This Poem was Submitted By: Mark Steven Scheffer On Date: 2011-04-01 23:21:18 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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city on the river

                                                                      it is the same thing underneath it all,                                                                    beneath the little things,a blade of grass,                                                                    a coke, the sunlight through the                                                                    windowpane,                                                                    it is the same thing                                                                    that ushers you in                                                                    to shakespeare at the                                                                    globe,                                                                    mozart at the                                                                    mehlgrube,                                                                    the same thing                                                                    under                                                                    the same                                                                    direction.                                                                    an old man                                                                    cuts an orange                                                                    on a porch,                                                                    a truck rumbles by,                                                                    a dog pisses on a tree:                                                                    the river splashes                                                                    things on the rocks,                                                                    for you,                                                                    the homeless,                                                                    gathering up what burns,                                                                    but only burning what                                                                    can't be eaten,                                                                    leaving the rest to                                                                     eternity.

Copyright © April 2011 Mark Steven Scheffer


This Poem was Critiqued By: Tony P Spicuglia On Date: 2011-05-07 15:10:59
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
You leave me speechless. The weaving of culture and penury grants an amazing image. I have been homeless- and I have been not homeless; the culture remains the same. I recalled to this piece the image I received from Ally Mcbeal- Ann Heche played Melanie West, and her father was homeless. He was cultured, erudite, (and unlike most homeless, including me) preferred to live on the streets. The episode At any rate your piece brought to me many images I have of Brooklyn, Manhattan, and San Francisco. It seems I am always amazed at your writing. This is piece is transcendent. Seems the same for the soul. No?


This Poem was Critiqued By: Dellena Rovito On Date: 2011-04-29 15:06:08
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.00000
Mark, Normal everyday things make up life in the city on the river. Each city a gathering of similar programmed eople acting inevitably the same. Eat/drink, bury the remaining. Thoughtful as only you can be. Dellena
This Poem was Critiqued By: David Keesey On Date: 2011-04-25 23:56:25
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Did I not critique this? kind regards
This Poem was Critiqued By: Ellen K Lewis On Date: 2011-04-14 14:20:19
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Hello Mark! As always, you have left me pondering the deeper things in my stealy heart! Your poetry often does that to me. If you rethink this, you may want to change that last line. It's fitting, yes, but this reader already 'felt' the forever-ness of that hollow feeling already delivered. But perhaps there is a way to incorporate that sense of the same thing, the same direction The line about burning what can't be eaten is 'burning' into my heart. Thanks for sharing this. I really like it.
This Poem was Critiqued By: DeniMari Z. On Date: 2011-04-06 17:34:09
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
Hi Mark, you've been missed. Going to start critiquing for April - someone has to jump in to get the ball rolling. I note a bit of boredom, along with cynical meshed in between some of these unique poetic lines. It's quite sad really. That is the first emotion I feel after reading this. As if life is passing by with nothing new to view, nothing engaging or elevating to prompt growth of spirit or mind. A good conversation with stimulation with thoughts taking it to the next level has seemed to evade the modern world as if everyone has reached their comfort zone and is happy there. Adding the touch of homeless people makes me wonder if there is a hidden message or it is just what it is. This country is multiplying hundreds per day to the category of going without proper housing and if it isn't meant to be eaten I imagine hunger, true honest hunger will make them burn and eat anything they can. Interesting and thought provoking. I see nothing in this I would change - every time you post a poem it opens up a thread of inspiration and makes me smile to know you've not reached your comfort zone yet. Kudos, on my list for April. blessings, Deni
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