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Posted: Fri Feb 26, 2010 11:05 am
Hey all- please feel free to critique, post your thoughts, or post any pieces you want my opinion on smile cheers!
I'll be posting my pieces as they're completed, here's my most recent:
Pure Counsel
Truth, the bearing for which all curiosity aims and destination for which all wanderers despair holds ebb and flow in highest regard. From the top down- solar noon with the complimentary eerie blue, ceiling as any eye could gather, on which not a single blemish exists down to the single blemish dotting a hushed yellow-orange of uniform granules, upon which any eyes would rest. Much as waves roll the ocean's reach upon the shore so the shore meets the blackened front steps and footing moored in near silent bedlam, at once arrested in cold sweat and caressed by powder on the wind.
Light, the will to step into the abandoned home house in all present being but hearth once upon a time. Glassless windows and mirrors weathered frames and floors scraps of an identity whispering to the all about. In the rot and must hope is inscribed a tribute to dreams long since and dreams reinforcing this last memory, standing alone, contrast and shade to tasteless and shapeless hide. Beneath its toil and decay extending into the shaft serving as hull fireless hum and ire aside pigment breaches where not light could touch. Breathe this in, from this sturdy yet sodless forefront to the solid, interlaced bearing of root as floor over open water- through the level trunk to branches made instead roots in the earth above and construct beyond. Veins in the very planks and bones to otherwise water and sand- faint but foreboding to linger with prudent consideration as persistence seems dubious as the sole patron behind stirring design. Measures of this magnitude , parasitism imparted longevity, for the sake of rustic novelty? Why go to such lengths to preserve that which could never feel to begin with? Why oppose the process that has yet failed to claim any in this waste?
Bitter, the only word for the taste of narrowing pupils and furrowed brow as a figure once human is discerned within fibrous being and the hole and the whole in turn are the last pieces of an acknowledged risk come to rear its festering head before its formerly impervious benefactor. There was the chance, always the chance these limbs were limbs and the body and mind contorted to take on the weight, sacrificing self to lash them together. All this at once, and at once the opening and the murky slush are the soul released to the glass ocean- the heart already being pieced together shard by shard by meandering thoughts only just realizing the potential to mend such humiliation. As the seeing stone, the life of this self, continues to form in my right, my left runs, just the fingertips, and truly feels, allows itself to feel, the texture- the restive bark carapace the sin I've held as chiefly my defining flaw, only in a vivid new adaptation- taking my Sloth and delivering this Languor to analyze is so undeniably clever, so beyond ingenious that in my daze the task at hand ,literally, compiles as faultlessly spherical from every angle, perfectly refounded, the truth and fear of this place understood a flick of the wrist floats the orb and a swift strike embeds and breaks this world- body freed from the bark in a burst, the house and scene evaporated from bottom to top to the very unseen from whence they come, and this time
this time
I'm looking down on him he who is on all fours gasping for air and toss him his crown so that it bounces, skitters, and slides to arrest right under his face- my jest as all favors returned for every time I was the one rescued from ruin
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Posted: Sun Mar 07, 2010 8:21 pm
Mm, I understand that one might have been a bit long for your taste. I wrote this one a year ago this month, hopefully this will get things rolling.
(sidenote: looking for ways to strengthen the ending a bit, still doesn't read quite how I want it to)
Laugh It Up
Feel me when I say these words are meant to be read aloud because it is so often the case that you forget each word has already been tested by my voice. There is no doomsday here or fear-mongering amongst the days ahead; No, there is only the will to never look back shoved up against the conscienciousness to never forget.
Join me when I say there are no real movements, no momentum left among the race of men. The clouds, the sky, the earth, and the wind that binds them hold inseparably calm, neutrally intent to converse with wandering eyes as once again, the ludic are barred from rest.
Release me when I provide enough detail to transpose my initial creation into a story of your own. If there is to be a time when all this can be more than a dream more than a single logic from a single mind with a single body and point of view, with a single vice and single baseless claim of veracity the originality must surface far deeper than language, far higher than the rabies of duplication and squanderers, far superior to the collaboration we sustain now.
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Posted: Sun Mar 07, 2010 8:59 pm
Just read your first poem and I do have some suggestions for it. I will have to read it through a couple more times before I say anything more about it, but I really enjoyed it the first time through! In your 1st stanza, you repeat "single blemish" in two lines right beside each other. Normally, poetry doesn't like repetitions unless you're making an impact on something, and that usually works if you do it more than 3 times. In stanza 2, the first three lines go "home, house, home". I would suggest making "abandoned home" as "abandoned place" instead. Then it starts to become something stronger going from "place, house, home." In your 3rd stanza, you repeat "limbs" in "limbs were limbs" but I think it works. But then you said "body" and "mind" and I was waiting for the same lines with the limbs and you surprised me. I'm not sure if you want to do it that way, or try to strengthen that part.
That's all for now! I hope this was constructive.
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Posted: Mon Mar 08, 2010 4:38 pm
Aylute, thanks for the feedback. I'm looking into your third suggestion because I agree that part is a bit of a stumble when it gets to the "body and mind" transition, but the other two repetition parts you mention are purposeful and not mere coincidence. I am going to add a comma in the line
of uniform granules upon which any eyes would rest.
so that it reads: "of uniform granules, upon which any eyes would rest." so that the line isn't so overwhelming or potentially awkward.
The "home, house, home" progression is to assert both the physical shape and immediately provide an emotional attachment, whereas "place, house, home" would suggest/create a third-party attachment/involvement which isn't as significant as the personal draw. That said, I'm not against changing the repetition (the 2nd use) to something other than home- will look into that as well and definitely include anything I find in my next post.
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Posted: Tue Mar 09, 2010 3:44 am
Finally arrived at a solution- only took me all day and then some to fix a single line...
-changed the 2nd 'home' to 'hearth' -changed the line 'restrained yet bearing the weight, holding together what it could.' to 'contorted to take on the weight, sacrificing self to lash them together.'
And now ready to get to work writing the new one with that all cleared up, pretty excited actually 3nodding
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Posted: Tue Mar 09, 2010 10:44 pm
I really like your changes and I'm happy I could help! I'm looking forward to your next piece ^.^
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Posted: Thu Mar 11, 2010 1:34 am
Just started actually writing the new one today- pleased with how it's going so far considering how long it's taken to get all the ideas together. Really posting because mending my other piece went so well, and because I could use another pair of eyes to run through this one as well. The current version was written back in July, and I just need to hear some opinions from people that can actually help to improve it. Cheers! (yeah, it's another crazy long one)
Arturnos (July 09)
Long before the silver became palatable Its rotation in the meal schedule about hardened flesh glimmered in the cascade thereafter As first scale, claw, and wing sprouted in its likeness. For all the trinkets, traditions, and tempers we carry This bit of metal hung nameless for a time As the meaning itself came to match the form it had taken.
My widening attention relaxes while the world recedes from view Every untamed inch of flesh writhing for the chance to bring opinion voice As if I could resist the urge to dream. Thoughtful but thoughtless is the condition surrounding surreal circumstance And each shift through stripping space cripples all but the sense of body and mind As form finds figure in that abscess of pace. Follow the fading footprints with nothing but observation behind And clear the adjacent ajar window (for lack of perceived threat) As the judgment of the clearly patient escort mirrors my call. No resentment, no pain in any single blink Only the ferocity that kindles through eternity on none but the thought of emptiness As a fullness pours from the stance set to weather that very expanse. This is but the attitude, The permitted point of view, As the corridors buckle under weight of vine and the hallowed air condenses to rain. Fresh wet Earth pools and collects from trough to single oasis And creates a draw for all wandering thought As the two emerge from opposite ends to crouch and warily partake.
“From this water you will learn my hunger,” Was the first eruption of mind As the man-yet-boy locked eyes with the ancient king still lapping silently in the moment of awe. “You will walk and live and be the same in all but utmost quiet; You will find our heart attuned to fulfilling those pages and convictions As time itself bends to the call of a greater King.”
A string of simple thoughts empowers the palm to reach the mouth and plunge again for more:
All I can do is drink as he speaks, It’s the medium that allows me to hear the words and ignore the fangs from with they descend. Fear aside, this is the only outflow I know; I thirst for the words they bring
But his trembling was the manifestation of gluttony For any cunning could tell the feast would go on As long as he continued to feed. And feed he did as duties were passed from one to the next across the sacred pool, The fervor blinding as the tear drop lost distinction between the final thoughts separating man and beast, As the king and the liquid across which his voice was carried began to meld. This end had no hint of desperation nor subtle gesture of discomfort Only the relief of passing into and becoming the oasis, reclaiming anonymity, And rejoining the millions of skyward hands that let such messages come to pass.
Frisson wakes at the expense of humility and hope , as is customary, but this time coupled with the desire to actively pursue and spread that fleeting intensity , pointedly to those that have no such pyre of their own. For once my understanding of the immediate past Is a consequence of the present ponderings And I welcome the chance to press on. Are these thoughts whispered in my ear as well-wishes and protection? Or are they so shrouded in origin that even the hand and mind that craft them play at a direction amongst their meager coincidence? I find that as I turn to answer the churn in the depths of my soul A hand is gripped tightly around my arm. She stands, reluctant to let me go. No words are adequate where we are eternally bound, Except for the invitation and request I eventually extend, (to rid her heart of despair) As I turn to face the gate but three steps affront.
Energetic, rhythmic pulsations surround each face in a wreath of halos Extending, permeating and obscuring the otherwise placid air As the golden rings twist and bend to twine at each intersection of self. For each face a node and a current (each of the billions) Taken at a glance to be but barely connected in their quivering As lavishly adorned hands peg, set and tune the tumult in lieu of the ballad ahead. From slow and soft to shrieking shrill She pulls note and tone from the heart of each string As glacial shelves of stress crack and plummet to the backlit delirium beneath them. Look away, up and away to where the true collision of intonation finds sweet matrimony To where a dream of a dream is ringing true As the harp decays to stabilization in another form of clarity. Whether in response to need or desire Those hands and those ties passed from one mind and being the thoughts beyond words As all other chance of coincidence slipped away. Agape and echo minded to the song and dance of this night’s crushing lesson The world but leagues in the dark of human imperfection offers up these lines of pretend:
Living or Breathing Active or Idle Exploit while Yearning The Greater Denial
As to presume they mean anything at all.
Neither will alone, nor strength alone Neither body nor focus of mind Leave the air tasting pleased. Musty spores that soak the lungs with hallucination and mirage Are the breath I can deeply take and slowly release Thanks to the eyes I feel alight on my path, The outpourings of the well within and the purity of the companionship that has made itself so very active in my every thought. I couldn’t be here, Couldn’t be so perfectly able to leave perfection’s side If I hadn’t personally born witness to the wings I find wrapped around my soul That accompany the hand now perpetually woven into the gaps of mine. Kings have long outlived their usefulness in both title and manner Such to the point that even their memory resembles little of how they lived. The Great Manta Ruler of both open ocean and shallow inlet alike Is now but the forgotten inspiration behind the flight of a certain adorned rug. The Noble Stallion Fearless in the charge and the thundering hooves of maintaining the herd Hears little of the beat of evergreen while confined to bearing nobility and representing the coin they hoard. The Fabled Dragon The epitome of universal symbols and legend Glides on the tenderest of quandaries and hopes To the proximity this candlelight can bring to the contours of our scars. Yes, To each of us and each other piece of the all We are throned but rulers of not but our collective heart. The true riches, gifts and wonders of this world (the one in which I write) Are the pride of all tapered aspirations floating softly about bent knee. Serve and be bathed in the love you seek.
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Posted: Thu Mar 11, 2010 12:22 pm
Re: Pure Counsel.
Yes, it's long, it's wordy, and uses words of such length and complexity as to leave meaning, occasionally, behind.
There are parts of it I still don't get, and I didn't get the whole until the last line burst out from behind the clouds of verbosity...(if that's even a word.) I questioned the title for a moment or so, until I realized the symbolism, and felt a bit foolish.
You have some great lines, and do an excellent job of describing the desolation in which you find your friend, even if you seem to have an aversion to the simpler words. Poetry does not have to be about vocabulary....no, maybe it does. Why did you consistently choose such seemingly unnecessarily long words? Simplicity and economy are important in poetry, in my opinion.
I enjoyed it, overall, although it was a weird aftertaste kind of thing. The last line's simplicity contrasts powerfully with the rest, making it more powerful thereby. (Which may, in fact answer my earlier question.)
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Posted: Fri Mar 19, 2010 2:07 am
I will admit I have a weakness for the seemingly unnecessarily long words, and that you'd probably carry a similar opinion through most of my poems. My problem originates in how many emotions and words I want to compile into a small-ish space (believe it or not, this is condensed from where it begins as far as beats used to reach the same conclusion). So, I'd like to say I'm working on the economy aspect, and I do keep it in mind. Please throw up a red flag if it continues to be too prominent in the future so that I can continue to improve smile thanks!
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Posted: Sun Jul 18, 2010 12:55 am
Heterochromia 2.0 (July 10)
There is no pain free that which wanes play through our prayers and touch none but our terms. Tick tick tack- there is no such attack muddy drops to less than worry when ears shan’t claim to see. From sway to shift or worse, gap to rift seldom hot tempered in black and white o’er likely, passive as opinion. Scent on the wind thread through the pinned drink anew the wordless draught where all else is uncertain. Another web tow of the ebb string along bereft of sting that which wanders here.
A barrier, an obscurity a solid cloaked in fumes and memories that shift with unconscious riposte. No more than vapors to the fingers in whose hallowed company venturing out still shan’t favor a touch. Succinctly chilling to pass through those so fully within our license as if life itself commands such things to play by our restrictions. Hardly beyond the eyes or skin to tell the tongue has yet to catch and hold the character in this reflection.
What could glass have to say without mouth or matters of which to speak? Is there some need in the refraction beyond the sway of waves to direct? More importantly, will the sharpness of the image transmute it to word?
The Analyst is right His perspective omits fight or flight focus down on initial reactions only then can Moth come to light. A flash in the dark that betrays the encroaching will- a leak, a taint, or merely the draw of scented words calling the lost Home.
Be or not be- Continue or cease- Breathe or be swallowed by the screech of those that passed before- The echoes contained within the trial itself attest to its veracity and ire, the whispers turned bellows upon a silent juncture. Panic is madness suspending and manifesting the questions in iridescent fashion- a prison intent upon cleansing that within. Scourge or banished, no, such words are of templars and all they seem to fear- purged by the very charge they brought against the world- this candescence has anything but mortal motive. Eyes of the Heart rather Heart as your Eyes to forestall the fingers just long enough to advance instinct over hesitation. Too long and the image will bleed running together until the voices don’t have faces or any direction amongst their disjointed contribution. Not long enough on each part of the whole and the whole itself is lost to the obvious or overbearing- losing the generally suppressed and in turn all the various influences that refine us. Comprehension may limit our scope to a string of visions rather than the body and soul reflected at once but both are reconstructed as the pieces find their place.
What is a god? What is the name of your God? What is your design? What thought crossed the mind of your Creator As your soul found purchase in this place? What is the voice behind your voice? What was the voice that called you forth from the nothingness? What did you expect of the world from the womb? What has the world promised you upon your return? What words will there be when you can’t help but disagree? What truth can be found once all words feel the same? What calm will there be when sense governs none and all- What will you be When your psalm is a dream?
True Illusion You Know The Term We Are But Captives To Their Draw To The Song, To The Dance To The Drink, To The Cup Poured Into From All Of Our Time Spent Easing The Comings And Goings Spent Living As Only Dreamers Can Spent Staring Longingly Through The Mirror.
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