Rachel F. Spinoza's E-Mail Address: vytas_@prodigy.net

So far 709 People have Entered a Personal Profile on The Poetic Link! Click Here to see the rest of them or to Add your Own Personal Profile Now!

Below you will see ALL of the Critiques that Rachel F. Spinoza has given on The Poetic Link.
By Clicking a Poem Title, you can view the poem that is associated with each Critique.

If you would like to view all of Rachel F. Spinoza's Poetry just Click Here.

Click HERE to return to ThePoeticLink.com Database Page!

Poem Title	Poet Name	Critique Given by Rachel F. Spinoza	Critique Date
A Bird in a Pear Tree	Dellena Rovito	Hi, Dellena Clever play on words subing a rooster for a partridge in the poem! Bird in a Pear Tree A Rhode Island Red rooster, feathers glistening in the sun, red, black, and shimmer green, crowed. Telling of his presence. He crowed [loudly] and he crowed long, at dawn and on… I like the rythm of - at dawn and long What a sight to be seen! He had come from his nearby abode. Pen opened and he hit the road. He flew hard and he traveled fast… [good internal rhyme and nice pregresion of hte narrative[ as if his very life was at steak. [chicken][ohhhhhh ...cute!} Arriving here with [a] great squawking flourish. Hiding upon my fence, nestled beside the pear tree. Any attempts [at capture] moved him upward. Higher and higher skyward, watching, looking from the inside out to see, who was searching after ["him" sorry I know it spoils te rhyme] Futile [were] all the efforts to catch him. The bird had landed! I say, the rooster may stay till he goes away! briliant sardonic ending to a clever poem - Thanks Dellena!	2005-05-05 08:57:05
About Love	marilyn terwilleger	Marilyn, Cinquain always my bane but, you do it so well that i might once again try it so, thanks Lovely poem = lovely message Marilyn in a form that is really hard to master in a serious way. Happy belated birthday. Brava Rach	2005-05-04 08:05:12
8 p.m.: The Saturday Evening Post	Thomas Edward Wright	This one gets my vote which isn't enough to give it the standing it deserves - but hell who said life was even close to fair, my sweet leetle physican-poet new age Wiliam Carlos Williams - only lots more fun “Visiting Hours are now over.” This moves me as much as last night reading event by Ferlinghetti [yes, yes still alive and sort of kicking] in which he ended a long poem "Wake up and pee! the world's on fire. Have a nice day Making that awful expression rich and new - as you have done with your title my pretty. This is when they lock us in. And lock you out. You need a swelling or a vision to get in. I have had both - sometimes at the same time The nurses brief themselves in cursive verse. I know them, Horacio I talk Henry into Virgil. When he gets to the bees in Book IV, He gets woozy. Something about a dead cow. ah, well that's what happens when you make people read Virgil they get woozy - it becomes a veritable vertigo of Virgil. Verily. This is how we spend the evening, Locked up in a concrete building without any windows, Reading Virgil, wishing we were there with you, I wish you were here too - forget Virgil - the wildflowers are blooming in this desert and Henry can wind down with a little Don Juan and "sunflower" seeds. Reading something exciting, a Papal Bull or something. Now he’s off looking for oatmeal - those little packets. The best ones are brown suger and raisns - with mocha mix - I can send him some. He plays with the water cooler. He opens all the cabinets. It’s like he never got trained. or we got over-trained Thank goodness no one can see us. They’d put us in a nuthouse. “Pass the vino.” Our Latin improves by the glass. Wathc it - in vino .... vertigo another fine poem you've brought us kiss kiss to you and Henry R	2005-05-01 14:12:51
Crooked Shadows	marilyn terwilleger	Crooked Shadows I like this title which promises much There is a hush about the forest when phantom fog creeps in and whelms the leaping sun. It crawls between mountains Great scene setting with beautiful soft words: "phantom" fog "welms" which echo the moment and aamzing personification - as if the shadow itself were the shadow of a huge cosmic persona -- what a picture! hiding from light and dims heaven's torch. can clearly see that scene and feel it as you describe it in such metaphoric luxury Taut trees accept their fate and celebrate a veil of brume [lovely and lyrical] while swaying in unadulterated [this word is a little consonant heavy for the piece] rhythm. Listen.... [excellent directive!} it [is]a prayer, soft with a persistent flair. Too soon night invites a dark indigo cloak upon the scene and splintered beams of light slither as this line break is inspired - manu poet do not know how to use space effectively a curled moon lies like a silver sliver [- in a navy sea of sky.] I think it would be stronger without this elaboration] I stand at the window inhaling mountainous pomp [great!} and feel my heart pump as I watch in dread crooked shadows come...and now...sine the sun my muse is dead. Oh yeah ...sure - your muse is alive and kicking, Girl! Amazing poem - thanks Marilyn Best Rach	2005-04-30 11:51:36
Fits and Starts	Kenneth R. Patton	Poignant and light - and yet addressing a real problem that we have all faced at one time or another - with a fresh insight into why it is so terrible for a writer to not be able to express him/herself - and thus let other people in. Fits and Starts Neat title sets the mood for us nicely My writing comes in fits and starts Random waves of crashing thoughts [goods metaphor - very dramatic] Don’t ask me inspired or not For me the strange and saddest part I’ve limited access to my heart Pedant that I am I wouldn't change a word of this clever poem - which is in itself a tour de force - as it is a creation born out of a need to create. The lack of inspiration becomes it own inspiration - wonderful! Best Rachel	2005-04-30 11:41:14
The Shepard	marilyn terwilleger	Hi, Marilyn It isamazing to see your poetic gift developing. He is a humble man who needs little to survive. He loves grassy plateaus, his burlap topped wagon, icy streams and his flock. wonderful beginning to a narrative poem with much descriptive grace and profound meaning He is the Shepard This word alone on the line – and the device of the capital letter takes us out of the field and into a biblical realm. The Shepard could be David or Jesus, depending on ones theological orientation Just before dawn, when sky is crimson and sunrise [is as ] lemon rind, he sits on a verdant knoll and waits for flush of light when his sheep awake from night.[great internal and well as end rhymes in this stanza] He sees suckling lambs, patient ewes with curly fleece, and restless rams that shake horned heads and look about. He feeds his sheep, patrols the fold, bewilders big cats and wolves, and ponders death. Who will tend his sheep? Will little lambs still play and leap? this reminds me, in its profound simplicity - of Blake and his..”Little lamb – who made you – do you know who made you?” He knows life goes not backward nor dallies in yesterday but swells forward [love that verb here] to live in tomorrow. He is steward of the land Keeper of the gate Savior of the flock He is the Shepard Great ending for a fine poem with reflective wisdom in every line	2005-04-29 08:32:49
Eye to Eye	Dellena Rovito	Ah - sometimes the most profound thoughts are couched in simple terms and this lilting and engaging poem is one of those times Eye to Eye fine title which engages us - eye to eye Flipping on the switch, the light of day turned to bright. great metaphoric beginning Illuminating for me to view my reflection, shown [clearly] in the mirror. Mated eyes peered back with intent of mind searching the posing face, called mine. wonderful m aliteration and intense - and brilliant self-reflection - this kind of subtle pun is diffiult to achieve. Momentarily[,] time held still, it was of no consequence. that aside is poignant with meaning A matter of import stayed me to see the glowing of love you have for me. in the reflection we see manifestation of both self realization and the reflected love of - another - wow - neat poem Dellena	2005-04-29 08:19:26
Tempernental	Terrye Godown	Hi, Terrye [Temperamental] typo ! live by the feet of the volcano I’ve lived here for thirty years… I adore this opening which draws us in with curiosity - good foreshadowing and I like the personification “feet” of the volcano Some days it seems soothed by cool rain Lulled among cloudy curtains [lovely] Stoically, the volcano [asks[-] “Where are your sacrifices to me today?” I think the “today” in the line “Where are your sacrifices…. allows us to know it is “daily” and so we can lose ‘daily in the Above line where the meter could be a little tighter…just a suggestion – it is fine to leave it too of course As I type my S.O.S. in metaphors [grand idea!} my restless skin feels a seething glow The proximity of its smoky pinnacle Taints the breath my nostrils inhale All roads must pass the volcano through plumes[[great verb choice!] of frequent warnings; intent[ on obscuring] my ]vision, as I dodge its wayward sparks I hide scars from its steamy drool Many times I turned back # ,defeated subdued by my blistered feet Determined, I venture out again… on some new road The underlying metaphor is building and building and become more apparent in this magnificent line, which turns the whole poem into a journey of a life lived [as all life ultimately is] bravely in the shadow of impending disaster or forces which lie dormant and ready to explode. But the bravery and resilience is what is important and that is amply displayed here. Fine poems allow us the luxury of examining our own feelings and may or may not be exactly what the author intends – but anyway, that’s my take on it . Some think the volcano is dormant now They say smoking and hissing are its nature; but they observe from safe places; denying the extent of its volatility Which could be a horrific subdued image from the past or malevolent forces around us - as a poet once said – we are, all of us , only a moment away from screaming. Someday my journeys will be published If not in this life, the next This one I bet Perhaps my words will don a lofty header… On heaven’s grand periodical,” Hark The Herald” [love the pun!} And I shall be the Editor in Chief. Good humorous ending. Rachel	2005-04-28 13:28:25
Adda	marilyn terwilleger	What a lovely poem, Marilyn. It is carefully constructed and the emotions are immediate. Your use of language is exquisite in the generous use of assonance and the lilting rhythm that is maintained throughout this piece. It paints a vibrant winter picture – one that I remember well from my youth. A stubborn gale is bending trees, rippling Puddles and twisting my hair as I brace Against the untamed force. It began As a mellow zephyr but achieved strength I like the personification of the wind – a personal pronoun Might make it even more powerful – she is burning trees – etc Or Adda is…. Etc – but perhaps not With the soaring sun. My body shivers At insolent scowling howls, [I like those w’s] forests quiver In their mourning dress, weary un-contented Birds clutch their nests and watch leaves [great detail!] you have mastered the difficult device of enjambment with these paragraph leaps – wonderful Somersault in blatant air that brooms Unsuspecting brambles. Winds speak in Horse inarticulate voices [great] that ravish my mind. Bruised grasses lie flat [ I don’t think “beneath” would hurt the rhythm] the unearthly Thrust[s] and a swarthy dust storm [pummels] The plains. Buffeted to and fro I teeter on The point of a sword, [ nice image making] my stance tense, nerves Tattered…and still Adda whips the air. Thank you for this delicious piece. Good to see your work Best Rachel	2005-04-27 13:26:42
Fleur de lys	Dellena Rovito	Lovely evocative poem Somewhere over the rainbow I like it that you take us down this particular yellow brick road as an introduction to this splendid piece the daughter of [Titans] flew. A lovely haloed maiden fair with flowing hair, and fast of wing. Traveling with the speed of the wind [split-][needs a transition form here]light waves as she crossed the sky. In her wake the rainbow was born. ah, incredible legend indeed From the 'eye of heaven' earthward, bearing commands from [-Gods] Zeus and Hera[we know they are gods]. In Greek Mythology she was named the 'Goddess of the Rainbow'. Her task was bringing women's souls to paradise. To reveal to them love in varied form. To encourage hope, peace, gratitude, and compassion. a noble assignment inded! On earth, in the springtime she comes into day as floral sovereign. Lofty stature, she's the flower Iris. I always thought the Fleur de Lys and the attendant mythology referenced the lily! Interesting! Delicately fleshed blushed in beautiful [i think this lacks a noun], as fresh and true of multi-hues, the poor man's orchid. [neat expression Common yet royally rich, the three petal [f]lag. Guarded sacred in the garden stand [good "gu" and "a" assonance] by sharp and bladed knaves. She's pleasure to the soul, a brilliant show of cheer and healing. From the sun - to a raindrop - to your [eyes,] the rainbow arcs. Presenting part of the full circle. Our souls exist through our eye, colored Iris. good allusion to another iris!~ A bouquet gift 'From the eye of heaven…' Indeed - and this year I have two delicate pink ones among the purple ones which are just starting to bloom I will look at them anew because of this poem. Thanks Dellena~	2005-04-26 21:43:44
Last Night	Kenneth R. Patton	Wonderfully evocative and alive - this poem keeps us rivited to the page Last Night good solid title I’ve been keeping last night in my pocket like a special beach stone superb simile - draws us in Now and then I feel it My fingers tracing a story in secret Braille or perhaps: my fingers tracing a secret story in Braille I’ve been tasting last night Rich and sweet like a chocolate truffle good as it engages our senses we taste and feel and hear this piece Nibbling tiny bits so it will last I struggle not to gorge ah, wonderful in its implications of savoring a time of sweet delight I’ve been living last night over and over So it never will be So it will never be...over -- ah.... Intriging ending to a fine piece best Rachel	2005-04-26 17:35:53
Plug Up	Dellena Rovito	Hi, Dellena - it is good to see your work again. Plug Up I think the title of this marvelous sustained and profound metaphor could be a little more interesting - The mop plugged the sink and nothing drained down. grabber of a first line as it is a situation with which we can all identify. Incoming water spilled out and over. An abundance of dirty water was flowing out into the universe Here we make a giant step out of the kitchen and into the world - this line grabs us by the collar and shouts: "Listen" and engages our attention on a lot of levels. without any boundary. Seeping [-into] everywhere more and more over us - shades of The Sorcerer's Apprentice and all things which overwhelm us and for which we find no immediate solution gravity leading the force on [its]s downward course. [good orphan rhyme here] Everything in its path swept along with the flow and away we go…. away we go - this could mean a lot of things from - hell, let's just enjoy the ride - to we are all dommed... and that is what a good poem does - addresses us all where we live. Marvelous piece Dellena, best Rach	2005-04-26 12:47:16
For Dead Fathers Who Live	Latorial D. Faison	Hi, Latorial It is good to see your always important – often politically and socially relevant work again For Dead Fathers Who Live Excellent title Where have you been All of my life? Perhaps “Holed “ up in another state With four kids and a wife? nice strong rhyme scheme to carry us along. Too often topical or polemic pieces lack poetic structure but that is never a n issue in your work. For years you've been ducking And dodging a secret What I want to know is "How in [H]ell could you keep it?" I like the direct accusatory form, When I was little I wanted to know your name Now that I'm grown I want you to share the blame Latorial, The word ‘share” here takes me into another realm of speculation which sort of s distances me from the narrator – it leads my down this elaborate path: Who is the other person to take some of the blame – one hopes not the persona his/her self – - perhaps the mother? Maybe its just me – as the subject is a strong one – that I am being distracted by that word – so my question is – why not let the absent father take the blame instead of offering to share it? I want him to TAKE the blame [Is] it the stain The shame or the pain That causes a grown man To become so lame No matter the reasons They're all just words Lies travel in packs Cowards in herds GREATt collective words! If I'm angry, disgusted Or just a little pissed Just add it all up It equals being dismissed Rhyme are great and fresh Disregarded, discarded Left to find my own way Lies, lies and more lies Haunt me every [#}day This would be so fantastic read aloud at a poetry meet, When I come to myself Every trace of you Burns within my skin Rendering lies true Wow – lots to think about there Where have you been All of my life? I've been through [H]ell unloading this strife Even if I live Even if you die A question remains That no one explains . . . "Why?" \ Why indeed? Great poem about a social problem, often the result of the selfishness of power politics which leads to despair and poverty and affects generations of innocent lives. Thanks Best Rachel	2005-04-26 11:36:39
Of Stormy Climes	Lennard J. McIntosh	Hi. Len. Good to see your work. I was up your way for a poetry convention in Vancouver earlier this month . I am an ex Winnipegger – it was grand to be back in Canada. Many of my relatives have moved to BC [smart of them] so it was a delight to be in your magnificent province for a lot of reasons. This is a really fine poem in so many ways Len. Please allow me to make some small suggestions – Like ravens [croaking] pre-flight calls Great personification that over-reach the crests of height in waves of worried clatter – this poem – and especially that opening – are rich with meter and phrasing these proud announcers howl their claims vomited out of the filth of time [good strong verb] to bid the War Lords arise. The drama increases as the metaphor becomes more richly built and apparent- it is so difficult to write good polemic poetry but this one exceeds in every way possible As spring rains beg [its?] torrents to over-step summer flora with chills that yawn to shiver stone. Lovely and musical Hurried lightening explodes to festoon life in missed motion. The explosion is palpable – fine phrase that sends us reeling – Wide-eyed and muted fright – a stun of speechless,[seems to be missing a noun here or perhaps it should be {the speechless or speeches?] of drums thriving a thunder to arraign mankind as wrapped. fantastic and wonderful animation of ideas As storm clouds riot in angry columns – [great] chosen to deny a count of nonviolent days – [amazing and lyrical juxtaposition of consonants ] to bequeath youth, to tribute elderly, to give to [endow?}[ gift?]]provide for?] frail ones, quartered in the equinox of a world [grand expression!} at war with peace. I love the ending which is evocative of the Dostoyevsky title and thus turns to literature to remind us that the struggle for peace in this world is a long one. Excellent poem, Len, please just ignore my meddling where I have simply not gotten the point. Rach	2005-04-26 09:27:52
Two Sir Isaacs for a Galileo?	Thomas Edward Wright	We’re trading Famous Historical Science Figurines (it's Monday). ...Whoops wrong room - I thought this was anthropologists anonymous In amongst Henry’s nervous systems sits This little man who Henry really is. Let’s call him Manny. ....Okay – “Hi Manny” – welcome// Manny sits inside Henry making certain Henry is. ...Can he come out to play? Henry has doubt spilled on his shirt. ...Here – let me clean it up with a little Freud – the Lime Aquinas didn’t work When walking-talking-Henry dissipates into the ethereal, Manny will go to the Kingdom of the Father, ...Kind of a conjoint passage? Where he will eat with other Mannys after water polo? Maybe…but that would pre-suppose the possibility of cosmic losers Henry is confused but I assure him this is doctrine. ...Easy for you to say He ordered take-out in response, nothing quick and easy, But Kung Pao Chicken and Spring Rolls with White Rice. ...Please pass the soy sauce and where is the lemon chicken? One day all the Mannys will be together in the Kingdom? ...Yes, but will there still be a need for fortune cookies? I open Einstein’s mouth and drop in his headache medication. ...Careful – Aleve does funny things to his hair Big Ben bongs and the Queen flies by. “…you owe me ten farthings says the bell of saint martins When will you pay me says the bell of old bailey I do now know says the big bell at Bow….I forget the rest]. I wonder why my daughter has trouble With an acute angle subtended by an arc tangent to the line Connecting the two points. You need to ‘splain it to her better Pass the rolls. Manny? He has Darwin in his mouth, about to neuter. Darwinian man for all his ways Is always and only a monkey shaved – Princess Ida The air is fresh. I jiggle Bach's box. It's warm to the touch. Must be from those tender physician's hands whioh can also make great poems. Bravo Thomas and good old Henry {and Manny too]	2005-04-26 07:50:29
Second Avenue	Rick Barnes	Second Avenue Excellent piece Rick – I have made some cosmetic suggestions. Nothing is open. Last night refuses to turn to morning. Profoundly rich beginning which draws us right in The streets slowly release yesterday[‘]s warmth into an empty sky gone far beyond blue. Good use of imagery # I have [done] all of these things that I had promised in the light of day I would do. [But] Tomorrow [does not] need them [-done,] and these deserted streets are not asleep because it is too early, they are abandoned because it is too late. Fine ending with its paradoxical and somber tone. Great to see your work again Rick, I hope all is well with you Always, Rach	2005-04-26 07:28:12
The Feathered Mask	Gene Dixon	Bush? Cheney? I know the subject here could be just about anyone who is in power who not only indifferent to suffering but has an agenda of sacrificing innocent people for ones own selfish aims.The language is strong here and i like the amazing direct addressing of the audience. Fine piece Gene	2005-04-25 10:37:12
Reflections in an Unpolished Stone	Gene Dixon	Reflections in an Unpolished Stone Great title for this image rich and evocative piece Gene. There was no depth, only shadows, thin and gray. Ethereal,[one of my favorite words] like a breath of morning mist. The sustained metaphor is marvelous - yes, one has to look for the light in a stone that is unpolished - it is something that is all potential. You hardly knew she was there. Somewhere, in a vague memory, you might see traces of a face, the pale blue of a shaded eye, a splash of light on dark hair. great - understated and brilliant the idea of the unpolished gem is carried out in the splash of light on dark hair and the vagueness of memory One would think you would recall, ever so clearly, a moment of such significance. ah, but we don't Most likely you'll remember fading images and unpolished stones. Yes - i think that is pretty much how memory works - but then there is a soft serenity there too. Lots to think about. Wonderful piece	2005-04-22 16:01:10
One a Day	Thomas Edward Wright	Henry themes on and on about his friends Left behind who too were Halflings. Here's Henry again - now i see that little kid whose mother kept calling him --h en nry hen ry aldrich!! "hey>..I'm am a twin - does that make me a halfling? "What Poe did or did not do?" Arguably And vividly vocalized over his own din, is there IS there balm in Gilead? He wept. How was I to know his mien? Freud had warned us, but we lost hope. and Jung wasn't much help either His weeping slows. We return to our work. "Res ipsi l-o-c-quitor." He corrects my weak Latin. "No 'c,'" see? loguitor - yes and let hendry resp is peace Roe on a cracker and wine in a jar. Henry is happier than ever before. doesn't take much to make us forget the abyss - a little beluga and some dom “Pass the vitamins.” He looks up. "PLEASE" I'm training him in. We are moving into a new phase In our relationship. Amazing. yes - at every stage - especially the last when we learn the most about each other Periodically, he mentions his mentor. This, gratefully, has become lesser. and you the lessee As has the bedwetting, Heretofore unrelenting. sadly we become unwound I support him in every way I can. Just as if he too were a man. or perhaps he is a tincture of a man - what becomes of us at last when we are only a collection unspent dreams and memories ” We have issues that are real. "Okay, 7 Down..." He adjusts his gown. give him two - he can turn one unside out and cover himself Pencil grinding against a molar Fingernails on a blackboard. "What's a blackboard?" We struggle with a word. yes - well they are green these days anyway but he will want to know - to be reminded Two ideas in one pill. Viagra on a stick for the State Fair. what a great merchandising idea. We're on a roll. He's thinking about reducing his doses. We have these issues; Then we have family. then we have poets like you to 'spain it all thanks ps I tried it on the roof once but i fell off	2005-04-22 15:46:07
Diamond Life	Thomas Edward Wright	Diamond Life really great retrospective with just the wright touch In the midst of all the confusion was Henry, Frolicking beneath the skirts in a faux coma. Such is the life of a resurrected personality disorder. .....This is another henry - one I don't know - no berryman alter ego no railroad man...no defacer of declarations...a childhood mischeviou henry that i already want to slap We traded baseball cards for awhile. Aaron for Killebrew, Mays for Wills, Yogi for Mickey, and John for Luke. Luke for Mathhew? He liked the solid ways of the pin-striped gang. I pointed out the monetary issues. We drank Fourteen-year-old Old Grandad and gauged our distance From the mother star. He tanned well for the time of day. the mother star did? wowo talk about your odd phenomenon What was Hemmingway doing in Spain? Stayin' out of the way of the bullets in the Spanish Civil war - staying alive so he could write about it - but at least he was on the right side - 'gainst franco and his fascist merrymen. He was certain it had to do with drinking. year, but he was ernest about it. [sorry] Disillusioned, we burned the lot. damn --they would have been worth a fortune Henry played centerfield while I pitched. He was busy out there. Kind of, anyway. A large flock of blackbirds heckled him. I thought of how softly she walked away. ahhhhhhhh lovely Such is the life of stars. Blinking and distantly twinkling. Mark my words. Okay, but why is it always about Mark? What am I chopped liver? Rachel - way out in left field	2005-04-22 09:03:35
A Loud Colored Museum Opens its Doors	Thomas Edward Wright	Cubes. Murals. White. Light. Where is Berryman? hopfully they dried him off and "buried the man" We shuffle through the exhibits. There. But no; this is an electronic visual arts place. The Walker is not about to commemorate a murmuring drunk Who fell off a bridge. Nah We invaginate[neat verb] our thoughts to Henry).punct. Large women asked about him for many years; Tears were shed, lawns mowed, beers imbibed. Limited partnerships expired in the waiting for. god how I love your specificity Tax shelters grew old and stale, green with mold. heh Children became lawyers,[jest like Marc S!} pets died and new pups Were named in his honor. Henry was gone alone For some time. He toughly fought the new contract His agent shoved at him. With nothing left of his old Game, he came here with a pair of shoes and an Attitude sharpened by history, wide as a river. in fact - wide as the mississippi and as deep Henry unwillingly came out of retirement. But he did remark how deep the dark water ran, How they found them in a heap trapped on a log. How he did not enjoy being named for a dog. did he remark that after he was dead? I would switch those last lines but what do I know - maye he did come back How close to the river we are. ah, yes We had cardinal and cat for dinner. we had partridge and flan Henry sat quietly on a stool, His pencil gnawed to the lead. wonderful ending please lend me your muse i used mine up Copyright © April 2005 Thomas Edward Wright --------------------------------------------------------------------------------	2005-04-21 08:59:08
Several Days after the Taxes Had Been Paid	Thomas Edward Wright	Not a long drive, and yet, more than a jaunt. The sweating men amongst the joists, ....you turn me on when you talk like that - especially the joists part Eyeing the growing crowd of worn out Levi’s Stretched over too-dimpled derrieres, sat. last Sat. or the week before? That the sweat was the year’s first likely passed them by. yeah - well who was paying attention what with all those joists ? That they had a floor to nail down before the real boat Season starts was something crawling around on the Floor of their minds, or at least in the restrooms I cheered as the Canadian Skip slid a rock down the Scot’s throat. me too -- I think they’re in Vancouver. I hope Arnie is there, wearing his Maple Leaf. I have to leave this one alone New moccasins stretched their arms around my aching feet; I love when that happens [this is my favorite line] Gravity continued pulling for all its worth on all of us. Amen. amen -- from your mouth to God's mocassins The warm glow of summer flew north, a zephyr from Texas. must be my guy - Mark Morales Despite a search for it I found nothing evolving. Even the jeweler had felt it, and said so, fingering her Sapphires and diamonds, warm gold and black pearls, Sighing at the thought of another salesman. they come and go but sometimes the smoke is whiter than other times Oil and corn, wheat and wood, Nails in a box in the corner, waiting - Quietly, But not patiently, love this - for all its forboding undercurrent And dreading another villanelle, I guess you have to have eated them when you were young to have acquired a taste sort of like gefilte fish. We ordered a Marguerita. Pass the pitcher I have the lemon and the salt	2005-04-20 09:14:58
Several Hours after the Death of a Salesman	Thomas Edward Wright	so they vote; smoke signals The ebbing tide, the moonless night; --------- And so they did, God help us, one and all. fine title fine poem sad little spinning world	2005-04-19 17:12:56
Math	Moira Grace Hamel-Smith	you do credit to all your names in this speculative, cautionary romp, We must know different actuaries though. Surplus is the goal of evolution. Profit lets us shift from Darwin to Maslow.It takes a full belly to challenge the status quo. indeed - [from your mouth to Marx's ear] or in the words of Bedrthold Brecht "first feed the face and then teach right and wrong"	2005-03-25 10:35:23
The Left Slipper	Thomas Edward Wright	yet a river holds the world in its cold run down the mountain and speaks in tongues to the knowing reverent rocks a custom measured for this earth long before cancer became such a misanthropic burden upon the language of "goodbye" And I, at your poem, also struck "dumb" How splendid a mother to have produced so loving, articulate and brilliant a son.	2005-03-20 17:26:27
Yearning	Gene Dixon	What an incredible sonnet - it is a gift to be able to do this so very comfortably that the meter is not loudly evidence and the rhymes flow i sooths nsead of slows us. What a master you are Troll. Night [-]comes now [,] the time for your to leave. No vapid glance can alter what appoints. love the assonance of that vapid glance! Fair Dawn stands nigh with sunlight on her sleeve neat personification To grace with gold whatever she anoints. ironic as dawn gracs/anoints everyone and everything We bear the weight of night for just so long. ah, yes - one wearies of despair The blinded eye will seek the saving light. a delicious oxymoron The shadowed ear will yearn for morning's song. o one concedes an everlasting plight. made lighter by such gifts a this Within the span of life should be a goal not sure of the object here - what should be a goal? And satisfaction sought for aching thirst. Yet pause - each bridge you cross will have a toll. with this sweet troll to show thw way - how can any beiever get lost In God's great eye, the last is often first.       While contemplating slaking your desire,      It's best to stand a distance from the fire. Indeed - wonderful poem Gene	2005-03-15 15:55:38
My Old Friend	Kenneth R. Patton	Very painful poem of despair which echos loudy and dramatically from the page Old Friend "You're a FRAUD!" Good personification which grabs us by the collar and shakes us out of apathy as readers. It's the booming black voice Christ, I thought he was long gone a little unclear to me as I thought for a second it was a direct reference to the idea of Christ - "I though he was long gone" - as an ultimate vison of the narrrator's sorrow and lack of redemptive hope but "he" is not in caps and the later part of the poem suggests it is exclamation Christ! Which might be better set off by punctuation unless the ambiguity is intentional Just a dreadful memory But he's BACK He's been lurking waiting for a trigger for just the right moment [An evil specter unleashed] too telling I think - the raw emotion of the subtle allusions in the rest of the poem are stronger. I'm smothered by a debilitating wave [-of misery] very powerful and convincing passage- "YOU CAN'T FOOL ME!" thse direct confrontational statement works well to keep out attention God, it's unbearable! Too much[,] Too LOUD you engage all our seneses and have us reeling with the narrator's plight I'm sucked down enveloped I can do nothing save curl in a ball Grabbing my head Clutching my stomach Gasping Panting "YOU'RE NOTHING!" God, he's right Yes, despair feels that way - certainly - it does - great ugly loud monster - and sometimes it takes all our power to kick him away and see him for the fraud he is [sort of like the man behind the curtain in the wizard of oz] powerful piece best always Rach	2005-03-14 15:50:22
This Fast Window	hello haveaniceday	This Fast Window I like the intersting pun of the title I see your life, through this fast window Rooftop chairs Frozen clotheslines Gritty sidewalk stares you set the scene admirably I think that you[,] like me Are stuck here in a random place No roadmaps showing blue routes What’s that joke about the rat race[?} indeed the despair is thickening with each carefully sculpted rhymed and/or near-rhymed stanza The evening light is dusky now You drink coffee in the kitchen And the phone it rings and rings and rings Lovely glow of television television/kitchen wonderful slant rhyme I see your life through this fast window [interesting - shads of Rear Window - but more tragic than sinister Passing trucks obscure the view Receding snapshots of a gray life I could so easily be you and the narraror ends the tale in a splash of empathic angst. Neat poem	2005-03-14 14:16:22
An Escher Life	hello haveaniceday	Escher Life What a great descriptive title - takes us right into the poem - [and up the down staricase through the never ending - ever bending room] When temper's lost its steely fight, [great] and [sadness's-[a little hard on the teeth perhaps - sadness yet...?] to sink its biting grip, only a strobe-lit moment [is?] between what was, and changes in the wings. [a beat short I think] For some that moment goes for years spent straddling a multitude of fearsome [great enjambment here] choices, weighing without measure, [and neat oxymoron] taking breath and solace from mere pressure. wonderful stanza alive with both foreboding and solace Others leap to grasp the closest shore [grasp? A little hard to picture on the literal level perhaps kiss or leap -find - or just "leap toward"] of rocks, thinking of strength, a solid floor to regain balance, but below[,] the shifting sand belies again new tremors in the land. [ amazing -yes] brilliant powerful metaphor is being sustained here That flash of truth is wary news to some [ah, yes] one's love will darken others' sunny days...indeed so tangled and enmeshed this Escher life, where trudging any stair will lead to strife. Strife? I think to keep the literal image alive it might be better to describe it as a state of chaos or confusion or - dead end. Most think this inner tragedy well hid [sorry but i think it should be "hidden" even if it does not scan or rhyme] with smiles and bodies dressed just so to bid the world a safe illusion, wrong - we see who are the singers of this song. WE DO - but sometimes too late - great theme - fresh rhyme - luscious word choices - sorry to mess with it so much - i am a notorious pedant	2005-03-14 10:13:46
Duel for a Paper Dollar	Lynda G Smith	Hi, Lynda How could we lose sight when there are poems like this to read and people like you to critique us Duel for a Paper Dollar Intriguing and apt title By morning’s shroud and moon's demise, by pre-arrangement this, A duel to be fought by two, The prize, a papered kiss. Nice lilting rhythm and clever rhymes but I tripped a little and stopped too long thinking about “papered” but then I know you can’t say – “paper” because of the cadence - so how about: [First prize-a paper kiss] so the dash would serve as a half stop? The swords switch on and off as in the hands of decadent men, [ they do they do great simile] A techno-war of time and byte Proves mightier than the pen. Of all sad words of tongue and modem The saddest is – “I shudda wrote him?” Sorry – the devil-muse made me do it The odor of decay is such a premonition foul, [“a foreboding pre-cursor, “ so to speak [sorry] a death served up upon demand, beneath the guise of cowl. The guise of cowl! Oh thane of chancery – what cool , delicious words these be! And in the shadows wistful move the ghosts of will and won’t, who would if could and might if should, write down for those who don’t It’s like Poe and Lewis Carroll and ee were resurrected all together just to write that last stanza! The whisperings of things to come, a finite tale to tell, how some soul’s shake their wrappings, and some take veil too well. Ah, yes and bhurka and blanket and sometimes even trendy blue jeans I think my inner demon are playing chess with your inner demons There’s one who cheats at death this day. Fate blew upon the dice of chance and won, the moment had For once, no fee for vice. Musta been that tired old chess playing ghost from Seventh Seal. ”For once no fee for vice” fills the mouth as deliciously as a crème brullee I weary of these battles, and the words that lay them bare; the killers of a spirit true, the cost of death not fair. indeed! Who reign[-s?] the world of sex and gore Who live by tales told Who profits when the sun will rise by what is penned and sold[?]. Not sure if the last section is a question or not or exactly what or whom is the subject. What a grand and complex piece this is! best Rach	2005-03-13 10:24:37
Your Mouth is Mine	hello haveaniceday	Hello Barbara What a lovely ballet this poem is - leaping and swerving in the right places – with exquisite timing , costumed in opaque richness of language Surely, softly, sweetly I can move your lips Luiscious alliterative opening to lubricate the amazing physicality of the second line Elvin echoes entering Your mouth around these quips And again here --- with the addition of sly rhyme – nice I control the muscles The shapes around your tongue Trust the twisting tentacles I’ll tell you when I’m done The second line of this section feels a little contrived but the last two lines are wonderful – what a calculating and clever ventriloquist is controlling this relationship Open wide my hydra smile [heh] And sneer in meek decree [neat e/assonc.] Let me hold the reins of sound Your breath is all I need nice slant rhyme and amazing metaphors but perhaps –“hold in” or “hold back” the “reigns of sound?” Just “holding does not suggest stopping clearly enough for me if that is the intention Faintly weigh the measures Accentuate success [wonderful assonance] Touch the tips of tiny twigs That glad and happy mess As much as I like the magic of these words the last four lines take me away from the core of the action in a distracting way and sort of muddle the sustained metaphor Of hard cored words to crunch And swallow, swift this sweltering line Take a sip and start again Pink drinkers of my wine The ending soars! I love the way the narrator suddenly addresses the Audience in grand finale This is an exquisite poem Welcome to The poeticLink. Please let us see more of your work Best Rachel	2005-03-08 11:43:22
Politics and Prayers	Gene Dixon	Well, great minds think alike so why not you and Mark S.? Actually I have had that happen on more than one occasion – the moon shifts and everyone uses the phrase “felicitous doves” in a sentence right after I write a poem called “Felicitous Doves and Martin Buber” – or something. Anyway back to the marvelous sonnet Politics and Prayers The body politic comes to the fore And calmly flaunts a great hypocrisy. Great opening Then leaving charity behind the door, Insists that for each kiss there is a fee. ah, yes, the American Way Senselessly they seek a way to prove That deep in rivers clogged by man's pollution, Dreams might live[,] while changing tides remove Castles built on shameless elocution. what an image rich and carefully metered strophe But yet, the Master's universal plan Allows few shadows, fewer shades of gray. [great phrasing] So if your life is longer than the span Of sun to moon you'll have the time to pray. I love the cadence of this but it seems to me that someone living literally from sun to moon is a wee babe with little ability to pray and even less need to. Thus men might rail against the current trend Of politics and prayers that have no end. [Indeed they might – and women too arise Against the zeitgeist and its pack of lies] Another great polital poem - and they say it can't be done! Thaks Gene yours in peace and freedom Rach	2005-02-22 09:28:52
Poetic Devices	Janet A Burg	Amazing poem in its casual conversational tone and leap of images great to see your work again, You don’t write haphazard words like a brain sneeze [wonderful] trying to prime the pump [this mixes the metaphor a bit ] with words on a page fingers clamouring to place clicking nails against plastic searching for a synapse of wit, do you? I do - yes - that is exactly what i do! Swill twelve cups of coffee staring until eyeballs crackle [ clever hyperbole] at a monitor screen which boasts “Low radiation!” [heh] While weeds breed in your yard, [yep] do you linger feckless [great word !] on your backside, feeble for lack of inspiration? yep - downright enervated Do you suffer from poetic constipation, [yep - but this phrase is not as fresh and original as the others] clumping about the house in slippers, expectant that you’ll get a pregnant gust [great] of instant originality [but]uncovering[producing?] only flatulence and a wasted morning when you could have been walking the dogs? Yep, yep, sometimes I do -and the dog is at the door with his leash in his mouth as we speak	2005-02-20 12:35:43
Understanding Dali	Gene Dixon	Gene - Ah - another gem from the master jeweler - welcome home So -Dali himself is sort of "Dali-esque?" Marvelous A few suggestions to tighten up a poem already as tight as a watchspring - so duck I somehow thought that watches, melting over table edges, were fraudulent, more like limp cheese than [art]. Lobsters, masquerading as telephones, didn't penetrate my consciousness with any sort of startling [maybe "ring" to pick up [on] the telephone?] Then you showed me a photograph of the artist and I realized... A man with housefly eyes [apt analogy! ] and a pencil-thin mustache, waxed a full twelve inches on either side of his nose, [he was indeed odd looking] sees lobsters and telephones in a different light [-than most.] yes yes! love it peace. Rach -Do not ask for whom the bridge trolls.	2005-02-19 12:18:11
Following the Tributary Home	Molly Johnson	Following the Tributary Home [Perfect Title fo rthis piece - works at both levels] Salmon navigate by stars, one glossy eye looking for home in [pinpricks] that shift with every shore ripple and raindrop. Lovely cadence and sound and image That is exactly how I find you: [wonderful [salmon-like] leap of meaning] hollow collar bone, bent leg, smooth constellation of your face. {I like the continuation of the star references] I roll to one side [I think the line break would work better without the “so I suggest moving it to the next line or just removing it. the sheets fall away, silver ripples in moonlight and then press the slick side of my migration against your shore. Ahhh yes. Evocative and sensuous and in tune with the movement of the tides in its S and M alliteration [no pun intended]. Brava, Molly.	2005-02-12 11:02:20
Reunion	Joanne M Uppendahl	Lovely tribute, which brings us into the room and puts us in touch of our own warm kitchen memories and each in our own way, our grandmothers. Reunion Good title – simultaneously straightforward and intriguing . What if I could spend all day tomorrow, with my grandmother? [would give it a little more enjambment] Maybe it would start like this: [nice] Grandma talks all afternoon after she takes me through the back door into her kitchen. Once we are in there, stories start to roll out, roll out like biscuit dough. I like the repetition of the rolling action As she moves around the kitchen, she remembers [nice R assonance] what happens at the stove, what happens over by the sink-- what she sees out the window. This is really interesting as in the story the grandmother as well as the granddaughter are “remembering” – and thus revisiting something which was in the past for both of them which makes this more of a visit than a memory and “fleshes” out the story in a really neat way. The big snow -- and all of us squeeze around the dining table -- our cocoa steams up the windows. And then that time Grandpa cursed and put out the chimney fire with Red Devil. I like the specificity of the nouns but I wish I knew what Red Devil was – to me it is a brand of fireworks . I open the door where she lives, that place inside me where [-she always is] and she begins reading her memories [-out of it; she] begins to show me the spare bed with the blue quilt. I smell the lavender she keeps in the clean sheets, and the flax seed she uses to make hair-setting lotion. I think the last stanza is a little drawn out – and for the first time veers toward the maudlin - what if it were to end simply We hold each other Then we have a good cry	2005-02-10 15:22:38
Somewhere in the back of my mind I hear a melody	Leo Wilder	Yep yep, yep - and good to see you back, Leo, to ponder a univerality of experience with usin such a clever and image-rich technique. I adore the sauntering cadence of this piece and the way you grab us by the collar and take us down new paths with each stanza. Neat poem Silent night, Holy night, Three Dog Night, Joy to the world. You sing it LEO! The Lord came, to tiny Bethlehem, before steel was king and smog killed the sparrows. The specificity of the bird and the contrast with the begining lines is perfect as well as the irony of "steel" as the new crowned king. As Elders shot craps, and loaned money at usurious rates, lepers were healed, and the lame walked behind the dogwood tree. good contrast and paradox - lots to think about here Best Rach	2005-02-10 11:44:10
Beneath the Lilacs	Lynda G Smith	Wow. This reads like a combination of Auden and Adrianne Rich - on a good day. Beneath the Lilacs nice romantic and classic title - promises much - but then it delivers much Beneath the bend of lilac bows In shaded solitude of hours A jewel lies in onyx skin Dulled by ebb of life within Poetry does not get much more lovely than that opening Above the monarch’s fragile wing Fans the air of underling [adore the above/under paradox here] To ease its way in floral boat A garden Styx on which to float Oh, Oh watch out for the Cerburus - this light easy tripping-tongue stanza is a great contrast to seriousness of the journey [but then I guess that is the point - as we are always and ever heading toward that mythic river ] Toward the promised earthen tryst The breeze on stems full ore assist [magnificent] and on shore/full ore assonance is inspired While I on shore with tears steep banked That glimpse of memory sacrosanct I know it would spoil the meter if you removed the word "That" from the above line but I stumbled trying to see though all those lovingly "banked" tears. It is a little confusing to me. Perhaps a comma after steep would make it clearer - or perhaps it is just me. will keep me here above the soil to measure the distance of the toil. For now I prune the bowers close Allow the sun to bleach morose [wondeful] Those kittled [what a joy of an adverb!} thoughts tranquility In death to find serenity. fine ending to a spectacular poem, Rach	2005-02-10 11:26:31
Dreamer's Legacy	Jennifer Wilmot-Lavigne	What a wonderful gift to all us this poem is Jennifer. We so miss your dad, each in his/her own way and it is so good to know that his amazing talent and introspection is carried on in a new generation. 7:00 a.m. and sitting at the kitchen table Awaiting the time to leave and start the day. Notebook and coffee in[#}front of me, A Cigarette and pen in each hand An ironic mirror of the past. [ironic indeed] A mourning ritual [the word works splendidly]that has been [passed ] down From father to daughter, Pisces to Pisces. I love the Pisces to Pisces allusion – it speaks of a special connectedness. How lucky you were to have had such a father –one committed to justice and peace in the world. Epics of thought open up, [“Epics” is a great choice] Pouring out from a carafe of ink to cup of paper, [and “cup of paper” is an amazing construction] To drink in through smoking contemplation. I won’t lecture you about the smoking metaphor because it makes for great poetry –and it might be just a poetic device, and if it isn’t, you because already know that at some point you must give it up . A silent man, as I am woman, Sponges of life, we soak it all in, Burdened from the weight Only to be lightened, as day breaks Through [poignant v]erse. {As we are all being lightened by this gift-thank you] Miles away, an empty kitchen table, Awaiting the time to leave and start his day, Notebook and coffee in front of him, Cigerette and pen in each hand; An ironic mirror of his present. This ending is spectacular Please come back and share your splendid poetic vision with us To Gary toward a world of Peace and Freedom best Rachel	2005-02-10 11:10:16
The Winter of 04	Lennard J. McIntosh	Hi, Len I think I would like to know the area [mid-Canada?] where the brunt of this amazing snow storm happened] Perhaps that could be an addendum? The Winter of 04 It was a storm to seize the land, squeeze it in a bear-hug [wonderful powerful stanza and great allusion] and grind it into submission. Born in the mid-west, [Born and raised a Winnipegger, I can relate to this - my nose is still cold] it drove its fury north-east to impregnate a south-east gale. [great verb -] Then, power driving power threaded a hair-trigger fuse to explode waist-high snow {WOW - this takes me home again!] That lunged like a tyrant, frigid enough to give cold steel the shivers, [I adore your use of metaphor and personification in this piece] Fearsome enough to snatch lives away and offer heartbreak in return – [this ine seems a little ordinary for this powerful piece.] The winter of 04. Good ending for a fine, evocative, piece.	2005-02-09 13:06:12
Perfecting Praise	Latorial D. Faison	Perfecting Praise nice title Children bow, choirs chant Hands lift to the sky Many are thy miraculous Prophetic plans on high [lovely] Women weep, men meditate [I think it would be more interesting if the men wept and the women meditated ] For the presence of all fate Divine answers findeth them Thy goodness never late Joseph dreamed, David danced I compose for thee verse Professing love where love abides All because you loved me first First? I thought I understood this poem but I don't know who the Lord would have loved "first" Is this persona Adam? - with some cognition of Bibical figures to come? Should not the pronouns; You, Thy, Thee, be in caps if, as I presume it to be - this is the praise of a believer? Best Rach	2005-02-08 18:43:03
A Bowl of Cherries	marilyn terwilleger	I really like the desciption here Marilyn Bowl of Cherries My home town rested [why past tense- is it not still there?] in a hollow with a river running through and stately rock formations that hugged the sides. [of the hollow or banks of the river - a little unclear-] One grade school, one high school, no stop lights, [wow - how great!} but we stopped at the corners anyway because a small sign said we had to. I like that - this recognition of our obedience to signs so strong that most people would stop at a stop sign in the middle of the desert with no traffic for miles. None of the homes or cars had locked doors and Chief Jensen was the only officer I like the use of "officer" instead of "cop" which shows the child's respect for police and a sweet naive innocence about them on the police force. I was among several seventh graders who decided to throw snowballs at passing cars on Maine street and we hit Chief Jensen's windshield, a feat accomplished without even aiming.[oh oh!} I was surprised at how fast he could run, he had to be at least 35 years old. I adore this child's perception that 35 is too old to run He chased us up the steet and into back alleys, I ran like the wind and climbed a rock wall to escape going to prison. [I can see the child's perception so clearly in in this scene -] With heart pounding and lungs burning I vowed never to break the law again. Rotting in solitary confinement for the rest of my alloted life was not my idea of a good time. Aw - poor kid! In winter we went sledding and ice-skating, in summer we went swimming and roller-skating. Gordon gave me my first kiss and I gave him a black eye with a quick right. Girls rule ! YEAH!! A few years later he tried it again and then jumped back, but I did not intend to inflict bodily harm anyway. Why not? Sounds like he didn't learn anything - I danced, sang, played the piano, twirled a baton, and was never bored or afraid. Life was good, like a big bowl of cherries. Then I grew up. Ah, yes, and saw the world in all its variety and complexity - lovely piece, Marilyn	2005-02-01 11:27:28
A Web Within	Lennard J. McIntosh	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	2005-02-01 11:13:43
Tree and Leaf	Jane A Day	Does the liquid amber pity its leaves— oooohhh ye yes for a scond i thought the amber was the gurggly substance with not the tree- but that is probably just just Balic me. the birdshit and wind,[great little set] the caterpillar and nesting ever singing birds. Does it pity the fall—the new dying--[cooool] even as it envies the colors blinding the sun for the reddest red lovely and lovlier said the voice of the turtle and the yellow that will stay curled in a child’s hand, a crumpled and still fragment of earth. the best line ever yet - what a hellova haiku that would make - or ]for that matter any combination of any above thought would sing as haiku Does the amber sway more than the evergreen in winter? dunno Do its branches hum out a lullaby? hmmm - this is tettering dangerously close to maudlin Do its roots offer comfort to the leaves [nice] as they tumble, stutter and swirl [great] to the street and make boats in the gutter— [a la Mr Chang and the unemploiyed rabbi?] to become some old man’s clutter? this orphan rhyme puzzles me - and do old men collect leaves? The skin of this poem grows thin between me and the tree [ahhhh there's my janie!} or is it me and the leaves. The leaves and I? The tree and I? It's the leaves and me - but what a great great ending! kiss kiss Ronet	2005-01-30 11:36:03
Holocaust Memories	Latorial D. Faison	Thanks Latorial this is not a critique of your touching poem - just an acknowledgment of gratitude for those who care and who see the horrific event as a catalyst for right action. My matriarchal relatives who were victims can more surely rest in peace because of people like you. Rach	2005-01-28 11:38:21
Where's a frog when you need one!	Lynda G Smith	What a charming and image rich poem - ironic from its title to its toes I’m not much of a princess. Beneath a winter white mattress, Beneath my back As memory serves, Lie golden pea-pebbled pearls Of chamomile, lovely sounds and an intro that drags us into the heart of the piece Their golden heads compressed by time And the weight of angels, [great great allusion] the shadows of "which" [the pearls or the angels - if it is angels it would be "whose" but also leads me into speculating about whether or not angels have shadows and how wonderful the shadows would be if they did - and gives me an idea for a different kind of poem Dark ray the remnants Revealing nothing but a stirred and sculpted Memory. [ wonderful] I can’t feel them; their nubby yellowness Strung upon strings [little yellow marionettes -cool!} that grace the grounds, the eyes of mind, [a little overdone a phrase] to bleach beneath their bath in frozen compression. [neat] Still I ache to ache with sensory pain, [this couplet alone in terms of sound would be its own great little poem but in terms of meaning - isn't all pain in some sense - sensory - even psychic pain? to evidence my living and my possibilities. Oh for a frog To test my hypothesis And my faith. Oh let it be the right frog though~ charming ending to a wonderfully original piece. Lynda, you continue to amaze me. Best Rach	2005-01-27 08:56:09
Cloudy Outbursts	Joanne M Uppendahl	And fun it is! I am sorry that I have not had time to participate much but I should be freeer next month. I hope al lis well with you. Cloudy Outbursts Sugar-donut clouds [yum] flick green leaves with flirty drops, [it sounds to me as if the clouds have green leaves which is sort of surrealistis and neat - but perhaps not what you intended.j swirl apart as steam. [wonderful] Hives of rain-bees [yes yes!marvelous collective neoglism} swarm into streams and rivers, sting streets with drizzle. [this is descriptive writing at its best - even the verbs sing] Hanging very still, slicked-back thief clouds menace this is ambiguous to me as as it could mean clouds menace [menace is being clouded] or the clouds are menacing] which makes it fun indeed winter beach walkers. yes - i can see you strolling - neat poem best to you, Roni	2005-01-18 09:56:03
Cello Child	Lynda G Smith	Thank you Lynda – I am honored to be invited into your creative process and it is joy to see your work progress so beautifully. I made a few suggstions but that is all they are. Cello Child [Wonderful title, which promises much and is alliterative] The cello child Sounds the heartstrings That timbre in warm dark notes,[fine phrasing] A counterpoint to one shining day Written upon white parchment, Precise and poignant. Ah, yes, the melody of the heart – how tenderly decribed The melody Is bluer than forgotten forget-me-nots,[wonderful simile and nice irony] [-Yet]sweeter than pearls of mother’s memories Strung one by one, year by year, To grace the neck of winter [this is a great allusion to the growing love one has for a child year after year] Veiled in translucence [yes yes – that is one of my favorite words By the curtain of time, They await their cue to [embrace the night,[ a little ordinary a phrase] To shed and share the light Of quavers scribbled upon a staff [wow] Of some simple theme, [I like the internal rhyme of dream/theme] As from a dream, [Perhaps just - They draw their innocence – to make a cleaner palate for that extraordinary thought] It is the performance of a solitary child. Perhaps here: [In the loneness of the music] of self-discovery,] Sometimes explaining too much stops us in the middle of a thought The lost muse itself in recovery. [neat] [finds the way home in the child], Reading the melody In notes that map the path to symmetry Of soul and self, Those solitary blissful notes From the prelude to acquiescence. Has the child felt the stir of passion Born by the song Infinite and ageless. And taking to that call Echo all, in clear-eyed vision, The harmony and joy of knowing, But for the teachers who would mute For the sound of convenience. Who are we, to dampen the notes Of a symphony in its infancy? [Who are we indeed! Spectacular poem Best always, Rachel	2005-01-18 09:35:58
In the Sea of Sri Lanka	Jane A Day	Hi sweetie - see http://web.icq.com/friendship/swf/0,,16961_rs,00.swf for more on what we are not doing in the midst of this tragedy Slick dolphin skinned divers breathe wonderful beginning As a child from the [-sea] shore [for more footing?] goes Breathless under a wave ah, yes - how poignantly you catch that moment That keeps coming Curling over him like the abstraction Of the infinity sign this is great, great distancing ] Rolls around the hearts [a little difficut to picture] Of western scientists Focusing their satellite eyes [Ah, yes] On the star dance of black holes, Red mud dreams of Mars, And the possibility of more rain In San Diego. Exactly so - even in the grip of this horrific tragedy - we contemplate our own small wounds i love this one jane day	2004-12-30 15:54:30
I Remember Julenisse	Rick Barnes	Lovely winsome piece with deep reflective power.The Scandinavian title leads us into the "winter of [a] discontent with conventional religion and yet indicates a deep Eastern spiritualitu with the flowing unchanging stream. Rich and evocative. Thanks Rick. Merry Winter Soltice and a sweet new year. Rach	2004-12-26 09:07:32
Poem Title	Poet Name	Critique Given by Rachel F. Spinoza	Critique Date

Displaying Critiques 101 to 150 out of 414 Total Critiques.
Click one of the following to display the: First 50 ... Next 50 ... Previous 50 ... Last 50 Critiques.

If you would like to view all of Rachel F. Spinoza's Poetry just Click Here.

Click HERE to return to ThePoeticLink.com Database Page!