[Gail White]

Aren't you all actually thinking about what your verses will be? Admit it.
Mine is just a cynical couplet, probably, but however still...

[R. Nemo Hill]

"OK, but, however, still."

I shall not accommodate.

Nemo

[dean peterson]

After reading all the great replies here (there's a needle of a really good conceptual poem somewhere in this commentary haystack) I'm resisting looking at the link, which at this point would -- I'm almost certain -- only disappoint me, Gwyneth Paltrow notwithstanding.

[Norman Ball]

Commodification is the Midas touch in reverse. Everything capitalism touches, it flattens into product. Poetry = bubble gum = God = radial tires. The alchemy of shit. Or think of a leper with a heart of gold running towards you in open embrace.

Speaking of Midas, I have a slow leak in my front passenger, no shit. Hopefully they can plug it.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Actually you got me thunkin Nemo which you have a bad habit of doing sometimes...

Isn't it fascinating how, the more they reach up the culture ladder to drag something down into the shitter, the less cynical they appear to some eyes? It's like an optical illusion: breathtaking cynicism is misconstrued for authentic cultural engagement when in fact it's just commodification in search of ever-higher topologies to flatten.

Fatuous consumers (flush with ideas of poetry, if not the actual books themselves) applaud this 'high reach'. There's something elevating (a narcissistic pick-up) imagining you're being moved towards a purchase decision by culture heroes and not a bunch of overextended shit-stirrers. However the telos is an unwavering ka-ching.

Hey, at least they didn't use young chicks in bikinis! That's progress, yes? Nah, just the same old steam-road rollers (compelled by their own variant-mantra to 'make it new') shifted to higher climes. Capitalism is on a flatland mission. Poetry is a stubborn Parnassus. But it is yielding. Robin Williams pitches in (Come on, how many humans in your neighborhood are spurning real estate licenses for poetry?); then there are the real spies in the house of love, Collins, Ryan et al, who are leveling from-within. They deserve the hottest aisle in Walmart.

In short Nemo, I'll buy your reflexive aversion on the chance it does yield whiter whites.

[R. S. Gwynn]

At least its metaphors aren't whales, children with balloons, kittens, or spry old folks.

[John Whitworth]

Write a poem that includes at least one whale, at least one spry old person and a plethora of children with balloons.

[ross hamilton hill]

There's nothing I hate more than portentious voice-overs, where the voice is artificial lowered and slowed to signal gravitas and meaningfullness, it's bullshit by the bucketful.
If you want to be moved by poetry on YouTube suggest you look at 'Inclinado En Las Tardes' (leaning into the afternoon) by Pablo Neruda, it is recited in spanish with English subtitles and has both visuals and music that compliment the poem. There is also: "poema 20" done by the same company as does 'Inclinado" and "If I Forget You' read well in translation by, of all people, Madonna.
The Youtube here sighted overwhelms the Whitman poem with too many images and a rhythm that has nothing to do with the poem. Better than the usual ads we are brainwashed with but still just a salesman trying to sell you something by making you feel good.