Yet, I do fear that words are being mutilated and tortured when they are placed in a sentence of such a structure that can, at most, be described as a non-prosaic placement of words. Such is how the present generation of Bloggers are making "poetry". {If you do notice, Wanderer, the 'B' is capitalised. That is because I've found this phenomenon predominantly on blogger.com's blogs
I shall guide you through examples, Wanderer. Examples as I have collected through wanderings throughout this small section of the Blogosphere. Such as this one from here
This is the age of sorrow.
Not because my love
lies weeping like a violin*
in an empty school building
I know that excerpts hardly can be judged. However, I am not judging here. I am just merely remarking upon the fruitful and brilliant simile that the 'poet' has used to make his sorrowful love prominent. It's moments like these that I take off my glasses, wipe them with some optician's cloth [that is free with every new pair] and peruse through the words once more, hoping it was not a dust-flake that faulted my cognitive capabilities.
Yet another one from the same author is this from here, entitled "The Secret":
In a loveless grimace
I shall reveal to you
The emotional subtleties
Of facial muscles.
I really hope the whimsical author tells me that this is no poem. That this is but a random compilation of thoughts from his head {Although, it can be argued that that is a perfect definition of a poem}. Yet, since the concerned author usually displays his non-existent spontainety as being very random so-random-that-he-make-fart-jokes-and-pass-them-off-as-metaphors, I do not believe he would accept this present definition.
**********
Exhibit number two's beautifully mundane effort to use stark and unheard-of imagery caught my eyes here:
I want to pluck poetry from the humid air,
from the invisible radiowaves around me
and translate it into the language of
black ink on white paper.
Now. This poetic display of affection kills me since it is entitled "I Want". I sincerely hope she does not mean "I Want Some Imagination Rather Than Forceful Concocted Imagery." And secondly, what in the world does she mean by that 'stanza'? Does she want to show to the whole world that she is a plagiarist? An out-of-closet one?
Another chiaroscuro-ic piece:
I cut away your raincoat and exposed you.
So I give to you my umbrella and my shivers.
Now I can walk away from your outstretched hand.
I ask you, Wanderer. Why? Why does anyone bother to write some silly little pieces and pass it off as "written material" [to be very mild]? Freedom of Speech/Writing has nothing to do with this. As long as my Freedom of Watching is in question, this can verily be a crime. {And, to all those who do not believe such a Freedom exists, try walking nude in the streets of your favourite Indian city. Try to avoid getting arrested too.}
To say the least, my head already a splode.
**********
Herein Enter a Weather phenomenon. Here is chronicled an amateur's sex poem:
In a fit of teenage summernight passion,
we stopped the taxi to a screeching halt
at the hotel.
The very same hotel
where callgirls make money
and where bigfatmen, with
redsapphirelust at their
fingertips, look for women
half their age.
You told me.
We reached for the darkened
hollow sky
and the dreams in between,
and the inklines beneath the moon
that belong to the woman
you love.
We stretched in time
for the slow violin* music
to seep into our skin.
Skin, we left in the
folds of the hotelroom bedsheet.
White satin bedsheet that
didn't quite feel like home.
{I did not insert the italics. Those are from the original.} Let's see. Theme = Sex sex sex. That's the overtone. SEX! Now. Wait. Why are the italicised portions there? You, Wanderer, might think that there is a stress there. An inner meaning. An opium dream coming to life within the author's keyboard. The last whispers of a narcotic in the head making the author insert the words within the italics HTML tag {although... I seriously doubt that is possible, since most of these poets do not know basic HTML. SRSLY!}.
Yet, I cannot possibly shake off the feeling, that it is forced. It is contorted. It takes the word "rape" to new heights. Not rape as in forced sexual intercourse, but rape as in forced wordy intercourse. {And it's tagged under "Pain and Agony". I solemnly swear to you, Wanderer. I HAVE NEVER EVER SEEN A 17/18 YEAR OLD WOMAN WANT TO LOSE HER VIRGINITY THAT BADLY. I DO NOT WANT TO LOSE MY VIRGINITY AT THIS AGE.}
And the rest of that blog is just too much for my precious little photochrome protected eyes. Too much.
{And thank the devil it does not receive many comments, the blog in question.}
{Sadly, neither does mine.}
Now, this was never meant to be an essay {as you probably know by now}. So could you please inform concerned people that their blogs have been linked to? {GOOD NEWS!!! Isn't it?}
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* WHAT THE HELL IS IT WITH VIOLINS AND REFERENCES TO THE INSTRUMENT IN EVERY BLOODY POEM ANYWAY?
Aside: WHAT THE HELL IS IT WITH MUSH ONLINE AND REFERENCES TO YOUR WORSE[r] HALF AS "YOU" ANYBLOODYWAY? I REFER TO MY READER[S] AS "YOU". BLOODY HELL. THIS MAKES ME SO MAD.
UPDATE: Il Weather Phenomenon got pissed. She posted flames, and she moved/removed her blog to some place else/beyond the Blogosphere. The subjects of Fealdamar thank her for her gracious act of samaritan generosity, and the Prince would forever link a cached page of her dead site here, as an act of goodwill.