12 January 2006

Girl with a Mandolin, Picasso


            Critique

            Of late, I’ve grown suspicious of my poems.
            With age, they get crude and cranky, grow defiant
            and get from bad to worse. I can almost smell
            the senility creeping in. Last night,
            the keyboard sulked, a theme protested,
            and all my metaphors went missing.
            My fingers typed this line –
            "We’ve gone on strike, so stop the kissing."
            I’m still wondering what this means.
posted by Gilbert at Thursday, January 12, 2006

8 Comments:

Blogger Mr Jherek said...

ahhh self deprication :)

Perhaps your poems, like wine get better with age :)

January 12, 2006  
Blogger foolist said...

Yes, of course, the strike. And the incessant kissing!

January 12, 2006  
Blogger MB said...

I love this poem, Gilbert. It makes me laugh, it makes me cry, it makes me feel like you've been visiting in my brain.

January 13, 2006  
Blogger TwistedNoggin said...

I'm sorry, it's my fault. My lazy fingers must have started a union and spread the word about it to yours.

January 13, 2006  
Blogger the cloned corpse of marcus tal said...

Gilbert, thank you for this slim, slender corrective like fine brandy

I sympathise with observations. I am too having a poet's bloc of sorts with a guest's poem at the moment. I am thinking of starting an ongoing short story instead whihc readers/visitors are invited to contribute to.

Kind Regards

the CLoned Corpse of Marcus Tal

January 13, 2006  
Blogger floots said...

och gilbert yer no but a wee laddie
(well - compared to me)
the kissing never stops
and neither does
the tap tap tapping
of metaphor-making

January 14, 2006  
Blogger Gilbert Koh said...

Thanks all ... My missing metaphors must have escaped into your poetic comments:

"fine brandy"; "tap tap tapping of metaphor making"; "visiting in my brain" etc. :)

January 14, 2006  
Blogger sigmund fraud said...

It just means perhaps that you should find a new theme !!! Theme is the soul of a poem. If it is there, then everything will come out allright.

January 24, 2006  

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