The One Time Laziness Is Acceptable

…is right now. Finals are finally over, and I’m currently on vacation. So, until I find the energy to write up something new, I’ll be posting old works fished up from the depths of time.
A poem, for those inclined to hear bitter old men:

The Muses Are Not Singing Anymore, or On Modern Poetry

The Muses are not singing anymore.
But those who listen close may find
An echo of forgotten lore
Left over from a better time,
Forgetting, when they look for more,
The Muses are not singing anymore.

These goddesses have stopped their song,
But this has not stopped mortals long:
These whispered echoes in the room
Have all been ripped to AutoTune,
And what was honey to the ears
Is now a blackened pitch to hear,
Like venom from a forking tongue
Which, seeping through the ears, becomes
A waxy, clumping, clotting ink:
Ambrosia for the dead to drink
And dream of immortality,
But formaldehyde to those who breathe.—
This is the very song we praise,
Forgetting more enlightened days,
When men still tried to find a rhyme
To join the song and dance divine,
Not giving in to draining age,
And bowing down to read a page,
Instead of bowing down to those
Who told the poet all he knows.
The Muses are not singing anymore.

And maybe this is why they stopped their score,
And why we sing in monotone:
The Muses who we once adored,
Once spurned, have left us all alone.
Whatever we now praise them for,
The Muses are not singing anymore.

~Michael Danger Caskey

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Published in: on December 16, 2010 at 2:21 pm  Comments (1)  
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