tender rapids
It is easy to criticize a poet
for not using imagery to reader's taste. (Did the sight of taste offend you?)
Maybe we should optimize the poem like some machine from Factorio.
Such things are still a waste.
As expression is wasted.
Criticism may be welcomed,
but real artists
yawn at robotic pretention.
Now that it is mentioned,
maybe the lines should drown you with imagery as foreign as elephant's wine to
the square eyes reading with a cubic mind (too long and confusing?)
trying to find the best way to optimize messages, it does not even understand.
The art is made.
Meaning is hidden.
If this annoys you, flee to the hills and let braver men dare.
Let the curious come and drink with delight,
maybe guessing wrong or scratching head at night.
let the mysteries wrap their tentacles around you.
Shadows were for you as well as last frontiers.
The dullest mind can tear the structure apart and mock it too,
and yet to be
exorcised
is uncreative boring repetition.
Better? Faster? More flowing too? (does the contradiction annoy you?)
I yawn when I even imagine what such minds create.
Like blocky comrades and their dead grey landscapes. (building or landscapes?)
It is my hope that this poem annoys the cynic and the wonderful
poet, but greater critic.
It is my deepest desire to see him change these expressions.
Upgrade, improve. Develop it now.
All the cryptic messages are not meant for you.
Go ahead and touch grass, glass and paper too.
Spill ink,
drink and be merry...
you are a master poet after all.
Confident in all your corrections.
This image is wrong.
That rhyme does not belong.
Stop your art right there
in the name of your dusty order.
Here is an image for you Mr meek:
your own works work wonders for my insomnia too.
Indeed better than counting sheep.
And this annoyance will stick like glue.
wooden haven
lean mango