A Bifurcated Analysis of Overly Indulgent Self-Reference and Metacriticism

I don’t like all your self-referential poems and
Confessional narratives where you just go on and
On and on with your boring anxieties and
Insights into a meaningless existence.
I mean, just like the time you said

She floated on an azure sky and
Had lips that made the rain seem dry.
It started as a conventional statement of
A poet who likes women with moist lips,
But then you had to go and address the
Reader directly before declaring how
Much you liked her hair that seemed to
Have been spun from mists of gold or
Some such shit.

It is just the typical male objectification of
Women, and I, for one, am tired of it,
And I’m sure the readers, if you have
Any, agree with me.

And I must here apologize to the reader
For the overall incoherence of this
Of this rant, or whatever it is.

Nobody needs poetry, anyway,
And if you are trying to process your grief, shame, or
Rage, just get out in front of it.
Lay off the self-indulgent,
Pseudo-intellectual clap trap and confront
Your own failings

Then, you can leave your damp-lipped damsel
Alone on the beach to do whatever she wishes with
Her own alabaster thighs as you turn away
Your gaze.

I, personally, have no patience for
Anxious but idealised objectification of
Beauty. I would rather turn my attention
To the dry-lipped strength of a messy-haired
Physically strong woman who pulled me
Up, sometimes literally, when I felt I had no
Reason to lift myself.

But that is only some kind of self-interested
Infatuation, too. Idealising a person based on
My own needs.

I guess it is no wonder why so many
Male poets just describe women as flowers.

◄ Democracy Died

Climate Catastrophe: The Reckoning ►


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Randy Horton

Thu 9th May 2019 07:23

Thanks, Wolfgar. I almost always have at least one typo, and it is common for it to be in the title. ?

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Wed 8th May 2019 17:26

Hi Randy - you make a strong point, and I feel that the Victorian salon mentality of women tightly corseted and blushing with fans and posies may have persisted into the atomic age. God forbid it is be resurrected under the cloak of poetry, but it sure is. Just a form of presentation wrapping under which foments the reality.


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Randy Horton

Sat 4th May 2019 03:54

Thanks for the comments, everyone, and thanks for being so specific, Mae. You also gave me a chance to count to 33. ?

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Mae Foreman

Fri 3rd May 2019 21:16

A fair battle. You managed to win me over at the 33rd line. Respect!?
And kudos

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Stu Buck

Fri 3rd May 2019 20:46

i read this in john cleese's voice and was not disappointed

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Lisa C Bassignani

Fri 3rd May 2019 20:19

Thank you Randy.

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