Poetry Workshop

[bluerains]

Ouch ..Ange

Tears Of A Cosmic Comic..

To this realm of light we are born
mortal spark.

Handed down to us, an open book
on a penned cusp as our story begins.

Words flow through spirals
of starlite, in and out of
chapters of time , formed
from imagination, desires
and hopes;
written from root to seed

Oft time imagination runs
dry as we muse
and speculate a story ended and society
or fate are always willing to write
a page or two;
casting you heroine
in their parched pages
to pursue.

But, the key of a memorable manuscript
is maintaining the copyright and scheme
and realizing the material we have gathered,
while writing this epic journal of a life
tis, but a comic routine in the afterlife.

[/QUOTE]

Blue, I wanted to comment on your poem but I was very busy today. I'm glad I waited though because you've done some work on it already, and you're moving it in the right direction.

In terms of the rubric I have these comments:

Theme: I loved your original story that your guru/muse told you. To me the best part about it is not the tale itself, but who told it and how it was passed on to you. Because of this, I see a dichotomy in your poem that needs to be resolved: on one hand you have an interesting story that was a lesson/gift to you from an interesting character. What that person actually has to say though is general and philosophical.

If, in a poem, one surrenders too much of the "backstory" to its message, one loses the imagery and authenticity that makes for good narrative. The reader is left with generalities--and generalities can not, in my opinion, carry a poem. The best poems I read offer specific images that convey a sense of the writer or the character(s) the writer creates, and these convey an intimacy that draws a reader into a poem, makes it feel "real." The underlying strength of the poem by mischieviousgrin, for example, is the voice of the speaker, which is so distinctive you can almost hear it. That voice creates a visual for me of who that person is and of the world from which he speaks.

I think your poem needs a rehaul that casts it in the context of who your person is. I want to know what he looks like, where he is when the story was told. I want to feel like I'm there. And if the narrator is relaying his story, I want to know who she is. Why was this person and his story important to her? I suspect that this man is a metaphor for the advice he gives. That is poetic. If you paint that picture clearly enough, the message will come through subtly but organically across the poem and that will be powerful writing.

Structure and Word Choice flow from the redesign. Word Choice is critical though, imo, in terms of creating a tone or voice that does as much to communicate the "message" as the actual images you choose to express.

Mechanics is like housecleaning. We all need to do it, but there's no need to address it until you resolve the theme.

I know you understand that I say this with respect and recognition that this means a lot to you--that's why you wanted to write the poem in the first place, lol. You have something important to say in this piece. If you keep working on it, it will reach its potential. Set it aside for a while and cogitate on it if you need to do that (I often do with my poems), but post your revisions here or elsewhere for review when you're ready.


Ange[/QUOTE]


that has always been a big problem ..for me..trying to write long writes...so I try to condense and put the bottom line in writes that take chapters...ouy...the event would be a short story ...and am still struggling with the epic I started...and really the event was a direct effect of the story in the epic in much ways...the epic unfolded the events following through to the old man ..so I just wanted to make sure I did not forget the silver lining in the cloud of an event ..seeing beyond that may take a while for me to write it...I'll see what I can do...thanks for the overview ..and I see what you mean exactly...smiles/blue

 

[Angeline]

"fall cleaning"?

jesus - aren't you domestic and on top of things.

or is chilly already in maine?

good morning.

Hi and it is!

The last few mornings have been downright nippy. I can smell autumn in the air.

I am domestic in bursts. I was sluggishly not domestic most of the summer, but cool weather always ennervates me.

Mornin Joisey.

 

[Tzara]

Comment on eagleeyez submission

transformers flash blue light from
power to power and
explosions of coffee sweats a salty
drizzle upon cellophane streets
where chainlinked, the guard dog
moans in frontloader yards
and dumptruck boys with lips all
powdered and sugared
roll up in 4 wheel drive donutboxes
gunracks and tire irons clang like
clarion calls in the town with no city
and the flagger crews bum smokes
and dig for suspender rain gear
in moldy cardboard corners
while pushbutton girls
tip toe thru back to school mud
in discount shoes
and waterfall mascara,
the dried flowers lay scattered on
auctioneer furniture in the flourescent
highbeam of Monday Morning,
half an hour
ahead of the sun.

With my intrepid pen
I trepidant begin
to comment on your poem.

Fluorescent's spelled wrong.

The end.

I thought the graduate seminar was down the hall, doctor. Who let you in here?

 

[Angeline]

With my intrepid pen
I trepidant begin
to comment on your poem.

Fluorescent's spelled wrong.

The end.

I thought the graduate seminar was down the hall, doctor. Who let you in here?

He has carte blance on all my threads. If I'm not nice to him he'll um--oh he'll still be sweet to me--that's why he can bumble around wherever he wants.

He likes Gary Snyder and Jack Kerouac a lot. Can you tell? lol.

he needs to clean his glasses so he can see the keyboard. you know you do, ee!

 

[Senna Jawa]

It was very refreshing Senna. I had spent the day doing fall cleaning and I felt tired and grubby.

Great! But don't skip the part about anyone else in the meantime jumpin' in your shower. (I expected a report about a great party. Or should it be the next poematic challenge?).

It's nice to see you're still concerned for my welfare.

But of course.

Regards,

 

[eagleyez]

With my intrepid pen
I trepidant begin
to comment on your poem.

Fluorescent's spelled wrong.

The end.

I thought the graduate seminar was down the hall, doctor. Who let you in here?

Thanks for the spell check. I fuck that word up everytime it seems.



I feel completely unqualified to comment or give suggestion to the writers here. I read with a great enjoyment, but certainly dont do a lot of commentary. It doesnt mean that I dont appreciate the spirit of the thread and those participating.


Even that old coot Senna came shuffling in. Thats cool in my book.

Again thanks, and Ange, yes the specs are an issue.

 

[Angeline]

Great! But don't skip the part about anyone else in the meantime jumpin' in your shower. (I expected a report about a great party. Or should it be the next poematic challenge?).

But of course.

Regards,

Well now Senna, you seem to have misinterpreted my comment. I was quite tired when I made it or I would have said more to clarify what I meant. The invitation to jump in was for feedback on poems, not my shower. Sorry to disappoint.

 

[Senna Jawa]

Well now Senna, you seem to have misinterpreted my comment.

Indeed, my interpretation skills are rather poor than pure and puritanical.

 

[Du Lac]

Poem of review

Hi all I would appreciate if you could take a little time to help me with this poem. I will not say anything about it besides I know the ending is weak and I still is a mystery to me in how to improve it.

Thank you for you time and energies.
du lac~


Yellow Inbetween
by Du Lac ©

Yellow Inbetween

Heavy rain soaked snow,
Thrashing towards the earth,
Suppressing rising yellow-brown rookery,
Terra of the in-between.

4791 miles,
dividing
the physical us
World of the in-between.

A yellow ware mug, purchased for you,
Sipping, warm, rich coffee,
Lips meeting on a shared rim,
Dissolving the in-between.

Encapsulating blond shower,
Fluent hot water rolling over goose bumps,
Sitting, looking up, your manhood alive in my mouth.
Watching you float inbetween.

Lemon walls, echoing lust,
Spread open and vulnerable,
Deep expulsion within the cavern of trust,
I scream lost inbetween.

You are blue, I am green,
Me blue, you green?
Fusion of spirits
Yellow inbetween.

 

[bluerains]

Hi all I would appreciate if you could take a little time to help me with this poem. I will not say anything about it besides I know the ending is weak and I still is a mystery to me in how to improve it.

Thank you for you time and energies.
du lac~


Yellow Inbetween
by Du Lac ©

Yellow Inbetween

Heavy rain soaked snow,
Thrashing towards the earth,
Suppressing rising yellow-brown rookery,
Terra of the in-between.

4791 miles,
dividing
the physical us
World of the in-between.

A yellow ware mug, purchased for you,
Sipping, warm, rich coffee,
Lips meeting on a shared rim,
Dissolving the in-between.

Encapsulating blond shower,
Fluent hot water rolling over goose bumps,
Sitting, looking up, your manhood alive in my mouth.
Watching you float inbetween.

Lemon walls, echoing lust,
Spread open and vulnerable,
Deep expulsion within the cavern of trust,
I scream lost inbetween.

You are blue, I am green,
Me blue, you green?
Fusion of spirits
Yellow inbetween.

I Lovethis is a cool write..the only thing I might do different is the last verse..

I the aqua , you marine
meld into our golden inbetween...

 

[twelveoone]

This is one of my early wildlife series poems. As you can see I was really into alliteration. There are only two lines that still really bothers me, but I am willing to consider any serious suggestions. I do want to keep the alliterative form, however. - PAX

LOON


(insert picture)

(Gavia immer)


Lonely laughing lunatic
Loki

Devious deep diver
Demon

Maudlin midnight maniac
Murderer of the mists

Why?

Great gaunt Gavia
What ghoulish god do you serve
Sleazy scurrilous screams sounding
Scudding across the rim of sleep
Chalk board scraper of the soul

You bring memories of things best forgotten
Thoughts of emptiness
The vastness of eternity

Alone.

Whence came your wild whickering
Your haunting harrowing halloo
Harbinger of hopelessness
Immersed immer
Fish eater

Who wakes you screaming in the dark
Faustian fowl

Does the shivering silver of the swallowed fish return
Like thoughts of those things gone
Sliding down the throat of time
Sticking in the craw of the mind

Do you call to the past
Forgetting the joy of the living
Feathered fool
Downy dunce

Masterly mimic of my mind


I too cry in the night.​

.

Rybka, with all due respects...Lo la lu lo; de de di de, and then you up it with one extra M
Why?
It makes it look like an alliteration exercise, the rest is very tasteful (with the exception of "Sleazy", ss, sc, ss, sc. Yeh, "Chalk board scraper", I know.

"Great gaunt Gavia
What ghoulish god do you serve"
This works for me 3 g's seperated by What, before 2 g's

This also works very well, maybe because of the "oo" stopped by the "Harb"

"Whence came your wild whickering
Your haunting harrowing halloo
Harbinger of hopelessness"

I feel the beginning is too obvious, too tongue twisterish, detracting from some very nice subtle touches.
I follow a rule of three, more than, you better have a good reason for it. Am I missing something?

Now you have the bird: "Great gaunt Gavia"; the sound of the bird "Whence ...halloo"; the "chalkboard of your soul scraping". These are the important things, not Loki, Demon, Murder.

The ending is nice,
2
2
3
not overdone.

 

[twelveoone]

now I get to post one

don't hold back now, I can take it. I'm sure this could use the scalpel.


Saint Christopher held my hand
Through another night thinking of him
And the last two minutes of his life
Stumbling and, I don’t know
Cursing or grunting
Like an animal
I wish I knew what it was like
But to do so, I would have to
Perhaps
go into the woods
And find a bear gutshot by a hunter
And ask him.
Oh, how he must have thrashed
And wailed and stomped
And forgotten who we was
And what had happened

But wait, let me go back six months
After his wife’s funeral
And three grown men,
Straining to hold him up
And give the rope some slack
As it digs into the loose skin,
Around his neck
Well, who could blame him.

And we should talk of
The cancer that ate his wife
From the inside out
And watching them bury
Her hollow body
“He just wasn’t thinking clearly”
And in time, the bruises around his neck
Faded
And just as long as someone shows up
Once a day
And brings a hot meal
We can hope for the best
After all, time heals all wounds
(if they’ve been cauterized)

But to bring us back:
To six months after the funeral
And Melissa,
One of the nieces that flutters around
At the edge of his awareness,
Bringing a Christmas eve dinner
And hoping to get him out of the house.

Well, what he had done:
A kitchen knife, into the chest
Enough times so that no one could say exactly
How many times.

And lately I’m thinking,
Maybe he was trying to get at
Something eating him from the inside
Hollowing him out.
I don’t know how else to explain
After all, you can buy rope anywhere.

They say there was blood
In every room in the house
So
What was he looking for?

Grin, I touch this with great trepidation. I don't know what you are trying to do. Are you sure you wish to do this in your normal style, with your almost flippant offhand remarks, i.e.
"I don’t know how else to explain
After all, you can buy rope anywhere."
Don't get me wrong, it all works, starting with looking for the shot bear, and I don't think you could get a way with these lines
"Maybe he was trying to get at
Something eating him from the inside
Hollowing him out."
without the lines before and after, (and the tie in with the wife's cancer is perfect)

Basically I am having a problem deciding whether the strangeness of this overweighs the sadness, I'm tempted to say it is a perfect mix.
But I'm also trying to visualize in a book with your other work, do you see what I mean?

 

[twelveoone]

Hi all I would appreciate if you could take a little time to help me with this poem. I will not say anything about it besides I know the ending is weak and I still is a mystery to me in how to improve it.

Thank you for you time and energies.
du lac~


Yellow Inbetween
by Du Lac ©

Yellow Inbetween

Heavy rain soaked snow,
Thrashing towards the earth,
Suppressing rising yellow-brown rookery,
Terra of the in-between.

4791 miles,
dividing
the physical us
World of the in-between.

A yellow ware mug, purchased for you,
Sipping, warm, rich coffee,
Lips meeting on a shared rim,
Dissolving the in-between.

Encapsulating blond shower,
Fluent hot water rolling over goose bumps,
Sitting, looking up, your manhood alive in my mouth.
Watching you float inbetween.

Lemon walls, echoing lust,
Spread open and vulnerable,
Deep expulsion within the cavern of trust,
I scream lost inbetween.

You are blue, I am green,
Me blue, you green?
Fusion of spirits
Yellow inbetween.

Just another Rubric in the wall...
totally ignoring Angeline's, because weel she does, and because weel why not?

Here we are going to play a game of associations.
Title: Yellow inbetween
soaked snow
yellow ware
Encapsulating blond shower
Fluent hot water
your manhood alive in my mouth

moving on...
Du, I assume you are a person of artistic bent, so you know the value of colour choices.
Blue, Green, Yellow, is this an additive or subtractive process? Doesn't matter, better if both, here is the area you should play in. Here is where you want to lead the audience. It will raise it beyond the ordinary.

 

[twelveoone]

I guess, I guess, I guess, I just wasted my time here

Or was I supposed to fall over in awe?

 

[champagne1982]

I guess, I guess, I guess, I just wasted my time here

Or was I supposed to fall over in awe?

You've gotten lots of attention lately. We're here to workshop poems when we have time. Perhaps, you've just picked a busy week.

Belated congrats on your thousand posts, too.

 

[BooMerengue]

I guess, I guess, I guess, I just wasted my time here

Or was I supposed to fall over in awe?

You didn't waste your time. If you'll notice there are a whole lot more views than posts on this thread. Don't start getting sensitive now! Keep on- you are heeded!

 

[twelveoone]

You've gotten lots of attention lately. We're here to workshop poems when we have time. Perhaps, you've just picked a busy week.

Belated congrats on your thousand posts, too.

not looking for attention for me, attention to the craft

But I will accept the congrats from one who posts less per day then I do.

 

[Tzara]

Grin, I touch this with great trepidation. I don't know what you are trying to do. Are you sure you wish to do this in your normal style, with your almost flippant offhand remarks, i.e.
"I don’t know how else to explain
After all, you can buy rope anywhere."
Don't get me wrong, it all works, starting with looking for the shot bear, and I don't think you could get a way with these lines
"Maybe he was trying to get at
Something eating him from the inside
Hollowing him out."
without the lines before and after, (and the tie in with the wife's cancer is perfect)

Basically I am having a problem deciding whether the strangeness of this overweighs the sadness, I'm tempted to say it is a perfect mix.
But I'm also trying to visualize in a book with your other work, do you see what I mean?

I think these lines in general work very well, from at least a couple of different viewpoints. On the one hand, the narrator could be a close relative and the "strangeness" of the juxtaposition of thoughts could be due to emotional shock. On the other hand, the narrator could just be someone in the town or neighborhood who has maybe read about this in the paper or been told the story by someone more closely connected to the events. Either case would explain the kind of dazed or disinterested disconnect that the lines evoke. It would be helpful to know which of these viewpoints is intended (if either of them in fact are) but I don't think it's essential. Ambiguity of interpretation sometimes makes for a richer reading experience.

When I commented on this the first time, I didn't say anything about these lines

And Melissa,
One of the nieces that flutters around
At the edge of his awareness,

which I think are particularly fine.

 

[twelveoone]

now I get to post one

don't hold back now, I can take it. I'm sure this could use the scalpel.


Saint Christopher held my hand
Through another night thinking of him
And the last two minutes of his life
Stumbling and, I don’t know
Cursing or grunting
Like an animal
I wish I knew what it was like
But to do so, I would have to
Perhaps
go into the woods
And find a bear gutshot by a hunter
And ask him.
Oh, how he must have thrashed
And wailed and stomped
And forgotten who we was
And what had happened

But wait, let me go back six months
After his wife’s funeral
And three grown men,
Straining to hold him up
And give the rope some slack
As it digs into the loose skin,
Around his neck
Well, who could blame him.

And we should talk of
The cancer that ate his wife
From the inside out
And watching them bury
Her hollow body
“He just wasn’t thinking clearly”
And in time, the bruises around his neck
Faded
And just as long as someone shows up
Once a day
And brings a hot meal
We can hope for the best
After all, time heals all wounds
(if they’ve been cauterized)

But to bring us back:
To six months after the funeral
And Melissa,
One of the nieces that flutters around
At the edge of his awareness,
Bringing a Christmas eve dinner
And hoping to get him out of the house.

Well, what he had done:
A kitchen knife, into the chest
Enough times so that no one could say exactly
How many times.

And lately I’m thinking,
Maybe he was trying to get at
Something eating him from the inside
Hollowing him out.
I don’t know how else to explain
After all, you can buy rope anywhere.

They say there was blood
In every room in the house
So
What was he looking for?

I think these lines in general work very well, from at least a couple of different viewpoints. On the one hand, the narrator could be a close relative and the "strangeness" of the juxtaposition of thoughts could be due to emotional shock. On the other hand, the narrator could just be someone in the town or neighborhood who has maybe read about this in the paper or been told the story by someone more closely connected to the events. Either case would explain the kind of dazed or disinterested disconnect that the lines evoke. It would be helpful to know which of these viewpoints is intended (if either of them in fact are) but I don't think it's essential. Ambiguity of interpretation sometimes makes for a richer reading experience.

When I commented on this the first time, I didn't say anything about these lines

And Melissa,
One of the nieces that flutters around
At the edge of his awareness,

which I think are particularly fine.

responding to Tzara: as is alone, totally agree - I was thinking of this in juxtaposition to his others in a collected works (i'm sure it will happen, someday) in which it would come across as rather flip.

 

[mischievousgrin]

hello....thanks to everyone for your comments.

This particular poem, as many of mine are (like "dog" which I posted a couple of weeks ago and was written immediately after the events described in it), is pretty much 100% true. (of course i also sometimes make stuff up completely!) I wrote it many, many years ago, in fact its one of the earliest ones i still have...i found it in a notebook a couple of months ago and did the barest touch up on a few lines that scanned badly (well, worse than they do now, anyway).

The man in question was the uncle of my girlfriend at the time, and he did indeed kill himself on xmas eve.

Im glad someone pointed out that the timeline isn't clear, I need to work on that. His first suicide attempt (the hanging) was almost immediately after his wife's funeral; the 2nd (succesful) was 6 months later.

In truth I barely knew the man, but needless to say his death had a profound impact on me....not least because of the intensity of the manner of death. It was hearing that he had stumbled around through every room in the house, leaving a trail of blood, that made me want to write the poem....it often seems to be the case that the end of a poem comes to me first.

the one made up detail: St Christopher, or any other saint for that matter, has never been the slightest comfort to me. I just liked the way that sounded.

Also, I have to say I *like* the idea of a poem like that brushing up against poems that are not so, um....well not so fucking depressing I guess. Which is not to say that a group of poems shouldnt have a flow, but, i don't like the idea of segregating all the poems that fit a certain mood into one group. It could very well be my background as a DJ, but I like the idea of mixing things up...I always favored the unexpected transition (that still made perfect sense) to the seamless flow of beats.

 

[twelveoone]

strange, that is the one I was thinking of, sitting next to it on the pages.

 

[Cub4ucme]

This is one of my early wildlife series poems. As you can see I was really into alliteration. There are only two lines that still really bothers me, but I am willing to consider any serious suggestions. I do want to keep the alliterative form, however. - PAX

LOON


(insert picture)

(Gavia immer)


Lonely laughing lunatic
Loki

Devious deep diver
Demon

Maudlin midnight maniac
Murderer of the mists

Why?

Great gaunt Gavia
What ghoulish god do you serve
Sleazy scurrilous screams sounding
Scudding across the rim of sleep
Chalk board scraper of the soul

You bring memories of things best forgotten
Thoughts of emptiness
The vastness of eternity

Alone.

Whence came your wild whickering
Your haunting harrowing halloo
Harbinger of hopelessness
Immersed immer
Fish eater

Who wakes you screaming in the dark
Faustian fowl

Does the shivering silver of the swallowed fish return
Like thoughts of those things gone
Sliding down the throat of time
Sticking in the craw of the mind

Do you call to the past
Forgetting the joy of the living
Feathered fool
Downy dunce

Masterly mimic of my mind


I too cry in the night.​

.

This is appealing!

Understand what I offer here is subjective.

That said, I feel like the alliteration is overdone.

It's as if you are forcing it upon the read to the
point where it no longer works as the poem
reads down the page.

It losses it's steam is what I'm trying to get at.

The poem is both clever and crafty.

The opening drew me right in.

Anything, that's new to me and done
with some sense of poetic flair
becomes immediately interesting.

There are some spots where it would
help to drop a word. Not only in the sense
that the word doesn't help the poem
but, two-fold in that it keeps the rythum
intact.

EX: Sticking in the craw of mind

works better than: Sticking in the craw of the mind

The THE is one beat too many for the line.



It's important to have good sense for line breaks
and rythum when you are authoring a poem
such as this.

You did a good job of keeping the pace
and without sounding too critical
I just feel like the poem is worthy
of more of your time.

It's hard to write this type of poem.

I know that when I have attempted
something similar I can't wait to
finish it.

That said, maybe you have already
reworked it as I have not read the
entire thread.

If not, I'd get back at it.

It's publishable
with some tweaking.

thanks,
andy