I think - but I have learned,
to my chagrin over time to mistrust anything
that comes from the thinking of my mind.
Though cowards may die many deaths,
each death taste as different as each cup of wine....I like the tie-in to the beginning
There is much variety of life in death
so of death in life I will not whine....in some ways, I felt the finish was here

That raging mist that has never quite dispersed,
the words hanging there oft repeated, unrehearsed,
filled the air as you were always fighting here and there.
Laying about with your flaming sword of delusional ire,
ever burning an inextinguishable and angry fire.
And while not fighting I was just as plainly dying here.
No mention ever of the other casualties of your war:
understanding not, or how and why it happened for.
Why what they cherished most was torn
from them in the dark lying of night,
and by you born… away.
You know, as I, in no way was it ever their fight.
Still, you made sure that they paid the price!
Love is what you called it. I suppose you can
call it what you wish no matter how wrong,
as you say it is your right!
I sometimes wonder though if you were ever here,
or if you were only a painful illusion,
that somehow lacking substance
has left a throbbing contusion.
My eyes do not lie on the eve of your destruction,
I still see the wake trailing behind you in your
clumsy effort, of a very un-poetic deconstruction
waving your hands, that way and this,
a deaf conductor searching for the beat:
an insignificant act of hubris by a petty god.
Here once…now long gone.
...this stanza strikes me as more meaningful for the author than the reader. it becomes far more cryptic, abstract, and less grounded than anything before

Now here I am stripped of all defiance and defense,
a most un-nerving happenstance, while
tears leak out from my pregnant swollen eyes:
giving birth to a saline child:
one who would not be called over mild.
I did not know this happened if you never let tears cry.
Weeping, seeping out at the drop of a thought,
and for the silliest and most senseless reasons.
Who was to know that unused they would pile up
then one day catch me all alone,
and unbidden come unctuously oozing forth,
from these smooth and colorless crystal domes:
tepid water from this old and leaky wall of stone?

Why now? It is way past noon: almost twilight.
You can’t wish on the first star of evening
for more sunlight!
I wouldn’t mind that this day should end,
here alone, without a friend:
except there still seemed
so much more I wished to do.
Instead of just one day,
I think I could make better use of two.
Especially as I spent the first
learning all the things I shouldn’t.
Quite a pity really,
this setup seems more than silly.
Why is it that only with loss
does appreciation come?
Our dreams we lose in waking,
as night’s comfort with the rising of the sun.
Oh! What a joy to begin again, blissfully young,
and on fresh strong untested legs to run, run, run…
...considered removing a couple of stanzas above and moving this up. I like it for a close, although the tone shift and even the complexity of the language do a complete reversal



© -Erthona

I had some difficulty with the penultimate stanza and the one before, though it could just be being tired. I hope to return and be a little more thorough on those sections, so my apologies. i hope some of these notes are helpful

[Erthona]

Geoff,

Thanks, tired or not, you caught a number of typos I need to correct, as well as some punctuation I need to alter. I should be "recesses" and "have".

"in some ways, I felt the finish was here"

Yes, that is a common characteristic of my longer poetry (it's based on the idea of a spiral). It partly has to do with ones age as to the significance it holds for a person. This is basically divided into five parts: teens-20's wild oats, 20's-30's self-centeredly introspective (finding ones self), 30's-40's divorce/separation from children, 40's-50's remorse/regret, 50's-60's coming to terms with death. It's sort of a spiral, as it moves downward, it somewhat retraces what has gone before. Well, that the short and non-complex explanation anyway

The third to the last paragraph is the cause for the grief in the second top last paragraph. However, I may need to make it more clear.

Thanks,

Dale

[rayheinrich]

at this length, the couplets rhyming becomes unremitting. no chance
to breath. that can be a useful effect, but i don't think it works for
this piece. i think you should try taking out the rhyme altogether
and just work on the flow of the content. after that you could put
some back in, but use either a varied scheme or a reasonably
sparse one.

[Erthona]

Ray,

Out of 128 lines there are 12 rhyming couplets (that's about 20% which is about twice what I would generally want it to be), so I am assuming you mean those and not that the poem entire is compose of rhyming couplets? I will admit the four in stanza four coming altogether as the do is a bit odious:

"I reflectively tried to shed some light
on the dark reassesses of what I had been told,
were the darkest places in my unenlightened soul.
Using a black light I succeeded in only growing mold;
using a spotlight I succeeded in only growing old.
Then… and completely unbeknownst to me,
I found too late that I had my soul, sold,
if I had not outright had it stole:"

Are those the ones you are referring to? The first two are somewhat intentional for emphasis,but maybe I should reconsider that approach. I can't say I am wild about the third pair, as it is a bit cumbersome in the reading. I have thought several times about doing something else there, an dI should do so.

Thank you for pointing that out, I'll think about what I can do with it..

Dale

---

Geoff,

" departied" is intentional.

Sorry, I forgot to mention it above.

Dale

[rayheinrich]

that was my screw-up. originally had a comment about the couplets
which got edited, but i accidentally left "couplets" instead of "rhyming".

"departied" that's my kind of word

[tectak]

.
.
.

Cowards die many times before their deaths;
The valiant never taste of death but once.

—William Shakespeare
“The Life and Death of Julies Caesar”

_______________________________________________________

You knew he was a courageous young man,
he wore a medal for bravery when they buried him.
For it is said, “To whom little is given, little demand!”
Ergo: Those of little live, while those of much die.
Littles must live so they can live their insignificant lives.
While those of much, must of significant deaths…die.
Yet, significance dwells even in insignificance, and all,
even those of less and little, one day to death must also fall.
_______________________________________________________



I Was On The Bus…….

—I was on the,
1
"You're either on the bus, or off the bus"

BUS!

Yet…, it is hard to keep spiritually focused when your mind
continually dissolves and runs like oil paint creating
multi-rivulet paths as it slides down the
glisteningly slick and overly-linseeded,
flat, very off-white mat, canvas,
(or like this run on sentence)!

So I got off the Merry Prankster auto-fuss
as soon it was due to crash.
My noodle though often bruised,
I did not want completely bashed.
Afterwards, I ran into a lovely diversion:
she invited me to her wondrous home,
and smiling asked if in her feathered bed
I would care to bare it all and roam.

Ecstasy she was, but too single-minded,
and would not take no for an answer:
simply refusing to be bluffed or rebuffed!
Still I resisted her insistent affirmations!
Things took a tumble and got a little rough,
and in the confusion of this tussle,
I somehow went astray,£
it seems my welcome had departied,
and that I had over-stood my stay.
Somewhen, between what I thought
happened and what really did,
through an inept effort to find myself,
I lost my way instead.

I must have stepped through a wrong turn,
or maybe somewhere I simply tripped,
fell and hit my stupid head.
I guess maybe -- it must of happened -- when and while
I reflectively tried to shed some light
on the dark reassesses of what I had been told,
were the darkest places in my unenlightened soul.
Using a black light I succeeded in only growing mold;
using a spotlight I succeeded in only growing old.
Then… and completely unbeknownst to me,
I found too late that I had my soul, sold,
if I had not outright had it stole:
because for all of that I had not a penny in my pocket.
Neither did I an imprint of your captured image
have to put into my semi-golden base metal locket.

To my astonishment as I now recall,
I have no memory of you at all, or
from whence you came,
or at what moment you did leave?
Though neither loss it seems,
gives me cause to grieve,
Although I fear my memory falters,
but it must not be blamed;
it is simply to dependent on
this untrustworthy brain.

--So for most of my life
this was my thinking, and on such thinking one cannot depend:
by going inward I thought, I was going on and forward
through the fog, as we were want to say back then.
It seems however, I succeeded only in going down,
and now here I hang at the end of my rope, waking up,
cold as usual on this hardened dew covered ground.
I thought I had some morals once or more upon a time,
but somewhere, somehow I lost them trying to survive.
Though I think, it is far better to have regrets and live,
than to be free of remorse with peace of mind, yet dead.
That is what I think – I think - but I have learned,
to my chagrin over time to mistrust anything
that comes from the thinking of my mind.
Though cowards may die many deaths,
each death taste as different as each cup of wine.
There is much variety of life in death
so of death in life I will not whine.

That raging mist that has never quite dispersed,
the words hanging there oft repeated, unrehearsed,
filled the air as you were always fighting here and there.
Laying about with your flaming sword of delusional ire,
ever burning an inextinguishable and angry fire.
And while not fighting I was just as plainly dying here.
No mention ever of the other casualties of your war:
understanding not, or how and why it happened for.
Why what they cherished most was torn
from them in the dark lying of night,
and by you born… away.
You know, as I, in no way was it ever their fight.
Still, you made sure that they paid the price!
Love is what you called it. I suppose you can
call it what you wish no matter how wrong,
as you say it is your right!
I sometimes wonder though if you were ever here,
or if you were only a painful illusion,
that somehow lacking substance
has left a throbbing contusion.
My eyes do not lie on the eve of your destruction,
I still see the wake trailing behind you in your
clumsy effort, of a very un-poetic deconstruction
waving your hands, that way and this,
a deaf conductor searching for the beat:
an insignificant act of hubris by a petty god.
Here once…now long gone.


Now here I am stripped of all defiance and defense,
a most un-nerving happenstance, while
tears leak out from my pregnant swollen eyes:
giving birth to a saline child:
one who would not be called over mild.
I did not know this happened if you never let tears cry.
Weeping, seeping out at the drop of a thought,
and for the silliest and most senseless reasons.
Who was to know that unused they would pile up
then one day catch me all alone,
and unbidden come unctuously oozing forth,
from these smooth and colorless crystal domes:
tepid water from this old and leaky wall of stone?

Why now? It is way past noon: almost twilight.
You can’t wish on the first star of evening
for more sunlight!
I wouldn’t mind that this day should end,
here alone, without a friend:
except there still seemed
so much more I wished to do.
Instead of just one day,
@I think I could make better use of two.
Especially as I spent the first
learning all the things I shouldn’t.
Quite a pity really,
this setup seems more than silly.
Why is it that only with loss
does appreciation come?
Our dreams we lose in waking,
as night’s comfort with the rising of the sun.
Oh! What a joy to begin again, blissfully young,
and on fresh strong untested legs to run, run, run…



© -Erthona

Elements of a deja vu deja vu; but you know that already from that other place.
I did print this off. Philatone, too,probably. It helps. This is a piece if your best commitment verse, verging on and trespassing upon terse verse territory. I usually am picky about punctuation but I know when I am beat. I loved this tyen and I love it now. It is too long, far too introspective to engage another (unless of similar mind, which is everyone sometime but none all the time), hopelessly rhetorical, cringingly honest and savagely truthful.
Yes, I like it so much the punctuation I will leave to others. I am off for a good cry.
Best,
Tectak
Ps Think no less of me for this cop out. I have always said that thoughts when written punctuate themselves........but you have to think about it.

[Erthona]

Tom,

Yes you did, and if I remember correctly you did so quite extensively. So due paid. Thanks.

Punctuation is always my weakest point, and in something like this I will change it each time I read it. I'm sure it needs more work, but someone will have to point out where and why. Basically, if it doesn't slow the reading or hamper the meaning I am satisfied.

Dale