some deleted user
on some deleted poem
3 Apr 2004, 10:31 AM
Better to write about it than to do it. Pour it all out.
I admire your courage in positng this sentimental and personal message on a poetry site fraught with ravaging wolves. When they come to devour, remember you are stronger.
I very much like "cursive rinds of cigarette smoke" - is that yours??
not sure stolid works in this context; it might attribute too much to the plow...
have a 10
sounds like a phase on punk song.good flow though
Could use half the words. Brevity best.
Spelling and punctuation...
"tiny wet fists - countless upon leaves, metal, asphalt and soil" is pretty good and reminds me of the last time Tiny dry-fisted me and how I wished there'd been a little more moisture involved.
"Days beneath this late March shower remind," is nice, too, although it doesn't make a lot of sense to me to spend days beneath the same shower, and I wish the phrase had led more naturally into what they reminded you of.
I would definitely hyphenate "long absent" for the obvious reason that I think hyphenation is the shit.
And I agree with Lenore (!) that the last four stanzas are the best, and do you really want to start with "the black depths" of anything? I wouldn't.
Why is the entire poeme indented?
This doesn't really achieve the vague air of guffing claptrap that wheezes out of all good poetry. -2-
Margaret is faithful.
some deleted user
on some deleted poem
3 Apr 2004, 8:20 PM
"choice that will leave her alive."
Good suspense, nice ending, a few too many words, and lines too long.
Grammar! Your prior poems reeked of bad grammar, so does this one. You have good ideas, but believe it or not, you actually have to say them good too.
loose "drinking blood" imho - it doesn't add anything, in fact the verb is weaker than the image I had in my head at the time - that's a key general point, btw.
In general, if you can't describe something better or different than what the reader's imagination will render - then don't.
Note that this is different than stating something that might be obvious to the reader in order to manipulate his standard thought process -
take William Carlos Williams example for this:
The Red Wheelbarrow
(William Carlos Williams )
so much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens.
-------------
know what I mean, vern?
okay. I'll stop now.
have a nine, and not just for putting up with my spouting - its a good poem.
IT IS A VERY NICE POEM.
ITS A NICE COMEDY POEM.
"hammy down dress"!!!! That's superb! Then you bring in Denny's to complete the image!
PS-Speaking of Denny's, last night I got hilariously drunk playing a drinking variation of the Scrabble-like board game Upwords with my wife, who creamed me by forming 'Eurorail' with all of her tiles for a nice 20-point bonus on her way to a handy 50-point victory, despite that I'm in grad Poetry School and she's a mere special-ed undergrad. The point of all this being that this morning, quite screamingly hungover, I drank about three shots of Kenyan espresso and decided to take my lunch at Taco Bell, today being a Sunday, which is post-church redneck dress-up Taco Bell lunch day in my part of the south. This turned out to be a SUPREMELY BAD IDEA, compounded by my copious use of 'Fire Sauce' on my three Burrito Supremes. My only comparable experience so far is the time I rinsed my toothbrush with tapwater in Mexico City and went through a roll of toilet paper EVERY DAY FOR A WEEK (this part of the story is true, incidentally.) What connection does it have to your poem, though? you're bound to ask. Well, oddly enough, while I was weakly evacuating the last of my flaming bowels in the Taco Bell men's room, I heard a Click, Err, and saw that the door of my stall had swung open, revealing a stocky sunburned man in what was a relatively-muted Datona 500 t-shirt for the local population (it being a Sunday, after all.) He introduced himself as the father who I never knew and then, without a further word, proceded to bugger me in my still-burning asshole for AN INSANELY LONG TIME. My point being that my story is considerably better than yours because where mine discourages people from doing immoral things, yours encourages it (ie, accepting rides from strangers in the hopes that they'll be a long-lost father you never knew), though both stories must inevitably, realistically have the same painful conclusion. I would strongly advise you to consider that before posting along these lines again. Barring that, I'd strongly advise you to accept the next ride offered to you by a stranger and SEE IF I WASN'T RIGHT!!!!!
Dear lydia evelyn,
If you cannot say the word 'fuck', can you say the name of the word 'fuck'? The name of the word 'fuck' is ''fuck''. Please try.
If Ray Bradbury were to somehow transmute himself into a guff, this poeme would be the name of the guff. And that name is Jesu.