This Poem was Submitted By: Mell W. Morris On Date: 2003-08-22 17:20:16 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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Soul Mate

Loneliness emanates from the lack of one with whom to share things most important, matters most cared  about, the whispers of my heart.  So I read poetry to feel I am not alone, to hear the tone of a voice  reaching out with luminosity,  generosity, and joy. I'd rather hear the wren's jubilation than partake of inane conversation. I prefer the rhapsody of a phoebe's call to the appalling apathy of almost all I meet. I excuse myself from endless events and become reclusive: rather Pound's elusive prosody than the company of today's citizenry. People bore while poems soar, scoring a direct hit to my spirit. Revelation, freedom from limitation, the omphalos of verse is to serve this celebration of existence. When a poet puts his heart in print, risks ridicule and more, I ever pore slowly through the glint of his words, soul-melded at the core.

Copyright © August 2003 Mell W. Morris

This Poem was Critiqued By: Leo Wilder On Date: 2003-10-03 15:09:39
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.50000
Mell, I seldom visit here, but when I do, I accumulate wealth in my soul. I can only say I wish I had written this, because it is almost more truth than a human should be privy to. Leo

This Poem was Critiqued By: Elaine Marie Phalen On Date: 2003-09-07 14:17:49
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.83333
Hi Mell, Very cool internal rhyme, as I've come to expect from you. I also love your diction choices - luminosity, jubilation, rhapsody - wow, I want to sing! Then there are the dispiritng ngeatives - apathy, reclusive, inane. I agee that sometimes, the most boring individuals end up being lauded ... and I can never imagine why! The name, perhaps? Past reputation? Then again, I find that poetry also has its indifferent stars. Not all publicly-praised pieces possess much by way of personal appeal for me. I sometimes ask, why is this poem so great? What makes it stand out? The poet's identity? The reader's misapprehension that poetry has to "sound" somehow poetical, with mouthfuls of words that say nothing? I've read current publications, usually with contest winners included, that I end up tossing into the woodstove! Where's the passion, the fire that consumes a writer until it's allowed to sear and spill? Where's the glory of language, or the potency of a message that intrudes into one's awareness long after the poem's been put away? But this is off topic, of course. Your poems do that to me: heaven forbid, they make me think and then ... look out! No telling here that will steer me!!! Aaaanyhow, your central strophe summarizes a response that, I believe, is growing more and more common. We don't have to like something just because "everyone" says it's good, and we also don't have to participate in the adulation. We don't have to fawn over somebody just because others find him or her irresistible. And "ordinary people" can be just so ... ordinary. I agree, a challenging book makes a fine companion (and not just a poetry book, but anything that stimulates the creative imagination). Damn, am I off topic again? Indeed, the wonderfully-named "omphalos of verse" reveals an outpouring of spiritual nourishment, the blood through the umbilical that sustains those of us who read and revel in it. The "glint" of words is like a river glimpsed through flickering leaves, tantalizing and silver. We dip into them and, of course, do it slowly. This poem isn't even on my list but oh well, so what? I think it's terrific. Brava, Brenda
This Poem was Critiqued By: Thomas H. Smihula On Date: 2003-09-05 09:29:47
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.14444
Powerful in the way you presented the feeling of being alone yet with poetry you have the ability to reach fullness and joy. In your second stanza there is so much truth in the unnecessary idle talk and not becoming one of the hypocrites by indulging in such trivial tasks. My type of poetry say it like it is. The words cannot change when written only when they are spoken for truth prevails in the first where in the second it becomes slanted by the speaker voice and emphasis. Kudos, Well done, Excellent. Thank you Mell On a side note there are poets or writers who do not speak from their heart but try to impress the reader with words showing their knowledge and capabilities in writing not to give as the raw truth. The raw post is a true post for there are no restraints. See you got me going on this one…lol (lots of laughing) Tom
This Poem was Critiqued By: Brandon Gene Petit On Date: 2003-09-04 15:25:25
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 8.28205
An ode to the lonely people of the world who look to their art to pacify their sorrows. Many poets share this pain, a severe one indeed to be deprived of a better half. The poem stabs like a knife to the heart, honestly portraying the loneliness of the character as he resorts to nature's soothing solitude. He chooses the lonely calls of birds over the mindless musings of society, a mournful hermit with his head in the clouds. For a lot of us, our poetry is "our woman." - Brandon
This Poem was Critiqued By: Rick Barnes On Date: 2003-08-27 23:46:06
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.85714
Mell, Need I even mention the harmonic blending of your rhyming or symphonic exacting of your timing? But then, I don't want to take them for granted either. If for no other reason than my selfish insistance that these are the very elements of poetry as I understand it. But it goes beyond all of that. Where else is the poets lonliness so well defined and passion for words with breath so eloquently put forth as this: "Loneliness emanates from the lack of one with whom to share things most important, matters most cared about, the whispers of my heart. So I read poetry to feel I am not alone, to hear the tone of a voice reaching out with luminosity, generosity, and joy." I read, hear and am in other ways witness to people crying out every day for relevency, meaning and something, other than themselves, to give a damn about. Most are not even aware of their screaming, but it's there. Garbled by the monotone of there own drone. By comparison the wren's jubilation, the rhapsody of a phoebe's call, and yes, even Pound's own pounding is music. How painfully poetic you state it: "I'd rather hear the wren's jubilation than partake of inane conversation. I prefer the rhapsody of a phoebe's call to the appalling apathy of almost all I meet. I excuse myself from endless events and become reclusive: rather Pound's elusive prosody than the company of today's citizenry." and then; "People bore while poems soar, scoring a direct hit to my spirit. Revelation, freedom from limitation, the omphalos of verse is to serve this celebration of existence. When a poet puts his heart in print, risks ridicule and more, I ever pore slowly through the glint of his words," I don't think they, (we), mean to. It is just that we have for so long forgotten how to listen to our own voices. We offer up conversation, any kind of conversation, to fend of the silences. It is the poets such as yourself, that know how to listen to the silences and out of that misunderstood void bring forth beauty in words. "soul-melded at the core." Indeed, Rick
This Poem was Critiqued By: Claire H. Currier On Date: 2003-08-25 08:10:29
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.11290
Good morning Mell: Your words are well structured which bring forth the opening being emptiness of being without a soul mate....I hear people talk of one but at present have not a soul mate for if my husband was he would not make me cry like he pleases him I am afraid when he can make me upset and cry.....not a nice thing for a soul mate to do..... like the wasy you used whispers from the hert...though perhaps the workd the before whispers could be eliminated...just a silly thought on my part.....actually it is those whispers from the heart that make me whole.... too often people around us speak more of themself then of others, of what they just bought, whre they have just been, what they are doing next, their recent raise when some are out of work.....over and over one finds this is certainly a 'me and my' joy in that either....... In closing as with your work here within the lines indeed one can and does at most times get blended well into someone's work thus two hearts become like one and at times a relationship of minds is formed and you know where you can go to find the peace and joy one seeks rather then the open splatter like sometimes brings....thanks for posting, for sharing this with certainly has been interesting and inspiring. Be safe, God Bless, Claire
This Poem was Critiqued By: Joanne Duval Morgan On Date: 2003-08-24 01:05:26
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Hi Friend/Girl, Gee the first stanza is something I can identify with, being with, yet the feeling of being alone, no more warmth, spontaniously wrapped around you. Wow, I'm breathless with how this stanza screams of a pain that not many can truly identify with. Surely hope the second stanza doesn't apply to me, if it does I apoligize, this message is very strong and clear. In all it's a painful reminder of how all this feels, and sometimes I think about becoming a recluse, but thank goodness I see the inane thought process, and know the only one it truly hurts is me, besides you're the poetry such as this, and many other acts the surrgate to what is missing. So with this reader, your descriptive dialogue rings true. Now I,m just relating how your words affected me, so don't feel it's a slap, I'm responding because of the poems beautify clarity in projecting the human element, it's strong intention comes through loud and clear. Then I'm never disappointed when I read you're art, many times it re-grounds me, and that's good, so effective you are, plus you make me use my knowledge of vocabulary that sadly, at times I find boring, the people, their complaints, and feeling sorry for themselves. Once again I enjoyed this encounter, and love the fact I can respond one on one. Marvelous presentation, of what constitues human emotions. They are so accurately descriped in your wonderful diction, and use of meaningful words. Wonderful....Love always, Jo
This Poem was Critiqued By: Irene E Fraley On Date: 2003-08-23 19:26:48
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.00000
I like this. An honest poem, speaking of that which is most important (to me, at least) the honest expression of our emotions in verse. To know that we are not alone, that there is a kindred soul who can truly hear our soul's voice amid the noise of our lives, is invaluable. The spirit of man shines through in verse with incredible richness of language. This poem vey richly presents the thoughts of the poet in a way which mirrors the meaning of the poem itself. Thank you for a thought provoking poem. Rene
This Poem was Critiqued By: Andrea M. Taylor On Date: 2003-08-23 19:06:33
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 8.41071
Mell, For me, something like this is a view and not a critique. So, no need to score. I feel there is a message of the importance of respecting the writings of another. It could be the timing of what is going on at the site's forum or you intended timing as a result of it. I am not sure. All I can say is that our verses are sometimes our safety nets. We, as poets, tend to use our mental treadmills to exercise away the excess of day to day living. By doing so, we will "look good" on paper for ourselves...and others who appreciate the effort as well as the form. Thank you for sharing this. Andrea
This Poem was Critiqued By: Galen never received one at bir Arrowhead On Date: 2003-08-23 17:57:25
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 8.62500
Hi Mell, I can certainly understand your feelings and attiude toward poetry. I too enjoy it. I like the way you slowly build poetry up, first reading mudane words, so to speak, then finally the uplifting into another realm of existence. It's a slow build-up which I find effective. I enjoyed reading your poem very much. Thanks for sharing.
This Poem was Critiqued By: Darlene A Moore On Date: 2003-08-22 20:52:12
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 8.82609
A poet to poet mating of souls...the words that penetrate, communicate, share. Words that can be read over and over...not spent idly. A well-written poem becomes a part of your heart, spirit. But poems read alone...can they truly alleviate lonliness? of course, with the format here poets can discuss the poems back and forth...and so on other forums, too. ie here's a poem, a poem back to you...a communique...a word for the day. Your poem brought to mind a song I remember from the late60's/early 70's..."I am a rock, I am an island...I have my books and my poetry to protect me". Though sometimes we live on our islands not by choice...and the poetry consoles. Thanks for sharing part of your soul.
This Poem was Critiqued By: Joanne M Uppendahl On Date: 2003-08-22 18:40:01
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.77778
Dear Mell: I, for one, can attest to the truth of your words! Your critiques of submissions here on The Poetic Link. When a poet puts his heart in print, risks ridicule and more, I ever pore slowly through the glint of his words, soul-melded at the core. It is a fortunate writer indeed who receives your response. And to those great ones who have written and gone on, you supply a rapt audience, and often refer appreciatively of their work, inspiring others to read. I love this ars poetica! You write beautifully, energetically, and originally of this mutual passion in a way that makes me want to stand up and cheer! Loneliness emanates from the lack of one with whom to share things most important, matters most cared about, the whispers of my heart. So I read poetry to feel I am not alone, to hear the tone of a voice reaching out with luminosity, generosity, and joy. That is exactly what *you* do in this poem. You reach out with exactly those qualities. I have two distinct groups of friends. One understand and appreciates this love of mine for poetry, and if they do not share the intensity of my own journey, they at least do not denigrate it. Then there is the other group. While there is mutual respect and understanding, there is a lack of comprehension for things poetical. This group may be more inclined to things pragmatic, and for whatever reason, do not share the "whispers of my heart." No one has said it better, IMO, than you have here. You may as well have said "So I read *your* poetry to feel I am not/alone" as so often your responses to my poetry and that of others on this site communicates a deep, visionary sharing. I theorize that if the so-called 'dead poets' could somehow sense your devotion, they would return it with the gift of inspiration. And cheer you on in your own amazing craft! I'd rather hear the wren's jubilation -- WONDERFUL! than partake of inane conversation. I prefer the rhapsody of a phoebe's call to the appalling apathy of almost all I meet. I excuse myself from endless events and become reclusive: rather Pound's elusive prosody than the company of today's citizenry. From my dictionary, I gleaned. . . Phoebe means "bright, pure" from the Greek 'phoibos'. This was the name for Greek moon goddess Artemis and is the name of a moon of Saturn. "Small talk" seems often empty, you show us here, and you keep good company with Ezra! I love the combination of sounds in "excuse/endless/reclusive/elusive" for example. Your poetry is always filled with rich sound. I revel in it. People bore while poems soar, scoring (Ain't it the truth!) a direct hit to my spirit. Revelation, freedom from limitation, the omphalos -- hefting my unabridged, once more: "focal point" of verse is to serve this celebration of existence. When a poet puts his heart in print, risks ridicule and -- YES! more, I ever pore slowly through the glint of his words, Slowing down to savor your thought and sounds, as you "ever pore slowly" - I somehow changed it as I read aloud to "pore ever more slowly" - oops! I like the way you have it better. "glint" seems to combine 'glitter/gleam" as of a sword 'of truth' - soul-melded at the core. Truly, an alchemy of mind and spirit, one with another. Beautiful, soulful reflections on the nature of poetic communion. You have excelled once more in stating what I feel but have not words to express. Phenomenal! Brava!! Laurel wreath extended. . .(were it mine to give) All my best, Joanne
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