"elicits" poems
From the BBC today,
Excerpt
Why does Taylor Swift write so many one-note melodies?
"It's easy to get distracted by her celebrity, but Taylor Swift is a once-in-a-generation songwriter. From the very beginning, she's displayed a knack for melody and storytelling that most artists never master.
Take, for example, her first US number one, OUR SONG
Written for a high school talent show, it's a fairly typical tale of teenage romance until the final lines: "I grabbed a pen / And an old napkin / And I wrote down our song."
That's smart, self-assured songwriting for someone who wasn't old enough to vote. Notably, the lyrics insert the musician directly into the narrative - something she developed into a tried and tested trope.
But Our Song also establishes another of Taylor's trademarks: The one-note melody.
Excerpt
Repetitive melodies that centre around a single note are part of that appeal. They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech.
"They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech."
"They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech."
"They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech."
Rebuttal
Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics. They can relate to your song but if they cannot sing it themselves putting themselves in the 'first-person perspective narrative' they cannot feel as-if they have BECOME the artist and are living that moment as they remember it. Taylor Swift sings about teenage love and angst something EVERYONE ON EARTH understands.
ALL POETRY BEGAN AS RHYME IN SONG.
Cadences are singing statements that confer a discipline and unity.
Song acts as a catharsis. The artist shares their pain in a way that is universally understood. If you want to sell a rock, literally a pebble, you will not sell it if it doesn't look like a rock. If it doesn't do what rocks do. If it is not what people remember a rock to be like. Nor will it sell if it is just like every other rock they have ever seen. It cannot convey an emotion unless it elicits emotion.
One cannot even begin to feel emotional if one cannot remember easily the past and that includes lyrics one has heard that evoked said emotional state.
It is horrifying to see HOW BADLY EVERYONE INSISTS that rhyme be obliterated in exchange for an intellectual or individual perspective NOT SHARED BY THE MAJORITY OF PEOPLE.
If you want to sell and make money you better start thinking about the 99% of people who are not geniuses.
If your sole goal in life is to attract a genius to give you a great job because of how, "smart," they perceive you to be then fine.
You are not an artist.
You are an employee.
"Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics."
"Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics."
"Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics."
Thrice Times Great. ⁻ᴴᵉʳᵐᵉˢ
BECOME
EVERYONE ON EARTH
ALL POETRY BEGAN AS RHYME IN SONG
HOW BADLY EVERYONE INSISTS
NOT SHARED BY THE MAJORITY OF PEOPLE
HOW BAD
artist?
or employee?
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 10:29 AM UTC
The most obnoxious part about
being a communications major,
is having to tell people you're a
communications major, it's having
to explain to concerned strangers
what I plan to do with that-
The major question is the new,
What's your sign?
The future physicist asks
with crooked smile, plastic cup
in hand, and *** in his eyes.
My answer elicits a sigh, a smirk,
and what do you plan to do with that?
He asks the way one asks a child
******* on their parents car keys.
So I tell him:
*I plan to hang my degree in my
guest bathroom-*
Why?
*Because I don't give a **** about what
other people think of it.*
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 4:47 PM UTC
in an omnipresent haze
of cerulean blue
and vivacious velvet petals
where irises swim in lovely chaos
as I mutter several choice expletives
under my breath.
He burrows himself
deeper under my skin
stealing the breath from my lungs
rousing my beleaguered soul
awakening a feral need.
I relish this murky maze of desire
he elicits from me
and hungrily
await his return
Aug 19, 2021
Aug 19, 2021 at 7:37 PM UTC
A writers best work
Is not that which elicits emotions from others
But that which
Elicits emotions from themselves
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 1:13 PM UTC
The world belongs to the nocturnal, the ever present reflexive vanguard whose presence elicits attention,
be it negative or positive.
The crawl to a standstill, the distractions, the regrets:
These are as naught to those whose focus supplants physical duress.
Success is the only road, the path to failure can only be trod by idle feet, hot coals to the promised kingdom of recognition and praise, this must be traversed at all lengths, at all levels, by all means:
Take it.
Hatred or envy does not compare to the rush of achievement, real effort brought to fruition.
Be not afraid to raise your expectations, be afraid that they never rise.
Most of all, love unashamedly and furiously as if no one could weigh in,
the universe bends to the warrior's perspective
Aug 25, 2012
Aug 25, 2012 at 6:07 AM UTC
And I hope she’ll be a fool, that’s the best thing a girl can be, is a beautiful little fool.
To see no fault and see no cause, a demeanor that elicits the ceasing of qualms
She will drink mint tea while sitting with glee on top of a cloud above a raging storm
Her focus is precise and what she sees will be calm
I wish for my daughter to be one
She will live in a bubble, plated with the toughest material and doubled, and coated with rose-colored glass.
It will be her veil, disguising injustices too well, but her aura will always be electric
Her tears will be daisies growing amongst the lilies near a pond where there’s coy and fairies casting spells.
She will sleep and dream neutral, as the sandman began his sutures, to maintain her outlook that life is swell.
I wish for my daughter to be one
With her sway and her gallop and her nod and her twirl, she will please the sensibilities of the world.
I pray to the heavens, her angels and gods, that there will not be a crack in her armor.
For if she is to see how the world truly be, then her face will forever be furled
She is my joy and my love, a pearl necklace with a hug, a jewel that can never be matched
And I hope she’ll be a fool, that’s the best thing a girl can be. Is a
Beautiful
Little
Fool
Jul 23, 2016
Jul 23, 2016 at 11:18 PM UTC
*En route to your heart,
I strayed in to,
the lush garden of your youth,
full of unsullied flowers,
kissed only by mischievous sun.
No man can even, think
of turning his back to this
veritable feast for senses;
it transmitted a vibe resonating,
perfectly with my psyche.
The heady fragrance emanating
from varieties of flowers did speak
of magical pleasures unexplored
I did eagerly heed,
was it by pure chance
or were there plans to allure me in,
I don't even want to know,
it suits well to my desires.
Amorous droning of inebriated bees
rang in my ears,
making me giddy.
Spring time it was
in your budding new garden,
being a pretender
who elicits the best effect
you smartly feigned ignorance
of my presence,
(As you expected, I suppose)
I lost my way and ended up
in the spirited night we shared between us,
harvesting wild fruits with a verve
we had never known before,
pleasures of many seasons
were there in store, I was astonished,
a consummate seductress you were.
a she wolf, under a sheep's skin.
but kind amorita, most adroit.
Could I ever blame you
an iridescent creature, exquisite
oh! the candor that marks your surrender!
Scent of flowers wafting on the wind,
created the effect of rarefied air
my lungs are full to the brim
with your feminine spices.
Does this happy transgression
to your secret scented garden
make me a fallen angel,
or am I a slave of your whims
entrapped for the rest of our lives?
Either way your wile wins
a knight in shining armor or
bereft of it, and naked, for your sake
I willingly submit before
the light that shines in you,
I'd make your garden mine.*
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 6:44 AM UTC
in your vicinity,
i'm filled with corny questions like:
"what do you think of fate?"
if it is destined that we meet,
predetermined that we end up
as more than strangers,
more than friends,
then technically,
it doesn't matter
what i say
or prevent myself from saying,
these moments are orchestrated
by something greater,
if such a question elicits a groan,
then its the groan with which we'll start.
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 11:08 PM UTC
Creeping vines climb
crisscrossing the cracked clay
Crumbled brick shards collect
at the base of the tower
Essential oils permeate the air
Invisible liquid fire
Inflaming all feeling
skin bubbling and peeling
Grotesque **** oozes
from ragged ripped flesh
Itching is incessant
Swollen red eyelids
Tear drop elicits twitching
A scream of unfulfilled urges
Vines encircle the neck
countless green nooses
contaminate flesh
Breath becomes brutality
swollen esophagus
Red and green monster stalks
searching for someone
with skin thin enough
to climb underneath
into the innermost layer
Death
brings an end to the maddening agony
Body a bulging red ball already collects maggots
Creepy vines questing
never ending searching
not satisfied until they find
the next target
Cycle continues
no escape from the ivy.
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 5:56 PM UTC
A late night phone call awakes the teen.
The voice calling elicits sweeter dreams.
She's asking for a late night rendezvous.
She says she misses his eyes of blue.
The boy stealthily sneaks down the hall.
There was no way he would ignore the call.
He opens the door and feels the autumn chill.
And he smiles thinking of the upcoming thrill.
He jumps on his bike to begin the journey.
Even the long ride can't ease his yearning.
As he pulls into the alley at the back of her place.
He sees a beautiful and innocent face.
They make some small talk to break the ice.
But her sweet perfume smells way too nice.
So he leans in closer to steal a passionate kiss.
And she accepts him and grants his wish.
Their breathing was heavy and hands explored.
There was a certain need that couldn't be ignored.
But before the heat could engulf the night.
There was the sound of a door and suddenly a light.
He made for his bike like a lightning bolt.
And he peddled away like a run away colt.
The last thing he heard was angry father's yell.
If I ever see you again I'll send you straight to hell.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 1:49 AM UTC
having beguiled my Scorpio
the full moons know
what moistens the body
elicits stark truth of feeling
in vehement velocity
racing ahead of thought
and the two argue
not every word is lovely
nor should be spoken
reactions are often
vicious junk yard dogs
protecting piles of *******
only valuable to hoarders
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 5:41 PM UTC
As I lay here restive. I cannot help but conjecture what could come to pass.
Thy dimpled simper, impales my soul and elicits bliss in my *****
Oh! The butterflies, how they flutter inside me, yearning their sweet, rightful release.
Ah, it cannot be, has this young mistress vexed this dispassionate beast?
Do I dare brave ask if I am worthy of such a divine, angelic monarch?
I ask thee, do I dare reflect on my chaotic life; do I dare torture myself, knowing I will falter.
Alas, I must!
I must attempt to become the merit. I must become her love, her heart, her soul, her reason to be...her King.
For she is...My Queen.
Aug 18, 2018
Aug 18, 2018 at 3:40 PM UTC
No longer is an article a joy
Each bit elicits crisis
Each piece closer to the end
I now understand
But disrespect
Those in the dark
They do not know yet
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 11:46 AM UTC
The desert gradually turned to a grassy thicket
tamarack branches turn towards the fleeting dusk
above, ancient starlights fade in cimmerian skies
their ghostly glow choked by the sullen silhouettes
of churning charcoal clouds against the abyss.
The world feels as though she is being devoured
by nothing and emptiness.
Again the tortured-self awakes inside of Apricus
wrestling with its bindings merely out of gall.
It elicits ache in the belly of its captor,
the kind that only heartbreak makes inside us all
and once the tantrum cease,
it laugh a little before it speak
*The darkness comes, not for you and I alone
but in the end all life is its sacrifice,
why struggle any longer to change the minds of sheep?
Has the battle not hardened our flesh, sharpened our teeth,
has it not made us hungry for what lesser men eat?*
A thunderhead above him began to coil
tightening its hold around the moon,
each rotation siphoned the lunar light
till the well traveled soil of the trail
turn to a thin brush, then into a heavy wood.
Ask not if you shall stray from your path
rather ask if you will have the constitution
to find your way back in the black
of a stormy night.
Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 11:32 PM UTC
A physically saturated pluviophile is a soul that craves to intertwine themselves with the very deepest parts of thee.
In the eyes and heart of a pluviophile,
the rain is sunshine on an otherwise grey and cloudy day.
Make no mistake;
I am a pure breed when it comes to being/representing a "pluviophile".
The rain elicits the very deepest part of me without one moment's struggle.
It's a cleansing.
It's an act of purification.
It's a new beginning.
A feeling of new skin
and afflictions
washed away.
A few still moments
to breathe in
the roses of
life.
If you can not
=connect= with a
"pluviophile"?
You're not
'all wet'
but rather,
as dry as the
saharan sand.
Come get
wet
with me...
in
the
p
u
r
p
l
e
rain """""""""""
'''''"""""""
"""""""""""""""
"""""""""""""""""""""
' ' ' ' ' '
' ' '
'
Nov 2, 2019
Nov 2, 2019 at 8:14 AM UTC
I've always talked to myself,
but these days
I feel stereotypically crazy
the "I should be locked up for my own good"
kind of crazy.
I don't know how long
I spent in my room
laughing until
there were tears in my eyes.
Twice I made a move
to leave the room,
twice I collapsed laughing.
I wondered if I was actually crying,
But no,
it was laughter.
Laughter,
because my god,
it's all so **** funny.
I counted my Klonopin today.
She told me to ration them.
I took four on one day
three on another,
if I skip a day or two,
I'll be able to take
four on a different day.
It makes sense in my head.
Without the Klonopin,
I'm angry again.
She asks if I'm thinking
about eating today,
"not really idc"
An "I care" response
only elicits
"Sorry about that,"
too much of a coward to say
"That's not my problem"
or better yet,
**** you, leave me alone,
go tend to your partner,
or datemate,
or whatever the **** you call them."*
Maybe I don't really mean it,
but there's only
**** You"*
in my heart today.
I won't take the Klonopin today
so I can drink wine or a beer
or whatever is cheap.
It makes sense in my head,
as I continue to cackle to myself.
*Who the ****
do you think you are,
Kerouac?*
It's all a joke to me.
I walk and walk and walk
and I buy a too sweet coffee,
instead of *****
which I tell myself
I'll buy later.
I can behave,
if I'm in public,
only emitting
a tiny chuckle
from time to time.
Everyone here
is absorbed in their lives.
No one will know the difference.
It's all a joke to me.
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 3:21 PM UTC
I sculpt you in the papers of my sketchbook
Every stroke of your outline is defined so well
To express the only way I know how
An outlet for my hidden feelings
But seeing your face in view again
Always elicits another daydream
It is never enough
You don't know that I draw you
In your most candid moments
Just to capture that memory again
You're the most beautiful when you don't try
By now I know the beauty in your every flaw
From growing up by your side
As close as we are, I want to be closer
Every canvas I see
Is another home to paint a memory
Your lips like fire, your eyes like the sea
They resemble the chaos of the waves
Showing your wild nature
They reel me in
I drown in them endlessly
Oct 21, 2018
Oct 21, 2018 at 2:01 AM UTC
The open casket sang --
what force an oak elicits
encasing a body
Sep 22, 2012
Sep 22, 2012 at 2:51 PM UTC
Some days my lips feel cold and my ears
Hear none of what I say
Only a faint buzz of wings rustling in the wind.
Some days my fingertips feel blue,
Even though the blood is warm and
My knees chatter in the brisk wind
Even inside my head.
Some days I face the flames of the spiteful dragon in my soul and
His fire doesn't singe me,
A frozen statue.
I am a spirit, a single tarnished coin in the dragon's hoard,
A point of light drifting
In a body too big; I rattle around in my skull,
My skull that is too hard
I bruise and scrape.
Little red and purple-black marks, definitely injured
But a pale finger pressed to them elicits
No response.
Nothing.
I am devoid of feeling, my heart beating but
No pulse,
No life.
The dragon stands outside his den but
Makes no move to attack.
My bones are stuck in flesh
Too heavy, waxy and cold
I want to fly!
My joints stretch through in hard angles,
Translucent skin showing blue veins;
River-tracks of spent blood,
Cold blood,
Carried back to a fluttering heart.
Chilled.
Cold-blooded, a giant lizard seeking it's warmth from other sources.
A shudder twitches between ribs, lungs
Too tight, gasping beneath the
Skeletal, crooked spine running like dragon's spikes
Down past my hips,
Bumps that will maybe become wings
Some day,
Wings that will lift me up
Some day,
Lifting that will become floating
Some day,
And then broken branches will drop from
Cold trees
Fire boiling in my gut,
Waxy skin melting from trapped bones,
A skull too hard,
Flesh too heavy,
Lungs too tight,
Crunch, break, destroy
And my little soul of light will
Float away and be
Free!
If only I had a dragon's courage.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 12:28 PM UTC
Separate the hand from the rocks
For too long, and up it comes
The charge of static
The small bolt of lightning that shocks
And elicits an automatic cry.
Its erratic intensity: a measure
Of distance and time that's come between,
Far apart - isolated from contact.
It will ground you, take you back
To zero
And bring you down to earth.
On your own - no change marked
Imperceptible charge grows,
Ions negative and unbidden,
Your remove from society deepens;
Your relation and bond to others weakens,
Until contact becomes a danger
TO ALL PARTIES.
No - from time to time touch base,
Family, funny friend, ground,
You must earth the Soul.
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 2:30 PM UTC
My playlist on Youtube writes itself into a poem
It elicits Love, Lust, Loss anger along with a few other emotions
Ratatat takes me on a tour of Rome
PHOX shows me how to dance in Slow Motion
John Denver joins me on the tour of Country Roads
Highlight Tribe encourages me to Free Tibet
Bioshock Infinite do I dream of with Schyman Elizabeth
Kavinsky with his beats, urging me to Outrun
Lose Sight now and again with Andrew Bayer and Ane Burn
Abandoned Pools take me down the memory lane in Clone High
Foo Fighters whisper in my ear that I too can Learn To Fly
COCAINEJESUS, Akira, beats and samples; I have PINEAPPLEKISSES
Cloud Nothing reminds me that I should Stay Useless
Discover A Little Opus as I take a ride on Little Comets
Sky Rabbit opine and observe the present In Our Times
Joey Badass shares with me his funky ideals of *World **********
Coheed and Cambria describe brotherhood in Key Entity Extraction
Geroge Ezra sings an ode to fathers in Listen to the Man
Perfect shows me the other side of the coin with Simple Plan
The Peppers tell a story of starting over covered in Snow
Shakey Graves says takes a chance and Roll the Bones
John Wayne Gacy Jr. the serial killer is immortalised by Sufjan Stevens
Imagine Dragons, the subconscious and fears come alive in Demons
Owl City tells a fantastic fable about insomnia in Fireflies
Ellie Goulding finds sweet slumber even in dark times in Lights
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 8:24 AM UTC
A cloudless sky elicits
No Meter.
A thoughtless mind elicits-
No Rhyme.
A closed mouth, contains
No Words.
No Context,
No Syntax,
No Rules,
No Name.
Emptiness is a title
better left unuttered.
And titles, like rooms waiting for guests,
or minds racing with thoughts,
are best uncluttered.
May 2, 2010
May 2, 2010 at 3:10 AM UTC
When I’m alone you grasp my hand
And set the tone
Darkened music, reflective thoughts,
You turn me away from anything else around me
The moods right for this melancholy tango
And you whirl me around for a while
Your sadistic steps lead my masochistic thoughts
Onward through this familiar downward spiral
I know it’s every twist and turn
It’s every pitfall, dip, back step
All the questions it elicits
I wonder what’ll happen when it’s over
What will follow?
What did I miss?
What more will be evoked?
Is this one more reminder?
And I don’t even need to bother wondering anymore
I know when you’ll be back
As soon as one day’s sun sets and I close my eyes
Again that song starts
Reminds me, prompts me
Then again I surrender
To the arms of loneliness
May 23, 2010
May 23, 2010 at 4:37 PM UTC
*Intimate in sleep
elicits sweet response
from that birthright place
of undefended Here I Am !
No need of armor shell
that's worn by serious day
pretending to disdain
your softness...
proof of worthy man*
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 2:14 AM UTC