richa
on Solving Freud's Conflict (not a weather poem) by nypoet22
29 Jan 2007, 1:04 PM
Cute.
Unexpected bit about your cock. Have to give you marks for that one, dearie.
The Aladdin Hotel. Las Vegas. My room has a glass display case mounted on the wall. Inside, a silk tunic. The caption: "The Addams Family, Paramount Pictures 1991, Jimmy Workman as Pugsley Addams, Vest he wore in the film."
Clearly I was at the bottom of the pile when they were distributing priceless memorabilia to all the rooms.
If this is your stream of consciousness you must think hella slow.
A most odd little contribution and one not without merit. Not very MUCH merit, of course, but still a little bit. I see you deny being an "alter ego" here. But I recognise your style (or lack thereof) vaguely. Who knows what the future may bring. What are you a doctor of, dear? Or is that mere affectation and vanity?
struck a chord. didn-t see it as anti-bush, rather as anti the other lot ... guess there's not much difference
A bit unlikely stocking a public pond with bass.... I thought they were sea-fish?
Do you really need the comma?
"White dribbles colors what is a black plane"
Disability and racism; two of poemranker's favourite topics -010-
At the risk of reviving the tired "well, what IS poetry" debate--this reads like prose. As a first draft, it has some promise, but I'd definitely cut lots of words, make it less "sentence-y." Also, try rearranging passages/events--your last stanza might make a good starting point ("My journey if full of ice and discarded cars . . ."). It doesn't have to unfold in quite such a rigidly linear form.
Welcome to the 'ranker. ;)
I think the idea is a good one for a poem (end of innocence and all that), but you approach it too directly, I think, and the last line is too precious. Actually, rockmage's comment would make a decent poem on this subject with some editing:
The chicken head at the bloody stump, a hatchet
still in my hand. I was three. My first kill.
It squawked [note: it couldn't squawk headless]pumping blood and ran after me
until the blood ran out. The adults rolled about, laughing, more at my tears than the scene.
It was my pet and my lesson
on the difference between beasts and men.
Pleas.
ap[p]les, alps
flop, slap.
eap.
Yeah! One idea carried through to the bitter end. A very nice bleak picture and excellent sick humor as well.
I was playing Absolute Balderdash with some friends a while back, and one of the answers they came up with was 'A light source used in streetlamps'. I, of course, misinterpreted it as 'a light sauce used in streetlamps', and will swear for ever that that is the best image conceivable.
Not bad, Mr. Mage. Poetry as masturbation. ;)
For added irony, try some metre.
'Loci' is a great word to use in poetry, I must try it more often.
Not bad. Typo last word?
When I read bollocks like "inexists" I reach for the zero score button................. And it gets worse. God almighty. This is NOT a pimple, it's an oozing pus-filled sore.
Wanking can be fun, I suppose. Better than verbal puking.
'The' happens far too much for me; excellent otherwise.