Feste's Lute

Scribbles & Sketches of the Unspeakable

Oh, you’re human…: Like The Whore (Criticism)


Success turns into the resentment
that we made when we were two-
thirds of a whole; twice forgotten
in Mars’ grassy knoll, our fraction
was lost to the unknown
factions that reside underneath the soil
there and here.

Unbeknownst to even the system
engineers, the citizens and…

Like the critique, love the poem.

I will say that I see a closer link with Mars, Babylon, candles and fire.

If, in the poem, we are lost and seek our home, Babylon, we must seek it by candlelight:
How Many Miles to Babylon

So the theme of war and the theme of wandering are used throughout. Candles, which could be meant to represent the studious nature in the old rhyme, must be used to find the true path. Fire/War’s tools are too clumsy/powerful. Gentle light will reveal what the flash of fire will wipe out. As the largest theme in the poem seems to be inter-personal conflict, I think that’s a great usage.

Of course, I could be ascribing meaning that wasn’t intended. :p

Oh, you’re human…: Like The Whore (Criticism)

Horizontal List

Just open
your mess kits.
Please, under
duress, kids.

Eat it up…


slingshots at the sky —

and up goes
the tumbler,
down empty phrase
mumbler, yet
strangely refreshing
portraits a-threshing
sub-continent cravings
and livid misgivings
at life.


Pickaxes mine.
Yes, mine, not yours.
I adore the fresh cracks,
carved with splintering cries,
and the warm, earthy chambers
they rake.

Check Point

On sub-standard highways,
high noon in the subways,
we show your ident.
Such a card, always bent—
But the fib’s seldom better,
dark ad-libs only fetter
all our pleasure in knowing
‘til you’re up to owning
those less flatt’ring
waist-lines in print.

Off-ramp Frontage

Radio Shackle,
Devious Pharms.,
they’ve got the corner
on warrantless order
so on I must soldier.
Too high, it breaks
at walled martial pace.
This counts for given,
Dys counts are shriven
o’er located shoulders.


I’ve got like six snippets between five and eight lines long floating in my scrap document from this weekend. My critical side says none of them maintain a thought long enough for posting.

I don’t mind posting haikus or something ten to twelve lines long, but something about those middle lengths really bugs me.

Out of the Loupe

Semi-precious friend, your Marquise cuts
show brilliance, though, I swear,
princess better suits your bearing.
Fresh dug gems bead, speaking
of pressures in coal mine cages,
pitch-black rages against your making.
Trade your dying for brighter tints,
squint and you’ll see the luster.