RhymeFairy
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- May 24, 2005
- Posts
- 8,719
Just wanted to drop in and Thank Eve for the heads up on the New Poem reviews, for my newest addition. I also appreciate the commentary and the interest. Thanks everyone ...
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As always you're far too generous, LadyS. That was a case of over-excitedness, and perhaps a premature submission. But I like the feel and the mental picture. Definitely could stand another look. Could even consider offering it up for a gang bang. Rough it up.
hmmnmmishness, you don't give yourself enough credit.
WickedEve gives us a multifaceted vision in Cruel Avenue. It's a natural slice of life that is both simple and profound.
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WickedEve offers up a must read in The Igors that is perfect Halloween fare. You'll want to read it several times to really appreciate the fun she must have had in writing this. There's gaudy gaunts, mangled metaphor, poetic perversions, and arterial alliteration, and that's just a quickie sample to whet your appetite for all the creativity in this fun form. This is the sort of easy read that makes the study of poetry such fun.
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All's well so far. Except the powers who post poetry would have to put a Wicked Eve work near the top on the very Friday that the reading begins at the top. Because Bruise Theory is a doozy. If on first and then second read I can get away with blending literal and symbolic/metaphorical interpretations, that would be wonderful. However, this little insane scene doesn't allow the reader off that easy. Is the dentist a real dentist? Surely the dentist's name is not Dr. Zomb. Or is there a real Dr. Zomb and the 'dentist' is symbolic of something else? A monster the poet was forced to be with? Or is it a real visit to the dentist and the gas they feed her creates these visions of cold slabs and evil assistants. No. Eve has made sure that we will not get off so easily.... and she must be laughing at this moment. .
You're a goober.weirdest thing just happened.
Ha. Knew it. You know them poems are out there. Somewhere. But they know you're looking. So you just say, "hmmm, yeah, looks like no poems today." You know, make like you're going home. Pack up your vienna sausages and velveeta and crackers, and your mufflers and sweaters and porn magazines. Walk a ways, then hide behind a tree... then they come out. Ha.
(Love this one, by the way.)Okay, another break, and start popping blouse buttons.
These three one might think, "oh yeah, somebody new, somebody with more woe-is-me-you-sorry-two-timin-fuck stuff" so you click on it, and skim over it... but then! Whoa! Hold up! Then you come back. Go back. Read it again. Little nuggets hidden under pockets of foggy gauze.
Bwahaha. My day's just starting but I can already tell it's going to be crammed full of weird, too. I don't know whether to sigh or yawn and go with it (and then eat a chocolate chip cookie). Probably the second. Mostly because it involves chocolate.Well keep it to yourself I've had enough weird for one day
I apologise for my recent absence, I missed last Saturday and hence there was no review—unfortunately I think that today will be little different. There are 18 new poems today, but nothing in particular appeals to me.
Nevertheless, I do encourage you to read the poems if you have the time, because perhaps something will be more to your liking.
Shame on you. Did you not read the 18 poems? If you didn't, why don't you? If you did, and did find any appealing to you, why don't you post your review?That is a cop out.
It is almost as if you could not be bothered, as you had other things on your mind.
Did you even tead the 18 poems?
I doubt it.
And now poets who have labored, and worried over phrases and words get no encouragement at all from you.
Shame on you.
And what happened to the review of Sunday`s poems?
Thanks darkness.I have saved Eve for last because she is wicked. Her poem A Conrad Dimple Poem III is an extended in-joke that requires Dimples I and II to make the reviewer's life easy. Alas, I have lost my early Conrad and am bummed at missing the joke. However all is not lost. If it were a painting, one could approach it as one might a work of Abstract Expressionism and chase meaning in its surface texture. It stands up to this quite well I think. It crackles with chaos and in the end I feel for Mistress Tweedy's loss to the poet's rampant phallic imagery.
I forgot. Because I'm indulging my verbosity today, I had also wanted to tell you, Tim, that there's this little part in Kate Bush's Running Up That Hill that makes me think of you, too. It's kind of a longish clip (though I think beej [and myself] would say it's worth it any day of the week), but the part I'm after starts at about minute 3:40. She says "Let's exchange the experience."
Was listening to the whole album the other night while making cheese tarts and that line suddenly came to me when I pictured you at the bus stop.
Haha, what if we called it the "bust stop" for when you're doing the erotica?