This Poem was Submitted By: Mark Andrew Hislop On Date: 2004-04-17 08:30:40 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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Ted

I am mad with the mouth of God. Whose love but yours can reject Me? The branches lose their leaves, now My love, I need a cigarette. And so it goes, and so it goes When love goes When whatever it is you feel, goes. I see you and you  Can't stand it. You make me a bitch You bastard You make me apologise for myself  For what I see. I see the truth and as it loves me I unravel, I wash away to sea. The oceans find their way to you through my eyes. I kiss your work as I destroy it As I cannot choose but to destroy it I hold it to my heart. No, I'm not nice, Girlish, I call your spade a stolen fuck: Black blackness of the end of time But not the slightest bit silent One big bang, your universe A dead and empty passion Proud dead probing flesh Roaring my fate into your  Deathly hands. My first love loved like a dog It was in his veins, pumping Acts without significance. But you, my hart All significance You cannot stray Without going to my doom. Don't make me make you lie Or make my love destroy me Don't make me die to live Or make your wife your whore. The shaman makes the world I make, yes I make the world Over and over again In your image, My dark incantation. And so it goes And goes, I'm packing toast Milk, tape and gas For breakfast. The leaves have flown The dog loves his bone. I never did smoke Until I burned for you.

Copyright © April 2004 Mark Andrew Hislop


This Poem was Critiqued By: Rachel F. Spinoza On Date: 2004-05-05 14:48:48
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.56522
I am mad with the mouth of God. Engaging begining - how can we fail to dash right in? Whose love but yours can reject Me? It is remarkable the way that the caps on "Me" and lack of caps of "yours" serves to deepen the intention of the piece with a sidelong wink The branches lose their leaves, now My love, I need a cigarette. lots of undertones of failed lights and reaching to the world for the comfort of the moment And so it goes, and so it goes When love goes When whatever it is you feel, goes. rich repetion which frames the poem - excellent transition I see you and you Can't stand it. You make me a bitch You bastard You make me apologise for myself ah, that universal struggle we all have - hiding ourselves, revealing outselves and then standing naked and exposed in our truth - ranting For what I see. I see the truth and as it loves me I unravel, I wash away to sea. I like -"unravel" . "I wash away to sea" is a little ordinary I think - not the action, but the phrase "wash away" The oceans find their way to you through my eyes. Marvelous! Simply marvelous! What richness in that image I kiss your work as I destroy it Like Dora in a Doll's house - like Wilde's Reading house Goal -we all kill the thing we love" that bitter side of passion - the frenzy of it - captured freshly here! As I cannot choose but to destroy it I hold it to my heart. yes No, I'm not nice, Girlish, I call your spade a stolen fuck: [great twist just as the line was lurching toward banality] Black blackness of the end of time But not the slightest bit silent One big bang, your universe [great!} A dead and empty passion Proud dead probing flesh Roaring my fate into your Deathly hands. ["deathly" hands stopped me to consider the word before i could go on - too intellectual a neoglism for this flowing passionate section I think. My first love loved like a dog It was in his veins, pumping } Acts without significance. [I think this line is redundant - we know that from the dog analogy ] But you, my hart -Oh! deer/dear -clever! All significance You cannot stray Without going to my doom. [i like the way you play with pronouns Don't make me make you lie These two lines are too ordinary Or make my love destroy me Don't make me die to live [YES!} Or make your wife your whore. The shaman makes the world I make, yes I make the world Over and over again In your image, My dark incantation. taking us home again - yes! that is one great device And so it goes And goes, I'm packing toast Milk, tape and gas For breakfast. tape and gas...for breakfast...ah....wow The leaves have flown The dog loves his bone. I never did smoke Until I burned for you. wonderful ending to a hellova dramatic poem! Bravo!


This Poem was Critiqued By: Cara-Mae D. Hackett On Date: 2004-05-04 09:57:46
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
I'll be honest, I didn't really get into the tone of your piece until here: "I call your spade a stolen fuck: Black blackness of the end of time But not the slightest bit silent One big bang, your universe A dead and empty passion Proud dead probing flesh" Though there is only one part I would change above that, the fact that I didn't really get into it immediately does in no way reflect upon what you wrote... I especially was taken with your ending: "I never did smoke Until I burned for you." And I love how it ties in with your line of needing a cigarette :> There's a lot of smouldering emotions represented here which I appreciate as a reader. How else could you draw one in, without this enticement? Even if I do not fully understand what inspiration has brought you to this place - I can still quiver as I read. Really the only area which I would suggest looking at is here: "I kiss your work as I destroy it As I cannot choose but to destroy it I hold it to my heart." I am not keen on the repetition of the word destroy appearing so close to one another. Instead of the 2nd destroy, the word that keeps coming to my mind is "abhor", though that's not a synonym for "destory" it's what keeps coming to my mind, so I had to include it in this critique. Also, though slightly unrelated, the imagery of the dog, pumping was disturbing and funny at the same time because it made me think of the way dogs in heat hump ppl's legs.
This Poem was Critiqued By: Thomas Edward Wright On Date: 2004-04-20 22:24:32
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.45238
Mark- One hell of a rant. What's the significance of milk, tape and gas? couldn't figure that one... I never did smoke Until I burned for you. deadly. tom
This Poem was Critiqued By: Mark Steven Scheffer On Date: 2004-04-18 01:18:22
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Mark Andrew, See my prior critique. I think that was the first one on one of your poems too. Ridiculous. Welcome to the Link. Didn't anyone tell you poetry is a game? You're taking this much too serious, Markie. Mark Steven
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