This Poem was Submitted By: Audrey R Donegan On Date: 2005-04-01 07:00:52 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!To Listen to Music While Reading this Poem, just Click Here!
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She speaks Perversion speaks
of dancing nude, dishabille even
unveiled and vulnerable to experience-
atop skyscrapers on early Tuesday mornings
after my first bowl of Applejacks.
She speaks of the salt, stick and sapor of his skin
from the distinct perspiration
from our backyard chess competitions
on any random day in June.
She coaxes me
and summons my recollection of adolescent past-times,
yellowed now in their antiquity-
of hearts pounding, lips on thighs, teeth teasing skin
and shouting out to passing cars
with all the might our bones could muster
“Lets fuck the blues away!”.
(shame not yet defined then)
Here, with her hidden intents
and oh, so invasive temptations
lies my self-abandon.
I go to her willingly,
without hesitation or concern
without prerequisite or care,
exposed.
For sense is futile
as death is relentless.
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Copyright © April 2005 Audrey R Donegan
This Poem was Critiqued By: Elaine Marie Phalen On Date: 2005-05-05 08:52:00
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Whew!!! What a potent and dramatic poem!! It seems to be a companion piece to the bus stop one. In S1, the juxtaposition of perversion and Applejacks is totally unexpected and, therefore, immediately draws us into the situation. Ordinary people - much like the woman at that bus stop - can still fall prey to extraordinary personal passions and demands.
Perversion, personified, has such a magnetic voice. Again, there are questions.
Why does the speaker view sexual activities as perversion? There's much unspoken here. One assumes that the relationship is illicit in some way, although it has begun in innocence, perhaps as a frenetic restatement of youth ("shame not yet defined then" - not sure you need both "yet" and "then"). The backyard becomes an Eden in which the lovers engage in games and - ultimately - the acquisition of too much knowledge for their own good.
She speaks of the salt, stick and sapor of his skin ........ what a fantastic line!! Sonic bliss.
from the distinct perspiration
from our backyard chess competitions ...... but I think it may not be only chess, no?
on any random day in June.
The salt imagery suggests a falling into irresistible temptation -- Lot's wife, the original salt-mistress.One must never look back. Trying to recapture an earlier (possibly abandoned?) lust can't lead to a good conclusion.
... my recollection of adolescent past-times,
yellowed now in their antiquity-
of hearts pounding, lips on thighs, teeth teasing skin
Very, very sensual! The mature woman is definitely shedding her older persona in favor of the younger, randier one, and then feeling guilty for it. In youth, there's only the sheer joy of experience.
and shouting out to passing cars
with all the might our bones could muster
“Let(')s fuck the blues away!”.
In a more pragmatic time, this would seem almost unthinkable, yet that urge to "self-abandon" cancels caution. Vivid language -- even more vivid awareness of both the rightness and wrongness. Self-abandon can also include self-judgment. But ultimately, the speaker answers that seductive call and says she does so without "care/exposed". Yet if she is carefree, why the focus on this whole issue? The poem seems an ironic contradiction of this stance. The lady doth protest too much, methinks.
For sense is futile
as death is relentless.
The sibilant hissing of these lines is subtle as the serpent. It is, indeed, redolent of temptation accepted. But the last word, "relentless", explains much and excuses even more. Sex is an affirmation. It denies mortality and in our sensory immersion, we are temporarily purged of the shadow.
You write with such skill: power and conviction, the cornerstones of impact. What an asset to the site!!!
Brenda
This Poem was Critiqued By: Troy D Skroch On Date: 2005-05-02 20:29:36
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.55556
Audrey,
Another night of critiquing. I get the sense that you want me to challenge your writing more than just merely compliment it. I will do this only if I feel you are being confusing to me, but I have to tell you, and I'm not trying to just be complimentary when I say this, you do write well to excellent. I can hear your voice and you have a canny way of maintaining a balance in the flow of your writing that lends to the overall poetic feel of it. So don't be surprised if most times I'm giving you smiling comments instead of frowns. LOL!
Here we go again.
First of all I like how the title of the work mimics the first line. "She Speaks" - "perversion speaks"
Looking at this in view of the poem I'm left wondering if you are having a conversation with yourself in the sense that there is something about your character that you think perverse. Or rather, the desire to manifest this perversion is so close to the surface that you feel like doing this,
dancing nude, dishabille even
unveiled and vulnerable to experience-
atop skyscrapers on early Tuesday mornings
after my first bowl of Applejacks.
I actually think this would be fun, but then I could be construed as being a little perverse as well. Heck, I'm critiquing this after all. Does that make me perverse by association? LOL! Sorry, I'm in a light mood tonight. Back to the point. For me, your word choices are fantastic. I applaud the words "nude", "unveiled", "vulnerable", when I string them together. The drama of the "skyscrapers" is great. Naming the day of the week brilliant, but the true genius of the stanza is seeing it poured into a the "bowl of Applejacks." Very colorful.
She speaks of the salt, stick and sapor of his skin
from the distinct perspiration
from our backyard chess competitions
on any random day in June.
You start this stanza with great descriptive words with heavy emphasis on the "s". I count eight. Followed by "distinct perspiration" for extra reinforcement. All of it working together.
I used to play chess, a lot. A great game by the way. It's making a comeback with online play becoming popular. BTW as you named the day of the week in the first stanza, so you name the month in this one. No accident. Good attention to detail.
She coaxes me
and summons my recollection of adolescent past-times,
yellowed now in their antiquity-
of hearts pounding, lips on thighs, teeth teasing skin
and shouting out to passing cars
with all the might our bones could muster
“Lets fuck the blues away!”.
(shame not yet defined then)
Now, to my thinking, this perversion is still alive and well on Tuesday mornings, but in your speaking this to yourself you show us the memories. It's a perversion to be savored in a humorous fashion. The above stanza is full of energy and really is the spirit of this poem.
Here, with her hidden intents
and oh, so invasive temptations
lies my self-abandon.
I go to her willingly,
without hesitation or concern
without prerequisite or care,
exposed.
For sense is futile
as death is relentless.
The following lines are so wild, so honest and passionate about wanted feelings. I just love it in view of the fact that "sense is futile as death is relentless". Talk about a "go for it" statement. LOL! Tuesday mornings are alive and well.
I don't know where to challenge you on this one Audrey. It's written flawlessly. You can play with the words until your eyes hurt, but I don't think you'll improve it. This is the poem of yours I'm picking for my list. So alive! Perversion, indeed! LOL!
Best, Always,
Troy
p.s. I will send you that poem we spoke about sometime, but not linked to this read.
This Poem was Critiqued By: Rick Barnes On Date: 2005-04-24 19:04:08
Critiquer Rating During Critique: Unknown
a.
Perversion requires a certain sense of self abandon. Finding oneself requires much the same thing. I think there is a certain perversion any unique version of looking at or delving into anything. Who hasn't wanted to "fuck the night away". Who hasn't, for that matter, fucked the night away. There are times, I swear, that I contuinue living "just for the hell of it. I not only listen when she speaks, I am always, one way or another,awaiting her voice. What a fitting tribute to the "call of the wild".
r.
This Poem was Critiqued By: arnie s WACHMAN On Date: 2005-04-22 09:21:54
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.28571
Well I'd like to see what kind of replies you get about that *four letter* word. For me it's
use here was very well done. Every day language -must we always keep our writing clean and pure
in order to gain acceptance? I could find no reference in my two dictionaries, or the internet
on the word Sapor (except it's a cafe in Minneapolis or a Saint also known as Shapur). I can just
imagine seeing you on the top of a skyscraper for all to see. Must have been quite the site.]
A little too much wine in your apple jacks, or does apple jacks make you horney? Let me know so
I can have a bowl of it too! Very sensuos piece. Well done. I guess perversion really did speak!
This Poem was Critiqued By: Helen C DOWNEY On Date: 2005-04-14 09:29:42
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 7.00000
Hello Audrey! In this poem I see many things going on around me. Freedom to be your self, especially on 'early Tuesday mornings after my first bowel of Applejackets.' I visualize a young child eating their cereal and then running around nude. Then growing up a bit you are in heavy competition of chess. Adulthood is displayed by your use of ..'hearts pounding, lips on thighs, teeth teasing skin.' Death calls..."She Speaks," an illness perhaps or mechanical break down of the body, (her hidden intents)...and without any preservation you give in to her calling. To struggle would be a waste of time, so you go peacefully. Written well Audrey.We can not always hide from death.
Helen D.
This Poem was Critiqued By: charles r pitts On Date: 2005-04-11 05:01:00
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
ahhh-perversion. that ever-so-tempting siren whose song knows no native tongue, yet none can resist. at first, i thought this was a description of a sexual encounter you had with another girl, a neighbor or good friend perhaps. a hot summer day, two girls swapping stories of budding sexual encounters. youthful exuberance leads to curiosities that are pursued by her, relented by you. bolstered by the passions of youth, invulnerable through innocence and ignorance (not the bad ignorance, but the unknown kind) cares and fears thrown aside in pursuit of life. but upon rereading, i sense that the she you speak of is perversion herself, and this poem describes her seduction of you, and your rationales for surrender. i may be way off, but reading your submissions, and offering my own reflections is its own reward. look forward to more from you...
oh yea-and youre just 23?
charlie
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