The Critical Poet

Early March (Meadow Glen Farm)

weaver — Thu Mar 11, 2010 1:36 am

Author: weaver

Posted: Thu Mar 11, 2010 1:36 am

second

Metaphoric Stepping-Stones - Exercise in Postmodern Poetry

weaver — Thu Mar 11, 2010 1:14 am

Author: weaver

Posted: Thu Mar 11, 2010 1:14 am

Is that my cue to come in and smooth all the feathers out and fluff up the pillows now? Welcome mor, you'll find the discussions with Steve will end up alright, because he slingshots his points sometimes but they come from a great poet and a caring place. And he can take what he dishes out, so keep on keepin' on.

Cheers!

W

The night Tam danced, with Domhnull Dubh.

Mor — Thu Mar 11, 2010 12:53 am

Author: Mor

Posted: Thu Mar 11, 2010 12:53 am

Hi Rosa,
Thanks for coming back; I think one of the difficulties in writing a narrative of such length is finding rhythm patterns that maintain the reader�s interest.
I could quite easily have written it in strict iambic or trochaic but it would have bored the reader silly after the first half dozen verses, like wise with couplets one can only go so far with those too. Therefore, I felt it was necessary to vary the rhythm and metric format in places.
It does not really have a place in the poetry book as a historic advent and I thought that maybe with a fair bit of tidying up it could in go in as a novelty read somewhere.
It seems I have picked myself quite a task, writing poetry is bad enough incorporating historic facts into verse is even worse.
I will have to give it some thought and I am certainly open to suggestions.
Best regards
Mor.
The jack of doggerel

Cheshire Cat-67

Steve Parker — Thu Mar 11, 2010 12:51 am

Author: Steve Parker

Posted: Thu Mar 11, 2010 12:51 am

Hey man, bring forth the gruesome ones. I've read every book there is about Vietnam. I've read most of the books about WW2 too. My Grandparents were in that one. My Grandmother's house got bombed in Liverpool. My Granddad was a gunner on the convoys from Alaska. My uncle Eric was a Lancaster bomber navigator. He's the only one left alive. I was born 18 years after WW2 ended. I'm not being like voyeuristic or something, and I always try to treat this stuff with great respect, but I'm always very interested to learn about the experiences of men in these situations.

Thanks for putting your stuff up here. It's appreciated.

Steve.

In The Space (giving up on this one)

Zoe — Thu Mar 11, 2010 12:51 am

Author: Zoe

Posted: Thu Mar 11, 2010 12:51 am

Rosa wrote:

Zoe wrote:

Now, listen here Rosa. �I have read more than once that you are giving up on certain pieces! �And I say absolutely do not! �Okay.

This IS �a bitchin' poem and I'm going to come back to it tomorrow. �I'm just in the middle of something that's driving me nuts.

I also thank you for all your input here and over t'other, you're a good one. �(someone mailed me once and asked why the hell I had to be on so many threads!) �- �so now I restrict myself. �I'm HAPPY you don't, love your comments and your poetry.

-- lmao, Zoe. Someday soon, that same someone will email me, too, asking my why I have so much to say about everybody's poems, I'm sure.

Seems I'm scatter-brained these days. I'm working on something, want to write something else, and then, another idea pops into my head. I need to organize my thoughts better, I think.

Always nice talking to you, Zoe. �[/quote]

Yeah, tell me about it. I've had these unnamed beetles in a box, waiting to be named for such a long time, poor things!!!! haha

purple

Rosa — Thu Mar 11, 2010 12:44 am

Author: Rosa

Posted: Thu Mar 11, 2010 12:44 am

Thanks, Ruth. I didn't even think of that interp. It makes perfect sense! "February". That's a really nice reading.

Glad you like this one.

a life less blue

Zoe — Thu Mar 11, 2010 12:01 am

Author: Zoe

Posted: Thu Mar 11, 2010 12:01 am

Although this poem is being published this month, I have revised, �I'm reading it with another poet
in the next couple of weeks and decided, well, just decided I wanted to revise.

.

he looked normal (?)
baseball cap � �
and scabby knees

yet at night his dreams
were tied to a crosspiece

he hated jelly, porridge, and all things
that tied in knots
legs were for treading
� � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � �arms �for fighting

he didn't remember being born
swore his mother was a wolf�s belly
his father long since a number with a bar

he wrote a poem, said it was the easiest way;

life through microscopic needleveins; Kane

like a life imposing itself on another
ocean dominates, influences the weather � � � � � � � � � � � � � �
waves that roar into shores
demonstrate �great power �
they originate far out
between reality and flight
ripples turn to swells
such swells of nutrients
break at the shallow
water beneath slowed by the bed
power rolls over the roll over �

shatters
� � � � � � � � � � � � � �to tearclusters

I told him the day of his birth
the seasonal seas sighed
a gentle breath

� � � � � � � � � � � � �(warm sprays
� � � � � � � � � � � � � on savage rock �
� � � � � � � � � � � � � seasonal seas)

.
.
.

Hyacinth (First revise)

Ruth123 — Wed Mar 10, 2010 10:54 pm

Author: Ruth123

Posted: Wed Mar 10, 2010 10:54 pm

as humanists intone their vows
as priestly as any non-conformist,

Quite a comment here: portrayal of the reverence brought out by the ceremony. These are my favourite lines in this altogether excellent poem.

Thank you.
Ruth

Lipstick

Ruth123 — Wed Mar 10, 2010 9:59 pm

Author: Ruth123

Posted: Wed Mar 10, 2010 9:59 pm

Frayed by doubt,
compartmentalising
certainty.

Labels add colour,
fabricating
shape.

Lipstick of the soul,
made up
embellishment.

Two More in joyful!

Steve Parker — Wed Mar 10, 2010 9:15 pm

Author: Steve Parker

Posted: Wed Mar 10, 2010 9:15 pm

I don't really know who they are, but they have published some of my poetry heroes in the past so I thought I would bang on their door.

Plus I like Surrealism. Le cadavre exquis boira le vin nouveau etc...

Anyway, glad you are sending stuff out there and getting it read. You deserve reading.

Steve.

An Overture

Rosa — Wed Mar 10, 2010 8:33 pm

Author: Rosa

Posted: Wed Mar 10, 2010 8:33 pm

This one gives me the chills, mananaan. Such atrocities. I can see the little boy.

I don't want to gripe about wordiness. Small nits...I'll just post a couple thoughts. Overall, this makes me cry. It's good:
From an oven built of bricks, which takes up
corner space in a smouldering cellar shop,
emerges, from cavernous thick cool depths,
a child, wary and uncertain. It is a boy, <--little line issues. I'd rearrange. "It is a boy", make it "It is a boy, wary and uncertain", for line 4.

The street is grey and blurred under falling ash
but the heat and the stench, as they come on
so suddenly, cause the child to cough and gag. <--I think it's a little wordy. I'd remove "as they". And rearrange next line, erase "cause" and say "the child coughs and gags". The verbs are stronger that way.

How � how could this have come to happen? <--I'd change the verb tense, to "How... how could this have happened?"

Enjoyed reading.

Curiosity Stoops.

Mor — Wed Mar 10, 2010 5:51 pm

Author: Mor

Posted: Wed Mar 10, 2010 5:51 pm

Curiosity stooped, and with its now
frail hand, it from a faded parchment tore
those few small words, I do now remember
having writ, those many years before.
How pass�, its playful past forgot,
a passion's form of youthful self-made joy
whilst, in its time, it was a merest toy.
Camelot's court of legends long lost tales
its knights and swords or mystic holy grails.
From which an endless childhood source began
to give life's history, a thespian
of wisdom's words, where of, their opus ways
the wilful mind, in seeking; still betrays
my weary world of more than small regret
a surfeit still dismayed, lest I forget
those more than wondrous, happy days.

Mor.

The jack of doggerel.

Dorothy Confesses to Toto (edit)

AmandaT — Wed Mar 10, 2010 6:39 am

Author: AmandaT

Posted: Wed Mar 10, 2010 6:39 am

weaver wrote:

I find that women are the most back-biting, or the best at ignoring someone

Yes, that's my experience too. It seems much easier to get on with men in a business environment than women. I can't get involved with the shoe thing though

Early March

Goeszon — Wed Mar 10, 2010 5:44 am

Author: Goeszon

Posted: Wed Mar 10, 2010 5:44 am

Grandfather, Great Spirit, once more behold me on the earth and lean to hear my feeble voice... Black Elk
The same thought can be compared to our reaching out to our Grandfathers... Great grandfathers and so on, wondering if they knew what future was held in their loins. Of course this was a well crafted piece, by a gentleman scholar, I covet your way with words and thoughts Poet. j.g. smiles