This Poem was Submitted By: Edwin John Krizek On Date: 2004-06-14 19:30:51 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!To Listen to Music While Reading this Poem, just Click Here!
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Heaven After Lunch Full of food my belly distends
past the portal of personal boundaries.
I sit down too near the sleeping old man
whose mouth gapes open
while he takes in the air of his dreams.
He gets up and moves away from me
to a table with a dark blue umbrella
shading the sun from his face.
We stare uncomfortably at each other
across the sunswept porch.
I start to speak, but instead of words
clouds of color come out of my mouth---
red, green, blue, yellow, purple, pink, and orange.
The color clouds lightly touch down
and reveal a cascade of summer flowers
flowing from red clay pots
and arranged in tiers along the sides
of the weather worn porch.
The old man smiles at me
as he rises and fades.
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Copyright © June 2004 Edwin John Krizek
This Poem was Critiqued By: Mark Steven Scheffer On Date: 2004-07-01 01:21:48
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 8.45455
Ed,
Your finest poem among the ones i've read, i think. There was a nice descriptive quality about this, and all of a sudden there were clouds coming out of a mouth. I tend to value creativity; support neologisms and such (language is the tool of poets, we are not language's tool!); and, like the type of bold turns exemplified by the colors coming out of the mouth here.
Interesting poem, with some real creative force at work.
Mark
This Poem was Critiqued By: Jordan Brendez Bandojo On Date: 2004-06-20 22:12:40
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.90000
Dear Edwin,
Is this a true experience. If so, how I wish I can experience the same.
This old man is Jesus I'm sure. You've really showed us heaven in this poem.
A very spectacular view one can think about heaven. I really enjoyed this piece
and I am thinking you are so blessed to have seen this scenario.
Continue showing us your wonderful artistry.
Jordan
This Poem was Critiqued By: Joanne M Uppendahl On Date: 2004-06-16 15:04:46
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Hi Edwin John Krizek:
This poem has been nourishing me since I read it yesterday. I'm dieting and
working out, but I felt my own 'belly distend' comfortably while relaxing
with this work, which develops into much more than it appears to be at
first glance.
Full of food my belly distends
past the portal of personal boundaries.
I sit down too near the sleeping old man
whose mouth gapes open
while he takes in the air of his dreams.
He gets up and moves away from me
to a table with a dark blue umbrella
shading the sun from his face.
Your tenderness for the "sleeping old man", much like the "old blond in pedal pushers"
of another of your works, is, as I've observed before, contagious. He was lightly
sleeping, you show us here, and away of someone sitting down close to him. There
are two extensions - your belly, and your sitting "too close" -- but these are
comfortable for the reader. Your observations are keen and engrossing. I love
the detail of the "dark blue umbrella" suggesting that some of his dreams
are perhaps 'blue' but he treasures them, guards them. But below are the
lines which 'swept me off my feet' so to speak. Perhaps more accurately,
sent me airborne:
We stare uncomfortably at each other
across the sunswept porch.
I start to speak, but instead of words
clouds of color come out of my mouth--- WONDERFUL!
red, green, blue, yellow, purple, pink, and orange.
The color clouds lightly touch down
and reveal a cascade of summer flowers --exquisitely done
flowing from red clay pots
and arranged in tiers along the sides
of the weather worn porch. --sigh. I absolutely love these lines
The old man smiles at me
as he rises and fades.
The last line is -- sublime. The old man "rises and fades" after smiling at the
speaker, and the reader is left with a kind of surreal, summery, shimmery image.
Well done, my friend. I definitely want to read much more of what you write.
All the best,
Joanne
This Poem was Critiqued By: Thomas Edward Wright On Date: 2004-06-14 21:34:33
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.66667
Full of food my belly's [distends]
past the portal of personal boundaries.
I sit down too near the sleeping old man
whose mouth gapes [open while] as
he takes in the air of his dreams.
He gets up and moves [away] from me
to a table with a dark blue umbrella
shading the sun [from his face].
We stare uncomfortably at each other's
[ key exchange ] across the sunswept porch.
I start to speak, but instead of words
clouds of color [come out of my mouth]---
red, green, blue, yellow, purple, pink, and orange [.
The color clouds] lightly touch down
to reveal a cascade of summer flowers
flowing from red clay pots
[and] arranged in tiers along the hips
of the weather-worn porch.
The old man smiles[,] [at me
as he] rises and fades [into ??]
tom
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