rate-a-poem my father moved through dooms of love

how do you rate this poem?

  • 5 Stars: a masterpiece

    Votes: 1 10.0%
  • 4 Stars: a strong poem, but some elements didn't appeal to me

    Votes: 3 30.0%
  • 3 Stars: a good poem, but it didn't move me to any great extent

    Votes: 4 40.0%
  • 2 Stars: a flawed or uninspiring piece of work

    Votes: 1 10.0%
  • 1 Star: does absolutely nothing for me

    Votes: 1 10.0%

  • Total voters
    10

wyzguy

Coprocephalic, at times.
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In a distant and second-hand set of dimensions, in
my father moved through dooms of love
e.e. cummings

my father moved through dooms of love
through sames of am through haves of give,
singing each morning out of each night
my father moved through depths of height

this motionless forgetful where
turned at his glance to shining here;
that if(so timid air is firm)
under his eyes would stir and squirm

newly as from unburied which
floats the first who,his april touch
drove sleeping selves to swarm their fates
woke dreamers to their ghostly roots

and should some why completely weep
my father's fingers brought her sleep:
vainly no smallest voice might cry
for he could feel the mountains grow.

Lifting the valleys of the sea
my father moved through griefs of joy;
praising a forehead he called the moon
singing desire into begin

joy was his song and joy so pure
a heart of star by him could steer
and pure so now and now so yes
the wrists of twilight would rejoice

keen as midsummer's keen beyond
conceiving mind of sun will stand,
so strictly(over utmost him
so hugely)stood my father's dream

his flesh was flesh his blood was blood:
no hungry man but wished him food;
no cripple wouldn't creep one mile
uphill to only see him smile.

Scorning the pomp of must and shall
my father moved through dooms of feel;
his anger was as right as rain
his pity was as green as grain

septembering arms of year extend
less humbly wealth to foe and friend
than he to foolish and to wise
offered immeasurable is

proudly and(by octobering flame
beckoned)as earth will downward climb,
so naked for immortal work
his shoulders marched against the dark

his sorrow was as true as bread:
no liar looked him in the head;
if every friend became his foe
he'd laugh and build a world with snow.

My father moved through theys of we,
singing each new leaf out of each tree
(and every child was sure that spring
danced when she heard my father sing)

then let men kill which cannot share,
let blood and flesh be mud and mire,
scheming imagine,passion willed,
freedom a drug that's bought and sold

giving to steal and cruel kind,
a heart to fear,to doubt a mind,
to differ a disease of same,
conform the pinnacle of am

though dull were all we taste as bright,
bitter all utterly things sweet,
maggoty minus and dumb death
all we inherit,all bequeath

and nothing quite so least as truth
—i say though hate were why man breathe—
because my father lived his soul
love is the whole and more than all
 

skelly

Kickin it old school, posers beware
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I gave it a four. I'm a big fan of Cummings, but this is not one of my favorites by him. It has some stunning elements, though.
 

poetinahat

Numbers are beautiful
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I'm on the same page as the rest. I enjoy the inside-out, tumbling wordplay, and there are some brilliant turns of phrase. But it's work to read.

I bet that, coming back to it after a couple of reads, I'll appreciate it more, and that appreciation will be deeper. But I'm not there yet. I'd give it a three now, but in six months' time, I might decide it's a four or five. We'll see.

It's kind of the poetic equivalent of Ornette Coleman in that regard.