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This Poem was Submitted By: Lennard J. McIntosh On Date: 2005-01-06 13:00:08 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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A Web Within

In insight, the writer’s web takes form beyond spider web patterns, within the mind’s design and moiled in painted dreams. This mysterious eye probes hidden corners of night shadow for sunbeams that hold dust particles, celestial bodies orbiting some lost galaxy. Then, as evening cover fades the light, little by little, measures of understanding rivet themselves. It is the creative voice emerging, as apparition in sound, whispered hopes taken forward, step by step, only to then transmute into brass trumpets detonated by sudden fountains. See how finely the voice casts base passion, emotion written in raw script. While a curious muse guides sentiments of love, in the audible, aching, moan, which gyrates into fear far surpassing spines mired in spasm. Yet, can this writer hide himself from faltering apprehension, even while he feigns boldness? Not likely! Nonetheless, he longs for levels of wisdom. Yet, only follows the wanderings of a pen, tied to brief hints of gifted ink, for all is written by means of the web, shrouded, and obscure.

This Poem was Critiqued By: Erzahl Leo M. Espino On Date: 2005-02-06 18:20:32
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Hi Lennard, “In insight, the writer’s web takes form beyond spider web patterns, within the mind’s design and moiled in painted dreams.” --- Well said! You have CAPTURED the essence of passion we all writers want to convey. You have RELEASED these hidden and subliminal thoughts. “It is the creative voice emerging, as apparition in sound, whispered hopes taken forward, step by step, only to then transmute into brass trumpets detonated by sudden fountains.” --- Lyrically intoxicating...you have such a gift in combining words that is entertaining yet evoke thought-provoking views. Amazing! “Yet, can this writer hide himself from faltering apprehension, even while he feigns boldness? Not likely! Nonetheless, he longs for levels of wisdom. Yet, only follows the wanderings of a pen, tied to brief hints of gifted ink, for all is written by means of the web, shrouded, and obscure.” --- Great ending! Thanks for being truthful in your words here…I appreciate your honesty. These are dilemmas that we writers usually encounter – a part of ourselves are exposed to the general public…and we can’t deny hiding some of our intimacies. “he longs for levels of wisdom”, “wanderings of a pen” and “gifted ink” – these are lovely phrases, clever words...you have done it well! Kudos! As always, Erzahl :)

This Poem was Critiqued By: arnie s WACHMAN On Date: 2005-02-06 13:37:45
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.36957
Oh Ilike this one Lennard. It follows a train of thought that even I can comprehend. As I was reading this, Beethoven came to mind when I read about the brass trumpets his Ninth came into it. I love the way you wove the spiders web into the writer's and "moiled" (I had to look that one up)into the rest of this piece.I loved the "base passion into raw script" line which I thought was brilliant. Thanks so much for taking me there.

This Poem was Critiqued By: Kelly Denise LaBeff On Date: 2005-02-02 20:47:44
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.97436
Nonetheless, he longs for levels of wisdom....this line, my fellow poet, stirred my heart with its tender admission. Then by due process, a pen wandering, withholding-being withheld in some form, makes all is written shrouded, and obscure! What a sad summize! In agreement, poetry is emotion written in raw script! The beauty of these lines is indescribable: a curious muse guides sentiments of love, in the audible, aching, moan, which gyrates into fear far surpassing spines mired in spasm The fortitude of your language is itself audible with aching feeling! I see, feel the pain gyrating into a fear that must burst forward somehow with boldness to survive the drying of a mind before it's lost! Lost without nothing more left to say! This is seeping with powerful imagery and is strong in its use of thought-provoking language, well done, poet, an bow and ovation is yours! Thank you for posting this generous piece here for me to intake of its measure! Kelly

This Poem was Critiqued By: Sandee L McMullan On Date: 2005-02-01 23:24:57
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
Title: A Web Within I like the title, it draws me into read. I was curious to see what is happening within. The first two words "In insight" are not inviting me further to read along. This first line is narrative and could be reworked to pull me in. Short and direct is best and in present tense. I like the ideas of beyond spider web patterns. This image is on the mind screen. However, to use web so close in the same idea weakens. These two lines could be rephrased to give a more direct read. example: [the insight of the writer, webs the design beyond the spider's pattern.] or something like that. I suggest the use of stronger verbs also, for example "takes". I suggest cut down to the bare bones of the message and let it come out in shorter lines with images and similies adding to the journey. This would mean some re-pharasing and rearrangment of line breaks which give a different import to the meaning, which I think needs a little help coming out. I am not relating a personal experience through the read. The narration fails to deliver feelings to me; like an outsider needing and image window to crawl through to become a character's view point, to cry, to laugh, to greive, to haunt with as I leave the poem. I think this written in first pronoun may bring out the gem that this. . . . regards

This Poem was Critiqued By: Rachel F. Spinoza On Date: 2005-02-01 11:13:43
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.00000
Hi, Len What a lovely poem about the creative process, In insight [nice construction with in/insight]] the writer’s web takes form beyond spider web patterns, within the mind’s design and moiled in painted dreams. [nicely rhythmic] This mysterious eye probes hidden corners of night shadow for sunbeams that hold dust [*particles, I suggest dropping this word for the flow -r substituting a o syllable word] celestial bodies orbiting some lost galaxy. Then, as evening cover fades the light, little by little, measures of understanding rivet themselves [nice] It is the creative voice emerging, as apparition [-in sound,] whispered hopes taken forward, step by step, only to then transmute into brass trumpets detonated by sudden fountains.{WONDERFUL - that is how it happens -yes] ...See how finely the voice casts base passion, emotion written in raw script. While a curious muse guides sentiments of love, [into an] audible, aching, moan, which gyrates into fear[,] far surpassing spines mired in spasm. I like your complex use of asonnance and alliteration - the mark of a master writer! Yet, can this writer hide [-himself] from faltering apprehension, even while he feigns boldness? Not likely! Nonetheless, he longs for levels of wisdom. Yet, only follows the wanderings of a pen, tied to brief hints of gifted ink, for all is written by means of the web, shrouded, and obscure. but with a gifted pen indeed, this is delightful - thanks Len

This Poem was Critiqued By: Claire H. Currier On Date: 2005-01-26 10:27:44
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.81250
Poet.....well done, good structure and word flow, images do grab hold as one reads on.... A smooth flowing piece does not leave one to falter and I pray my own must is listening to what we are saying... as the muse leads with its' "creative voice emerging." To expose ones inner feelings to the world is the fear we all overcome yet the thrill of ones heart beat as others doing the reading respond with .....you just gave me shivers, the goosebumps are all over, tears fall from my eyes" then you know the emotions are well spent... "can this writer hide himself from faltering apprehension, even while he feigns boldness?", says it perfectly. "wanderings of a pen", and "gifted ink" are the tools used to create such beauty in writing. I know my own muse is resting, should buy him or her some vitamins if he or she does not wake soon...hehehe Enjoyed this well written piece and I thank you for posting....Stay warm, be safe, God Bless, Claire

This Poem was Critiqued By: Paul R Lindenmeyer On Date: 2005-01-07 15:08:13
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.33333
Leonard, the personification of the workings of the Muse, with my favorite line, "moiled in painted dreams" is done vividly. I always enjoy your choice of verbiage, and this flows smoothly and entices the reader on, as the Muse leads with its' "creative voice emerging." To expose ones inner feelings to the world is the fear we all overcome with publishment of prose, and "can this writer hide himself from faltering apprehension, even while he feigns boldness?", says it perfectly. The driving force,the search for wisdom, always leads to reward, even if unappreciated at the time, and the "wanderings of a pen", and "gifted ink" are truly the forum and tools. I enjoyed the introspective and reflective essay into the creation of and reasons for our humble craft. The spirit moves at its' own pace, but its' motives are as you say "shrouded and obscure." indeed. A well written, enjoyable piece of work. Thanks for the post, my best to you, Peace Paul

This Poem was Critiqued By: Tony P Spicuglia On Date: 2005-01-07 09:01:41
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Lennard, so good to see another posting of yours. Although I read a lot of poetry, I have come to thrive on the excellent verse that might be posted here. You quickly have become one of my favorite poets, and you didn’t disappoint with this piece. A Web Within – Immediately you have us “caught”. There is something magical and mysterious about the spider and its ways. Most are fearful, but all are mesmerized. In insight, the writer’s web takes form beyond spider web patterns, within the mind’s design and moiled in painted dreams. – I can see the pot beginning to simmer, almost boiling, (to your moiling J), and the thread begins. In a few words you have me looking for the pattern of theme, characters, and intrigue. What sets this apart, (at least in my mind) is the “painted dreams”, that is, the Technicolor movie or quilt already set in the mind of a writer. (Patently I’d like to say all of mine develop like that, but sadly, sometimes I am surprised where I ended up!!). This mysterious eye probes hidden corners of night shadow for sunbeams that hold dust particles, celestial bodies orbiting some lost galaxy. – This is a beautiful description of waiting for sunrise, and the night still has it’s hold. There within is the metaphor, of seeing the plot develop, and as it does, the conception of the consummation, has yet to appear, though the presumption has already granted its clues. Then, as evening cover fades the light, little by little, measures of understanding rivet themselves. – Ah the sun rising, and strains of light begin to illuminate the landscape. Everything once in the dark, begins to become clear. Such a wonderful ‘scape of morning and the plot thickens. It is the creative voice emerging, as apparition in sound, whispered hopes taken forward, step by step, only to then transmute into brass trumpets detonated by sudden fountains. – I think I like this. An “apparition in sound” “whispering” till “transmuted to trumpets” and what was once a sublte sunrise, becomes the blazing of day!! What was once a subtle theme, explodes into the sensibilities of the reader/writer first one, then the other. Excellent!! See how finely the voice casts base passion, emotion written in raw script. – “Base” passions, that of the most primeval of all, that of the suns warmth, without which no life can be. The edge of intrigue, written well into the flow of warmth. What a delicious metaphor. While a curious muse guides sentiments of love, in the audible, aching, moan, which gyrates into fear far surpassing spines mired in spasm. – here we come to know the writer, who, upon seeing the product of his passions, is exultant that he has produced a piece beyond his “self appraisal”, that will remain, “a work of art”. How amazed is the writer who writes from a soul he thinks he knows, and then discovers the soul far exceeds his knowledge of it. I can see the flowers turn towards the full sun, and absorb the love and passions granted, never knowing that their part of creation, brings value to the greatness of the sun!! Yet, can this writer hide himself from faltering apprehension, even while he feigns boldness? Not likely! Nonetheless, he longs for levels of wisdom. Yet, only follows the wanderings of a pen, tied to brief hints of gifted ink, for all is written by means of the web, shrouded, and obscure. – The web that is spun, that captures the spirit, the writer, till the daybreak illuminates his work. “A perfectly healthy sentence, it is true, is extremely rare. For the most part we miss the hue and fragrance of the thought; as if we could be satisfied with the dews of the morning or evening without their colors, or the heavens without their azure. “ Henry David Thoreau Thanks Len, an inspiring morning, indeed.

This Poem was Critiqued By: Joanne M Uppendahl On Date: 2005-01-06 15:53:29
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
Hello Lennard! I am so pleased to find a new poem of yours. There is much to think about and reflect upon in this work. You have articulated many of my own musings on this topic -- and more. As always, your writing has an engaging, original flavor, and calls for several readings. There is always a bit more to savor, like the cocoa at the bottom of the cup -- leaving the reader (cocoa drinker) with the wish for more. <smile> In insight, the writer’s web takes form beyond spider web patterns, within the mind’s design and moiled in painted dreams. This mysterious eye probes hidden corners of night shadow for sunbeams that hold dust particles, celestial bodies orbiting some lost galaxy. Then, as evening cover fades the light, little by little, measures of understanding rivet themselves. Interesting parallel of the "Web" with the spider web! I love the phrase "moiled in painted dreams." You have captured the vague, insubstantial, mysterious quality of this form of communication very authentically, IMO. You show the microcosm ("dust particles")and the macrocosm ("celestial bodies orbiting some lost galaxy") effectively paralleling the near-far experience of writing and reading -- AND relationships -- on the web. This is an 'ars poetica' I think; but beyond that, it is also a commentary on our experiences of the electronic "creative voice." You inspired me to write a poem today, after a long dry spell, and I thank you for that and for this piece. I really appreciate your elevated diction, especially after viewing a documentary on language last evening called, "Do You Speak American?" You respect the language and yet do not elevate it to the level that it is difficult to access. I perceive you as an artist and well-acquainted with the craft of writing, but beyond that, a thinker who probes for meaning in things easily taken for granted. It is the creative voice emerging, as apparition in sound, whispered hopes taken forward, step by step, only to then transmute into brass trumpets detonated by sudden fountains. See how finely the voice casts base passion, emotion written in raw script. While a curious muse guides sentiments of love, in the audible, aching, moan, which gyrates into fear far surpassing spines mired in spasm. I could here a Gustav Mahler work with "brass trumpets" which "detonated" into "sudden fountains." Yes, the creative voice "casts base passions" in a way that can be accurately described as "finely." That it does so does not seem to elevate them. Many disillusionments have happened to this reader as a result of admiration of a writer's ability (not the present writer, to be sure) yet difficulty when the writer uses that ability to write "raw script" unless there is some mitigating factor which makes it necessary. Your sibilance in "surpassing spines mired in spasm" reminds me that reading good poetry can take one's mind off physical ills (in the experience of this reader) and all else, for a time. Yet, can this writer hide himself from faltering apprehension, even while he feigns boldness? Not likely! Nonetheless, he longs for levels of wisdom. Yet, only follows the wanderings of a pen, tied to brief hints of gifted ink, for all is written by means of the web, shrouded, and obscure. You made me smile with those first two lines above. Len, "this writer" (you) are very modest, yet accomplished. And I don't know if "feigns boldness" fits, as my perception of you doesn't include inflated pride. That "this writer" also "longs for levels of wisdom" makes me aware once more of my own search -- and reminds me that writing is more than an amusement; people are reading and making inferences for their own lives. This is a responsibility which I do not take lightly. I admire your assonant sounds in "hints of gifted ink" and this phrase is what it describes. <smile> Once more, my heart is gladdened to hear your creative voice and your thoughts, "wanderings of a pen", are a most welcome treat for this reader. Kudos! My best to you, Joanne

This Poem was Critiqued By: James Edward Schanne On Date: 2005-01-06 14:07:22
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.00000
Tracing out those intricate thought patterns that lead us to a level of understanding of our inner life perhaps if we're lucky even to epiphany but to get to the higher levels of self awareness calls for an honesty unshaken enough to not flinch in the face of self horror and also enough natural awareness that we're in a special place that may not come again, well thats kind of what I get from this poem, Thanks for letting me read and comment.

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