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Thread: DocHeart's poetry corner

  1. #31
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    There's a playfulness behind the sinister wit of this one, Doc. Really hope you're not experiencing this first hand at the moment. They will get you, eventually. Maybe not a hospital, itself, but the thing living behind the hospital anyways.







    J

  2. #32
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    Other than for a lay which should be a lie, and a query over how an unaccustomed state of dicklessness might be considered "normalilty", I rather enjoyed this Doc.

    Live long and prosper - H

  3. #33
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    Quote Originally Posted by Hawkman
    ... dicklessness...
    Something about the piecing together of this horrible, horrible concept in such a melodical word has ascended you to the next level, you god among men.





    J

  4. #34
    Justifiably inexcusable DocHeart's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by Jack of Hearts View Post
    There's a playfulness behind the sinister wit of this one, Doc. Really hope you're not experiencing this first hand at the moment. They will get you, eventually. Maybe not a hospital, itself, but the thing living behind the hospital anyways.

    J

    Thank you, Jack. I've escaped its jaws so far. But I was the smiling relative driving the car quite recently.



    Quote Originally Posted by Hawkman View Post
    Other than for a lay which should be a lie, and a query over how an unaccustomed state of dicklessness might be considered "normalilty", I rather enjoyed this Doc.

    Lay - lie. I keep getting these wrong. Oh well - editing has now been applied.

    Re: dicklessness -- I guess I was using it as a metaphor, and explained my idea of "normality" in the following couple of lines. But, really, when you come out with such an OUTRAGEOUS noun, who cares about the poem anymore!

    Many thanks for reading, both.

    Regards,
    DH
    Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine...

  5. #35
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    Where on earth have you gone? Hopefully not to the hospital.






    J

  6. #36
    Still, on a chalk plateau Bar22do's Avatar
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    I've "discovered" your last thanks to Jack's note - excellent!!! and of much actuality to me for it almost "got me " a few days ago; though, wounded as I was I ran away, rather to die in the streets than to be part of the emergency ward's quirks...

    Best to you two!

    Bar

  7. #37
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    Quote Originally Posted by Bar22do View Post
    I've "discovered" your last thanks to Jack's note - excellent!!! and of much actuality to me for it almost "got me " a few days ago; though, wounded as I was I ran away, rather to die in the streets than to be part of the emergency ward's quirks...

    Best to you two!

    Bar
    Poor Bar. Hang in there.






    J

  8. #38
    Word Dispenser BookBeauty's Avatar
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    What a beautiful series of poems. Some of them gritty and so real, yet still managing to be eloquent, with words placed with such care.
    There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book. Books are well written or badly written. ~Oscar Wilde.

  9. #39
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    An oversexed Greek guy writes in english better than most Americans. Go figure. Read this one (first an original posting and then in the Favorite poems thread):

    'Beyond the falling comets and persistent stars' by DocHeart

    Beyond the falling comets and persistent stars
    Lies loneliness. A city sky's seen
    Differently from there; stupidly courageous,
    Mocking black nights with neon falsehoods.

    A blueness, on the other hand, emerges
    When one observes such skylines from the ground:
    It is the very heaviness with which
    Unskilled saxophonists sit on a gentle
    Pianist's mouth.

    From thirty thousand feet I watch you dance,
    Smashing the fragile porcelain of our small romance.
    Descending and observing from a shorter distance
    Does nothing to alleviate your non-existence.




    J

  10. #40
    Word Dispenser BookBeauty's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by Jack of Hearts View Post
    An oversexed Greek guy writes in english better than most Americans. Go figure. Read this one (first an original posting and then in the Favorite poems thread):


    J
    I'm not surprised.

    Knowing many from another mother tongue, the words chosen are often given more thought, even with pronunciation.

    It also usually means much more work is put into it.

    In a poem such as this, there is also a unique perspective and a play on words that is decadent.
    There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book. Books are well written or badly written. ~Oscar Wilde.

  11. #41
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    Of these, "Hospitals" (#30) is my favorite. I also admire the diction and rhythm (as well as the imagery) in the your earlier verse about the comet which Jack copied and posted a couple of replies above.

    In all of your poems, however, I absolutely love the blend of the lofty with the profane, especially your facility with colloquial venacular. All of your speakers (narrators) sound "real," like regular down-to-earth guys. You've got a well-tuned "ear."

  12. #42
    Justifiably inexcusable DocHeart's Avatar
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    I'm flattered to see folk still reading and commenting on these, especially since I haven't contributed anything new for a while. I guess I'm going through a slightly dry period, but there's no doubt I'll be back with more.

    Thank you all for your input, and good health.

    DH
    Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine...

  13. #43
    Something's gotta give PrinceMyshkin's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by Jack of Hearts View Post
    Well, Doc, what we have here is a tough one.

    It's a very articulate account, on all accounts. It discusses your travelling, how travelling has lost its shine because of the overwhelming similarities throughout human nature. It seems a bit lonely and disillusioned. It is a highly interesting read and by no means is it poorly done.

    But it's time to be mean. This reader is going to accuse you of not going the distance. Your poem here exists on a very literal level and shows admirable ability in language to express your thoughts. It seems to refuse to jump to the next level and exist emotionally. It's keeping the readers from the intimacy of your perspective by hiding behind language, almost. Language seems to be like that when we use it in articulate ways. This poem expresses such good ideas that it deserves to make that leap of faith- because putting your experience with direct, literal language isn't always an efficient tool. It isn't always the most honest way of sharing that experience. This reader thinks you know this. In a lot of ways, intelligence is a double edged sword when it comes to these kinds of things.

    But this reader still liked reading this, so maybe that's less of a critique and more of a challenge.






    J
    I don't altogether agree with the above: I think we all measure "the distance" of any poem or poet by our inner, idiosyncratic notion of how distant any distance is, BUT

    I commend JofH & envy DH for the impassioned reading of these poems that JofH undertook. Clearly he cares and cares very deeply for poetry in general and DH's poetry in particular.

  14. #44
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    That seems exactly right, Prince.

    Maybe that's feedback that this poster wouldn't have given DocHeart or anybody today. At the time it was honest but maybe a little ignorant. All the feedback, all of his own poems and stories is really just this poster trying to come to grips with something. Theorizing or saying what there 'should be' in others' work is probably just that struggle manifested.

    This poster is an imperfect writer, poet and giver of critique- and the more ge practices these things, the more he becomes aware of the imperfection. Or maybe it's just understanding better what perfection is and realizing how far you are away from it.






    J

  15. #45
    Justifiably inexcusable DocHeart's Avatar
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    Raping Athena

    Raping Athena


    These streets we walked,
    Winding and falling
    Into the ashes of the lives
    Of skinny immigrants
    And the whirlwinds
    Of unemployed youths -

    Their shattered neon lights
    Are less and less a memory
    Of time wasted over pool tables
    And beer stains on school uniforms

    And more and more

    Of an uncertain monologue
    Spoken by a senile Ulysses
    Who somehow strayed
    Into a cinema
    Engulfed in dirty flames
    Delivered with voicelessness.

    The city says farewell, little by little;
    Fewer and fewer familiar facades
    To hang your once-upon-a-times on.

    Perhaps you could make do
    With that freshly amputated statue
    Or that burned bus.

    That corpse.
    Last edited by DocHeart; 02-13-2012 at 05:19 PM.
    Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine...

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