The Critical Poet

dltd

helenamostamused — Wed Jan 07, 2009 7:29 am

Author: helenamostamused

Posted: Wed Jan 07, 2009 7:29 am

too many secrets caged
held silent while crying
got antsy and i posted a stupid poem
sorry

Autumn blew over lakes (2)

wanderingscribe — Wed Jan 07, 2009 7:04 am

Author: wanderingscribe

Posted: Wed Jan 07, 2009 7:04 am

No I don't quite get nipples!!!!

Thanks for the advice - will keep at it.

wand

Dragonfly in Late Summer

arabianlady — Wed Jan 07, 2009 2:32 am

Author: arabianlady

Posted: Wed Jan 07, 2009 2:32 am

Chris, no worries. I didn't find your comments crass at all and I took them seriously. That's why I post for critique, after all. I change what I feel can be made better, and stubbornly retain what i want to keep as-is. But criticism is welcome. It's all good.

I do need "only" because the metaphysical element rather demands it. The speaker isn't looking further than the immediate - not to any sort of heaven. It is all he knows - until later when he starts to wonder about that assumption. But the rest of the diction choices are open to question and change.

I was looking at "shifting band" to combine sonically with "drift" - sort of - and also to imply the visible spectrum before it actually strikes the wings, which applies to all the elements/colours from cobalt (as noted earlier) to gold (also noted) and whatever else might be out there. The Doppler shift of visible light suggests the age of the universe and all that (maybe the role of God?). Then I added "the sun my ornament" to further extend the light-spectrum idea. But I probably didn't make the metaphor connect strongly enough to do any good, at least not in a wider or obvious sense. Will mull it over some more. Intent doesn't always translate to effect.

Scowel, thanks for visiting my little dancing critter and his marsh. I'm happy also that you visited the web page you mention, with my poems and music and so on. Or at least, I assume you did, following Angel's link from Bookshelf (?).

I'm still debating about the nature of the Thing. Merely unknowable, or menacing? Gotta keep greater where it is to sustain meter, and inject a bit of a bump on that line. I'll probably go back to free verse so I can untie my hands. Hah! I hope your holidays were good, too. On to a whole new year!

Steve, I appreciate your feedback. Thanks for supporting my diction here. Yes - light, colour, sensation - I suppose to a dragonfly those are all that matters. I have mixed feelings about the ending, too. By removing the darkness, have I blunted the tip of the spear? I do have that other version, though. Even though it IS prose. Or a prose-poem, which hedges the bets.

Like I said, they're a bunch of really delightful camera geeks. They know more than I can begin to imagine about pixels and apertures and all that stuff. I learn a lot on that site. But poets, they ain't. Every now and then, when I comment on a photo by someone who's used to me, I'll do it in a haiku. They probably think I'm just that weird poet-lady who doesn't know squat about cameras but makes 'em laugh nonetheless. We've actually talked about putting out a photography book at some point and if we do, I might get to provide the editorial commentary. Or at least proofread it all. That would be cool.

But I digress. I'll not eliminate my beast. I'll just keep two versions of the poem and if I send it out, will choose according to the destination.

Hi Helen! Great to hear from you. You noticed the "lent" embedded in there ... wow. I do love puns but sometimes I bury them. I don't "do Lent". It would meaning swearing off chocolate because I'd need to give up something that means a lot to me. I couldn't survive without my ultra-dark-coated maraschinos.

your poems are always alighting on lily pads and pulling the sunshine along
into any grey sky; fast approaching; warmth of light

How lovely! This gladdens my heart. Sometimes my stuff gets pretty damn depressing, though. I never quite got over my teen angst.

I hope all's well with you and yours.

My best to everyone.

Brenda

Geoghan's Ghost, Part I

wanderingscribe — Tue Jan 06, 2009 10:47 pm

Author: wanderingscribe

Posted: Tue Jan 06, 2009 10:47 pm

Hey M

You certainly know how to pull your reader in! And this one didn't fail.

wand

Night-shift

wanderingscribe — Tue Jan 06, 2009 10:32 pm

Author: wanderingscribe

Posted: Tue Jan 06, 2009 10:32 pm

Hey Rosa,

I enjoyed reading this, really like;

Blueprints stained my thumbs lavender.

The last S - I really like the opening but becomes a little weak (hope you don't mind me saying) - perhaps you could change it round and see if it works? �End it with -

Taw, the white marble, �
split this road in two -

Thanks for the read

wand

Of His Veil. Imagining Nathaniel Hawthorne

helenamostamused — Tue Jan 06, 2009 9:06 pm

Author: helenamostamused

Posted: Tue Jan 06, 2009 9:06 pm

what a gorgeous piece. and i wish i'd read this earlier.
third, or fourth, or fifth, or sixth. you have my vote

blessings,
helen

Eric -

helenamostamused — Tue Jan 06, 2009 9:04 pm

Author: helenamostamused

Posted: Tue Jan 06, 2009 9:04 pm

a hearty 2nd!! and best of luck to you.
it is a joy to read your work.

blessings,
helen

Mote

helenamostamused — Tue Jan 06, 2009 8:59 pm

Author: helenamostamused

Posted: Tue Jan 06, 2009 8:59 pm

b/c i wznt stsfd w/1st:

what i really wanted to say was this part here:

[i]What used to be head now heart
What used to be heart now head

heart planted into head
head blooming out of heart

What used to be
Is not what is
What used to be
Is not what is

It�s more than what it used to be [/i]

is just so beautiful. I really love it actually,
and as i went on my walk with my dog this afternoon
I thought about your words and your words helped me
to finish writing my next poeme. you are such an inspiration.
quite simply. a quiet flower that sits in the window patient and beautiful
and glowing.

blessings,
helen

so sorry about my first post. it wasn't much to go on, only that the bee and the hammer in the head wasn't
meant to be a put down; i just feel that the meat of your poeme, her essence resides within the aforementioned illuminated.

The Bad Poetry Thread

boardflak — Tue Jan 06, 2009 6:24 pm

Author: boardflak

Posted: Tue Jan 06, 2009 6:24 pm

Not exactly poetry, but bad enough:

We join famed detective Sherlock Holmes and his sidekick Doctor Watson as they examine a murder scene:

"I say, Holmes, the fellow must be deucedly clever. There's not a single clue to be found."

"To the contrary, my good Watson, examine this ceramic foot and tell me what you see."

"Why, it has lines on it, like roads, and markings for trees, hills and houses. Gad, Holmes! It's a map!"

"Precisely so, Watson. The intent is that we should follow these markings like a treasure map. We are presently at the base of the heel and, if I am not very much mistaken, our destination is marked out on the top of the big toe. We have been presented with a challenge."

"By Gadfrey, Holmes, you don't mean it!"

"Yes, Watson, the killer is playing with us, and a foot is the game. Come, we must waste no time!"

Vegas nerve

Steve Parker — Tue Jan 06, 2009 6:03 pm

Author: Steve Parker

Posted: Tue Jan 06, 2009 6:03 pm

Many thanks, Rosa, glad you liked it. Sorry for the delay replying. Only just noticed this (been away too). Darn shame about this Sting/Police thing... Ah well, I'm assimilating it now.

Steve.

try and keep up.

helenamostamused — Tue Jan 06, 2009 5:48 pm

Author: helenamostamused

Posted: Tue Jan 06, 2009 5:48 pm

Legend: i. dreamery * forgiveness ) memory Heaven. Stops. Here. ? ii. Parchment of illuminated years

� � � � � � � � � � � � � � � "...And if you should get lost my dear, simply stop at the next station and ask for directions."

i.we were trekking we were traipsing we were climbing o'er tin point edges white cottony stars passing neon batons mercerized rainbow waiving 'cross navy canvas nacht 'n how th'silver canvas moon was so delighted with our playing tesoro how we climbed th'mountains nimbly 'n how th' cottony stars knelt in play alive with anime� our souls so thirsty from this life ah tesoro how you held me there despite life's disasters and her worrisome gravitational force we defied deleted and renamed the mukluk of saccharine descriptions trapped in garrets of societal decisions we were gods and goddesses angels, tesoro, angels and look at all the angels playing loosed upon the wicked winking navy gallant nacht, lo! -- �th'years turned round th'planets into gangsters and we fell so far gravitational forces caught in traps and kept in hollow cages; thy trapt soul forgets; i lost the pathway of yr voice the stars are traipsing traipsing o�er th' silver pinioned sky disappointed angels of the nacht droop their wings &mucking about leaving muddy boot prints tracks 'cross the nacht; still, no trail doth stay; and every other guy has got your lion eyes i try to remember and pretend and make up and then remember again; memory is a cloud; drifting o�er clouds of dreams we were trekking we were traipsing we were climbing o�er stars

forgiveness � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � �* � � �what does it mean; explain to me,
� � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � �define

� � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � to forgive

) � � � � � � �memory
what does it mean; explain to me,
define

� � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � to let the insult

to remember

� � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � �fall and sink

to never forget

� � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � hungry water slapping �

out of tune Sonata
� � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � words over words

the one you�ve loved

� � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � ths brnt soul; these words

� � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � �) � � � � � � � � � � � � � since before you were born

� � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � �to know directions with no
*
send them all flying
�cross the sky � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � �map to find the way into a heart
loosed birds
in search of new
� � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � �a wisp of cloud flying into the window of yr � � � � �
� � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � soul � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � �memory; withholds

� � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � my bones fall into their heaps

� � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � �without you
prey o� pray � � � , th�
sea is calming limbs drag � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � my skeleton � � � � � � � �
� � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � screaming
air is a tsunami wave disguised
as time far reaching
thru bracken water
life pulling me asunder

� � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � Heaven.[/i]

� � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � �We were in the greenhouse

peeking over groves of miniature
oranges; trees that wept like
children until i held them
in the crook of my arm; at
the new house we bought

� � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � �
� � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � �fifth of sun and the dreamy days
all that we could edging � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � �dress themselves in azure bows
every perimeter and patch of � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � i�m on my stomach waiting
grass with more flowers; that � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � �for the next wave to take
summer i remember nimbly � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � �me in; body board cord
climbing to the sun and pulling � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � around my tan; anklet
her down in streamers of light; � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � �falling asleep on land; rocking
Poolside he is making a shadow; � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � dolphins circing in the night;
i put my hand out slide it to � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � �-- the rhyne at trinii�s quay

[i]stops.[/i]

the left. �You�re in my sun.�
� � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � �
i was that kind of girl. where have

you gone my orangey days �

so wistful and plentiful. so easy

with your bed head of green leaves

and rind smell of white flower blooming?

lazy gazing over rooftops sunning on the deck, i say to

mother over ice water with lemon slices; you know this won�t last

long. the unadorned skyline, the plants,

and trees. � � � � �[i]Her smile.

� � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � �here.[/i]

� � � � � � � � � �?
i float thru days
th� sound
of yr voice � � � � � � � � �
round my neck;
a locket
keeps me from
falling
further
down
the drain

ths longings
present themselves
in unattractive
color schemes; force
myself to look upon
thy canvas; more blonde?
more hope? more future?
bashful ashamed of
her failures inability
to accept less than
everything; ashamed
of her inability
to rise up; confront the day;
forest girl hides away
how to fix

� � , everything
for you; the girl
inside my soul;
the one who longs
to run on the beach
again, to find you
in your stolen fa�ade;
the one that fits you
so well; rebel wild
eyes of darkest
fire; so bright! � we
both lie down our
souls- lie down, darling
lie down, we rise up
to face the decades
of the day with all
her common constraints- rise up, darling
rise up, we do the hollow walk

how the girl inside my
soul; longs to break
out of this hollow log
pull the daydream forest
into light

ths fire of yr soul; like
the constant of the sea;
does not
dissipate - soars
o�er tree tops
a storm you brew
me into tantrums

� � � � � )
Peregrine
in search of her mate

� � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � *
� � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � say what you will
� � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � there is no such

thing as anger,
any shade of defiance
toward yr banal shunning;
i shall deny, and burn
before she rises, take
the beauty of yr words
cascade of light; angels breath
what have you

ii.

� [i]�I was lying on the floor on my back, arms out and staring up at the ceiling. punked out
� � � � � � � � � � � � � � � �beleaguered of feeling. numb. and reeling.�

� � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � �and share them with the world
� � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � �- you hold every golden wish
� � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � - i have �er dreamt upon

wifery strifery look at all these tresses life is a book of backwards pages pick and choose anticipation grows into a ladder farther
than the sky come to me when your soul is gazing onward mending mending when your eyes are full of soot and your soul is
is on fire the trees are raising their arms in desperation peace already peace they screamed into the shouting of artillery noise
the dead christmastrees are lying in an above ground grave slumped over needles lying still like a bear shot before she gave
birth and why so many christmastrees every year its the same with the cutting and the raizing and then there they lay i looked
down and saw bundles of matchsticks all such concentrated worry when my mother passed my life went up in fury blaze and n'er
the more seasons are re-naming themselves summertime entrenched in snows and winter yawning warmer come to me when your
soul is still aching to chase down dreams just cresting o'er the landscape orange in your eyes Quickly! -- help me catch up these
pages flying wild cross the field

� � � � � � � � � � � � mending � � mending � �

� � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � �these words are a heavy scented parchment of illuminated years

� � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � yearnings are birds

A Glow at Christmas

boardflak — Tue Jan 06, 2009 5:46 pm

Author: boardflak

Posted: Tue Jan 06, 2009 5:46 pm

Brenda, thank you. I wasn't expecting any more comments, so this is a pleasant surprise. The kitten in my thoughts was a bit of an inspiration. I was trying for a way to show idle, drifting thoughts about the past without actually saying it. Thank you for the compliment on the last lines.

-- Michael

Now as for you, Steve Parker, Weaver, and Roguecroc ... *sigh* I was hoping never to be reminded of impmining again. The long tedious days of looking for impressions in the rocks, the endless nights poring over implore for clues; it all lasted far too long and yielded far too little. My improving days are over and must stay that way.

Drifting and Dreaming

helenamostamused — Tue Jan 06, 2009 5:39 pm

Author: helenamostamused

Posted: Tue Jan 06, 2009 5:39 pm

dear meadow ~

whether you realize it or not; so often
your poems are the clear voice of the
rural farmer; the honest warrior words
sailing across the land reminding us all
though corporate sprawl expands like
a disease; there are still some left;
like that clear brilliant blue remaining
in the night sky; as violet night descends;
the blue holds vigil; the last clear pocket
of warm air before the night wraps
her chill around the shoulders of the day

your song goes on
so beautiful

carefree smiles,
helen