The third prince of the seventh trope (ver. 2)

[LeoVictorBriones (poetremains)]

I dropped my accidental metaphor
all over the blood red floor,
spilled it like ale dripping to the bottom a dingy pub,
scooped it up in a brunette flask, asked for forgiveness
as I chewed the pungent fruit of a star anise.

One day I rose in smoke and satire,
walked to the stage and acted like I’d never been
scorched nor seared by the irreverence
of the dream I once prayed too.

Perhaps the gravel pit is hollow now,
the acrid water seeps to form a pool of sea green.
But who can throw its shiny river rocks
in the crater of memory or turn west when
the sun continues its eastward advent?

In a temple mound, I asked you once —
was the perfect sacrifice my head or heart?
Never one to turn down truffles or tarts,
you ordered meat minced of mind and emotion,
chewed it thoroughly then spit it to the shiny marble floor.

When finally, I held my accidental metaphor in a luminescent cup
that was formed in a silver mold of the alchemy of crystal and gold,
I walked to the edge of the mighty canyon and its precipice,
looked to the river below, which is old and new and born and dead,
and all the same I know, but do not know—
so, I just dove and left my questions for another time.

[Sherry Thrasher]

I dropped my accidental metaphor
all over the plasma red floor,
spilled it like ale dripping to the bottom a dingy pub,
scooped it up in a flaxen flask, asked for forgiveness
as I chewed the pungent fruit of a star anise.

One day I rose in smoke and satire,
walked to the stage and acted like as I’d never been
scorched nor seared in the irreverence
of the dream I once prayed too.

Perhaps the gravel pit is hollow now,
The acrid water seeps to form a pool of sea green.
But who can throw its shiny river rocks
in the crater of memory or turn west when
the sun continues its eastward advent to day?

In a temple mound I asked you once —
was the perfect sacrifice my head or heart?
Never one to turn down truffles or tarts,
you ordered meat minced of mind and emotion,
chewed it thoroughly then spit it to the shiny marble floor.

When finally, I held my accidental metaphor in a luminescent cup
formed in a silver mold of the alchemy of crystal and gold,
I walked to the edge of the mighty canyon and its precipice,
looked to the river below, which is old and new and born and dead,
and all the same I know, but do not know, so I just dove
and left my questions for another time.

[ramadevi]

I enjoyed all your "accidental metaphors"~!
Sherry's edits are really good.
The poem is excellent.

Such Intensity:
One day I rose in smoke and satire,
walked to the stage and acted like I’d never been
scorched nor seared in the irreverence
of the dream I once prayed too.

you ordered meat minced of mind and emotion,
chewed it thoroughly then spit it to the shiny marble floor.

The opening and closing are superb.
A high caliber write.... but i have come to expect no less from you.

The title is puzzling.

Warm regards,
rama devi

[Sherry Thrasher]

I 've returned for an encore read and I am still tripping over flaxen flask. I have no suggestion to offer at this time and it may be just me.

BTW, enjoyed the truffles/tart part. Have a wonderful day!

Sherry

[LynnDoiron]

Some great fun and fine lines in this one, Leo. Love the idea of accidental poetic devices showing up in a poem. Great humor, but richer than simple humor. Some thoughts for tightening follow. Ignore at will.

I dropped my accidental metaphor
all over the blood red floor,
spilled it like ale dripping to the bottom a dingy in a pub,
[scooped] licked it up into a brunette flask, asked for forgiveness
and savored the fruit of as I chewed the pungent fruit of a star anise.

One day I rose In smoke and satire, I
walked to the stage and acted like I’d never been
scorched nor seared by the irreverence.
of the dream I once prayed too.

Perhaps the gravel pit is hollow now,
the acrid water, seeps to form a pool of sea green.
But who can throw its shiny river rocks
in the crater of memory or turn west when
the sun continues its eastward advent east?

In a temple mound, I asked you once —
was the perfect sacrifice my head or heart?
Never one to turn down truffles or tarts,
you ordered meat minced of mind and emotion,
chewed* it thoroughly then spat it to the shiny marble floor.

When finally, I held my accidental metaphor in a luminescent cup
that was formed in a silver mold an alchemy of crystal and gold,
I walked to the edge of the mighty canyon and its precipice,
looked to the river below, which is old and new and born and dead, [love this!]
and all the same I know and do not know—
so, I just dove and left lifemy questions for another time.


This is a fun read, Leo. Sometimes your images drown out one another for this reader and I struggle a bit to find the jewels, but they are there. Like the rings on a king's hand, none stand out and the hand looks heavy -- but all the stones are precious -- and this is a simile you will do well to forget sooner rather than late.

my intentions were honorable.

lynn

[mfwilkie]

Like the suggestions Lynn made for trimming, Leo.

[David Nelson Bradsher]

Hi Leo. I also agree that Lynn's suggestions are spot-on.