Recent Poem, :)

[Adolescent09]

A member of this literary community suggested that I post this poem to recieve opinions from other people of the forum. The objective of this poem is to be written shortly and rhythmically so that the words practically roll off your tongue while reading it. All comments, opinions, thoughts.. will be respected. Thanks.

Onto the sea
I sailed my boat
And prayed that it
Would stay afloat

From dawn til dusk
From dusk til dawn
In search of love
I drifted on
What happened then
I don't recall
I think it was
A sudden squall

For when I awoke
I thought I died
At the sight of an angel
At my side


But lucky for me
That was not true
For I found love
And love was you.

[Triskele]

i like it, do you mind if i try this style you have invented myself?

[Adolescent09]

sure, be my guest.

[Janine]

I like short type poems, like this one by Adolescent, better than long poems with long verses and lines. I tend to have trouble reading those, and I get lost sometimes in complicated line and words. I think more simplistic can actually be better, and if you read many of the really fine authors of poetry - the classics - their poems are not contrived or overly "wordy". Often they are so direct and they are simplistic in thought.
Example: Poem by Carl Sandburg - how great is this? and quite simplistic poem really -

Fog

The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on


How well known and famous this little poem became - it is wonderful! It is almost like a Haiku and certainly slips off one's tongue easily and yet conveys such a vivid image. I think sometimes we try to include too much in one poem instead of sticking to the point. That is just my opinion. Not all poems have to be puzzles to figure out.
Anybody - comments on my thoughts are welcome.

[dramasnot6]

Really sweet :) You would think the end was cliche but it actually really works well in your poem.

From dawn til dusk
From dusk til dawn

Maybe think of something a little more creative here? Doesn't have to be any less simple or easy to read, just something a little more "you" if that makes sense?

[Adolescent09]

I apologise drama, I'm not getting your figure of speach. What exactly do you mean by "more you"? (By the way, that poem in your signature is ineffably fantastic.. did you write it.?)

[Janine]

Adolescent, isn't Drama's quote wonderful? I noticed it before and love it. I wonder who wrote it, too.

[Pensive]

This is really sweet. Small and cute. :)

[Janine]

Pensive, Which poem are you referring to? Just curious.

[wyzguy]

Hi there. I liked it. You lost the meter and rhythm in a couple of spots, though.




Onto the sea
I sailed my boat
And prayed that it
Would stay afloat

From dawn til dusk
From dusk til dawn
In search of love
I drifted on
What happened then
I don't recall
I think it was
A sudden squall

For when I awoke For when I woke
I thought I died
At the sight of an angel Saw an angel
At my side


But lucky for me
That was not true
For I found love
And love was you.

Just suggestions. Keep writing.

[Janine]

Well, Adolescent, you wanted criticism and you seem to be getting plenty now. Good, hope it helps you out. Glad you posted this lovely poem of yours, here, separate from Haiku thread. Keep writing, you have talent! Janine

[jon1jt]

i think you accomplished your objective of having lines roll smoothly. it's a bit too predictable, but sweet it is. i agree with wyzguy's two line changes. thanks for sharing!

[Pensive]

Pensive, Which poem are you referring to? Just curious.

Onto the sea
I sailed my boat
And prayed that it
Would stay afloat

From dawn til dusk
From dusk til dawn
In search of love
I drifted on
What happened then
I don't recall
I think it was
A sudden squall

For when I awoke
I thought I died
At the sight of an angel
At my side


But lucky for me
That was not true
For I found love
And love was you.

:)

[Pendragon]

Well, I like it. It can be sung, actually, and has a nice sound. I would use the suggested two lines, however. Frankly, the
"From dawn til dusk
from dusk til dawn"
needs to stay. Better rhythm that way. :thumbs_up :)

[raspberry_jelly]

Its sweet and easy to read. I liked it.

Keep writing. :yawnb:

[Janine]

Onto the sea
I sailed my boat
And prayed that it
Would stay afloat

From dawn til dusk
From dusk til dawn
In search of love
I drifted on
What happened then
I don't recall
I think it was
A sudden squall

For when I awoke
I thought I died
At the sight of an angel
At my side


But lucky for me
That was not true
For I found love
And love was you.

:)

Yeah, Pensive, sorry, I must have been thinking of a different thread. I had been jumping around. Duh, we were discussing this poem, weren't we? Silly me:lol:

I agree with Penn, Leave the dawn lines in. I like them too...they are more rhythmic. Yes, would make good song lyrics.

[Pensive]

Yeah, Pensive, sorry, I must have been thinking of a different thread. I had been jumping around. Duh, we were discussing this poem, weren't we? Silly me:lol:

It's fine. No problem.

[dramasnot6]

I apologise drama, I'm not getting your figure of speach. What exactly do you mean by "more you"? (By the way, that poem in your signature is ineffably fantastic.. did you write it.?)

Sorry Adolescent, by "more you" I meant more unique to you. Since that term is a fairly common one,maybe you can put a creative spin to it based on your personal style.
:D I love the poem too! Unfortunately, I could never write something half as profound as that. Twas written by the brilliant Lemony Snicket, author of A Series of Unfortunate Events.

[dyingflame]

I'm sorry but I don't think that's profound at all- for me it doesn't qualify as poetry: poetry must go beyond writing verse with rhyme and metric schemes- sure, it accomplishes exactly what you said it would, but in terms of depth and originality I see only layers upon layers of cliche--isms, especially in the "imagery" employed.

But lucky for me
That was not true
For I found love
And love was you.

approximately a million songs utilize some form or another of these lyrics. dramsnot6 is right, but first you have to find the you the be more you. ;) sorry im sometimes a little too harsh because I think that the concept of Poetry nowadays is being dragged down from the elevated status it should have. Poetry, with a capital P, not nursery rhymes that are merely pleasing to the ear

[Janine]

I'm sorry but I don't think that's profound at all- for me it doesn't qualify as poetry: poetry must go beyond writing verse with rhyme and metric schemes- sure, it accomplishes exactly what you said it would, but in terms of depth and originality I see only layers upon layers of cliche--isms, especially in the "imagery" employed.

But lucky for me
That was not true
For I found love
And love was you.

approximately a million songs utilize some form or another of these lyrics. dramsnot6 is right, but first you have to find the you the be more you. ;) sorry im sometimes a little too harsh because I think that the concept of Poetry nowadays is being dragged down from the elevated status it should have. Poetry, with a capital P, not nursery rhymes that are merely pleasing to the ear

dyingflame, Yes, a little harsh - criticising a young person like this. His other poems show great promise (including this one) and he was trying something simplier here...a sort of experiment. He will find his own personal voice and the "him" in his poems, given half a chance and he has many years to develop this. Encouragement can go a long way, you know. From my perspective of 56 yrs of age, I just wish I had written so well at the tender age Adolescent09 is, not yet out of highschool. It is sweet considering he is young and just aspiring to being a writer or poet or both, and trying very hard. We all plagurise unconciously from time to time - so much media out there it is hard not to. I have encountered it on this site with some of the best writers. We are bombarded with lyrics every day, so we pick them up.
I am the one suggesting he post this poem in this separate thread, since he had posted it at the end of Haiku game thread post, which was confusing to the Haiku players. I find the poem young and innocent and lovely for that aspect. We are on this site to express ourselves and have fun.

[Adolescent09]

I'm sorry but I don't think that's profound at all- for me it doesn't qualify as poetry: poetry must go beyond writing verse with rhyme and metric schemes- sure, it accomplishes exactly what you said it would, but in terms of depth and originality I see only layers upon layers of cliche--isms, especially in the "imagery" employed.

But lucky for me
That was not true
For I found love
And love was you.

approximately a million songs utilize some form or another of these lyrics. dramsnot6 is right, but first you have to find the you the be more you. ;) sorry im sometimes a little too harsh because I think that the concept of Poetry nowadays is being dragged down from the elevated status it should have. Poetry, with a capital P, not nursery rhymes that are merely pleasing to the ear

well, I am trying, thanks though, dying flame :)

[Adolescent09]

dyingflame, Yes, a little harsh - criticising a young person like this. His other poems show great promise (including this one) and he was trying something simplier here...a sort of experiment. He will find his own personal voice and the "him" in his poems, given half a chance and he has many years to develop this. Encouragement can go a long way, you know. From my perspective of 56 yrs of age, I just wish I had written so well at the tender age Adolescent09 is, not yet out of highschool. It is sweet considering he is young and just aspiring to being a writer or poet or both, and trying very hard. We all plagurise unconciously from time to time - so much media out there it is hard not to. I have encountered it on this site with some of the best writers. We are bombarded with lyrics every day, so we pick them up.
I am the one suggesting he post this poem in this separate thread, since he had posted it at the end of Haiku game thread post, which was confusing to the Haiku players. I find the poem young and innocent and lovely for that aspect. We are on this site to express ourselves and have fun.

Thank you Janine, for your lovely defensive post. You just made my heavy and hollow day, joyful and light. What you said was very true about the difficulty of being original in these times and your compliments pertaining to my writing skills at a young age were flattering and sweet. Again, thanks Janine. That being said I respect dyingflame for his candidness and personal opinion. All the replies to my poem have been nice and informative. I thank you all for that matter :).

[Janine]

Adolescent, Very sweet of you and eloquently put, as well. Really nice. Keep your head up and keep writing - practice makes perfect. Don't get discouraged at all. Glad you got so much attention on this thread. Good for you! Janine

[blp]

I like short type poems, like this one by Adolescent, better than long poems with long verses and lines. I tend to have trouble reading those, and I get lost sometimes in complicated line and words. I think more simplistic can actually be better, and if you read many of the really fine authors of poetry - the classics - their poems are not contrived or overly "wordy". Often they are so direct and they are simplistic in thought.
Example: Poem by Carl Sandburg - how great is this? and quite simplistic poem really -

Fog

The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on


How well known and famous this little poem became - it is wonderful! It is almost like a Haiku and certainly slips off one's tongue easily and yet conveys such a vivid image. I think sometimes we try to include too much in one poem instead of sticking to the point. That is just my opinion. Not all poems have to be puzzles to figure out.
Anybody - comments on my thoughts are welcome.

Simple is good and so is complicated. You're sounding too prescriptive and it sounds like you're being like this almost out of a sort of laziness.

There's nothing wrong with art being difficult sometimes. There's a lot of pleasure to be had from working with a piece of art over a longer period. It's like the difference between drawing sap from a tree and simply picking fruit. Both are good in different ways. But it's important not to denigrate the slower, more difficult experiences, because these are the things that allow us to develop. Simplicity of expression at its best is beautiful and takes work too, but don't forget it's also loved by advertisers and demagogic politicians because it allows them to manipulate people.

Also, there's no need to see longer poems as puzzles, as you imply. You can get a great deal of enjoyment out of a poem like Eliot's Prufrock or Ginsberg's Howl without precisely knowing what they 'mean'.

[dyingflame]

I don't know anything about adolescent09 so I can say that my comments were fairly objective and based solely on this work presented here; being that I never read anything else of his. Perhaps the being biased towards the work of people we know may drag us down. I hate it when friends just tell me a poem is great; especially if i know it's not. So.. I did say he manages to achieve exactly what he wanted to achieve, being, as I believe he typed "the objective of this poem is to be written simply so that the words roll of your tongue." I can appreciate that. In fact, I was showing it to people telling them I found it on this post- asking their opinion about it. I enjoyed reading it. These people, they all like it and pointed really liked it- and they liked it because of how simple it is.
BUT there was this nagging belief in me that constantly makes me angry- people qualifying work as poetry simply because of being written in verse; when poetry, for me, is something much deeper- it's not merely an expression of style and aesthetics! It all comes down to what poetry should achieve. Still the simplicity and the musicality are there. What I was merely objecting to was the labelling of anything that rhymes and have a metre scheme as poetry.
And I don't believe this is the place for people to defend the works of others against the opinions of others- the works should stand alone; and my opinions, obviously, are mine.
and I'm young myself too; though perhaps not quite an adolscent anymore..
I may be coming across as somewhat anti-community here- yes, I know, I'm still a newbie on this forum network- I really would like to create bonds with you people. But I think it is fairly clear what I think about poetry now :)
pleased to meet you all, btw, and adoloscent, as I say to ANYBODY who starts writing- YES do write more; potential must be worked upod- of course, my own stuff sucks. That's what I always say! :D
Sorry; I meant no offence of course.

[Janine]

dyingflame,
Well, true - everyone is entitled to their own opinion and their say in all matters on this forum. Since it bothered you, better that you expressed that. But for you information - great poets do rhyme. Look at work by Shakespeare, and many, many others. Even the very unconventional, e.e. cummings, rhymed once in awhile. I think we all have the option to do so and it is merely individual taste in that respect. I have read mostly poems by Adolescent that are non-rhyming. In fact this is the first, I believe, that does rhyme. If you read the poem "Fog" by Carl Sandburg (I posted it awhile back on this thread, as an example) it is very simple, but it has proved the test of time as being a very great poetic moment for the author/poet. It is so famous and so well know and contains a simple thought and an image that stays with one. Emily Dickinson also wrote some of her best poems, which are only a few lines long.

If you want to bond with people on this site, and there are a lot of nice people here, you must open your mind to all kinds of poetry, or simply respect the ones people write as their attempts and their labors of love. I would be greatly interested in reading your own poetry. There are other threads to post it in or post here. I am sure it does not suck as you say. I would read it and give an impartial opinion. Also it may be the encouragement you need to stop thinking such awful things about your own work. I am sure it has merit. Please don't be discouraged or afraid. Do post some.

[Petruchio]

LOvely,simple,short,not complicated,easy to understand.
Loved it!!!
I have written one myself in this very same style!

[brokenheartpoet]

Hey, Adolesent Do you have any tips for me? Here a quick poem off the top of my head . There is a mist in my heart which no words can describe Could it be Love or confusion. This mist will be shortly taken away by sorrrow canters in the midnight wind. Help me out, please

[dyingflame]

hey Janine. Well, from my experience of forums this is perhaps the first and only one I have found which has so many great and gentle members like yourselves. Usually forums are very offensive, replete with flamewars amongst rival members. This makes a nice change- so sorry for my apparantly not so good entry. The fact is that I became a member a while ago and immediately posted poetry which was not read or commented or anything and is now pushed back way off the first page. Though on the first page you will find one of my latest, which I was happy with and was even happier when people commented.
I have nothing against ryhme. Sometimes I rhyme too. My point was that rhyme does not always make poetry- more often than not, it's the other way round. Great poetry often has rhyme. Right ? :)

[dyingflame]

mist?

well i once wrote a poem..on the first of december past in fact...that employs the tactile - visual image of mist, ( i hope) but not in this same context I think since it describes the feelings evoke in one man looking at an ancient shipwreck.
anyway the beginning was


While the steaming mist seethes,
The fates jest with us; dart swiftly,
Back in the sudden precipitation,
Regurgitating a wreck, the three-fold trial
Of the vast monster’s unknown depths
Full of unknown treasure,
In its mystery unseeked,
In its rotted glamour, vain newness-
Unreleased.

[Janine]

mist?

well i once wrote a poem..on the first of december past in fact...that employs the tactile - visual image of mist, ( i hope) but not in this same context I think since it describes the feelings evoke in one man looking at an ancient shipwreck.
anyway the beginning was


While the steaming mist seethes,
The fates jest with us; dart swiftly,
Back in the sudden precipitation,
Regurgitating a wreck, the three-fold trial
Of the vast monster’s unknown depths
Full of unknown treasure,
In its mystery unseeked,
In its rotted glamour, vain newness-
Unreleased.

dyingflame, I like your poem very much...in fact, I love it! I am glad you posted it here. Seems adolescent started something nice in this thread. I encouraged him to post his poem in a poetry thread since it was at the end of his "Shared Haiku" post and it confused others - resembling a string of haiku. Now we have a nice thing going.
I, myself, am basically a visual artist. It took a great while and a lot of encouragement from others to get me to post my lame little poems, but surprisingly I got really good comments from a number of people and loads of encouragement. They are simply written, but I may get the nerve now to post a few in this thread.

It is ironic that we have been debating poetry, dyingflame, since I often think (even of my own use in a word) how many times has that word appeared in poetry. "Mist" is one I have thought must have appeared countless times, but that is ok. I am not attacking your choice. I like this poem of yours very much and the fact that you don't overdo using the word "mist". Mist is a great word, imparting a sort of mystery, which you aply use the word "mystery" later - sort of mimicing the word - I thought that excellent. I love ship wrecks and all their hidden mystery, so I love this poem. Please feel free to post other ones you wrote and have received no response to, on other threads. Sometimes people just don't find them. I was thinking of doing the same thing....reposting some here.
Thank you for saying this site is civil and peaceful and kind - your exact words "has so many great and gentle members like yourselves". I can flair, too, but really too much fighting on here or opposition is frowned on by the moderators, who keep everyone in line. Sometimes things do get lively, and then too heated, but basically everyone is nice and encouraging. I learned to be this way from other examples and other "kind" members. "You can win more bees with honey", you know. I believe that!

I think poetry can be all things. It can be complicated and it can be simple. There are no set rules. My point is that we all have different tastes. I say to this to you blp, basically, in answer to you comment in the post a few back from this one. I don't really appreciate your statement: "You're sounding too prescriptive and it sounds like you're being like this almost out of a sort of laziness." - nor do I think this at all true of me. I don't feel I am a lazy person. I only was defending short and simple verse and rhyming verse, as being valid forms of poetry. Your statement sounds a bit accusing, which is not so nice to be in this site. I appreciate complicated poetry, as well, very much and complicated art, for that matter. I am an artist, who oft times, draws complicated works, open to interpretation by all. I don't think you are reading me accurately.
I would like to see you post some of your own poetry here, so we can all read it and get a better sense of "you" and your art. I am sure it is quite interesting and fine, perhaps complex. We like to encourage all to express themselves. This thread started out with one poster and his simplistic lovely poem, but now several new ones have been added, which is making it an interesting new thread. Wonderful to see things develop and grow like this. We are all here to learn from each other. Keep the atmosphere civil and fair and we will all benefit greatly.

[dyingflame]

hehe dungeons was written during a lecture about the composition of mist. but it got me thinking on stuff I read and played or saw ...and a song I love and it just came into being..so it's really the result in poetry to a lot of influences...well..I only have one other poem that's very short simple; but many think is profound..I have already posted it in some thread. It's been written a year ago though.

"The Forest Hut"

It was as if anybody
who knew anything
was long dead.

All around him stood
blank faces staring
ignorance all round.

Their only sin was birth
and their only certainty:
the tragic fact of existence.


BTW I don't mind negative criticism AT ALL. In fact, I tend to be the other way round- I'm that sort of person. You know Robert Minhinnick? I met him and talked to him for an hour and he really taught me how to deal with the critical attitudes of others- he basically invited me to call him a bad poet if I wished and would have respected my opinion. Basically that's what I do. If somebody tells me my work is not up to scracth- I don't take offence but mere ask why so that I can improve in the future.

[Adolescent09]

BTW I don't mind negative criticism AT ALL. In fact, I tend to be the other way round- I'm that sort of person. You know Robert Minhinnick? I met him and talked to him for an hour and he really taught me how to deal with the critical attitudes of others- he basically invited me to call him a bad poet if I wished and would have respected my opinion. Basically that's what I do. If somebody tells me my work is not up to scracth- I don't take offence but mere ask why so that I can improve in the future.

Man you're my new hero. This is EXACTLY the way I feel! Negative comments supplement one's will power greatly. I do appreciative positive comments though, and I will say that at times they can be very reassuring. Janine in particular has always been very kind (not only with me, but everyone) and always has a good critique/opinion to put in here and there.

[Adolescent09]

I agree with Janine; you should never take your poetry too seriously and learn to always be accepting of various poetic styles. They're needn't be any debating here.

[Janine]

frozen summer

summer
lost forever
rain too often falls
or perhaps not often enough
with the promise of weeds

for you have left me
a distant voice ending
your last words stain me
I am numb in disbelief
I am frozen in winter once more

nothing is real
the garden is untouched
by human hands, weeds thrive
I cannot bear to look upon its horrid beauty
it blooms in spite of you and I

in spite of my neglect and turning away
butterflies come in abundance
as though to say “we survive”
...only because it is summer
but winter freezes my heart


This is the poem I posted in the other thread. Finally got the nerve to post here.... with all you critics. I wrote this 3 years ago, so it is not a "recent poem"...name of this thread. I have a few others I will post also soon.

[Adolescent09]

I love that poem Janine. I don't see why any critic would want to tear it up :).

[dyingflame]

Great gods I love poetry :D it makes me so come alive! Janine, the poem for me resonated childhood memories, vague but still their, of playing in a garden and finding what for me were giant spiders. I absolutely adore certain lines of your "Frozen Summer."

rain too often falls
or perhaps not often enough
with the promise of weeds

these lines, for example, evoked in me the sense of yearning I feel now. Do you believe I feel still trapped in last year's summer even though its early February? The climate here is too warm for this time of the year. I feel a sense of delusion because I always look foward to winter cold to huddle up. This poem describes the perfect opposite of my situation, which is a burning winter!

[Janine]

Well, Adolescent and Dyingflame - thank you so much for your pleasing critiques. I am happy that you, Dyingflame, could relate so well to the poem. I actually wrote it in a moment of deep loss and sorrow. I really poured my heart out in this poem. Sometimes grief is the best catayast for writing and being inspired. I wrote several that summer but this one is the best I think. It was received favorably on the other thread I posted it on, which has encouraged me to write more. Up until then I showed this to no one, thinking it lame or trite. Glad it tapped into something personal for you DF. Burning Winter would be a great name for a poem. You should write one with that title, DF.
Thanks again - this is really encouraging.:)

[Janine]

Dyingflame - I forgot to mention your poem, which I liked so much. I read it late last night, but wanted to tell you in a post today, when I could think clearer. It was simply written and very direct, imparting a feeling of complete dispair or disillussionment, like the end of the world has come, with no one left who can really think or function intelligently. I hope you don't really feel this dispair now. Perhaps you were projecting into the future(?), like the "1984" Novel. This poem, simplistically, expresses much and is very well done. I like the last stanza. Interested in hearing your own interrpretation of your intentions in this poem.
Gee, I love poetry, too! We have some fine poets here on this thread - don't you think? We all try hard and we should all keep writing. The more we write the more we will all improve - so much for the pep talk today. The title may place this in the "now", and be an observance of people in the woodlands - but I may be too literal on that idea. Let me know. The title seems alien to the interpretation I am getting (personally) from the poem.

I did notice something else last night; I agree with you, Adolescent when you said:
"I agree with Janine; you should never take your poetry too seriously and learn to always be accepting of various poetic styles. They're needn't be any debating here." - thanks, A, that is exactly as I feel it should be - no debates needed. If debates have to happen they should be on separate threads such as one called "What makes a poem great" or "what constitutes good poetry". This thread is for us to feel free about posting our best efforts, not debating the merits of poetry, in general.

[dyingflame]

Well for me The Forest Hut derives its basic meaning from the title- the title should project implications into the meaning of the text itself. Don't be afraid to take it literally- I did when writing it. IT's very simple but powerful for me (its the shortest I ever wrote) Have you ever read the short story by Graham Greene " A Chance for Mr. Lever" ? It's what got me thinking. It is basically a third-person description point of view of this white man in the 1930s, forced to go into this rainforest and shelter with the natives- and HOW HE SEES THEM. A year later, I expanded this idea in a very long poem I hesitate to post because of its lenght. Its all about culture and culture clash.

[Janine]

Well for me The Forest Hut derives its basic meaning from the title- the title should project implications into the meaning of the text itself. Don't be afraid to take it literally- I did when writing it. IT's very simple but powerful for me (its the shortest I ever wrote) Have you ever read the short story by Graham Greene " A Chance for Mr. Lever" ? It's what got me thinking. It is basically a third-person description point of view of this white man in the 1930s, forced to go into this rainforest and shelter with the natives- and HOW HE SEES THEM. A year later, I expanded this idea in a very long poem I hesitate to post because of its lenght. Its all about culture and culture clash.

This poem also reminds me of "Woodlanders" by Thomas Hardy, but I don't really think of the people - the poor or peasants as blank faces, that would be going to far since one sympathises with poor Giles and the sweet girl, Marty. You might think like D.H. Lawrence does in some of his writing, especially the Travel books I am reading presently; yet Lawrence was an enigma, in that he was more for the peasant's simplistic ways and closeness to the earth - the earthy qualities in such a man and the sensuality of non-thinking, the body and senses being the truth of life. The sin of being born goes to the idea of their life being lifeless and futile to me and is a sad line. Interesting is this poem of yours, since it makes me think much. I have not read Graham Greene, but certainly plan to. I have a few books by him stashed away for future reading, and I loved the film "The Quiet American" which was based on his book, correct(?) I am familiar also, with other films that were adaptations of his books. I am sure he is a fine author. I like his sensibilites and thoughts...ideas. Now, with your explanation I can understand the connection of the title to the poem. Yes, the poem is short and to the point - I like that. Please do post the longer one. I enjoyed your previous ones. I like the theme of culture clash, so I would be highly interested in reading this long poem of yours.

[Petrarch's Love]

Sorry Adolescent, by "more you" I meant more unique to you. Since that term is a fairly common one,maybe you can put a creative spin to it based on your personal style.
:D I love the poem too! Unfortunately, I could never write something half as profound as that. Twas written by the brilliant Lemony Snicket, author of A Series of Unfortunate Events.

Sorry to post off topic, but I thought Drama should know that Snicket must have been quoting from the 19th century poet, F.W. Bourdillon, who penned the poem, "The Night has a Thousand Eyes." The wikipedia article give a little info. on Bourdillon: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/F._W._Bourdillon
It is a lovely choice of poem for your sig., Drama, regardless of the author.

[Janine]

Hi, I just revised this poem, that I wrote same time as the other one "Frozen Summer". See what you think? Broken hearted souls can write better, I think. Not sure if this one is as good as my last. It needed revision, I felt. I dug it out of my computer file. Let me know what you think?

no grave to mourn

if there was an earthly grave
I would be better off;
a place to commune with you,
and a stone bench
and birds that sing in the sunset,
light- luminous light -
that filters through the trees
spreading shadowed sympathy
upon this grief of mine.

here I would remember
you in peace -
think how your life
so softly touched my life.
I would sit all day;
patiently, cry and mourn
the loss of you.

But you are only gone
and that is
nowhere for me,
nothing for me.
tears fall,
breaking hope's rays.
now when I lest expect tears
they come,
But there is no release.

I cry, silently,
trapped within
my empty heart
where rain falls, and
flowers no longer thrive
The garden is barren;
branches bear thorns that
pierce as deep as my soul

I cry out loud,
but no one hears
because the cry is silence
This hollow sound echoes in me

alone

[Petrarch's Love]

frozen summer

summer
lost forever
rain too often falls
or perhaps not often enough
with the promise of weeds

for you have left me
a distant voice ending
your last words stain me
I am numb in disbelief
I am frozen in winter once more

nothing is real
the garden is untouched
by human hands, weeds thrive
I cannot bear to look upon its horrid beauty
it blooms in spite of you and I

in spite of my neglect and turning away
butterflies come in abundance
as though to say “we survive”
...only because it is summer
but winter freezes my heart

Janine! This is lovely. I somehow missed you posting it before (what is this other thread you posted it on?) Anyway, I wanted to tell you I was struck with this poem. It made me feel a part of your grief.

[Janine]

Janine! This is lovely. I somehow missed you posting it before (what is this other thread you posted it on?) Anyway, I wanted to tell you I was struck with this poem. It made me feel a part of your grief.

Hi Petrarch, No I never posted it before on any other thread. I had it in my computer file and decided I would revise it some and post it on here today. I am glad you like it. I value your opinion. I truly thought when breaking up, with someone whom I dearly loved, there was no outlet for my grief. You know - when someone dies people all flock to you and are sympathetic. When you break off a relationship - they often say - well, "you are better off now", or "I told you so" or "it was never meant to be", etc. They can be so cruel and cold-hearted, and one suffers in silence. So I was trying to impart this feeling into my poem...of being left all along with one's grief. I am glad you picked up on that and understood. Thank you.
Nice to see you again ~Janine

WHOOPS! When I just wrote this - I thought you were referring to my last post. The other poem "Frozen Summer" I did post in Share a poem" thread before. Thanks for your compliment - seems that one has been well received on other post, too.

[Virgil]

I didn't realize you were posting poems in here Janine. Most people start a thread for each poem. I will have to go back and read through this.

[Petrarch's Love]

Hi Janine--I just saw your second poem, "No Grave to Mourn" which must have been posted while I was penning my other response. I really like that one too. It's like your other one, in that I can feel your emotion in it. I love the way you create a beautiful image of the place you would mourn if you were mourning a death, and then take that away by saying that there is no such place, no ceremony for your loss. The line, "But you are only gone" poignantly cuts into the image you've created in the early part of the poem.

P.S.--You should start up your own thread to post your poems on. I'm sure people would like to read more.

[Janine]

Hi Janine--I just saw your second poem, "No Grave to Mourn" which must have been posted while I was penning my other response. I really like that one too. It's like your other one, in that I can feel your emotion in it. I love the way you create a beautiful image of the place you would mourn if you were mourning a death, and then take that away by saying that there is no such place, no ceremony for your loss. The line, "But you are only gone" poignantly cuts into the image you've created in the early part of the poem.

P.S.--You should start up your own thread to post your poems on. I'm sure people would like to read more.

Really, Petrarch, do you mean that? Post a thread just for my own poems? I never thought they were that good or thought they might be trite and ordinary. But thanks for your nice compliments, it means a lot coming from you who I know has good instincts and tastes in such matters. I always love your poetry. Yes, I did intentionally insert the line "But you are only gone" to reverse or turn the direction of the poem and show how lost the person (myself) is and feels alone in her grief. I have some other poems I posted before Christmas, not as poignant and sad as these two, but I think no one noticed them - in "Share a poem", I think that is the name of the thread. People like you really encourage me to express myself more in poems. They certainly are a good way to release pent up feelings and frustrations, since I still have creative artist block. I suppose many artists alternately wrote poetry - both are so visual. I know Michelangelo wrote some lovely poems. I used to have a book of his sonnets and poems and now I can't locate it, but it was one of my favorites. D.H. Lawrence, who I have studied extensively, alternated his writing with some drawing and painting, when he was in a creative lull he would simply paint. I wonder if writing might thaw out my artist freeze. I hope so. Thanks again for your comments.

[Janine]

I didn't realize you were posting poems in here Janine. Most people start a thread for each poem. I will have to go back and read through this.

Virgil, How did you find me in here? This started out with me suggesting to Adolescent he post his poem he had inserted in "Shared Haiku" after his Haiku entry and it seemed to be confusing everyone. Then before we knew it other people were posting poems of their own. So I decided to join in and post one yesterday and another today. The second one is one I had never posted before. I revised it today, as I was posting it. Petrarach suggested I start a thread of my own poems. I don't know - does one do this? I suppose I might get more comments that way, but I am shy with my poems, so I have decreetly posted the new one in here. Now that I have some good comments I may try the separate thread.

[Adolescent09]

Shy with your poems? Are you kidding me? I thought it was you who so repeatedly said that this forum is made up of people who take poetry lightly? And your poems are great! As for the comment that your poems might receive more comments if you start another topic of your own; I believe this is true. But nonetheless, I like your poetry Janine and am intrigued by the positive comments you receive. And since this topic is now the discussion for more poetry than my own... I think anyone can contribute like the "Share a poem" topic. Well if any of you are interested in commenting another poem, here is one I recently wrote for practice as a new style:

"Volcanic Lava"

Tempests of immortal waves,
crash upon land, proliferating deadly wonder,
blackness all around, accentuated by scarlet,
crevices of life newly ensconced with lava
branching to the outskirts of uninhabited nooks,
where fire brings ice instead of solace
Encompassing this land of spring,
turning it cold and dim,
where it lies as a tomb stone doth lie,
weathered by ceaseless wind.

[Janine]

Shy with your poems? Are you kidding me? I thought it was you who so repeatedly said that this forum is made up of people who take poetry lightly? And your poems are great! As for the comment that your poems might receive more comments if you start another topic of your own; I believe this is true. But nonetheless, I like your poetry Janine and am intrigued by the positive comments you receive. And since this topic is now the discussion for more poetry than my own... I think anyone can contribute like the "Share a poem" topic. Well if any of you are interested in commenting another poem, here is one I recently wrote for practice as a new style:

"Volcanic Lava"

Tempests of immortal waves,
crash upon land, proliferating deadly wonder,
blackness all around, accentuated by scarlet,
crevices of life newly ensconced with lava
branching to the outskirts of uninhabited nooks,
where fire brings ice instead of solace
Encompassing this land of spring,
turning it cold and dim,
where it lies as a tomb stone doth lie,
weathered by ceaseless wind.

Wonderful! I once visited Mt. Saint Helen's and saw the destruction from the volcano. You have perfectly captured it here, without going overboard on complex wording. I really like this poem, Good job...very nice indeed. You keep getting better and better, A.

Thank you so much for your terrific encouragement. I accept these comments graciously from you, Adolescent, who has displayed much talent and has amazed me in the past. I am truly happy to hear you like my poems. I used to write, when I was younger, but now I have resumed it to a small extent on this site. I still have not entered the poetry contest. Seems I never think of one to match the photo in time. I never thought of myself poetically, but more of a visual artist. I will keep trying and sometimes a spark of something descent may emerge. All of you are so encouraging. I will post some more that I wrote and posted and no one responded to. This thread is really active now and that is great. How nice to have seen it develop like this.

[dyingflame]

Yeah..16 posts I had to read to catch up! This thread is vibrant :D
Janine, don't hesitate to post your poetry in a new thread- yes, perhaps you will get more comments that way. For me it worked the other way round (I have a thread which did get some *small* notice but is now asleep here http://www.online-literature.com/forums/showthread.php?p=320447#post320447) so right now I prefer this thread.
Adoloscent, I prefer Volcanic Lava to the other one simply because the imagery is such more powerful- yet simple (without adding on layers upon layers of *extra* images you managed to capture the anger and power of the explosion and the images branched off from these emotions, rather than tried to capture them.) this gives a sense of greater urgency and authenticity to your work. The smothering effect this natural volcanic anger has creates a geniune contrasts that appealed to my senses:

"where fire brings ice instead of solace ---> I liked ice/solace, their sounds being complimentary of each other, and the "S" sound creating the hiss as the white hot lava hits the ice itself.

Encompassing this land of spring --> this is disturbing, sudden, smothering the idyllic nature. This leads to "where it lies as a tomb stone doth lie," completing the image of the funeral of the land for me, enclosing this land
"weathered by ceaseless wind" into the perfect glass coffin made of fire.

This poem is an example of how imagery- when correctly placed and tackled-can create emotions that are linked to our sense. We feel again the awe and fear early man must have felt when he saw these mountains exploding, even though we now understand these phenomena.

Janine, are you sure about me posting the longer poem? It is very long. So somehow I feel it would not fit in this thread. I could give you the URL for my blogspace where I use to post my poetry but then again 99 % of my poems are there, whereas defeating the purpose of my posting here for comments in the first place.)

[dyingflame]

Janine, I also can identify with your belief that grief helps poetry- but I must say that it is not the only emotion or factor which does. It certainly helps with grief though, as a channeling of these feelings- it's what got me started with poetry in the first place a year ago. I broke up with a girl I thought I loved (I'm now almost 18) I had spent an entire summer with her. This produced my first "real" poem-I had written before but for me this was a landmark. I wrote this in an hour one saturday evening:

Yet another night

Gently the sun slowly hides its blushing cheeks
Behind the wavering line that beckons all
Lovers to walk with hearts and hands entwined
Along the freely sighing sounds of repetition
That soothes all worries over and over.

Warm breeze blows salty tears that cling
Just like couples do to each other with the
Human notion of Love in their minds
Giving up their old freedom to the summer air
Of those magic nights teeming with fire.

Three solid months of non-stop smiles and kisses
Cause the track of life to loop events with
Each other while sand also clings to worn-out
Clothes and all is hidden beneath the dark
Velvet coat of yet another night.

Only the multitude of waves remain the only
Witnesses against the enormity that ensues within
The clinging web of tumbling flesh, the rhythm
Of the sea’s lungs complimenting the discovery
Of painful, lustful pleasure until breathing stills.

The two pairs of footsteps by the coast turn
Away like the tide, retreating backwards once again
Into opposite directions while their shadows
Shorten into the innocently smiling dawn
Of which never-ending sorrow is the only souvenir.

[Janine]

Dyingflame - I read your wonderful poem twice and I love it! See, sorrow can be a real catalyst for good poetry. This one just came pouring out of you, I can feel it as I read it...the spontenaity of it. (don't mind my spelling, please). It has a nice easy flow and feels natural. I will read it again and see if there is anything more I would comment on. I like the imagery in the last stanza. Also I like the way the poem is not weighted down by words too hard to fathom. It is simple and direct and paints a vivid picture - sunset becoming finally sunrise (dawn). It seems at 18 or at 56 it hardly matters - a broken heart is a broken heart! Of course, at my age one hopes those days are done. But the pain of loss of someone you loved or held dear is always the same and universal in theme - how many great poets wrote of their lost loves? Usually they are the poems most easily related to.

[Janine]

I wrote these two poems after attending a Christmas concert...merely some impressions.


The Harp

Oh, beautiful harp play gloriously
From fingers sweet with song
And fall upon my ears like moisture
Silken silvery, and sharp as rain drops.



The Concert

Horns blast loud and glorious
Solitary bell rings measured time
Vibrating harp invades my soul
Melody and gladness fill the air!
And pierce like sweet death's first kiss
Sharp arrows of unspeakable passion
Rest softly on my ear alone
For once again time stands still
Safe inside my cozy tomb.



Can you help me? Do you think I need more punctuation in these two poems? At first I had none. Would it be ok to not punctuate at all? I always wonder about these technical things in poetry. Is there a rule that says you have to punctuate? I tend to overdo it sometimes I think, but not sure.

[seasong]

In poetry, well free verse type poetry. Anything is fair game, punctuation is a tool to emphasize a point, the lack thereof makes a point as well as when it is overdone. Experiment, find out which combination most drives home your purpose.

[dyingflame]

agrees with seasong :) i'm writing my linguistics assignment right now so I'm kinda in a hurry.. will comment more later. the long poem i mentioned earlier is this:

Signs of the Times

Gather around me, family and fraternity of friends,
do you feel the hearth warmth on those blood-clogged ice claws?
Likewise, ignore the original call of nature's sin,
and deny its truth with a defying eye- this I recommend.

I reject that call and its very nurturance, I try to- at least;
I flee and escape, hold back its clinging branches
with all the imminent will I must muster.

Nightmares re-fill my every day (did you hear me scream in shame?)
This defiance enables me to pursue, in the sunlit old sea, so cold and true,
a twisted paradise between the nooks and cracks of that first broken village hut.

* * * *

While ensnared in our own traps, my party did not feel the weight,
and we waded down to the waist in what we thought was icy treasure,
leaving our clothes to dry, clearing out, we felt elated as we masturbated
into the waterfalling dreams, as colours suddenly fell, and knocked us out.

Stars, I saw again, padlocked, dragged down and along the bleeding track
a beaten animal pathway- into the square, not friendly gods,
only naked colourless slaves:
Bound, gagged, black metal every way to turn
no more a flattened river-crook, jagged by the rocks- that spinal chord.

Unprofessed gunpowder, now wet-and-useless lingered in our sacks-
and the smell of potatoes filled our minds, pain our backs,
till into the blankness of the horizon we passed our sights.

Knee-caps shattered and burst into fired-up disease, choked up the mud,
in rubbish-fornicated forms and glory chants. I saw gold!
An enormity of it. And, free as I was, I never felt less a man,
a prisoner of the very nature my people had conquered.

I thought,
I will never deny my faith in the Christ to submit to this senseless idol!
No, evil and good are distinct. Not united.
And I am the good. I represent it. And I will slaughter these
barbaric naked infidels- for the lack of respect, as excuse
to prove our world needs not their chants.

* * * *

And the future seemed to beckon as I reckoned the implicated wisdoms
these demon-devils had implanted in a once pure brain of Christian revels.
I knew, while I fought, that outside these demesnes of dusk and forests
I found myself in
there were the true libraries of knowledge I had always known, and was reluctant to let go.

Thus I denied the call of nature
for it brought me only pain:
I'll bring back its exploitation
and plant it in the rain,
And those who birth did give it,
will never rest for gain.

The grain will grow, our children not know, what evils nature holds-
For this world shall shelter them, from that deep unpleased unknown,
and I swear on all that's dear, and by the signs of recent times,
that only good will measure, out of these remembered, silent minds.

[Janine]

I am not sure how to respond to this poem. I am hoping other respond. I find the meaning a bit obscure, but that might be my own limited understanding. I like certain stanza's that are shorter (below- example), but I am still a little unsure of the meaning of the whole poem. Why do you deny the call of nature? Nature is so much a part of us. Another question is - that I can't quite make out when the dream (?) begins and when it ends. The poem is long, but not that long. The thing I find confusing is the way it keeps changing in form, alternating long and short lines.I am not too familiar with this way of writing, but I am not too knowledgable about all kinds of poetry either.
Let someone else comment, too. I would be interested in hearing their ideas. I am going to have to read your poem over several more times to get the idea of it. Be patient. Since it is a longer poem, it is more complex, also, it needs time to sink in.

Thus I denied the call of nature
for it brought me only pain:
I'll bring back its exploitation
and plant it in the rain,
And those who birth did give it,
will never rest for gain.

[dyingflame]

yes one does need to work on it- I just want to ask this: why does it have to be me, dyingflame, that's talking? the persona isn't neccesarily the poet :) ok ill wait a bit and then ill post about it so ill help you get it ok?

[downing]

no grave to mourn

if there was an earthly grave
I would be better off;
a place to commune with you,
and a stone bench
and birds that sing in the sunset,
light- luminous light -
that filters through the trees
spreading shadowed sympathy
upon this grief of mine.

here I would remember
you in peace -
think how your life
so softly touched my life.
I would sit all day;
patiently, cry and mourn
the loss of you.

But you are only gone
and that is
nowhere for me,
nothing for me.
tears fall,
breaking hope's rays.
now when I lest expect tears
they come,
But there is no release.

I cry, silently,
trapped within
my empty heart
where rain falls, and
flowers no longer thrive
The garden is barren;
branches bear thorns that
pierce as deep as my soul

I cry out loud,
but no one hears
because the cry is silence
This hollow sound echoes in me

alone



Wow, Janine. I really loved this one. I think it's your best poem from I all I have read until now. The verses:

and a stone bench
and birds that sing in the sunset,
light- luminous light -
that filters through the trees are wondefully done and they make me recall the time when I was little and sat with my grandma in the churchyard, on a bench, in front of our relatives' graves.It was a spring morning, I remember. That occured to me while reading your poem. I love the whole poem and I like the way in which you broke up the last line. Thrilling.You're talented, Janine! Keep on writing.

[Janine]

Downing, thanks for your lovely remarks on my poem. I don't know if this is my best so far. I kind of prefer "Frozen Spring". All of you are too flattering to me, but it is making me want to write more, so thank you. It is interesting what you said about it reminding you of a time when you were a child. Someone else on this thread mentioned it evoking a personal memory, as well. I thought mostly of the fact that a breakup with someone dear is like a death, especially if you never see the person again, but that unlike a death that you can mourn and put to rest, for the distanced/lost person, one does not have the right or priveledge of mourning one's loss; therefore one cannot easily move on and feels trapped in their grief. As long as you know of the loved ones existence, you are left unable to express the grief of the loss to you; thus there always remains the idea, somewhere within you, that there is the possibility that that person could reconnect with you. If the person were dead one would bury the grief in the grave and hopefully move on. I think this idea comes through in the poem.
Seems my sad poems get way more attention than my happier ones. Grief does make for a good cataylst in expression.

[dyingflame]

agrees with seasong :) i'm writing my linguistics assignment right now so I'm kinda in a hurry.. will comment more later. the long poem i mentioned earlier is this:

Signs of the Times

Gather around me, family and fraternity of friends,
do you feel the hearth warmth on those blood-clogged ice claws?
Likewise, ignore the original call of nature's sin,
and deny its truth with a defying eye- this I recommend.

I reject that call and its very nurturance, I try to- at least;
I flee and escape, hold back its clinging branches
with all the imminent will I must muster.

Nightmares re-fill my every day (did you hear me scream in shame?)
This defiance enables me to pursue, in the sunlit old sea, so cold and true,
a twisted paradise between the nooks and cracks of that first broken village hut.

* * * *

While ensnared in our own traps, my party did not feel the weight,
and we waded down to the waist in what we thought was icy treasure,
leaving our clothes to dry, clearing out, we felt elated as we masturbated
into the waterfalling dreams, as colours suddenly fell, and knocked us out.

Stars, I saw again, padlocked, dragged down and along the bleeding track
a beaten animal pathway- into the square, not friendly gods,
only naked colourless slaves:
Bound, gagged, black metal every way to turn
no more a flattened river-crook, jagged by the rocks- that spinal chord.

Unprofessed gunpowder, now wet-and-useless lingered in our sacks-
and the smell of potatoes filled our minds, pain our backs,
till into the blankness of the horizon we passed our sights.

Knee-caps shattered and burst into fired-up disease, choked up the mud,
in rubbish-fornicated forms and glory chants. I saw gold!
An enormity of it. And, free as I was, I never felt less a man,
a prisoner of the very nature my people had conquered.

I thought,
I will never deny my faith in the Christ to submit to this senseless idol!
No, evil and good are distinct. Not united.
And I am the good. I represent it. And I will slaughter these
barbaric naked infidels- for the lack of respect, as excuse
to prove our world needs not their chants.

* * * *

And the future seemed to beckon as I reckoned the implicated wisdoms
these demon-devils had implanted in a once pure brain of Christian revels.
I knew, while I fought, that outside these demesnes of dusk and forests
I found myself in
there were the true libraries of knowledge I had always known, and was reluctant to let go.

Thus I denied the call of nature
for it brought me only pain:
I'll bring back its exploitation
and plant it in the rain,
And those who birth did give it,
will never rest for gain.

The grain will grow, our children not know, what evils nature holds-
For this world shall shelter them, from that deep unpleased unknown,
and I swear on all that's dear, and by the signs of recent times,
that only good will measure, out of these remembered, silent minds.



I think I need to frequent other boards of this forum, not merely personal poetry..perhaps I'll gain more notoriety that way because right now I feel I'm hardly getting any comments except from you Janine, and I thank you for it.

Also, I would like to see new participants to this thread posting their own !
:)

Shall I post my take on signs of the times? it's difficult to relate to on purpose.

my blog page where I posted most of my stuff is www.dyingflame.blog.com, anybody is invited to drop by and leave a comment :)

[Janine]

I think I need to frequent other boards of this forum, not merely personal poetry..perhaps I'll gain more notoriety that way because right now I feel I'm hardly getting any comments except from you Janine, and I thank you for it.

Also, I would like to see new participants to this thread posting their own !
:)

Shall I post my take on signs of the times? it's difficult to relate to on purpose.

my blog page where I posted most of my stuff is www.dyingflame.blog.com, anybody is invited to drop by and leave a comment :)

Dyingflame, You can certainly frequent other threads on this site (feel free), but don't give up on us that easily. People are busy (in real life space) and so it sometimes takes time to get back to the threads. Your poetry is quite intricate and it is not easy always to comment on. I have tried my best, and others will if you give them a chance. Be patient. It might help to post some in other poetry threads, or even the same poem again in another thread. Beware of blocking, which I just read a warning about, from one of the moderators. One should not post several poems at once since it tends to monopolize the thread - sees rules and regulations (somewhere on this site). If you let the poem sit awhile, someone else will comment I am sure. I need time with the last one you posted. I find it difficult sometimes - they are so complex. I think you have talent but I do not know that much about poetry. Hopefully Pendragon will comment on your poems. He is a good one to go to for advice and comment. Hope this helps you. J

PS: Great idea making a blog of your poems. I will certainly read them but I am quite busy today.

[dyingflame]

thanks janine you're right. i tried to come across as different from what i really am in my first post (remember?) but essentialy Im just a 17 year old who tries to write and is very enthusiastic about it. im no critic or literary expert - i just feel i am a poet who loves writing and reading poetry :)

signs of the times is really too heavy...i write simpler stuff though, perhaps i should post that.
janine, you define yourself as a visual artist? from what i read you have managed to translate that talent to poetry :) you paint images with words that carve feelings/ memories and emotions that are unique to each reader, but are so universal!! :)

ps- i understand the whole busy thing very well since im doing my a levels in 80 days and only visit here just before i drop asleep exhausted from a 16 hr long day of lectures and studying !

[Janine]

thanks janine you're right. i tried to come across as different from what i really am in my first post (remember?) but essentialy Im just a 17 year old who tries to write and is very enthusiastic about it. im no critic or literary expert - i just feel i am a poet who loves writing and reading poetry :)

signs of the times is really too heavy...i write simpler stuff though, perhaps i should post that.
janine, you define yourself as a visual artist? from what i read you have managed to translate that talent to poetry :) you paint images with words that carve feelings/ memories and emotions that are unique to each reader, but are so universal!! :)

ps- i understand the whole busy thing very well since im doing my a levels in 80 days and only visit here just before i drop asleep exhausted from a 16 hr long day of lectures and studying !

Glad you understand, Dyingflame. It is fine to be not just a critic, but a simple poet trying his best, as you put it "Im just a 17 year old who tries to write and is very enthusiastic about it." Enthusiasm is the key and persistence is what will get you there. I think heavy poetry is just fine - it connects with your inner-self. It may be harder for others on the site to understand your poetry, if more complex, and may need a little interpretation from you; but never stop writing this way, if you enjoy that sort of deep meaning in your writing. Your poems are quite marvelous and well written; DF you do have talent. You are so young and will have many years to develop that gift. I wish I were young and could say the same. But I am enjoying myself on here enough, to satisfy my hunger to be creative in some way. I don't aspire to being a great poet at my age.
I thank you so much for your compliments. I hardly had the nerve to show anyone those poems, I wrote several years ago. Some I have written recently or revised the earlier ones, since I feel I am learning more all the time from this site and other people. I am a visual artist, educated to be an illustrator. In a way the "seeing" is the same visually translated into poetry, just another form of art. Many artists, I understand, also were writers and visa-versa. I find that so interesting, don't you? Perhaps the physical is the mental in actuality. The two are one in all thought - thus art. My artist sensitivity makes it easy for me to express myself, but I have sometimes a lack of extensive knowledge in vocabulary. This I wish to improve on. But thanks so much to everyone who has encouraged me. It is truly inspiring!

[Adolescent09]

Dyingflame, perhaps your poems would receive more comments if you posted a new topic thread or in the "share a poem" thread because this one was originally meant for discussion/comments of my love poem all the way on page one. This topic should have died some time ago but others began posting poetry such as you and Janine and you're realizing that you're not receiving the comments you desire. I'm pretty sure you would receive a lot more attention if you made your own thread--Hope that helps.

[dyingflame]

i do have a thread, on the first page in fact, called my latest poem..but i barely got 5 comments. not that it bothers me a lot since im new here but its nice that now i know you, janine, seasong, ndl, etc by their nicknames :)

[Janine]

i do have a thread, on the first page in fact, called my latest poem..but i barely got 5 comments. not that it bothers me a lot since im new here but its nice that now i know you, janine, seasong, ndl, etc by their nicknames :)

True, it takes time to know people here. It helps when they get to know you. You might enter the poetry contest sometime and that way you get a lot of exposure. Even if you go in to enquire about it, people there will encourage you to join in. I have not posted there yet, but I am presently working on a poem for this new picture that is posted. We write the poems to a photo someone chooses. It is really fun and no one is critical of your work. Only after the contest has ended can people comment and usually they will, which gets them to know you - through your work. Other threads help expose you also, like Shared Haiku or any of the game threads....just to get to know other people is a good thing.

Adolescent, don't dispair - just write some more poems for us to read. You are so talented and I want to read more of your work. Who cares at this point what this thread is titled or started out about. It has gotten much attention, which is good. I have posted and sometimes gotten no response, so why abandon a good thing. If we can keep this thread going awhile longer why not? I will try to think up a name of a thread for all of us to post in in the furture, so that if this thread ends we can move on and regroup there.

[Adolescent09]

Well then here is a poem I wrote at 13:
The Monarch of the Wild

Concealed in a land of yellow grass
yellow meandering whites on a graceful back,
the furry snake in it's wake, twitching twitching twitching,
A mind appearing at rest
Brown eyes flitting like moths by light
Always watching for an intriguing pounce,
And just as the wait grows restless,
A herd of white and black stripes pass
the body aroused, voracious in sense, mood ignited,
one leap towards the flash of white on black
a victim pulled asunder,
the scarlet dampening the fallen's striped back,
the monarch is ready to dine..

And here is a recent poem:
The Sponge in our Heads

On blocks of hard structure behind your eyes,
I am what some may pretentiously surmise
a sublime, enigmatic, ineffable disguise,
I make you move,
I make you think,
I invigorate wrath and treachery,
make you deceitful and complacent,
volatile and versatile,
forget the intricate analyses
which say so and so of me,
if you do too much mental work you build my left,
too much the other way, you build my right,
I am a simple piece of clay,
and am the result of my owner's labor,
my folds depict it's person's sagacity,
my flatness depicts indolence,
the main question isn't who I am but...
What will you make me?

[Janine]

Adolescent, I like both poems very much but I think I love the first one best. You are quite talented, A, in a natural way. I like the flow of your poems and the mix in this one of the nature is lovely and full of imagery. I can't believe you wrote such a lovely poem when you were just 13. No wonder your mother compliments you so much; she must be emensely proud. You are so lucky. I recently showed my poems to my mother and my sister, and neither said much about them. Later when I asked my mother her opinion, she merely said she liked poems that rhymed. Oh well, nice try on my part. At least she thought I was a good artist most of my life.
The second poem, I admit, I am not too clear on the meaning or what you are saying. That is ok since I really like things that are more obscure. I am a big reader of D.H.Lawrence. Your first poem reminded me of Lawrence's poems - one about the tortoise is good and he wrote one about a snake....but his work is very symbolic.
I will read the second poem again and see what my second impression is...maybe I will better understand it. Of course, it is well written and flows easily, as all your poems do. I am glad you have posted these two new ones for us to see and share. I hope other people comment on them, as well as myself. Keep writing and making poetic music!

[dyingflame]

don't laugh but although i have heared of haiku i don't know what it is exactly or how it is written :) i know it is japanese and has 3 lines i think?

ill comment more later .. im very busy right now

[Janine]

don't laugh but although i have heared of haiku i don't know what it is exactly or how it is written :) i know it is japanese and has 3 lines i think?

ill comment more later .. im very busy right now

dyingflame, I would never laugh, because I did not know how to write them either when I came on the site. I wrote my first couple haiku all wrong and someone had to explain it to me.:blush: Here is the first page of the thread -


Shared HAIKU ! Join in, it's fun!

Ok, so, I write a haiku, then the next poster uses the last line of my haiku... k?

Haiku:
1. A Japanese lyric verse form having three unrhymed lines of five, seven, and five syllables, traditionally invoking an aspect of nature or the seasons.

2. A poem written in this form.


what will you become
anything you want to be
Truth in time will tell



dyingflame, Try it, it is fun and you will get better and quicker at thinking of lines to write. It is a good exercise for writing poetry. Helped me improve, I think. :)

[dyingflame]

I will :)

what do you think about this? please!!
when i say what do you think i mean what do you think ABOUT when reading this poem, not wheter its good or bad ;0

Breakwater Ritual

A healthy breeze pervades the lungs-
and lifts them over air,
widens nostrils and inhales
the surf-spray of despair.

Gas-like breath, invisible desrepair
caresses sallowly our tongues-
with salty smiles indulges
what our heart and mind preserves.

For the cushion-like phallic
projections revel in the want of April
sludge- the kneeling down to
revere Love in all its breathless
choking lust.

[Janine]

Hi Dyingflame,

I have read this poem a couple of times now, and I am not sure if I am getting through to my feelings or thoughts on it. I find it confusing and I not sure I really understand it. I think I pretty much understand the first stanza; then the first line in the second - "Gas-like breath, invisible desrepair (is this a typo - do you mean disrepair?), then second line "caresses sallowly our tongues-" How can gas-like breathe be in disrepair and how can it caress sallowly our tonques? Can you explain this to me? It ends with "with salty smiles indulges what our heart and mind preserves". I get an image with several of the words of being by the ocean - is this accurate to say?
For the last stanza I get a lusty feeling of spring desire, but then you throw in the word "sludge" and that really does not make sense to me unless you now see the act of lust as unnatural and the poet, or yourself, the slave of lust. I don't really understand "cushion-like phallic projections" and I would hate to ask you what exactly you are describing there? I find this part of the poem sort of objectionable or crude and do not think it enhances your poem or makes it more sensual or earthy, if that be your intent.
In essense, is the poem about the act of lust on the beach and a feeling dispair or disgust?
I can't say I dislike the poem, I think it good but it needs some rewriting. Some of the wording really throws the reader (or maybe just me personally) off a bit.
Hopefully, Penn will comment on this one. I may be way off the mark, but at least I tried.

[dyingflame]

hell janine thanks a lot for your very helpful comments!! that was waaayy beyond the backup I expected! Well this is essentially a draft, it's not complete really. I just had this idea and wrote it you know? But you were very very close to what I was feeling, congratulations! Hehe it is a bit personal though but yes it is about what I was feeling back then mainly this rift between lust and love. There's this place in Malta, beneath the harbour breakwater, where many..uh..affairs are carried out.And its dirty- way dirty. I just observed this and linked it to the roaring sea..don't know exactly..any suggestions on rewriting? I like its simplicity, I would like to retain that

[dyingflame]

hell janine thanks a lot for your very helpful comments!! that was waaayy beyond the backup I expected! Well this is essentially a draft, it's not complete really. I just had this idea and wrote it you know? But you were very very close to what I was feeling, congratulations! Hehe it is a bit personal though but yes it is about what I was feeling back then mainly this rift between lust and love. There's this place in Malta, beneath the harbour breakwater, where many..uh..affairs are carried out.And its dirty- way dirty. I just observed this and linked it to the roaring sea..don't know exactly..any suggestions on rewriting? I like its simplicity, I would like to retain that - and I don't object to crude implications in the language employed when it is neccesary.

[Janine]

Hi Dyingflame, glad you did not take my comments offensively or negatively. I am an avid fan of D.H. Lawrence's work and if anyone broke through social boundries and sexual restrictions it was he. I have now read most of his work and 3 full biographies. Have you ever read him? Just mentioning it to show you how openminded I really am, I may have come off stuffy. Lawrence gets into some earthy type poetry like yours.
I just felt that your poem was a bit murky and I did not know exactly what was being said in some of the lines. If it be a rough draft that is good and you can rewrite it or even make it a bit longer to convey the scene you are telling me about in your post. I think I would look at the poem placed in that time frame and make some reference to "the under the harbour breakwater" - is it a rock formation or a boardwalk? I am not familiar with it. I now understand that that is a place in Malta, but reading the poem I had no notion at all of Malta. Not everyone would know that, or be able to relate to that or the time span in the life of the poet - you. I live in the US, so I had no solid idea of the imagery. It is a good idea but needs better to be explored and expressed and not so obscurely. Maybe if it was a really sorid place you should indicate that and a feeling of anger towards the past or guilt or regret would be even better. You need some type of emotion in the poem and need to get through to it within yourself first, to express it effectively in the poem. Personal experience is always a good element in one's poetry, so go and explore it! Hope this is helpful. :)

[downing]

.........

[dyingflame]

hey janine; I have edited and extended "breakwater ritual" it is now:

Beneath Spent Floodlights

A healthy breeze hugs them both,
Wraps them round its oldest coat
Takes them by the hand beyond
The straightest channels of the earth.

Love bloomed still in all those places-
Where men had fought and felt dull pain:
Now, their sons felt only pleasure
to hear the sighs of climaxing rain.

After smashing up those broken floodlights,
The burning scent was hanged by the air
And climbed the lungs by lifting sights,
- Widening nostrils, and inhaling deeply
The surf-spray of despair.

The candles round the craters
Are extinguished in slow rush,
They’re gathered up and hidden now-
As the night falls down with a crash.

There’s something in the body pulsing
And pausing, retreating, drawing breadth
Crashing again on concrete and tarmac:
Do you believe in parking lots?

Waves upon waves end, spent electrically.
It seems the world is made of gas:
Blasting upon our faces, warmly impaling,
Damply drawing us inside its confidence,
And in the lost sensation of flesh’s ambivalence.

Bitterly, the wind caresses shallowly our tongues-
As dogs yelp outside the blind houses,
While exchanges happen and salty smiles
Indulge what our heart and mind preserve.

For the denim’s thrusting harshness
revels in the want of the summer sweat-
the kneeling down to revere Love
in all its breathless choking lust.


...better? worse? dunno :)


hey downing; I quite like your poems melancholic tone- accentuated by the imagery. It definitely stands out, starkly in contrast, with the zillions of poems written out there that deal with the same theme. In a good way. I also like the apparent lack of versification; verse length seems almost random. Sometimes short, sometimes rambling..It perfectly captures the image of the lone walker on a frozen busy boulevard

[Unprodigy]

Adolescent09, I think your poem is smooth and sweet, it makes you crack a smile when you read it.

[Dreadnought]

Something I wrote for my girlfriend, on the subject of love. It was in response to a sonnet, about me, that she wrote.

Let break the dam, let flood the tide;
O let run these waters so deep,
Over hills, over mountains,
Through the ravines of the mind.

Let blow the winds, the trades of earth;
O let gale the forces of change;
Blast the rocks, scatter the sands,
Free this body from its chains

But please, o God, let well alone
That Fire in the sacred, ruined
Heart of man.

Raze the world, but I beg you please
Love. Leave the fire to char, sigh, and
Ignite us.

O flood, gale, can you
Keep with me this flame that burneth...

[downing]

hey downing; I quite like your poems melancholic tone- accentuated by the imagery. It definitely stands out, starkly in contrast, with the zillions of poems written out there that deal with the same theme. In a good way. I also like the apparent lack of versification; verse length seems almost random. Sometimes short, sometimes rambling..It perfectly captures the image of the lone walker on a frozen busy boulevard


Hi, DF this is the first time I'm talking to you. So, I'm pleased to meet you. You are a very talented poet. I read your latest poem ''Beneath Spent Floodlights'' which is quite interesting. Unfortunately, I did not get everything. I guess my English is not as good as yours, though none of us is an English Native. I am from Romania, I see you are from Malta. Do you speak Italian over there? Malta must be a wondeful country. The capital is La Valleta, isn't it? I like very much Geography and since I was little I started learning the capitals of the countries...
But now, let me go back to the subject: you are talented, indeed. I also viewed your web page-very fine. I will look more on it other time.
I see that your poem has got rhyme. That's fine. Some traditional-like poem? I can write easier a modern-like onw, as you also noticed.
Thank you very much for your beautiful comments... that flattered me. This is just my 5th poem and I have alreday got such a great comment.
Your poem is very good! Keep on wirting and thank you so much again for your comments. I am looking forward to reading other poems of yours,
Downing

[downing]

.......…

[dyingflame]

what's strange in that?? it's beautiful! Dark, mysterious, decadent- almost gothic- in my opinion, it offers a certain pall, and that sense of balance between light and dark really comes through, enhanced by the repetition of the title in the poem itself. I think that its only weak link is "bells tolling" (that line could be extended to stand for something (death, perhaps..?) Still, better than my 6th ever poem :) keep it up! Particularly appealing to me is the "italian opera in the background"; it makes me think of the late 19th century, of gramophones etc
I'm pleased to meet you too D :) I don't think one should aim to "get" a poem or understand it- rather, I think one should let your feelings and thoughts while reading it (that stem from it) guide you..so it is not a question of language- particularly in this case; where the diction is relatively simple but the content is on purpose not clear and murky (since these "acts" are done in darkness!)
I admit I don't know as much about Romania as you seem to do about Malta- although my cousin is a native Romanian (he was adopted by my aunt and uncle in 1991.) I suspect you have at least as much of English influence there as here though (most Romanians I've known online write splendid english; like you btw) Well yes here we speak Maltese, English and most speak Italian (I for one study languages.) The capital is Valletta City named after the Grand Master La Valette who wanted it to be built as a fortress.
BTW thanks for checking out my blog.com page..it has been reduced dramatically last week (I used to post every single poem I ever wrote there but have removed most of them now; opting for a cycle system where I temporarily post a new poem up for the time it takes me to write another one- having a maximum of 6 articles online at a time)

[Adolescent09]

That was a pretty nice review dyingflame and I pretty much agree with the adept contrast between light and darkness in downing's poem. I also agree that the inclusion of "bell tolls" should be either omitted or expounded on with maybe another verse, but it all flows beautifully. Seriously, you are all great poets here, and anyone irrelevant of age or experience could learn and inherit such vast knowledge by just reading your works. I will add a poem right here in this quick reply just off the top of my head to keep this great thread running...

Imagination

This rusted key of stone,
plucked from yonder grove,
to unlock and pass the threshold,
whence forth only few know

be it gardens of honey sickles,
carpeted with ancient trees,
where the young things dance wild and fickle
beneath silver tipped leaves

or golden ball on celestial string,
reflecting expansive dunes,
lapped by the blue that sings,
passive, mellow tunes,

but this garden,
and this key,
may be a sanction for you and me,
for imagination has no boundaries.

[Janine]

Downing, good, I have found your two poems. I will comment later and on the other poets and new poems in this thread.
To everyone, sorry I have been too long away from this thread. I see it is quite active again - great! Keep writing. You all write such interesting things. I cannot keep up with you but I will try.
Downing, I especially like that second poem with the lilacs and I read part of the comment following by dyingflame, and agree with the part I did read so far. I will check on this thread later and make some in-depth observations and add my thoughts. Wonderful thread and good poems!:thumbs_up

[downing]

Hey you all! Thank you so much for reading my poems. have thought about your indications concerning the verse ''bells tolling'' and decided to extend it. I am posting the last verion right now...hope this is better. Please, tell me what do you think:

Lilac Flowers in Half-Dark


Lilac flowers in half-dark
lighted just by the moon…
Italian opera in the background;
fire crackling in the chimney,
an old hand moving a globe,
revealing a dead spider.
Lilac flowers in half-dark,
sniffed by old nostrils-
ending like the spider.
Bells tolling in the wet churchyard;
no more nostrils to smell
lilac flowers in half-dark…


Adolescent, I read your last posted poem and loved it! You're a great poet and I felt flattered to receive such a positive comment from you! I read many of your poems but didn't feel able to comment any of them. But their value always touched me. I'm pleased to meet you, A. I have to say this as I have never talked to you before.


Still, better than my 6th ever poem :)
Oh,dyingflame that's already too much. I can't believe it. I wish I would write once as you do now. You're flattering me too much! Thanks for telling the impression which my poem made you...glad that it could create such images in your mind. And about saying it seems decadent. I was thinking about the same thing while writing it. So glad I could convey it. I enjoy reading decadent poets-they seems one of the most alluring to me, especially because of the musicality of their poems and the combination of senses...
I really liked reading what the poem made you think about. I agree with everything. Such a great review, every poet would wish such a kind critic.

Janine, I am looking forward to reading your comments and in-depth observation. I am always cherishing your ideas, my dear friend!

I am grateful for all your comments! As I am the least experienced from here in this art of poetry, all your ideas are so precious to me!
Keep on writing all of you! You're great!

[dyingflame]

hi downing; it was no problem, reading and thinking and feeling through poetry is one of my chief passions :) I just wanted to tell you some of my opinions about what you wrote though:

"I am posting the last version right now..." I've been writing poetry only for one year and lately I have begun to realize that as much one can regard a poem as complete...is it ever final or finished? Lately I've been going back to something I wrote many a time, making it better, but not finished. I'm going against Minhinnick's advice but well, he's established. I'm not!
and quoting the same minhinnick, the poet's best friend is his worst critic! kindness has nothing to do with it- if i didn't like it I wouldn't hesitate to tell you my honest views; but personally your writing really appealed to me and my tastes :) seems we like the same stuff :)
keep writing; keep exploring; keep reading poetry- it will help you even more :) lol I want to post my 6th ever poem (just so you see the contrast)
ill see if i can find it :)

[dyingflame]

ok this is my sixth ever one (since i began writing seriously - prior to march 206 I just wrote "poetry" to a girl i though i loved lol i was 14 years old and all that- this was written when i turned 16 (ill soon turn 18 now) :P


Guarding the avenue


I'm scared of the leaves guarding the avenue
watchfully from their perched positions
On the cement pavements.

I watch them with distrust.

Scared of the wind, afraid of the trees,
fearing everything that haunts all dreams.
Avoiding the hub and the wheel of noise,
fearing the crabs lining the shallows.

Loving the eels gliding with ease,
I feel affection for death and disease
I feed the vulture with late Bonnie's corpse
feasting my eyes on where sorrow kneels.

My hearts calls to the filthy flames and the
fires tearing down the forest's floors.
I'd kiss and adore the hand that sparked
the first flicker that finds the end.

Wanting to see beyond the last-gate
Watching them all like a constant enemy
whispering the world's downfall with the wind,
shouting madness at storming rain.

The curtains are down to hold back sunlight
but leaves too are scared of me...

[Adolescent09]

I hope you know, dying,that age really doesn't mean much when it comes to poetry.. Take for instance this 12 year old girl who wrote this:

When fireflies begin to wink
over the stubble near the wood,
ghost-of-the-air,
the grey owl, glides into dusk

Over the sprice, a drift of smoke,
over the juniper knoll,
whispering wings,
making the sound of silk unfurling,
in the soft blur of starlight
a puff of feathers blown out.

Terrible fixed eyes,
talons sheathed in down,
refute this floating wraith.

Before the shapes of mist
show white beneath the moon,
the rabbit or the rat
will know the knives of doom,
the pothooks swinging out of space.

But now the muffled hunter
moves like smoke, like wind
scarcely apprehended,
barely glimpsed and gone,
like a grey thought
fanning the margins of the mind.

Then a 45 year old who wrote this:

In filtered light,
pale walls
and paler yet
the spaces
where pictures used to hang.
Dusty shelves
and filmy window panes,
one limp, lace curtain
left behind.
Faded flowers
in a jar.
A shoe, forgotten,
dropped,
a crumpled carton
kicked aside. Souvenirs
in shades of grey
of shadowed lives that slipped away.

Both of these poems were submitted in the same competition to describe the color "grey" and although the second poem won both are utterly fantastic. You can see that the 33 year difference between the ages of the poets has little to do with the greatness of their works.

[dyingflame]

I never implied it did; I was just speaking about ME. Me me me me me. When I was 14, my poetry sucked. Period :D well some may say it still does lol. but you have a great point and agree a 100 % with you. But in my case, when I was 12 years old my writings were not mature enough. Don't you see any difference between "guarding the avenue" (which was written by me a year ago) and what I am writing now? I think we're approx. the same age aren't we?
You say that poem was written by a 12 year old and the other by a 33 year old; your examples would convince anyone that age does not matter, but still- most times it helps. Most 12 years old cannot write like that.

[downing]

I agree with both of you. The poems posted by Adolescent are convincing, but dyingflame is also write. Time does goes hand in hand with experience, we haven't how to neglect this. Well, you're both right. As about me, even though I haven't written more than 6 poems till now I can notice the difference between the first and the last.
Dyingflame, I read ''Guarding the avenue''. It was written when you were 16, wasn't it? I'm 14 now. I liked it. Maybe you are too critic with your own poems. It isn't that bad. Of course you improved your style. Two years passed.

[Janine]

:thumbs_up I agree with Downing.
Naturally everyone is going to improve in time and practice. I loved Adolescent's "Guarding the Avenue". A, you are too hard on yourself and also so much revising later of earlier work will drive you crazy after awhile. I know from an artistic standpoint, that I tend to do that with my own artwork and all it does is cause me grief. For instance, I tend to not finish a work - probably thinking I can work more into the piece later on or change things. It is not so good to do this - usually I just end up not finishing the art, which makes me feel badly.
Even in studying great poet's/author's work, one can see the fine progression within their own work over time. It is the way things are; experience helps us all progress and change so naturally the work will do so as well. I can agree with A, that in some instances you can post a poem by a person of much older age and one of youth and both poems are equally wonderful and good. It all depends on the person writing it. But within yourself you will definitely see improvement if you keep on writing.
In conclusion, like Downing stated, both Dyingflame and Adolescent make fine points and both are correct.

Downing, please forgive me for not going over your two poems; by now I should have. I have been too busy but will do that soon. Patience, my dear.:D

I also wanted to commend all of you. There have been some great poems posted on this thread. Keep up the fine creative streak!

[Vada Dagon]

I have to say a very well written poem and very nice.
Not something I would post on my wall but I like it well enough.

[downing]

Vada Dagon, which poem are you talking about?Tell us the title

[Janine]

hey janine; I have edited and extended "breakwater ritual" it is now:

Beneath Spent Floodlights

A healthy breeze hugs them both,
Wraps them round its oldest coat
Takes them by the hand beyond
The straightest channels of the earth.

Love bloomed still in all those places-
Where men had fought and felt dull pain:
Now, their sons felt only pleasure
to hear the sighs of climaxing rain.

After smashing up those broken floodlights,
The burning scent was hanged by the air
And climbed the lungs by lifting sights,
- Widening nostrils, and inhaling deeply
The surf-spray of despair.

The candles round the craters
Are extinguished in slow rush,
They’re gathered up and hidden now-
As the night falls down with a crash.

There’s something in the body pulsing
And pausing, retreating, drawing breadth
Crashing again on concrete and tarmac:
Do you believe in parking lots?

Waves upon waves end, spent electrically.
It seems the world is made of gas:
Blasting upon our faces, warmly impaling,
Damply drawing us inside its confidence,
And in the lost sensation of flesh’s ambivalence.

Bitterly, the wind caresses shallowly our tongues-
As dogs yelp outside the blind houses,
While exchanges happen and salty smiles
Indulge what our heart and mind preserve.

For the denim’s thrusting harshness
revels in the want of the summer sweat-
the kneeling down to revere Love
in all its breathless choking lust.


...better? worse? dunno :)


hey downing; I quite like your poems melancholic tone- accentuated by the imagery. It definitely stands out, starkly in contrast, with the zillions of poems written out there that deal with the same theme. In a good way. I also like the apparent lack of versification; verse length seems almost random. Sometimes short, sometimes rambling..It perfectly captures the image of the lone walker on a frozen busy boulevard

Dyingflame, I don't know how I missed your new revision of this poem -this is quite a rewrite. I am sorry I did not get back to our discussion of the poem till now. I have been on other threads and there has been my concentration. I decided today to go back to a certain point in this thread and read everything - I have been doing that for almost an hour.
So I am up to this poem. I really like the rewrite. Some of the lines are exquisite. It gives me more of a sense of the whole scene under the breakwater. I will read it again, but it is a fine job. You have thought out each line and the poem feels more coherent. It flows well with your thoughts. It feels personal and not just bitter. There is much more emotion and deep feeling in it. You have gotten through to that and the idea is a good one. Let me get back to you on a second reading. I am impressed - fine job DF!

I must go over the next posted poem, which is my good friend, Cristina's. I have copied it out to read offline, and think about. You people are so creative and write so many poems - it is wonderful!

It is Friday here so I am very busy in the afternoon. I will get back to everyone this evening and hopefully catch up on this very "active" thread.:D

[dyingflame]

hey janine- thanks a lot for noticing and your in depth crit of that poem, i really appreciated it, it felt great coming back here :) sorry i've been long for almost a week but I had exceeded my 1GB limit and my connection was reduced to almost nothing (i am a student and therefore have the lowest package my isp provides heh to cope)
also, ive been busy as i've suddenly become one of two leaders of a group of 17 young writers like myself and am organizing an acticivity to showcase their works..an exhibition in the college foyer and then a discussion/ creative writing workshop..hope it goes down well :)

btw sorry to point this out janine but you wrote somewhere "I loved Adolescent's "Guarding the Avenue" ...but that was mine :P i appreciate that it was a mistake but i needed to clarify. That poem was a kind of landmark for me as well.

Thanks downing; many people like "Guarding the Avenue.. i like how dark and maniacal it sounds, the persona really seems driven out of mind a la king lear..."shouting madness at storming rain..." and closing himself in the darkness inside with the "curtains down to hold back sunlight"

[Janine]

hey janine- thanks a lot for noticing and your in depth crit of that poem, i really appreciated it, it felt great coming back here :) sorry i've been long for almost a week but I had exceeded my 1GB limit and my connection was reduced to almost nothing (i am a student and therefore have the lowest package my isp provides heh to cope)
also, ive been busy as i've suddenly become one of two leaders of a group of 17 young writers like myself and am organizing an acticivity to showcase their works..an exhibition in the college foyer and then a discussion/ creative writing workshop..hope it goes down well :)

btw sorry to point this out janine but you wrote somewhere "I loved Adolescent's "Guarding the Avenue" ...but that was mine :P i appreciate that it was a mistake but i needed to clarify. That poem was a kind of landmark for me as well.

Thanks downing; many people like "Guarding the Avenue.. i like how dark and maniacal it sounds, the persona really seems driven out of mind a la king lear..."shouting madness at storming rain..." and closing himself in the darkness inside with the "curtains down to hold back sunlight"

Dyingflame, so sorry - I probably knew it was you writing "Guarding the Avenue" but just got the two of you mixed up. I really liked the poem. You are doing well on here and did you notice that you folks have gotten up to 7 pages of postings - marvelous! Keep writing everyone. I love reading them.

Sorry you have been having computer problems. I can relate since I could use a better computer myself. I was having problems too and took some stuff off my hard-drive and it seems to have straightened out some.
They all tell me "back up your files" - same advice to you. Take something off you hard-drive and get back to normal on the computer, so you'll have lots of space to write more poems;)

[dyingflame]

it's the internet connection service I own that's crappy not my computer though there are definitely better computers lol..the problem is that onvol (malta's leading broadband internet provider) has downgraded its performance of the ultralite services to students where you pay lm 5.95 a month to force people to buy the 12.95 a month package and get into their telephony scheme. it's all marketing. i phoned customer care and the solutions to my problem was either stop using the service everyday (after seven months of services, "ultralite"'s definition is no longer "the ideal package for students and families" but an "always on cable internet connection to replace dial-up") or to upgrade services and pay more. the capitalist always wins. heh

anyway I have a new poem (which I love and hate at the same time) tell me what you think guys:) what does it make you think or feel?

Playing at Battlefields

1. Reconnaissance

We both crouch- besieged, battalion victims-
behind haphazardly-strewn stones,
discussing strategies of oranges and lemons
fallen after standing our last winter assault.

We rise- behind us the homes of our fathers
were left, reminders of ploughs and sprinklers,
of crumbling mismatched rubble walls
that seem to sag into the sky
and lure the terraced succulence
on the waiting maws of drooling dogs.

Then we make it into battle- after school,
To play at picking potatoes- while we fight,
patriotically in the snows and smudge
our burning noses with camouflage.

I scout ahead.
With these fortresses they built and still build,
giggling, we blend, merge and
with our vast surroundings,
emerge- exposed to calls.

2. Retirement

Our Selves are lost to meals-
the thunder in the sky rumbles
not in stomachs but our intent.

Not one other soul seems living.

Except the generals with their chalk
Who go away and leave our chains
To swing, to slide, to go around,

But not enough, we’re still outnumbered;
And our experience is outstripped
From our uniformed backs and ripped-

At nine o’ clock each morning,
Our army bus beats our retreat
in shining yellow jeering laughs.

As the sun jumps behind hard soil,
Our Enemies flash twinkling by,
Rushing rubber, melting tarmac-
And roar away in blasts of waves,
their converters broken down.

(we later exhale
lead on our fathers’ crops,
and leave our paper weapons
on the counters of gun shops.)

[downing]

Oh, DF this was really great, believe me! I loved it! I cannot understand how you can hate it, but of course this is your trouble as an artist. Now, I've got a question: I'm not sure whether you wanted to illustrate the child's way through life, from childhood till maturity? Not sure whether I got the idea you had when you wrote this. If I'm wrong, I'm sorry. Just please do tell me if I caught your idea.
Keep on writing. I am always looking forward to reading your poems, which always prove to be stupendous!
Glad you came back on the site!
I haven't written anything lately, but I've got an idea and I'm trying to jot it down. Hope it will work but I promise nothing to come soon.

[dyingflame]

Thanks downing! you did catch the idea...i tell you why.. i love this version...the reason i said I "hated it" because it began as a poem called "fields" about farmer's children playing at being soldiers while working in their father's fields..but then i began to expiriment to give it a multi-interpretation scope- i wanted the reader to be able to read it and see the children "playing at battlefields" or to read it and see actual soldiers. This editing made me see some faults about the overall scope of the idea- it made me lose focus on what I wanted to convey.. I began to see that the soldier side was too heavy; thus i integrated their school life troubles (they are bullied) with the suffering they have on the fields after school. The reason they play at being soldiers is to forget the pain and the hunger. There is also a sense of innocence lost- at 10 years old they already know about killing and play at doing it. They're "old children". The second part portrays them as old men still working the fields having left school when young; while their tormenters pass by their fields in their alfa romeos...it's sad...but also a real situation in Malta about 30 years ago. (there is and ironical jab at Malta's small size in the phrase "vast surroundings" since in Malta a busy road is never too far away..
ok, now if you read it do you see all this or did I not manage?
BTW the whole concept started from a very personal expression- a metaphor for the state of my soul, so it is not impersonal..

[optimisticnad]

Below is just a funny poem (if you can call it that) for my friend I wrote J.P. (who isnt on here!) when he cut his long hair!


A poem on the loss of my dear friend's hair

There was once a tall boy called Jack Prescott
who came from far away with a mascot-
it was his hair, long thick and mousey brown
that brought him luck like the man with a crown.

Whereever he went some girls would turn their head
only God knows how many he took to bed!
Drugs, sex, and rock n roll became his pride and joy,
After a night with him you couldnt call him coy!

Alas, one day Jack Prescott went to devon,
with Beatles in his ear he thought its heaven.
The devil possessed him and he cut his hair!
No use us mourning he just didnt care!

Why he had to cut his hair he wouldnt say,
but there are many girls who long for yesterday.
Now Jacks boring, hes not the scary guy girls look for
you've lost your touch, cant even scare a cat anymore.

Poor Jack, lost are the girls, lost is the youthful look
old Jack Prescott sits on the park bench with a book.
When an old lady would go by he'd shout 'ar right honey?'
Thinking he was an old beggar, she's throw him some money!

Alas the neighbours would say, there sits old Jack Prescott
who came from far away with his hair as a mascot.
But he couldnt leave it alone, he had to have it cut
and no hes lost his good luck he sits all day on his butt!

There was once a tall boy who stood out from the mass
without his hair all thats left now is a jack ***!

[Adolescent09]

Providence's voice through nature

His Visage projects earth's wickedness,
in facial drawn lamentation,
in tear drops, rain drops,
patting the land He made,

(^^allusion to rain as His tears)

The west sun is his fading snicker,
marking the plight of biped's evil,
foreshadowing doom's impending come,
for as long as Man's woe and joy is done,

(^^allusion to a sunset as the soon to come smile of victory
when the Heavens and Hell confront and Celestial might
over powers all)

His sigh is a prolonged whisper,
marking plastic bird's dawn,
of wings bearing humanoid evil,
and whispering it through inaudible song.

(^^allusion to modern technology, a plastic bird is an air plane.
Man has built on the foundation of God's abundant creation)

[dyingflame]

i like both the idea and the the execution, adoloscent.you really do have a musical ear for such subtleties and manage to catch its movements through your allusions..imo you seem to be showing two ideas- the beauty of nature AND man's position as an exploiter of it. the religous tones, while not out of place in their context at all, however personally made me struggle to see man as evil and "god" as victim (?) i'm not sure on that last part- "his fading snicker" confused me (snicker seems to hold negative connotations)

[Adolescent09]

That poem you posted at the beginning of the topic---Janine,

Fog

The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on

This sounds exactly like a poem I read by Langston Hughes... Are you sure you haven't mistaken it?

[Janine]

That poem you posted at the beginning of the topic---Janine,

Fog

The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on

This sounds exactly like a poem I read by Langston Hughes... Are you sure you haven't mistaken it?

Adol, I will check but think it is Carl Sandburg. I have known it since I was a kid. I have not been on this thread lately. I have been really sick with a virus and sinus infection so I have only managed a few easy threads, mainly the movie thread and the lasted thing you are reading thread. I cannot think hard enough to crit poetry but I see you have all been quite busy and keeping this thread active - great! Good for all of you. The creativity is flowing nicely - some really nice poetry here. I want to go back and re-read it all when I am feeling better.
My good friend, Downing, what is that new photo in your signature? - I love it! Who painted it? I have to see it up closer. The color is wonderful. So blue.
I have to go and rest. Glad I stopped in to say hi and see how the poetry thread was going. Keep up the great work and all the good encouragement and interaction with each other.
Dyingflame - can't wait to read your poem on the children playing war. Too tired right now but the commentary makes me very curious.

[dyingflame]

hey don't worry take your time and get well soon. I can't really participate right now either with a levels starting 34 days from now and with my internet service from home still giving me hell. i have to post's from my gf's house- and she thinks poetry is a little boring, though admittedly she reads mine but i think just to make me happy..lol
while you're reading playing at battlefields, i have another idea churning in my head about santa shaving his beard...

[downing]

Hey here I am. Sorry I haven't posted anything lately in the thread but I have been overwhelmed by school. DF, I read everything what you were saying about your intention while writing Playing at battlefields and it made me clear. I promise I will come with some oppinions, as you asked me about what I see in the poem.
Janine, I thought you will notice the signature.It's your beloved Dali, and mine too. It's a painting of him with a man embracing a woman which comes from the sea...really lovely. You might know the title of it, I haven't discovered it yet.

[Janine]

Hey here I am. Sorry I haven't posted anything lately in the thread but I have been overwhelmed by school. DF, I read everything what you were saying about your intention while writing Playing at battlefields and it made me clear. I promise I will come with some oppinions, as you asked me about what I see in the poem.
Janine, I thought you will notice the signature.It's your beloved Dali, and mine too. It's a painting of him with a man embracing a woman which comes from the sea...really lovely. You might know the title of it, I haven't discovered it yet.

You know I was looking at that that thinking it could be Dali. What vibrant color of blue. I don't think I saw this one at the live exhibit. I have to find out what it is called. I love it!

[downing]

Playing at Battlefields

1. Reconnaissance

We both crouch- besieged, battalion victims-
behind haphazardly-strewn stones,
discussing strategies of oranges and lemons
fallen after standing our last winter assault.

We rise- behind us the homes of our fathers
were left, reminders of ploughs and sprinklers,
of crumbling mismatched rubble walls
that seem to sag into the sky
and lure the terraced succulence
on the waiting maws of drooling dogs.

Then we make it into battle- after school,
To play at picking potatoes- while we fight,
patriotically in the snows and smudge
our burning noses with camouflage.

I scout ahead.
With these fortresses they built and still build,
giggling, we blend, merge and
with our vast surroundings,
emerge- exposed to calls.

2. Retirement

Our Selves are lost to meals-
the thunder in the sky rumbles
not in stomachs but our intent.

Not one other soul seems living.

Except the generals with their chalk
Who go away and leave our chains
To swing, to slide, to go around,

But not enough, we’re still outnumbered;
And our experience is outstripped
From our uniformed backs and ripped-

At nine o’ clock each morning,
Our army bus beats our retreat
in shining yellow jeering laughs.

As the sun jumps behind hard soil,
Our Enemies flash twinkling by,
Rushing rubber, melting tarmac-
And roar away in blasts of waves,
their converters broken down.

(we later exhale
lead on our fathers’ crops,
and leave our paper weapons
on the counters of gun shops.)


[QUOTE] Oh, DF this was really great, believe me! I loved it! I cannot understand how you can hate it, but of course this is your trouble as an artist. Now, I've got a question: I'm not sure whether you wanted to illustrate the child's way through life, from childhood till maturity? Not sure whether I got the idea you had when you wrote this. If I'm wrong, I'm sorry. Just please do tell me if I caught your idea.
Keep on writing. I am always looking forward to reading your poems, which always prove to be stupendous!
Glad you came back on the site! [QUOTE]

[QUOTE] Thanks downing! you did catch the idea...i tell you why.. i love this version...the reason i said I "hated it" because it began as a poem called "fields" about farmer's children playing at being soldiers while working in their father's fields..but then i began to expiriment to give it a multi-interpretation scope- i wanted the reader to be able to read it and see the children "playing at battlefields" or to read it and see actual soldiers. This editing made me see some faults about the overall scope of the idea- it made me lose focus on what I wanted to convey.. I began to see that the soldier side was too heavy; thus i integrated their school life troubles (they are bullied) with the suffering they have on the fields after school. The reason they play at being soldiers is to forget the pain and the hunger. There is also a sense of innocence lost- at 10 years old they already know about killing and play at doing it. They're "old children". The second part portrays them as old men still working the fields having left school when young; while their tormenters pass by their fields in their alfa romeos...it's sad...but also a real situation in Malta about 30 years ago. (there is and ironical jab at Malta's small size in the phrase "vast surroundings" since in Malta a busy road is never too far away..
ok, now if you read it do you see all this or did I not manage?
BTW the whole concept started from a very personal expression- a metaphor for the state of my soul, so it is not impersonal.. [QUOTE]



Well, Dyingflame, I think I understand better your poem right now. Your explantions helped a lot; I read it a few times, also having your explanations in my mind and loved the way in which I was getting toits sense. Now, I've got some questions, as I want to be sure I caught the idea: in the second strophe, the verses:
[QUOTE] crumbling mismatched rubble walls
that seem to sag into the sky
and lure the terraced succulence
on the waiting maws of drooling dogs. [QUOTE]

are related to the houses of the men working on the crops, don't they? I couldn't find the verses in which you showed that ''they already know about killing''. Plese, tell me which is it. I am curious as you said that your poem has an historiidal sense. That sounds interestibg; were people obliged to work on crops, living in dreadful conditions?
In the end, I have to insist on the idea that I loved your poem! The descripstions are lovely and I really liked it. If I did any mistakes in the way I understood your poem, please excuse me. And..keep on writing!



P.S Seems I cannot quote the other parts; I wrote quote at the beginning of each...but you'll manage, I'm sure ;)

[Janine]

Dyingflame - I liked your poem, very much so. I, too, was not clear on everything, but I did get a keen sense of what the poem was about. Now after reading Downings remarks (which were excellent and insightful), then your explainations back, I have more information. But in first reading the poem I got the sense of childhood and war, children's playing at war and a real war towards the end. I think the childhood part is clearest; the second half a little sketchy. I would like to know more specifically that the second half is about second childhood or old age. Perhaps three parts to the poem might work. I don't understand all the images, but like I said, I get the overall sense and feel of the poem. The emotion is there. I like the way you suggest a school bus with the line using color:

At nine o’ clock each morning,
Our army bus beats our retreat
in shining yellow jeering laughs.

Am I right, does this indicate a yellow school bus or the atmosphere of one? But, if so why is it in the second stanza called "retirement"? Do retired people take yellow buses in Malta? I have to admit I wish I knew more about Malta and the history there. You are young and yet you are writing, as you stated, about things happening 30 yrs ago. How do you know of these things - from your parents? I want to better understand you since I feel you have great potenial and talent.
DF - your girlfriend does not like poetry? Oh my, better consider if the two of you are truly compatible and on the same wave-length. Well, I guess opposites can attract and can work sometimes. From my own experience I have not found this to be true. Maybe your gf just needs better poetry exposure. Maybe you could help her understand better. Some people are just intimidated by what they don't understand. Poetry can be daunting.

[dyingflame]

hey guys! sorry for the long absence! i have my final exams in the next three weeks so you can imagine the mounting tension. I'm studying a lot, brainwashing myself with owen, shakespeare, greene, hardy, poetry, prose, linguistics for my english a level, and a lot of other stuff for my other a level (italian) and the rest of my subjects at intermediate level! so sorry!

I m really happy to have found such insightful and delightful comments from both of you; I really really appreciate it since i rarely find it here at home. Coming online this late will make me go to bed happy and recharged to face another long day studying tomorrow!

Now. where do I start? I can't help but agree with you, Janine, that a possible defect of playing at battlefields is that the possible interpretation of children playing at war is sketchy and based on the title of the poem itself. Perhaps I need to re-work on that. However, as it stands, you must understand that this poem encourages reading it from different angles, so it may be possible to view it any way you mentioned - that was my aim, so downing, don't worry about "getting it wrong" in poetry, that is NOT what matters. what matters is the feelings, thoughts, memories a poem evokes IN YOU, your personal reaction to it. That's my belief anyway. What the poet does is create something to appeal to those emotions.

Downing, you asked where the children "know about killing." I don't think there is a specific line that states that; what I meant was the fact that they are playing at being soldiers shows their loss of innocence.
You also both seemed concerned with my comment that images expounded upon in the second part was a common situation in malta of the past. You must understand that just like Janine pointed out, I did not live it. Many of us have heard, read about the past, and have our notion of it, which is never really accurate. It is just my imagination at work. What really compelled me to say that was that I am actually sure that 30 years ago malta was 75% agriculture and 25% English military harbour colony, and there was also a massive social chasm between many laborers of the lands and fishermen and the white collar workers working within the english government.
Yet going into that goes beyond the poem itself since that is merely a fact which started a thought process that finally led to the artistic expression in poetry. I do not usually go into such intimate detail about my process of thought when writing but you asked for it :P
Also, Downing, you asked for enlightenment about the verse "crumbling mismatched rubble walls/ that seem to sag into the sky.." yes, one could definately say that I was thinking about the crumbling girnas (huts) dotted round abandoned fields here as a symbol of a society moving toward post industrialization and free market and a loss of tradition (this is not neccesarily wrong though; I just point it out) another thing i had in mind was the actual rubble walls they build round fields to protect the soil from erosion. also "terraced" is actually for the terraced fields- its a reference to the landscape. I will try to find some photos for you and post some links here to theme for you to get the idea.

Janine, yes the "yellow" is used to convey that the army bus is not actually an army bus but a school bus that "rescues" these "soldiers" from "battle" (they are only young kids fighting in a playground.) Also, Malta buses are yellow, kind of! this is a link for a picture so you can get the idea http://www.malta-bilder.de/assets/images/Malta-Bus.jpg

the idea behind splitting the poem in two was because the poem itself started as quite short but got extended into two separate phases, work and play. I just substituted those 2 words for 2 military words. Retirement there does not just mean as in old age, although yes, they are old, it also means retirement from battle

oh, about my gf, yeah she reads them and genuinely tries to appreciate them , but i must understand that not everyone has the same "arts" inclination

[dyingflame]

Also I have a new poem; it is very metaphorical, so try to take it beyond a literal level. IT is about suffering, historic, eternal, inescapable, ever present in humanity. It's also partly about aesthetics and tradition and youthful rebellion. I'm afraid it is too personal, but I hope people can respond to the images and apply them on their own terms and experiences


His Bleeding Feet

Shoes the hue of earth’s disdain fall,
down in hollow-ringing tones of stones
screeching metal’s ardour-stapled bricks
while discarded children guard the clothes,
the washing lines on faded balcony sticks.

The road of thorns sloped eternally up,
all these years holding secret graves
of uncontained knowledge- physics in a cup,
social studies, skates, and mathematic slaves.

White shapes of gleaming beauties line
this well trodden avenue by these said feet
who bleed,
but do not cleave
their paths away
from one mother’s Friday pain.

In front of said constructions
were ugly bronze shaped statues-
Greek women holding vases
with round steel breasts and
defiant nipples of defence.

In front of these palaces they stood still
half-hidden in their haloed scars,
as if ashamed of their pure nakedness.

Vegetation abounded behind their homes,
sprung up, to drink up,
greedily the sixth hour light,
a burden over toned by chants
of ritual memory drums
and the weight of coffee promises
and serenity’s drones.

[Adolescent09]

Erm, nice dying, although I can't seem to make out the dramatic changes in the elements of your poem between the beginning and the end. The historical essence and allusions to your personal life is evident throughout the stanzas but the change in the lines is quite dramatic, obfuscating your poem's powerful meaning to a great extent, if not making it incoherent. Here is your poem, with my questions applied..:

Shoes the hue of earth’s disdain fall,---"Earth's disdain?", what's it mean?
down in hollow-ringing tones of stones
screeching metal’s ardour-stapled bricks
while discarded children guard the clothes,
the washing lines on faded balcony sticks.

the rest of the lines in this stanza sound very good, I really like it

The road of thorns sloped eternally up,
all these years holding secret graves
of uncontained knowledge- physics in a cup,
social studies, skates, and mathematic slaves.---Skates? Rollerblading?
^^good stanza

White shapes of gleaming beauties line
this well trodden avenue by these said feet
who bleed -----shouldn't it be which bleed?
but do not cleave
their paths away
from one mother’s Friday pain.----What does Friday mean here?
I understand this poem is written in metaphorical terms, but bleeding feet cleaving ground doesn't register as effectively as perhaps... "but do not seep. The blood of his feet seeping into ground and staining the path of walking sounds more powerful than cleaving in my opinion.
-------
I think the rest of the poem would sound better a bit tweaked, but it sounds pretty great. I liked your previous poems as well. Good work :)

[dyingflame]

Hey Adoloscent; thanks for your comments and analysis! I don't think there is a dramatic change, this is just a thought process represented. The only change I can think of is the choice at the middle of the poem, the third stanza, where the persona turns away from the past (i.e why I earlier said there is a hint of youthful rebellion)

Yes, this poem is obscure (that was my major concern when I wrote it) since its origin is very personal, they are thoughts I went through that unless your are, well, me, you cannot really "understand," I only posted it here in the hopes of people trying to apply the images to themselves or something like that, rather then trying to understand what I meant, although I definitely agree with you that "seep" instead of "cleave" would be more effective if one takes in account that image of bleeding feet on the soil (for me in this poem soil=earth's disdain, because where I am walking there is no soil, as if we have disdained the earth to build a forest of concrete.)

The road of thorns really exists in my town (it is a street called Triq L-Ghollieq) I thought it funny to use it as for those who do not know it would be metaphorical for pain; and it is, since I used to have private physics and maths lessons there, while my friends ran about on skate boards and had fun outside

I chose to write "feet who bleed" instead of "which" because the feet are people here, they represent them.

Thus the "shoes" in the first lines that are worn on the bleeding feet, hide the bleeding. That is why they are "the hue of earth's disdain"- the color of the earth, and ironically, although not the product of nature, they are the only thing on that street that reminds us of nature (the white beauties lining the avenue are houses; "beauties" should be read sarcastically, as "ugly" when referring to the Greek art; that is what most people think, because they do not appreciate art- there I was kind of trying to understand those who do not love Art, but ended up being sarcastic and mocking their position.

The vegetation springing up behind these "said constructions" are the rundown back gardens of these brick houses.

And the reference to "one mother's Friday pain" is cultural/religious- for Christianity, last Friday was the day dedicated to Jesus' mourning mother beneath his cross. I used to be an altar boy, serving the priests during such dreadful ceremonies, and I used to be forced to go on those long processions round the town lamenting and saying the rosary. That day when I wrote that poem, I was coming back home when I heard the procession far off, and instead of turning towards it, I kind of "denied it" and my said (sad) feet CLEAVED their paths away from this pain, i.e cleaved=rejected it, threw it into the past. That is why I did not write "seep" although I really like it...

[dyingflame]

Links:

Malta Terraced Fields:
http://images.google.com.mt/imgres?imgurl=http://www.maltavista.net/img/photo/images2/co_231.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.maltavista.net/en/list/photo/2111.html&h=170&w=256&sz=21&hl=mt&start=6&tbnid=ckDvEuoizQ25fM:&tbnh=74&tbnw=111&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dmalta%2Bterraced%2Bfields%26gbv%3D2%2 6svnum%3D10%26hl%3Dmt%26client%3Dfirefox-a%26channel%3Ds%26rls%3Dorg.mozilla:en-US:official%26sa%3DG

there are also other pictures you can view

[dyingflame]

Happy Easter guys :)

[Adolescent09]

Thanks for the informative input. You too, dying :)

[dyingflame]

Thoughts of a Crazy Vagabond

I have no credit to my name,
save "good feasts to you and family."
save mysterious wafts of cooking smells sinking down in my stomach pits of thunder,
earthquake rumbling hunger.

I bear my title with prideful shame
and touch myself were heat is best,
talking to them, they withdraw repulsion.
I love them still. They are so warm…

I hate them. The bakery shines maliciously,
my saliva drops and solidifies on my chin
(that's why I have those stalactites)

My frayed tie is frayed. My neck is parched.
My dog squeals. I long to climb those stairs
and find the one responsible for that
enticing smell of meat, kill 'er, eat 'er.

Sanely that is-
I nod at the policeman as if he could perhaps hear my heart
and throw me with some pile of bone and lock my mind
inside its dust.

Gods. Dogs,
thrust their necks to each other in affection
from between bulging banisters like my eyes.

I can only be reflected
comforted by the volcano blemish
in the midst of my attire.

Leather boots up to their red knees,
that's my ice-cream

[Adolescent09]

I Like it. It sounds all jumbled together, but interesting. Here, I'll try:

'08!!! (And please get Bush out while you're at it)

The town accentuated by New Year's parade,
where the commoners bustle and jostle,
to face the dawn of new times coming,
in obstreperous rings,
in low bronze varnished bells,
where the bong, bong, bong,
brings the masses, the lower classes,
the races,
to new, prospective victory,
and forever lingering hope.

The semite boy hand in hand with the black,
hand in hand with the caucasian,
hand in hand with the Asian,
hand in hand with the Arab,
hand in hand with descendants
of Quaint Sudan's Darfur,
where their culture's endless war,
does naught,
to marr chear's harmoney.

Then the knell swings and breaks,
The people tide flows and ebbs,
elated at the count of new times passing,
"10" "9" "8" "7" "6" "5" "4" "3" "2",
it has come once, never to come again,
last years clock forever haulted,
this one just begun.
Crowds break in chears of great laughter,
Paris spews sparks of varied color,
The color, the Joy, the iridescent hands of freedom,
linked together to witness '08!!!!!

[dyingflame]

you're already thinking of next year?? still, it's good, well it produces the atmosphere of new year and its (for me) message of anti-racism. Its form is original too, and save for some spelling and vocab issues I encountered (I learned a new word from it yay! obstreperous) it made good reading

mine is disjointed on purpose; I was attempting stream of consciousness: exploring the mind of a madman through the first person point of view

[dyingflame]

is this thread still on?

[downing]

Well, why are you asking? of course it workrs

[dyingflame]

Of Fish and Men

It seems to be hollow in the dark;
not yet filled with the black waters,
it rocks back and forth on smiley waves.

Small sighs escape it,
hidden in the squeak of never oiled blood it swings,
gathering momentum, rushing on red rust-
the startling sight of pale-moon bodies
impales thought and freezes it to dust.

The moon sings sonatas while men die-
It drowns the sound of sloshing water,
reverberates within its salt,
as the deed is done
in a floating boat
where fish make love as well.

The point where love spurts through
escapes the eye but culminates soon
in a belch of smoking light.

And it floats as if suspended
by an invisible string of grey,
and a painted eye frowns in glee.

Beneath its understanding glare:
wide, jelly, eyes unblinking mar the air,
edible soldiers slink in the slime of their scales:

dropping their egg bombs in
a putrid smell of rot and algae

while the ache lingers
on burnt tongues and limbs
and placid lies cry
in the panic of wet nets.







Fourteen

Stranger, you look at me from between creaking sieves,
And rip dew that freely roams your throat from leaves.
So much for autumn... only the scream-wails of
Dementia rain held back with frosted windows.

I still recognize the dark lost whiteness
in the all-knowing globes and dismal spheres-:
only the fear enshrined within the glimpse
of the ironic purple livid, caged by crystal steel.

Stranger, love me once more with foreign screamed words-
Call me the usurper for the wooden throne,
For once you never knew me, I recognized you,
In the youth of a systematic anarchy.

But, brother- what were you doing in the spotlight,
Cornered, caught in the act of popular imagination?