poemranker ::falling in with the wrong crowd. by richa

DetailsThe poem, its numbers, and the conversation.

Free verse № 71689

falling in with the wrong crowd.

by richa

Member since 2002 · Posted 23 Oct 2003 · 10 comments

The heart does not stop, when we stop listening to its beat, nor thoughts of the travelling man, though a diamond may cut his windscreen with light and for a moment take the pole of his gaze like a magnet.

Rate it

0 is the worst, 10 the best. Pick a number, add a comment if you like, then send it. Keys: 0–9 pick, Enter sends.

mean 6.81 weighted 6.78 rank 429 views 326 View voting details →

21 votes so far. Yours would make 22.21 votes so far

10 comments

[n/a] richa 23-Oct-03/6:40 AM Reply
About people having a basic humanity to themselves behind the diktats of the environment (a metaphor)

Wanted to put a bit about a senile old woman (always looking into the light to carry on the metaphor). And how she would look after cats or the like though she had no memory of why.
[9] INTRANSIT › richa 23-Oct-03/6:48 AM Reply
If you have the alternate writing, I suggest you have them side by side and read both aloud and then decide. After your explanation, it makes more sense, particularly the first stan.
I wish everyone understood what I mean all the time, but poetry wouldn't be a challenge then.
[9] INTRANSIT 23-Oct-03/6:42 AM Reply
a diamond may cut his windscreen with light. I get the image but is it a diamond or light? I stumble here for some reason. I like it otherwise. Most what you write reaches me, makes me think. Keep it up.
[n/a] richa › INTRANSIT 23-Oct-03/6:56 AM Reply
I'm a bit confused myself.

The image is light, but I was thinking of a magpie flying across with a jewel reflecting the light.

The image is to tease the reader, a diamond cutting like on an industrial lathe/ no it is light like a diamond/ no the diamond exists but the light is what cuts.
[9] King Abdullah I 23-Oct-03/6:44 AM Reply
-good-

[10] horus8 23-Oct-03/11:23 AM Reply
Jim Jones and John Travolta painting the town red.
[9] god'swife 23-Oct-03/12:38 PM Reply
Many times I ask myself why I keep coming back to poemranker. Is it some sick co-dependent habit, an acting out of familial dysfunction? Then I find poetry, like an artifact toss carelessly among the rubbish, and I realize for a glimmer of a moment, no, it is my desire to feel the truth some stranger might share. A poem works for me not because I understand its details, but simply because the sound of it strikes upon familiar tones. This poem is pleasant, and poignant, the way a certain lullaby can calm, or the way a loved ones breathing registers a sense of belonging. Here is what the artist strives for, not sense, so much as beauty.
[9] ecargo 23-Oct-03/9:41 PM Reply
Cogent, with a knockout ending.
[9] Caducus 24-Oct-03/6:40 AM Reply
poemranker support : 9

You're a leader richard
[8] EAger to Offend 24-Oct-03/6:55 AM Reply
It's very clear, yet vague enough to keep me meditating upon the metaphor. The senile woman version sounds like it would be a little more story-like, but I'd like to read it none the less.