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Displaying Critiques 192 to 241 out of 241 Total Critiques.
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Poem TitlePoet NameCritique Given by Elaine Marie PhalenCritique Date
DelayRegis L ChapmanHi Regis: This could be a public announcement in any crowded setting, from supermarkets to airports. The oxymoronic "make way/for the delay" says a lot more than just those five words. We build our routines around this kind of stalling. It's annoying but we're reassured that we should be happy about it. Then there's the polite "please", as if it justifies everything. I immediately think of our local Outpatients' department, which is always full, understaffed and agonizingly slow to most patients unfortunate enough to end up there. They're too sick to go home, but not sick enough to be admitted to the hospital itself; by the time they've waited eight hours, though, some have progressed to that point! Rhyme works here and in fact, I'd say it's essential because the poem is so short that it has an epigrammatic quality. Lack of punctution also suits the piece. Glad to see you back, by the way! Brenda2004-01-17 09:28:12
Poetry (in the Tradition of Science)Jordan Brendez BandojoJordan, I haven't had time to critique much at all and it's the end of the month but ... wow, what a great read this is. Fresh, original, and focused around a very effective metaphor. I think this could be submitted somewhere, maybe to a scientific journal or website ... possibly the one where Joanne's poetry has been accepted (?). This one begins with a fairly prosaic depiction of condensationa and mothballs and then, by way of excellent contrast, expands until it glows. The leap from the whirling planets and dancing light to the poet's own conception is brilliantly done. I think this is my all-time favorite of your poems. The free-verse style really suits you. "Converses" and "verse" make a most happy combination to end the creative process. MUCH enjoyed! I mean that; this is a treat. Brenda 2004-01-07 23:25:43
As to the Site of the Preservation of MemoriesThomas Edward WrightThis absolutely blew me away when I first reasd it - then the holidays intervened and my critiquing window of opportunity closed!! It still moves and astounds me. You've created such a vivid character, and such a huge hollow of loss. The whole narrative is absolutely gripping. It's also laced with mordant humor and the miost vivid descriptive detail! It had better place high in the finals. It belongs up there. I'm not sure you need the last two lines. The raspberries and the dog are associated with the way the speaker deals with death, and when they are gone, we know that the mother has also departed. "Through us she'll live on - in here" seems to be stating the obvious because you've written the piece, we're reading it and she is being reanimated in the process. I really don't have enough words to express my response to this. I'd better just applaud, shout "Bravo!" and cast my final vote. Brenda 2004-01-07 23:13:03
MAN-HATERApril Rose Ochinang ClaessensHi April, It's late here, and I'm just trying to respond to a few poems that touch me for one reason or another. I think this style suits you very well. It moves very quickly, has many densely-packed images, and used enjambment - as in L4/5 - to excellent effect. In S1, much is shown and much more is implied, so we arent sure what happens to this little girl, only that poverty is her lot and that she is being abused and left in tatters both emotionally and physically. The dropped and crying doll is a powerful metaphor for the girl herself. The grown-up woman resembles a lone warrior, with her disdain for anything resembling the typically "feminine" woman, the talking doll. Her past has destroted her appreciation for that ideal. Your use of the mud-smeared faces works well to recall that terrible period in her earlier life. When she read books she befriended Artemis but she refused to shake hands with Eros; she was the only one whose knees did not tremble for Adonis but instead she adored Venus and worshipped Galatea. The classical allusions are unexpected here, and succeed because they extend the woman's personality, with her rejection of the "softer" pathway and the "expected" romantic attachments. Heterosexual love seems not to interest her. She relates only to females, spiritually and perhaps even physically (you seem to imply this but don't say it outright). Then her writing takes over and offers her release from pain and intellectual confinement. She has taken the veil, although I sense this is not so much religious as artistic. Her dedication is to her art, in any case. This is a poem about great anguish, and the choices one makes in order to escape from it and move forward on the soul's journey. "Earth's dermis" (wonderful sounds and image!) suggests something embracing, the warm skin denied her as a child, when a loving hug would have meant so much. For some reason, when I read this I thought of Anne Sexton, whose tormented life was nonetheless crowned with honors and produced wondrous poetry. However, this woman could be representative of many in her situation. Your poem is well-crafted and powerful, with a strong voice. Brenda2004-01-07 22:56:25
The Murder of Emily DickensonC ArrownutWhat an incisive - and effective - parody of "Because I Could Not Stop for Death"!! Time prevents me from saying very much at this point but I wanted to stop by and acknowledge its skill. S1 is bang on in terms of metrics and Dickinsonian style. (I believe her surname has no "e", though). L1 in the second strophe adds an extra phrase that throws off the meter just there, but then again, the speaker's her own person with a separate voice, so why not? In S3, the childhood memories become less relevant to a dying woman, and more pertinent to someone undergoing an alayst's therapeutic probing. Several of Dickinson's own images are retained here. In S4, you really cut loose with the morbid - and living - trauma. Whereas Dickinson's character has just passed on, this speaker is very much alive, and struggling with that whole issue. She must resist causing her own departure through the well-identified "introspection" and "courage". The house "that swells and gushes with tears" is cathartic. It's no longer a tomb but instead, a place of catharsis and healing. In the final strophe, the speaker's own writing is also her salvation. This could refer to poetry, which definitely eases my own savage breast by times, or journal-keeping, or writing letters (even to imaginary recipients). That the last word is "recovery" is highly significant. In the original, it is "eternity" and the speaker has accepted her deceased state. Did you post this many, many moons ago? It seems familiar, yet revised somewhat. At any rate, good work; this one will stick with me. Brenda 2004-01-07 22:34:54
Tinkerbell was a Bitchmadge B zaikoWhew, gutsy poem! I love the mockery, the bitterness, the jaded persona of your speaker. Some of the imagery gives chills up my spine (which is a good thing!) - feeding tongue of death; prism in the raindrop; stretch those tangling fingers right through my will. This poem raises cynicism to new heights, er, depths. Yet behind the humour is the absence of all illusion, a thin veneer that coats an underlying and awful despair. The voice is strong and original. I have no suggestions, as this reads like a finished piece. (sp: innocence) Most enjoyable. Brenda 2004-01-05 10:02:13
Day At The Beachmarilyn terwillegerHi Marilyn: The ironic juxtaposition of familiar beach experiences with the distant and horrific events of war is well done. The visual "pathway" tracked at the end is also effective. Ribbons of exuberant waves splash and spill on sandy soil Beyond crested caves, atop the glassy ocean, sun's rays sprinkle a path of sparkling diamonds This whole openeing strophe is laced with wonderful sisbilant sounds that hiss and sigh like the tide over the sand. Nice alliteration of sprinkle/sparkling, as well. This is intensely visual but possesses a tactile element in the sun's warmth and the motion of the water. "Crested caves" is an interestingly fresh image. The second strophe moves to the human aspect of the piece, and also gives the terns an anthropomorphic character, capable of casual freeloading. Love the knobby knees! Their imploring, unblinking eyes" remind me of beggars on street corners, or even refugees; this sets us up for the last few lines. Our terns here are usually Arctic birds that never land, so these must be very different. Then you move to the sky-flying cranes whose aerial antics seem designed to entertain, yet are actually useful in detecting food for which they dive. "The ocean's lid" and later "ocean's cover" are wonderful metaphors! I think of a gleaming stovetop on an old-fashioned wood-burner, or a stainless steel pot lid. Yet the arrow of the birds can penetrate it, so this cover is obviously not really metallic. Something delicate can still survive and use the ocean for its own gain. But the terns' "pointed" beaks and the crane that drops like an "arrow" and "spears" the sea are foreshdwoing a nastier situation elsewhere. The fourth strophe refers to the speaker's heartache and tears; "war ripped" leads from the cheerful seashore to a much grimmer picture that follows in zigzag structure. [sp: horizon] The "hordes of humanity" on the other side of the world are unable to share in such simple joy, for their harsh lives won't permit it. Closing with "day at the beach" brings back the prosaic idea of an ordinary outing - at least, ordinary for most North Americans. This makes the reader stop to reflect on his or her own blessings, and shows us that we must appreciate what we have, while being aware that others aren't so fortunate. It's an especially topical theme so close to the holidays. Well done. Now, I must have a chat with my conscience. Take Care, Brenda 2003-12-07 21:25:26
Finding HopeRick BarnesHi Rick: I can't pass this one by. You offer us such a new perspective on the whole concept of hope; one person's desolation is another person's promised land. Or bird's, in this case! The neutrality of sky color and unprepossessing shapes of the trees make this seem as if it will become a descriptive lyirc poem about late fall. Then the philosophical undercurrent surfaces! The final four lines are exhilarating. Those "northern birds" care little for barrenness or dormancy; they just want respite from an even worse scenario. "Configured" starts with a sense of strict order, and "Fractal jigsaw pieces" still hints at defined edges, which is also a fresh way to describe trees against cloud. "Breaking/fractal" work so well together! The personified trees that "hold" the landscape in the "outstretched .. arms" sound patient and enduring. "Dormant and barren" strips them of leaf and visible life. Yet they stand firm and bear up under the burden of late autumn. "This is what hope looks like" is a wonderful shift to the birds' viewpoint. "After the harvest" implies there is little left for human beings here, but for birds, more than sufficient. How ironic that this naked resting-place is a tourist spot in winter! Excellent writing, with so much said in such a condensed space. This "northern bird" has certainly enjoyed it! Stay Warm, Brenda 2003-12-06 18:30:21
The Other SideMell W. MorrisHi Mell, Bridges as a sort of spiritual metaphor ... how lovely! The bridge is to all appearances immovable, enduring and watchful through its very purpose and design: ... Evolved from man's resolve to cross an abyss, ravine, or the sheen of a river, it becomes as sleepless as the water that runs under. Perhaps this can also describe our own Higher self, or soul or whatever one wishes to term it. We may lose conscious awareness but the indwelling mentor never rests. The "abyss" may well imply that Dark Night of the soul that is so well known to seekers of the truth. Your traditional internal ryme is at its best here, with evolved/resolve, ravine/sheen, becomes/runs. Sibilance flows throughout, smoothing the syllables like water (cross/abyss/sheen/sleppless}. Yeah!! The second strophe paints an idyllically rustic country scene, that betokens a simple, nature-oriented outlook. "Not formal, turreted arches" is the denial of rigidity and ostentation. I love "spavined spans" as they suggest a crooked-legged old horse that has worked hard and paid for this labor. But the misshapen spans are softened by flowers, and once more the "s" breathes gently over the scene with its evidence of gravutational challenges. assail with splendid scents. It's said that a bridge assumes most aspects ... And, of course, the internal rhyme continues to interweave among the lines. It isn't obvious but it is detectable, if that makes any sense. The ear knows! The final strophe offers your spiritual statement, the connection between tangible structures and intangible benefits. We can draw and apply lessons from every challenge, whether it taxes us to the limit or merely piques our curiosity. " ... serene/or spumescent [great word!] shows the opposing forces that shape us, like water itself. ... this perfection of connection elevates my being. Bridges link two sides, as we span the distance between pre-birth and afterlife. Our own existence is in itself a metaphorical bridge or connector. As this has been planned in advance, yes, it is perfect as bridges are also perfect. My focus then turns inward to locate traits I may assimilate from the streams and rills that fill my dreams Glorious internal rhyme here, and what a profound and elegantly-phrased comment on the purpose of the speaker's musing! She gains much from her observations, as we too must learn from everything that surrounds us. Streams and rills move purposefully too, and navigate obstacles with ease because they never stop in their motion. The last word, appropriately, implies a larger landscape known to the subconscious mind. Great or small, each of the "streams and rills" has something to offer. We profit from every experience, even if it may seem trivial at the time. This is a sure winner and I applaud your skill and artist's eye for having crafted it so very well. My Best Always, Brenda 2003-12-05 22:51:18
Tsa-ga-gla-talJoanne M UppendahlHi Joanne: I've read this already and marked it for voting, but it hasn't been anywhere near the top of my list until now. The anthropomorphized raccoon is portrayed in such a delightful way, with her incongruous dancing steps and bulky body. I see her in the way I may well see myself - clumsy of shape but, I hope, nimble of mind and still joyful. The whole poem speaks, I think, of "the fullness of time", the beaverish roundness of the moon and the raccoon's cheeks and even, by implication, the cycle that is nearing completion/renewal. Full Beaver Moon floats low in cobalt sky, face pressed close lighting a path into the woods. Wonderful assonance of floats/low/cobalt/close! I like the way "woods" picks up "moon" in a slant rhyme based on the vowel. The last four words emphasize your trademark sibilance, which is an aspect of many of your poems about natural situations. The imagery of the floating moon face suggests a watchfulness that belongs to the sky as well as to the earth's creatures. That lighted woodland path might be more than just a finite track among earthly trees. By setting apart that line, you draw attention to the leading-onward of the speaker. A raccoon of massive size emerges, lifts her head to scrutinize, cheeks puffed with food. More sibilance here, and also the subtle rhyme of size/scrutinize. "Massive size" and "puffed" both reproduce the moon's own girth. The animal's scrutiny establishes a bond between her and the human, and the reference to "food" reassures us that all is most definitely right with her world. Ever vigilant, she dances toward me, a sturdy shape on nimble feet. I do love the contradictory idea here! It's also unusual that such a "vigilant" creature can be so light-footed. Kind of like a cross between the National Guard and the Bolshoi! Slant rhyme of me/feet tingles the ear again. Her head inclines as if to gloat, “I‘m wise to you!” Soon she'll sleep wrapped in thick winter coat, safe in her den. "Wise" may suggest the speaker's own attitude imposed upon this other being, as does the act of gloating; yet in the raccoon's stance and manner are the qualities we recognize because we, too, possess them. The inclined head accepts this two-legged visitor. I sense no fear at all. The rhyme of gloat/coat makes her seem comfortably smug, since she's not hungry, she's warm and she figures she's better off than the speaker. "Safe in her den" evokes a mild twinge of envy. She has no worries, no concerns, while we must face all sorts of stresses. Aaah, to be warm and secure in one's small corner! She'll watch from dreams then. You close with a simple and effective rhyme that lets us know the little watcher will not abandon her quiet surveillance of her home. There's a certain spirituality about the animal's dream travel ... rather like a human vision quest. If dreams are also a form of alternate reality, then perhaps animals share this dual essence. This is a poem rich in empathy for living beings, keen observation of the transition point between one season and the next, and deep pleasure in partaking of this magic. It's a special piece and well deserves to be rewarded by its readers with gentle and appreciative applause. The title, in itself, is a poem! I'm so glad I've managed to respond to it before the cycle's end. My best always, Brenda2003-12-05 14:54:06
HaikuDrenda D. CooperHi Drenda, The link between visual image and human condition is nicely drawn. Sometimes it is hard to tell what is original and what is reflection. It is all in how one perceives the two parts (and whether or not we're standing on our heads, I guess). Regardless, if we fail to see clearly and forget what history has shown us to be true, we will repeat our errors. That "mirror of time" can become clouded by poor judgment and denial. Suddenly, "never again" turns to "well, not often" and then to "just this one more time". Good use of haiku/senryu form [kind of a blend, really] to project the anthropomorphized comment onto a natural scene. I find it striking in its simplicity and don't consider it a cliche. Take Care, Brenda2003-12-05 13:00:10
japanese verse 31 (Twilight)Erzahl Leo M. EspinoHi Erzahl, This is a fresh and effective haiku treatment of the coming of evening, as sunset flares against the western horizon. The "great torch" and "scandalous flame" link two fire images. "Shies away" so aptly describe the sun's sinking below the line of sight. It also adds an incongruous touch of meekness to this great star and "scandalous" adds a human element, reminiscent of passion. Nice use of s/h/f consonants is a pleasantly soft element as befits the twilight hour. The assonant "a" in banished/scandalous is also most harmonious. Your haiku are fine pieces and will make a great collection, which I hope you're assembling. My Best, Brenda 2003-12-05 12:52:53
Winter NightDebbie L FischerHi Debbie: Ah, so this is the original ... I see punctuation revision in the later version, but that's about it. I agree totally with dropping the cap on "cuddled" and inserting the ; after "fiercely" ... tiny details, but they can make or break the final effect. The imagery and nonet structure are otherwise the same. It's a pleasure to get this second chance to read something so exquisite. The backdrop may be a cold winter night but the soul within is warm. My best, Brenda2003-12-04 22:49:26
A FragmentSandra J KelleyHi Sandra: This is a poem that rings (type-clicks?) with truth. The fear of failure can sometimes pale beside the terror of success. A goal that needs to be achieved is a motivator; a goal accomplished is a reward but can also become a liability. The achiever then has something to live up to, and possibly no further "carrot" to pursue. He is afraid it will be good. [Indeed, and possibly it will ... which is the problem] Each day, chained to his chair, [Effective metaphor to show the restrictive pressure of anxiety] He types pages of his novel, A story he is telling to no one. [If nobody knows, then there is no commitment and it's easier to stop] At the end of the day he presses delete. [Deletion may suggests removal of tension as well as destruction of the manuscript] The middle strophe then shifts to the writer whose self-confidence seems to be dissolving with every word. I like the way you describe his "removal" in visual terms, like the erasure of an art work. Freed from his motion control system He began by erasing himself; [Why not "begins"? Everything else is present tense.] The top half of his lip, [Thus, his voice is muted but not obliterated, so he can write again] A chunk of his wrist, [His typing ability will be hindered, another excuse] The tip of his right ear. [He can be less attentive to either criticism, or encouragement] the stories, faster than I can write them, are being erased. Surprising shift to first person; we now realize that the speaker has been reflecting on his writer persona, distancing himself from it. Authorial voice is fading quickly. The real-life individual intrudes with a comment. There's a sense of futility here, as if he knows that he'll never really complete the work-in-progress because it is a case of one step forward, two steps back, over and over. He also knows that this is a great loss, as the untold tales are worth sharing. After the words have filled up the air, How will we breath.[?] [sp: breathe] The closing links the two perspectives ["we"]: speaker and frustrated alter ego. Ultimately, he may feel himself choking on his own repressed creativity. This is a haunting conclusion. The poem appears deceptively simple but because of the dual perspective, it isn't. It reminds me of Margaret Atwood's work, in fact. She was, of course, a poet long before her novels began to be written ... but unlike this character, she was willing to unleash them and take the risk. I like Atwood's style and you share some similar elements. Excellent, and much enjoyed. Brenda2003-12-03 14:14:33
Winter Night (revised)Debbie L FischerDebbie, how lovely this is! The diminishing line length leads the eye as well as the mind toward the entwined bodies, with that final word, "soul", suggesting their unity. The opening lines offer a sensory prickle of cold and wintry sound effects of wind. The second line includes tactile sensation of warmth, and then the olfactory delight of the candles. The music contrasts with the din outside, and since one can set a sensual mood with melody, it quite naturally sets up what follows. "Blending in unison/with each tender touch" connects the surrounding ambience with the couple in the room. I haven't seen the original but really like what you've done with this. It's a treat for the heart. Happy Holidays! Brenda2003-12-03 09:46:11
The CrossJordan Brendez BandojoOh my goodness, Jordan! This is a radical departure for you, and remarkable in its impact. My only small query is the shift from i to I. I'm interpreting this as spoken by Christ and therefore, "be like Him" would seem to actually mean "be like Me". But small matter; the last part flings a challenge at those of little faith and large complaints (in other words, most of us). We want lighter? To ease burdens, we must - paradoxically - be willing to accept those of others. We must also be unafraid of whatever pain we're asked to endure in the process. "i exempt no one anyway". We are all our brothers' keepers. "Drink the cup" forces us to assume our own obligations, toward God and humanity. The form of the poem is, of course, obvious, and because you have chosen short lines, it works really well. I'm very impressed and hope this won't be the only piece you tackle in this way. Wow ... you blew me away with this one. Brenda 2003-12-02 11:12:55
Gerald O'ReillyLeo WilderHi Leo, Oh my, "Eleanor Rigby" will never sound the same to me! This is so stark and the repetition of images is mesmerizing. You give evil a name, and then go on to verify the cycle of abuse that has led O'Reilly to this place, to this final point. But once he, like the children whom he has defiled, must also have been a pure soul. Perhaps he hopes to restore some of the balance by taking his own life ... but we know that cannot be possible. Tone in this one is what makes the poem so vivid. There's anger, sorrow, cynicism, bitterness and, in the end, despair for the "ravaged children" whose lives cannot be repaired. The flickering candles on the crosses turn them into wavering symbols of a Church gone awry. The original occupant of the Cross would not offer His blessings on any such travesties. The irony of "pure fatherly love" is, of course, appalling. I know this is set to the melody of a familiar song but I couldn't sing it ... too intense, too filled with anguish and rage. You've done a remarkable job because I was startled by the poem as soon as I began to read it! My Best, Brenda 2003-12-01 23:17:33
Crafted in the Hands of ShakespeareApril Rose Ochinang ClaessensWelcome to TCP, This is an ambitious undertaking; the title sets us up for either an allusion to Shakespearean themes, or a tribute to his poetic style. By opening with "Alas!" you signal the use of archaic diction. "Wake me no more" and "hold not your luggage" augment this impression with its reversed syntax. However, the situation is contemporary: an impending departure by place. The combination of current setting with partially obsolete diction (I say "partially" because the rest of the equation, the personal pronouns such as "thy", "thee", "thine", are modern) makes for an unusual blend. Shakespeare's own poetry is normally written in iambic pentameter, by and large - either the blank verse of his dramas or the rhymed lyric poems, such as his sonnets or songs. He would not have used enjambment and most line breaks would conclude with full or partial stops. He relies on careful placement of punctuation to suggest intonation and phrasing. None of these devices is used in this piece. As this is a critiquing site, and I feel that you have considerable potential to write with much stronger personal "voice", I'll toss in my suggestions for you to either use or lose. Please forgive me if they seem overly critical, as my goal is to provide something useful. First, I recommend eliminating any hint of cliche, such as "warm as the sunlight" or "gentle as a rosebud". Shakespeare is noted for using ordinary words in extraordinary ways, and his metaphorical language often contains surprises. He would have had access to a far smaller range of vocabulary options than we do now, and still his work manages to sound fresh. In my dreams let me go to Olympus and beg Aphrodite for a potion that would make you hold not your luggage but my hand instead and take me to the gazebo and dance there for eternity. This entire strophe is a single sentence, essentially a run-on. Lack of punctuation and line breaks following "that" and "the" tend to emphasize this effect. I'm not a huge fan of absent punctuation when it is being used sporadically elsewhere; you're including periods and caps. Be that as it may, possibly consider rewording the last two lines to get rid of the "and ... and" syntax. would make you hold not your luggage but my hand instead and take me to the gazebo for an eternity of dancing. Or whatever. Just a suggestion! The "for eternity" idea is another cliche, but you would know best what might be used in its place. I like the image of the gazebo because of its specificity. Let not the waves of the ocean and the singing of the birds invite you to say adieu for indeed I would weep or even hurt myself with a sword. "Or even hurt myself" seems weak. Try a different verb choice: slash, tear, carve, impale. The sword itself is incongruous because you've been careful to place this in 2003, yet how many of us would keep swords in our possession? It would be more convincing if the speaker were to threaten self-destruction with a handgun or knife or bottle of pills. The classical allusions to mythological deities also seem rather out-of-context, but I can accept those because they're intellectual constructs. A suicide weapon is far more tangible. Say not so long for that would entice Hades to fetch me so soon as I could not stand to break loose from your grasp. Syntactically, this is unclear. The confusion arises at midpoint of the middle line. Maybe "too soon because ..."? I believe I get the message, that if the other person leaves the speaker feels as if she might die rather than live alone. Here's an instance where a single comma (after "soon") would be very helpful. If I were to sum up in a single comment what I would most like to see, it would be to speak with your own voice, not in an imitative style that seems less than authentic. I want to hear April Rose! It's clear that you have a good command of the language and a nice eye for emotional nuance. Let these be given the freedom to express who YOU are, rather than trying to sculpt an image drawn from someone else's example. Having written this during a break at work (I teach secondary English), I apologize for any typos that may have crept into my review. I hope it is helpful and look forward to reading more of your work. My Very Best, Brenda 2003-12-01 10:46:35
This Last ChristmasPaul R LindenmeyerOh, Paul, what an incredibly poignant reflection on the aftermath of divorce! The ironic first line implies that, since this has been a legally constructed "event", it's somehow easier to manage. Yet we know this isn't the case, and the speaker's sadness shows through in the penultimate line as he refers to the empty, cheerless house. I think his heart has been torn in half. "Traditions exist in memories, not time." True, yes. Sadly, there is no warmth in memory when everything that created this reminiscence has gone. No baby, no tree, no cheer. When the babe was in your arms and you were the mother at the crib. When the new house and fresh tree warmed your heart and nourished your spirit. I find this eerily suggestive of the Virgin Mary and her Christ Child. I realize that the speaker is addressing his soon-to-be-ex-wife, but woven beneath this current situation is the echo of a much older scene. The crib, the tree, the promise of hope in the future, seem almost archetypal. This may not be intentional but it's no less evocative. This last Christmas will be held by lawyers, and attended to by [a] courtroom documents. The clinical finale to this marriage is sealed by people who haven't shared in any of it, except its ending. Then the speaker returns to his vacant home and numbed heart. I hope this isn't a personal piece but it certainly sounds authentic. If so, here's a cyber-hug across the miles. Hang in there. Joy doesn't vanish forever; it just waits for the right time to reappear. My Best, Brenda 2003-12-01 09:47:23
The Last ConflictRobert L TremblayBob, This is a powerful and disturbing piece. "Absent pathos" implies Death's utter detachment, as he performs his appointed task. In the final battle there has been allowance made for the presence of evil, as well as of good. It's significant that you are careful to note the angelic music in the background. One assumes that the victims of this carnage have been elevated to a higher realm, which makes grieving for them a bit unnecessary ... and Death's attitude then becomes quite pragmatic. I find it an interesting touch that, despite the modern arsenal of weaponry and techological gadgets, Death still prefers to travel by horseback. This is probably the only horse left on earth. That death is "weary" implies an unavoidable sense of regret, even though he believes he feels no remorse for his actions. Ironically, the killing of the infant is in fact a gift of mercy, for the baby has no one to raise or even nourish him and is suffering horribly. Death's quick end to the baby's misery is in essence a form of redemption. His new exhaustion, as he rides off, signals that perhaps he is now possessed of the capacity for emotion and maybe even a spirituality hitherto unknown. As Donne might have said, "Death, thou shalt die!" He has no further duties to perform; humanity's efficiency has robbed him even of this useful occupation. Metrically, your lines flow well, with only one stumble (to my own ear) ... "Each side's weaponry, with no one alive." The catch of course is "weaponry" but there's really no other way to say it. However, as I tend to resist slavish adherence to iambics with never a break, this isn't really bothersome and, in fact, quite suits the line's content. This piece fully engages my attention and emotional response. In the end, I pity Death, which I did not expect. He is, after all, more servant than master. Excellent work, my friend. Take Care, Brenda 2003-11-29 18:04:14
japanese verse 32 (Chess)Erzahl Leo M. EspinoHi Erzahl: I love the game, although I'm not a great player. It teaches me to think ahead, which is something I don't always do. This senryu places the Queen in the service of her mate, in the "checkered arena" of politics and chess itself. In the real world, "checkered" suggests uncertain, a mixed pattern - good analogy for the workings of Fate. Women often do cast themselves in front of danger, on behalf of their husbands or other loved ones. In the case of a chess Queen, her power is not to be used lightly. The Queen's gambit is a daring move that may not ultimately pay off but if we venture nothing, we gain even less. This short piece nicely engages the reader's attention and leads to further thought. My Best, Brenda2003-11-29 15:26:10
Border ClashThomas Edward WrightHi Thomas: This poem's rich and vivid imagery brings me right into the situation. But I'm not sure --- at first ---who's running or why, only that they were at war and now they're either retreating northward or returning home from battle. Yet the Maroon coupe mystifies. Are these modern-day gangsters driving away from the scene of their latest hit? The Hawk is a local newspaper according to my Google search (yeah, I got curious). Naturally, it would report the incident. So ... AHA!!! An ancient football rivalry emerges. U. of Minnesota and U. of Iowa square off every fall and this time, Iowa has won and the Minnesotans are licking their wounds. The school colors of maroon and gold are subtly woven into this descriptive tale. The ominous "silos" refer no to missiles but merely to farms. It's only a six-mile drive but for the losers, it must seem like a continental trek! I love this, now that I understand it. In fact, I have a URL for other readers who might not think to look up the allusions. http://www.startribune.com/stories/462/4213824.html I gather it's a considerable victory for Iowa to claim the title and to the winner go the spoils, for now. I'm not really up on American college football but no matter, as a game is a game; my daughter attends St. Mary's U. in Halifax and that team has just made history with a three-in-a-row appearance in our national university championship game for the Vanier Cup (they lost this year and won back to back the other two). Their color is also maroon, oddly enough. And their opponents were Laval Rouge et Or, so there's the gold! Small world. Much enjoyed. Brenda 2003-11-27 23:04:26
Missingmarilyn terwillegerHi Marilyn, This expresses very simply and clearly the loneliness of the bereaved. Your use of specific scenes and occasions is effective because it pinpoints the moment of greatest grief. To some extent the mourning becomes, I think, partly a seasonal sorrow triggered by special events that once were shared with the loved one. The changes that continually occur in Nature also serve as reminders. Favourite foods - pie, pancakes - awaken fresh memories. One can accept such a loss, over time, but it keeps recurring and will never entirely ease. This is a loving tribute to what was obviously a special and strong relationship. I know that you get hit with the double-whammy of Thanksgiving and Christmas, close together. That must be especially rough! (Our Canadian T'giving is long past). May you find joy in friends, family and the renewing grace of this new and holy season. Take Care, Brenda 2003-11-26 14:25:05
Her Healing HandsMark D. KilburnHi Mark, This lyric poem's rhythmic elements are really lovely. The metrical structure is consistent throughout, and has a soothing effect, rather like its theme. I like the way you compare your lady to a Nature goddess whose touch brings forth the flowers and whose generous character brings birdsong and clear skies. She is Earth Mother, lover and companion. Your diction isn't hard to follow and your sincerity is obvious. Imagery is vivid and comfrotingly familiar, for who has not enjoyed the delights of a garden or the freshness of spring? (Right now, I could use them!). your yard[']s full of kindness - apostrophe needed, I think. My only quibble is with the last line in the penultimate stanza - "work your life giving dirt". To me, "dirt" just doesn't cut it. I can see working "magic", "soil", "ground" ... but "dirt" sounds so ... well, dirty and unbeautiful compared to the overall tone of the poem. I believe it's included mainly to rhyme with "hurt". Of course, this is just a diction choice. Other than that, no suggestions! If I were the subject to whom this poem is addressed, I'd be absolutely thrilled and moved beyond words. It's such a lovely, honest tribute. The depth of love is clear, yet you don't go too far overboard into sentimentality. The gardening metaphor keeps the poem from getting "sappy"! It works very well in all respects. Nicely done ... and much enjoyed. Brenda 2003-11-14 21:14:01
japanese verse 30 (Vulture)Erzahl Leo M. EspinoHi Erzahl, All those fricatives - wow!!! The "v" consonance - taken from the very name "vulture" - gives an almost playful effect so that the bird is seen in an somewhat mocking manner, despite the horrible circumstances of its presence. A vulture's behaviour is, to human eyes, unpleasant. The speaker notes its watchful attitude (the better to eat roadkill), but calls it "villain", the dark spirit of the scavengers' world. "Vulgar" and "vandalizing" imply its disrespect for the mutilation it inflicts on the dead. "Vacant", however, does admit that the cadaver's spiritual inhabitant has gone. The thing consumed is no longer possessed of personality or character; it is mere dead flesh. Traditional haiku syllabic pattern is maintained. Capitalization, while often discarded for haiku, is consistent in each line. The single image (drawn from Nature) is also featured, as with most haiku. We may not care to consider the vulture's existence as a benefit, but it does help to clean up what might otherwise be left to rot ... which is a useful contribution to the ecosystem. Of course, one hopes that said cadaver isn't human! We now have turkey vultures in southern Nova Scotia; these recent arrivals intrigue me. Their wingspreads are immense. Your poem reminds me of these magnificent (but still sinister) creatures. My Best, Brenda 2003-11-14 12:21:56
The Mountain Man's Mystic MissiveRobert L TremblayHi Bobby, This one has an extremely pertinent message, considering what's happening in this crazy world right now. Nobody's immortal, of course, and the power-driven are as prone to collapse as that stone face in the mountain. I'd read about this event, but have never actually see the mounatin man's stony visage. His loss, though, is no doubt still being mourned by those living in the area. "New Hampshire's sky bin" is a great metaphor, as the fragments end up trashed like dust swept before a vast and invisible broom. You pick up the comparison again with "time's chilled dustbin" in S4. "Buried under granite bones" is a vivid image. meanwhile, you present a capsule summary of decades and even centuries, each with its own violent associations. All things must pass; conflicts are resolved or just peter out, and the earth's shape changes beneath implacable forces of weather and gravity. Pentameter is nicely sustained, a complex task which I'd find daunting. You do shift from iambic to trochaic in spots, but that's actuallyu a positive, because it gets away from any danger of singsong style: "Dawn arising, spotlight dimmed, awaking" or "Lady, bared, Godiva – mankind, naked". These are arresting lines anyway, and the metrical reversal just adds to their impact. Wish I had more time but I don't; however, I do want to commend you on this most tricky effort. It can't be easy to marry format and text into a single entity; one or the other would seem to be destined to suffer, but neither does in this case. My Best, Brenda 2003-11-06 19:48:36
Role ModelJoanne M UppendahlHi Joanne, I'm just skimming surfaces tonight ... came across this at #50 on my to-do list (and couldn't resist it)! It's a poem of resilience, with the indomitable spider returning to take up her broken strands and continue her storm-battered existence. Imagery is - as always - wonderfully apt. The personified rain, "squalling her sideways tears", is a vivid entity and "sideways" implies a certain inability to meet challenges (such as grief?) head-on. Flowers are "bent"; pots are "tumbling" without the power to withstand the forces ranged against them. Yet by not resisting, and given in to pressure, they can survive intact. Sometimes, it's best to go with the flow and wait until order has been restored, even if the situation has changed somewhat. How free those fierce gestures, the giving up of what has been and leaning into what comes next. Yes, exactly so. "Leaning" doesn't betray weakness, but acceptance and a certain strength. Heads down, we stride forward and eventually cover the necessary ground, storm or no storm. "Giving up" can be misinterpreted as "quitting" when really, it is only pausing to collect one's inner and outer resources before daring to face the next onslaught. a garden spider bobbled wetly in her web I love those energetic plosives, and the contrasting openness of the "w". There's almost a laughing quality here, a moment of joy that strikes unexpectedly through the gloom. "Prudently" comes next and is perfect to explain why this tiny creature feels compelled to begin anew, almost as soon as the wind has died down. Hesitation would be fatal as she'd have no means of subsistence without a snare for supper. Likewise, the human who waits too long before attempting to deal with personal setbacks is the one who may become overwhelmed as complications pile up, the next one coming before the previous problem has been dealt with. That way lies catastrophe! This is another piece which I interpret to be personal, and rooted in your own bereavement. Yet it's universally relevant and offers a valid message to anyone who has ever become discouraged by adversity, and felt like abandoning the struggle. The tiniest of creatures, your brave spider, is a role model indeed. If she can conquer her discomfort, then so can we! I love this poem. I'm supporting the other one ( ... Hope), because it is absolutely amazing, but this is a gem too. You write with such courage and honesty. Good luck in the final round! Brenda 2003-11-06 19:31:59
Pastmarilyn terwillegerMarilyn, this is so poignant that the ending takes away my breath. What a heart-wrenching testimonial to unforgettable loss and enduring love! The past becomes a tangible entity, capable of being manipulated and almost felt as a physical presence. I find it intriguing that you say the past is "haunted by the mind" instead of vice versa, which is more often the way it's phrased. This implies that in some way, we ourselves leave an imprint on what happens and can shape these events. "The past remains present" through force of will, so the speaker can recreate her husband's embrace and relive it. The hard-c alliteration in the second strophe is sharp and harsh, like sobs choking in the throat. You continue this sound in S3. Diction is simple, so nobody can misunderstand the message, yet there's eloquence in the way your grief is expressed. Tercets are nicely structured and enjambment is used to good effect. Lovely work. We all need to be reminded of how precious our loved ones are, and how suddenly they can be taken from us. My best, Brenda2003-11-06 18:56:41
Forever DaddyJordan Brendez BandojoHi Jordan, I have to get some sleep as it's late here but wanted to let you now how deeply moved I feel when I read this poem. It's a most wonderful tribute to a father's influence on his son. The direct quotations bring the child to life, and the father's reassurance - when kite-flying - makes me think of both a human parent and God Himself, overseeing His growing son. Free verse suits the narrative. I think you write free verse very naturally and always enjoy it when this is your chosen form. It's interesting the way you shift between child and adult self, throughout. So the adult man uses sonar to measure ocean depth, and then the child's voice intrudes. The merchant accumulates wealth and yet, remembers kite-flying in simpler times. This is truly the way memory operates. My childhood flashes back When we were flying a kite In the verdant fraught with delight. "My child, hold the string tightly so it won't get lost out of sight!" In the above passage, my one small suggestion is that you drop the end rhyme. You haven't been using rhyme at all, so it seems out of place here. Also, "verdant" is an adjective; you want "in the verdant ... meadow, or field, or spring". It needs to describe what is green and growing. That having been said, the imagery is great and anyone can relate to this situation. Anyway, well done, and I can see by the standings that other readers are also enjoying this one. I'd best get to bed because I have to get up for work and morning comes too early. But I'm so glad I found this poem and can take it away with me. It's extremely uplifting (no pun). I miss my own Dad, though; he died in 1985 and there's been an empty hole in my heart ever since. When you write these words to your father, in a sense, you speak for me too. My Best, Brenda 2003-11-04 22:27:14
japanese verse 29 (Breeze)Erzahl Leo M. EspinoHi Erzahl, This is a charming haiku. The personified woods remind me of myself because I'm incredibly ticklish. I sense a little group of children in this one, happily engaged in a tickle-fight! The verbs "tickle" and "giggle" are childlike and energetic. Ending on "bliss" lets us know just how enjoyable is the sensation ... of tickling on a human level, and wind through leaves in the natural world. There's some very nice "s" sibilance running through the imagery, which suggests the soft breath of the wind and the gentle brushing of leaf against leaf. "Echoing" enlarges the dimensions of the action. I have a small poplar grove behind my house and the sound of their leaves is heavenly. This piece reminds me of what I miss, now that all the branches are bare. My Best, Brenda2003-11-03 18:20:43
For The Sake Of All Lovers Lost To ThisRick BarnesHi Rick, There are such exquisite phrases in this ... aroma of myths, since first four lips created a kiss, the genius of our two hearts, violins guiding our every move. This is an exploration of destiny, and whether it's a valid concept when one is involved in a relationship. But the speaker seems to feel a bit adrift here, as if things haven't gone as well as he'd hoped (or even as well as they could have). Oh, how I wish our fate belonged, If only in part, To the granting of wishes And the power of desire. The intensity of love does make demands (we have no choice but to breathe) but, in the end, no matter how fervently one wishes for perfection, it may never happen. Passion and desire take control, of course, but may not lead to anything permanent. The last line tells all, for unless there's a bond of souls, the rest is all temporary. You're writing in free verse in terms of metrical structure, but there's rhyme, although it isn't intrusive or forced. Variation of line length gives a rambling effect, like the rise and fall of emotions, that I quite enjoy. The final effect is haunting and we leave with a certain sorrow for the speaker, who may indeed be "lost to this" and probably doesn't deserve to be. This reads as a "real" situation and is told honestly. My Best, Brenda2003-11-03 17:25:02
a curious merrimentRachel F. SpinozaHi Rachel, Oh my, this is a terrific little reminder that we shouldn't take anything too seriously. Lack of capitalization enhances this theme. The last three lines are to die for; I wish they were mine! Your character creation is spot-on; I don't know this lady but would love to. You also use oxymora so very well. "Stinking with gardenias" is such a mocking dismissal of the cloying sweetness (like a foretaste of death, perhaps?). "Liven an internment" (interment?) speaks of reanimating what is too dead to be resuscitated. The middle strophe emphasizes what's truly important in this world, and how our focus should be on the vigor of life, not the tedium of death ceremonies. It's surely no accident that this lively woman returns as a clown to those places where she is most needed. This is, after all, her idea of comforting those who mourn, and who's to say it's any worse than offering handkerchiefs or baking cookies for the family? In the midst of death, laughter can puncture that hovering bubble of pain. So why won't anyone let it happen? "trickling mirth" is my favorite image from among a succession of great images. But the whole poem gets one of my votes this month. It has been very much appreciated. Take Care, Brenda 2003-11-02 21:22:09
Talking To The TreesMell W. MorrisLovely work, Mell ... as always. The internal rhyme is what sets your poetry apart from most, and serves as subtle tribute to Seamus Heaney too, as I sense he is your spiritual mentor. Diction is energetic, upbeat and very clear in terms of visuals. Words like "raconteurs" and "dallying" lift it beyond the ordinary and confer an elegance upon even a "simple" (which it really isn't at all) theme of autumn trees. Alliteration is carefully used, especially with "t". I love the "l" consonance in S2, as well. You write with intense lyricism! I might suggest dropping the very first "and" in L2. I'm not sure you need it, and there's a second "and" not long afterwards. But that's a very small edit. I do hope you're collecting these wonderful Nature pieces, as they would make a terrific chapbook. MUCH enjoyed! Brenda 2003-11-01 17:29:15
Haiku (Life a new)Dan D LavigneHi Dan, I really like the way you are using this elegantly simple form to convey an insightful message about the natural close of life. I'd call these senryu or "human haiku" because the focus is on the human being, not on Nature - the natural images are secondary to the personal motif. Same format, just a different label. There is very effective repetition of the opening strophe as the poem ends. However, "new life" is substituted for "death" and the child's cry is one of birth now, not of breathlessness (as would also apply to the sick and/or aging speaker). The use of winter-related imagery - "frozen time" and "silence" in particular (for I often think of winter as a silent season when all is blanketed with snow) is appropriate to the theme. Craving dignity As I lie in wait for it Silence as it comes In the above strophe, I might suggest figuring out a way to eliminate one "as", so you don't have two adverbial clauses that both begin with the same word. Maybe the first one could be "while" (I wait for it). Blinded by darkness Deafened by screams of silence I reach ascension This imagery is paradoxically unsettling. The speaker seems terrified to let go, to give in to the finality of it all. Silence "screams" because it is such an unfamiliar condition. It suggests absolute annihilation. Yet "ascension" removes this fear and reassures him that he still exists even after the physical senses have failed. The many soft-s sounds are soothing and peaceful. Meanwhile, in the final strophe, his replacement arrives from the other realm, possibly passing the newly-departed soul en route. All comes full circle. The poem ends with this comfort. In haiku, the less punctuation, the better. You are't using periods so why not go 100%? My immediate impulse is to suggest removal of all caps except those that actually begin a new strophe or indicate the proper pronoun I. Even the two commas could go, I think. "A child cries new life" might be even more powerful if turned into a metonymy in this way, instead of making the last two words into an appositive for the cry. In S2 you need possessive, "death's" grisly hand. Otherwise, I have no mechanical edits to suggest. Your friend has been offered a rare tribute here. We also have a Gary on this site who is in need of every prayer and good wish. In the end, it is not the length of life, but its quality, that determines how well we have lived it. I believe that individual actions also play a part in the way destiny is allowed to unfold; by writing this poem, you've made an impact on the fabric of the universe. Perhaps the odds will reverse in Gary's favor; I certainly hope so. Anyhow ... nicely done! I'd love to read more of your poems using this format, because it seems to be one that suits your style. My Best, Brenda 2003-11-01 10:37:02
Travel AgendaC ArrownutWhoa!! This poem is remarkable on many levels; your explanatory note notwithstanding, I see nothing to fault here, and everything to commend. The Ibsen quotation is brilliantly illustrated by what follows, in its interweaving of characters - albeit each is an expression of the initiating spirit - and situations. There's extremely effective juxtaposition of the demon with the first human, cleaning her contemporary weapon "after each kill" (whose circumstances we aren't told, nor do we need to understand fully). The right-hand column of planetary names leads us nicely through the whole solar system, from its terrible edge down to the nearest planets and the sun itself. Except, of course, for Earth, upon which the living woman plays out her own drama and the demon who inhabits her form is permitted to practise evil throughout Time, as it unrolls backwards from start to finish. This is incredibly complex, as Time moves from the present (in the first strophe) to the elemental past; also, from form and matter to vaporization. The raising of "satan aloft" puts back the old angel, in a different persona, to the original position from which he (or she, in this case) eventually is doomed to fall. The demon is - in part - Everywoman and Everyman, for who is free from any taint of wrongdoing? Yet a few are given to expressing their darker natures in such horrific ways that the rest of us are left to gasp in horror. Many such individuals actually manage to elude punishment and continue their misdeeds, as yours sidesteps her various pursuers-cum-gods. "Renouncement of goodness" ("renunciation" might also work here)is a chilling and pivotal act in her progression through depravity. The journey could also be viewed as an orbit of earth, wherein every year there are new sins to count, new hells to visit. In addition, each strophe describes the planetary body beside it, which also connects to the various festivals celebrated over the ages to honor these various deities/planets. Thus, a trip through history is also included as yet another level of this piece. I haven't read anything like this, and applaud you for its creation. It's like playing three-dimensional chess, for there's always another aspect to consider, and nothing is strictly linear: not time, not space, not life or even death. If I had an analogy to offer that best befits your style here, I think I'd choose the double helix of DNA. From the varying strands, a memorable entity has been built. Bravo (Brava?), Brenda2003-10-23 14:38:34
OriginC ArrownutHi, The extended metaphor works fine for me, overall. It's a strong visual, with the fresh and creative green of the island, an Eden of imagination, which extends the allusion of the title. I also like the concept that starts with mass uniformity, then shifts to bold insularity and finally turns into something absolutely new (which will, undoubtedly, become the next "mass conformity" once it has aged for awhile). Kind of like Hegelian dialectic: thesis-antithesis-synthesis, over and over. I have no argument with format or syntax, so I might as well inject a few comments that might be helpful (or not), however you wish to use them. Since you asked! :) Not sure why the "bridge of established beliefs" is orange. It seems a daring colour for conservative attitudes. Maybe something duller and more staid ...? Charcoal, lead, grey, pewter, rusty brown? First line ... "mainland" instead of "land"? Below the steel beast, stretching from one bank high above the island and on to the other shore, in one spot on the river’s edge I'm not sure you need the middle three sentences; I got a bit lost before the last one. "Stretching" modifies "beast" but could also apply to what the reader might assume will come next; there are five adjective phrases in a row, all but one introduced by a preposition. I'm also wondering whether the spot is on the island side, or the mainland side, since the river's edge would presumably touch both. I'm assuming it's on the island, the uncharted territory. Below the steel beast, in one spot on the river’s edge ... and then into the description of the white sand, which will then contrast more sharply with the bridge. My only other suggestion might be to drop "forming" and replace it with a comma: yield to white sand, a mouth into the unknown. Then again, the poem is also quite fine as it is! My comments are here because you asked for some, so please feel free to toss them. This is my only crit. thus far in October because of computer grief; it was your explicit request for feedback that moved me to choose this piece first! : ) My Best, Brenda 2003-10-22 13:48:20
Tempest FugueRachel F. SpinozaOh my, this is punny and delightful and whimsical. The "Tempus Fugit" (and it does turn to a fugue with all sorts of idea interweaving) wordplay starts us off and the last word, "yarn", is another great pun for both tall tales and a ball tail. I like the way you keep focused on the marine element, from the staged rescue to the "marry you to adventure you" which, of course, is what many sailors used to do. "Splat!" is such fun. This is a playful and refreshing diversion from the more serious works we so often read or write. I will carry you ashore, resuscitate you, until you undulate in sea rhythms and become salted to my taste Damn, this is a great passage. Even the "salted" double entendre fits well. "Undulate/in sea rhythms" is sensual as well as visually evocative. "Salted/to my taste" can mean more than one thing, of course. In the end, there's the blue couch and the return to land, the mundane affairs of living, the calm waters of "normalcy". Yet ... there's that tall tale being woven to please both the cat and the cat's owner. It isn't possible to entirely retire from the wanderlust and the ocean's allure. you, who is [are] lounging, so deliciously The poem itself is delicious. I'm just leaving work, so my time's up, but I just had to comment. Thanks for a great read. Brenda2003-10-07 14:42:21
Lunar SpoofsJoanne M UppendahlHi Joanne, This is a quick at-work take. I skipped down and finally found one of your pieces! I love the way the moon is personified as a woman which, of course, is fitting for such a feminine influence. The new moon becomes Maiden, veiled and energetic. "Sea children" is lovely! Crescent moon slice pieces of night, cut silver slivers Great sonic elements here! The subtlety of the crescent slicing night is delightful; I sense a scimitar, cutting through darkness and scattering stars. "Ghost trees" suggest all the trees that have ever lived beneath the night sky. Half and half moon-- make up your mind-- are you in or out of the mood tonight? This makes me chuckle. A moody moon is so like a woman under the influence of her own biology! She's unpredictable, hot or cold, in or out. Isolating "tonight" indicates that one's emotions are fleeting, changeable from moment to moment. Three-quarter moon busy with laundry, pinning up sheets rinsed in your next-to-last spin Ah yes, there are always the mundane tasks to accomplish. Neat short-i assonance/n consonance in pinning/rinsed/spin. (Something in me wonders what would happen if "spin" became "cycle" which would add a double meaning, and imply the start of Cronehood as well as the recurrent female "monthlies" which are about to end ... menopause, heaven forbid!!). But that is probably too obvious. This is a poem crafted with a light hand. In the end, ripeness is all. The full moon embodies every aspect of womanly qualities. She is the "real thing", the totality of all her earlier incarnations. She appears to be fixed and solid, not subject to mutability. Yet we know this is not the case, and possibly this is reassuring, because inertia is far too dull! The "changeling" is a magical being, slipped into the place of a mortal child; we need this magic as each month follows its course. We cannot be fooled except in an intellectual sense, for the heart understands change, growth and fulfillment. This is a most enjoyable and entertaining piece but, as always, there's a subtle message underpinning the imagery and obvious theme. Your writing is such a pleasure to read. All the Best, Brenda 2003-10-07 10:46:07
A Cardinal ViewRobert L TremblayHi there, Bobby T: Good to see you here again. This is a rather unusual perspective of 9-11, in that it incorporates the theme of a dark Second Coming - akin to Yeats' "rough beast" that "slouches toward Bethlehem to be born" - and uses this event as its forerunner. The quintessentially Christian nation is juxtaposed with the "kings of the East", at least in a prophetic sense; I believe that Nostradamus referred to them in this way. "Metamorphosed faith despised" definitely pinpoints the issue of a religion twisted for certain parties' own ends, and those "misanthropic crows" stand as grim metaphor for the black-clad terrorists watching from their safe vantage points. Crows being carrion birds, the image is particularly effective. Yet, if this is foreordained by divine will, as implied by the reference to destiny and signs, then such men are part of the necessary pattern. That's a chilling thought, of course, but so is the whole concept of End Times and Armageddon. Has the final battle been joined? Is this is first frontal assault? if so, the initial battalion of souls swept heavenward by the towers' collapse is also the opening wave of Rapture that "elevates sublime". From the perspective of two years' hindsight, and with all that has transpired since, many will affirm that the world is, indeed, at a crisis point. The judgment has arrived, not with the turn of the Millennium, but shortly afterwards when nobody was expecting it. In resurrection, absent swaddling clothes, Agape quivers as dark void it loathes; And rises somberly as wings unfold Majestically, blinding to behold. This is perhaps the most terrifying strophe in that it portrays a fearsome resurrection, albeit a banishment of hatred as love, agape, is rescued from the vacuum. The great winged Being is love's embodiment but this is not a gentle, turn-the-other-cheek return. With this final arbitration also comes death. The "gallows of the firmament" is a wonderful and brutal image. Those who are judged will either rise up or perish; I sense that more will die than survive. In fact, much of humanity appears to be spiritually moribund even now. Perhaps that's why the poem is somewhat frightening. I recognize in it the dissolution of my own comfortable world. The pentameter suits this theme and style. You tend to shift from iambic to triple meter quite often (e.g. L 14), which avoids that unfortunate sing-song effect so commonly heard with an extended use of IP. Opening some lines with spondees also drives home their messages (especially the penultimate line). Couplets rhyme well and often in interesting ways: inhaled/unveiled; bestowed/abode. I might query "management/firmament" since the rhymed suffixes are identical, "ment". But management's a tricky word to rhyme anyhow. The title is apt, with its overtones of "primacy" - as in "cardinal sin"; the subtle allusion to the Church's take on this; even, if one strecthes a point, that lovely bird which is the opposite of crows and may represent all the joy and beauty that nothing can obliterate. I'd say that the poem is as relevant now as it was when you wrote it. Events pass into memory but they also set into motion a whole chain reaction, in which we're all entangled. I'd be interested to read what you might add about Iraq, in the context of final judgments and the last battle. You do write with convicition! My Best, Brenda 2003-10-04 21:21:31
Right to LifeRachel F. SpinozaHow bitterly ironic that this "crack baby's" name is "Sunshine" for her whole world will be anything but that. This is a resounding contradiction to the "life-at-any-cost" proponents, who make a lot of noise but sometimes check their compassion at the maternity-ward doors. This is a bleak poem, but it's also an honest depiction of what is happening to far too many babies. As an adoptee, I'd love to believe that adoption is the answer to this situation ... but I know differently, because most unfit or unwilling mothers simply will not give up their infants until they've been so scarred that they've gone past all hope of earthly redemption. Pushed and pulled Unwilling And unwanted Into the world; You jump right into this one, emphasizing the baby's lack of control olver her own fate. The contractions merely mimic what will be done to her throughout her growing-up, as she is forced into inescapable abuse that will destroy her as surely as her own mother is being destroyed (if she hasn't been already). Coming off crack With nary a “pro-lifer” To bundle her in anything But platitudes, It is so easy to plant a pro-life sign on one's lawn, and to write in defence of the unborn, but stay far removed from any necessity to actually do anything for or about their plight once they've actually made an appearance. I know many pro-lifers and am one myself, in many ways, as I certainly can't condone abortion as a form of birth control ... yet I also accept that there are times when it can't be helped. Your poem most convincingly argues its case. The child's screams weave their motif in and out of the lines, drowning the "platitudes" that cannot feed her or keep her warm. The path to "faithlessness" is understandably accessible, for what starving, unloved and miserable child will come on her own to an understanding of God, or any sort of purpose for her pain? Use of "blossoming" (into faithlessness) both augments the "ss" - which in this case is a softly despairing sound - and ironically suggests rapid growth into a barren adulthood. She will soon be beyond Any hope of heaven If heaven demands Any belief at all in goodness [cap. for "In?] How can a neglected child even contemplate the concept of "goodness"? If one seeks to find some sort of "better place", then that assumes a certain optimism which may be beyond her capacity. It sounds like a cynical outlook but it isn't; it's realistic. The next strophe uses its blunt diction and direct imagery to clarify how this child - "a person who breathes" - has come to exist in the first place: - in a violent rape Or the morning after result Of first teen - age tryst When he said he would pull out in time And she believed him Yes, this happens everywhere. The girl who "believed" her impetuous lover is left to bear her burden; the burns and bruises that cover the baby may have arisen from her teen mother, or possibly from the boyfriend-father (although they are not necessarily the same person). In any case, the screams recur, and closing the poem with "loudly" lets the speaker remind us of how very urgent is this little one's need. The tone of the poem is angry, uncompromisingly so; it's done in the voice of someone who has become more and more fed-up with double standards, which call abortion wrong but make no allowance for the living beings who result from this stance. It is not a perfect world, and adoption may not be the answer if nobody ever asks the question (can you help me?). Not an easy or comforting read, nor meant to be. I'm glad I found this one, though! I think it was around fortieth on my list. My Best Wishes, Brenda 2003-10-04 14:17:41
Echoes From The SeaMell W. MorrisHah! I got to access this one from the finalists' list! I can't navigate the site otherwise (computer system problems from installing new software that obviously isn't working 100%) ... just wanted to pass along my enjoyment of the piece. It's lovely in all respects and has your trademark internal thyme and keen ear for sonics. All those s's ... I can almost feel the sea wind. "Asphodel" has to be one of the most wonderful flower names ever invented! Womb-oneness is just perfect to link us with the sea, as blood and water share the salt. My favorite passage, though, is this: Bruised moss on scattered stones marks the passage of others before me and I feel a need to follow the melody of souls to the deep. Rising sea-sighs lure as surely as smells of sea asphodels. I can see and hear everything, and the sensory impressions pass like breath on skin. Your contemplation of the souls' fates, being roiled in currents or indwelling beneath seals' breasts, augments the mystical element of the shoreline. Heaney may be your role model and inspirational force but you don't imitate him; you use your own voice to sing your words onto the pages. I find each piece even more memorable than the last, if that's possible. Much enjoyed, Brenda2003-10-04 09:59:02
Splendor in the Pages of a BookJoanne M UppendahlGood heavens, hexameter! What a surprise and delight ... this is so hard to work with. The linking of book to communion between souls is very well-supported; passing the Word from one to another reminds me a little of Genesis, when "In the beginning was the Word and the Word was God ..." and so on. Grandpa handed over some of his essence by sharing with you the gift of language, as he so clearly wanted it to be given. This is a poem about legacies, that explores the way we grow through some special influence, when we're young enough to be affected by it. Some grandparents might offer physical labor, or music, or the ability to sew a fine garment ... this one hadns down his appreciation for the tongues that every nation cultivates. Just a simple book selection, black in color, paper bound-- ample leaves for my reflection, graceful symbol of our bond. Grandpa’s gift to me that day -- a dictionary of my own -- began in an engaging way to furnish keys for gates unknown. "Simple" is deceptive because one might call the Bible simple, or a star against the night sky, or a ripple of river water. Yet in the simplicity lies clarity and purpose. "Ample leaves" refers of course to the paper but I think automatically of tree leaves, too, that spread outward and provide shelter and, yes, Knowledge (as in the Tree of Knowledge). "Gates unknown" imply a voyage into a dimension where Ideas reside, within the spirit, which is liberated through reading and imagining. Dictionaries are all about possibilities. They contain words we don't use and may never have heard. Its pages took me further than all domains I’d known before; they offered up far-reaching spans, and diverse meanings to explore. Origins of words we speak, hallowed tools with which we toil, varied Hebrew, Latin, Greek; each one born in different soil. Given today's Net-lingo, "domains" can assume a very topical meaning, as we search for information on a dizzying array of sites. Yet you intend it to refer to kingdoms and territories that can be reached only through mind travel, as we sit back and absorb details about them. "Far-reaching spans" is a lovely way of expressing the journey and all those magical destinations (yet we remain grounded in our own reality, as bridges span uncharted waters but firmly connect familiar shores). Etymology is exciting to trace; I'm not surprised that you do it, too. Word origins join us to the ancients and we become one vast family that extends back beyond human history. I appreciate the metonymy of "born in different soil". Beginnings are always remarkable; how did someone choose just this combination of sounds and letters to name just this one thing? Do you ever speak a word and then wonder why it sounds like that, and how it came to be used? It must be awful to suffer a stroke that removes language skills! The meaning becomes detached from message and we can't associate something written with something spoken. I can't imagine that! Complexity of resonance, words connect from soul to soul. Written thoughts have permanence; terms can break or make one whole. With the simple gift he bought, he gave me much more than a book-- love of language can be caught, and this inoculation took! "Resonance" arises from vibration and we each have our own vibrational frequency, determined by the energy we bear within us. We transmit our signatures through aural contact; I can tell a great deal from the timbre of someone's voice, and no doubt you can, too. "Written thoughts have permanence" is so true. Sadly, people donm't write letters anymore, except for emails and memos, and that wealth of personal history is gradually diminishing. However, we commit words to paper when composing poetry, fiction, exposition and other texts. The person with the clearest understanding of language nuance will be the most successful communicator and this may well equal power on a larger scale. I love the playful metaphor in the final two lines. It's also a bit ironic, since normally an inoculation is used to "prevent" communication of a condition, not to enhance the process. So it's a neat twist to have the love of language be conveyed via injection instead of having the injection confer immunity (and maybe illiteracy, or at the very least, absolute pragmatism). This is a warm, gently humorous reflection on the impact of a single gesture. I'd guess that your whole family on your Grandfather's side is a long line of bibliophiles. You're obviously doing your part to sustain this ability and keep it going. This is the only poem of yours that has shown up on my list - and very far down, at that! It's not done in the style I'd expect from you, which is another indication of your own range and versatility. I will leave it with a big grin, and a sense of gratitude that you've been given this heritage. Without it, I might never have been able to read your poetry at all. My Best Always, Brenda2003-09-21 13:25:31
A Theory of CompositionC ArrownutIntriguing read! I see this - on a grand level - as an assessment of Creation, from primal muck to the development of language, arts and philosophy. Evolutionary biology, if you will, and the cultural superstructures that arise from what we become physically. It's not a fast process or a smooth one and there are false turns and blind alleys (like the Neanderthals). "Stall, Stir and Scribble" - nicely summarize the millennia from our first faltering steps to our creative epitome. On a msaller scale, it could suggest the germination of a single literary work, like a poem, beginning with an apparently-idle study of fly-specked walls and ending with a massive outpouring of words. The brain starts to make connections among sensory stimuli and from these linkages, we get a writer's masterwork. But I'll go back to the broader interpretation because I'm having fun with it! At first, Man asks "Why?" because the universe is all terror and mystery. With language, he has to choose how and what to say, and thus, begins to censor his own thoughts. For instance, the Dark Ages destroyed so much of what might have shed brilliance upon later generations. Galileo's letters to his daughter were largely destroyed at a later time. There are many roadblocks to learning from our forebears. Then we move forward to the contemplation of "Why?" again, not to make sense of chaos but to explain our position in it. I think. Now, we can send our ideas instantly across a world, and wait for the enlightenment that still isn't guaranteed to arrive. But everything's so much more impressively packaged than the paintings of Lascaux! Until we do something horrible to ourselves, of course. "Wumm ..." sounds closely akin to "Wham!" as well as "Womb", which pits destruction against birth. It isn't what we know but how we put that knowledge to use, after all. Nuclear physics gives both power and bombs. Literacy can be used for propaganda and doesn't always make us better or more compassionate people. That's my take on this piece but I may well be far off track; I began with your title to give me clues and went from there. Nonetheless, it's a wonderful puzzle, crafted with obvious forethought and care. I love poetry that takes risks (I can't write it worth a tinker's damn but I always applaud those who can). Brenda 2003-09-21 10:33:08
Soul MateMell W. MorrisHi Mell, Very cool internal rhyme, as I've come to expect from you. I also love your diction choices - luminosity, jubilation, rhapsody - wow, I want to sing! Then there are the dispiritng ngeatives - apathy, reclusive, inane. I agee that sometimes, the most boring individuals end up being lauded ... and I can never imagine why! The name, perhaps? Past reputation? Then again, I find that poetry also has its indifferent stars. Not all publicly-praised pieces possess much by way of personal appeal for me. I sometimes ask, why is this poem so great? What makes it stand out? The poet's identity? The reader's misapprehension that poetry has to "sound" somehow poetical, with mouthfuls of words that say nothing? I've read current publications, usually with contest winners included, that I end up tossing into the woodstove! Where's the passion, the fire that consumes a writer until it's allowed to sear and spill? Where's the glory of language, or the potency of a message that intrudes into one's awareness long after the poem's been put away? But this is off topic, of course. Your poems do that to me: heaven forbid, they make me think and then ... look out! No telling here that will steer me!!! Aaaanyhow, your central strophe summarizes a response that, I believe, is growing more and more common. We don't have to like something just because "everyone" says it's good, and we also don't have to participate in the adulation. We don't have to fawn over somebody just because others find him or her irresistible. And "ordinary people" can be just so ... ordinary. I agree, a challenging book makes a fine companion (and not just a poetry book, but anything that stimulates the creative imagination). Damn, am I off topic again? Indeed, the wonderfully-named "omphalos of verse" reveals an outpouring of spiritual nourishment, the blood through the umbilical that sustains those of us who read and revel in it. The "glint" of words is like a river glimpsed through flickering leaves, tantalizing and silver. We dip into them and, of course, do it slowly. This poem isn't even on my list but oh well, so what? I think it's terrific. Brava, Brenda2003-09-07 14:17:49
Waiting in the Cradle (revised)Rachel F. SpinozaOK, my crit on the first version was really awful (I'm operating on the fly much of the time now, with first-week-of-school blurriness!!). But this compact edition retains the essence of theme. The tetrameter is really effective, especially when it suddenly loses a foot in the last line. The dimple-nose juxtaposition is still there. Small things can have profound influence, indeed; if one were to change a single feature, would the ramifications multiply exponentially, so that the closest person to the subject would react, affecting two other people's opinions, who would then impact on four others and so on? The speaker's supposition conceals a great deal of reflection on the relative importance of seemingly-insignificant details. Cleopatra's nose may well have been so wonderfully sculpted that many men were smitten by it, and in turn, formed an alliance with the Queen which had far-flung consequences. Of course, how can we single out one specific part as being the essence of "beauty"? It may be the way each one is assembled in combination with other features ... Cleo's nose wasn't the whol eo fher charm, nor is Amanda's dimple the only endearing trait she possesses. The unformed persona of the baby has so much potential, as expressed in the tiniest elements. One never knows what sort of effect even the most innocent characteristic may have, on a much larger scale. More than meets the eye, here! Brenda 2003-09-03 22:10:38
Drivin Me Crazy (No "G" intended)George L WhiteHi George, MOST entertaining and enjoyable! I like the pun on "Drivin" in your title, and dropping the g puts the diction into a casual, conversational style that suits the humor. The characters are very likeable and the punch line is appropriately surprising. Meter is regular, catchy and carefully (but subtly) done. Rhyme is also good, including the neat internal rhyme in L11. I might question use of couplets rather than quatrains; why did you split them? With four sets of rhyme, it would readily convert to four quatrains, as the rhyme scheme also indicates a connection between pairs. But of course, it's your call. In L2 I recommend "like steerin" instead of "like steered" which doesn't make perfect sense. I also suggest dropping the comma after "somethin" in L14, for consistency. You've used no other end or internal punc. [a comma wouldn't be needed in this spot, anyhow]. park-er fifty[-]one park 'er? sixty[-]eight This has been a true pleasure to read. I'll be looking forward to seeing more of your work. My best, Brenda 2003-09-03 09:51:11
Waiting in the CradleRachel F. SpinozaHi rachel, I skipped down to this which is about #48 on my list. Delightful piece, truly. Perfection can be found in the tiniest of details, and what we remembermost clearly, may be a part of the whole, rather than the entirety. Juxtaposing Amanda with the glorious Helen and Cleopatra is a great way of conveying that she, a mere infant, is as filled with potential as these ladies once were, and can rock the world. That dimple might someday be priceless to the one person who can celebrate it in art, discover a cure for melanoma or write the unforgettable novel of a lifteime! Even the rhyme works. This is a fun read, and I suspect was written with much enjoyment. (Who's Amanda?) All the Best, Brenda2003-09-02 23:02:58
Dying, A Biblical AllegoryC ArrownutHi There, This is an intriguing extended metaphor that embraces the cosmos and brings it into the human sphere. Allegorically, it parallels the act of dying with a return to the spatial arena from whence our original atoms must have come. it also de-rromanticizes the whole notion of heaven and "the journey Home", so to speak. In the process, elements of the Creation story are skilfully interwoven. The earth without form and void, the darkness moving on the face of the deep, are implied and also counterpointed by the appearnce of planets and stars. It's significant that you particularly note planets named for Saturn, the dark and sullen god, and Jupiter, the greatest of the ancient pantheon. These appear to suggest the positive and negative aspects inherent in everything, from mortal being to magnetic polarity tot he spin of electrons around a nucleus. The colossal other world [is?] hidden behind numerous moons and rings ... neat paradox; something "colossal" is usually not perceived as being "hidden" (but access to it is available only through death) I recommend use of a full verb in this strophe, probably best placed in L1, where you might consider "is hidden" or "hides". Then the syntax will be 100% correct. I much appreciate the idea of the "other world", the heavenly realm, darting out of reach among black holes as it orbits a singular star (not in real-time, but in its own universe). Viewing it as an "iceberg" - rather like the head of a comet - makes it sound a bit uninviting, though. No harps and clouds here! Jupiter as it migrates through the I'm not crazy about a line break following an article, which seems like an artificial place to do so. Do you need "the" at all? Why not just "migrates through blackness"? In the next passage, verb forms threw me a bit. Shifting to simple past caused me to read "returned goblins" as a past particple/noun combination, not a verb-object. A comma after "ghosts" would aid clarity. [I read "migration of ghosts and returned goblins"]. If you were to continue to use the present tense, as with "migrates" above, it would solve any confusion. However, far be it from me to dictate what a poet must choose to do. Many times universal forces aberrate, reversing the migration of ghosts[,] and return goblins, hard as diamonds, to the earth’s poles where layer by layer, they create glaciers during Ice Ages. Centuries later, galaxies reasserted themselves, [or "reassert" if you like the present-tense idea] yanking adamant souls back to their graves and their black ice ball as if a magnet. [as with a magnet? as if by a magnet? as if magnetized? Hmmm, syntax might need a small tweak in this line] You're using a multiplicity of words to identify the darkness of spiritual-temporal-physical space. "Adamant" is a cool choice, because it suggests indestructibility even when consigned to the "black ice ball". It is also one of my favorite words. : ) The dead might devour the living during aberrations Interesting parallel to the orbital aberrations of some planets and cometary bodies. Like him beckoning outside the hospital glass. She, [she - need htis second one?] dressed in her gray Easter suit pinned a black rose above her right breast ... sombre image! wore comfortable shoes and her Sunday coat ... the mundane intrusion humanizes her; nice! hobbled out the window and kissed him smiling for the first time since his death. ... so which one is smiling? The widow or her husband? It doesn't matter; I like the ambuguity. It hinges on a comma [or not] after "him". I really do think I'd prefer present tense here, during the actual transition from living mortal to deathless icebound soul. But, as always, it is the poet's call. Here layers of spirits, merely electricity, have gathered and crystallized for millennia. ..... love this image! ... past unnatural satellites just as he maneuvered her in life. ... This speaks of the complexities any couple's relationship must entail. He beckons her; he maneuvers her. Even in the afterlife, their imbalance of power continues. Not only that, but he eschews the "unnatural". Does this imply prejudice? Narrow-mindedness? Lack of daring and creative imagination? Or merely simplicity and a love of the basics? Fun to figure this one out! They permeated frosty moons, flickering from the sun, where frozen particles clung to her, then through rings which netted her in layers of ice. Very good use of fricatives here. The "f" is delightfully frigid, a sigh of chill air breathing across these migrating souls, encasing them with cold. "Permeated" is a great choice, as it connotes incorporeality. Now a solid particle like him, a crystal impelled into the frigid ball of spirits without making so much as a pin prick. Again, I think a verb would knit together the syntactical structure here. "She condenses to a solid particle ..."; "She is now ..."; Now she is ..."; or whatever. OR "now a solid particle like him,/her crystal is impelled ...". The closing metaphor of the "pin prick" points out how insignificant is any single existence. We do not dare disturb the fabric of the universe (apologies to Eliot). Indivduality is snuffed out, lost in that "frigid ball" (Brrr! wonderful image ...). There's something about your dense, modifier-rich style that niggles at my memory; it's familiar, yet I don't recognize the ID. Regardless, I have enjoyed the read. It's a fresh treatment of a very old theme, and effectively captures my attention (I seldom write long critiques owing to time constraints, so that alone would indicate my positive response). However, I feel a pressing need for a warm sweater. : ) My Best, Brenda2003-09-01 10:28:20
FreewayRachel F. SpinozaHello there, my friend, This poem lifts our eyes unto the hills, metaphorically at least, whence cometh both hope and help for our downtrodden lives. The child's cry of joy is just so perfect, the Creator's voice speaking through new eyes filled with wonder. On the night Mars was closest to earth, it was cloudy here, so I couldn't drag out my telescope to look at it. But I knew it was there. Earlier, I'd seen the polar ice cap and was suitably thrilled. Here is where the rag man steps on spiders on the cracked sidewalk He is chanting: Got you - gotyou - gotyou. Gotenyu The visual image of this man, whose only task seems to be killing spiders, is both pathetic and chilling. He is picking on the only thing that seems to be frailer than himself. The spiders must represent terrifying forces in his world that, in reality, are stomping on him. This is his tiny measure of control over the universe, I think. But the "got you" turns into something than sounds awfully close to "G-d in you", the divine connector that links all things. It reminds us of what is, yet the man appears to be rejecting even this small spark. He sees, but does not accept. Here, concrete pillars rich with graffiti, loom black and red splashed in pattern more worthy of The Getty than this ghetto near the 210 freeway The "black and red" patterns could be taken as foreshadowing of Mars itself, since these are its primary color patterns (plus the white ice) when viewed through a decent telescope. Use of "rich" transforms the graffiti into something that approaches purposeful art (the only kind many of the ghetto's inhabitants can possibly know). It's an affirmation of being alive and even joyous, with the inner light burning despite the outer squalor. "More worthy of the Getty than this ghetto" is both excellent wordplay and an apt juxtaposition; talent lies in unexpected places. this godforsaken debris of a California dream. Ah, how almost-despairing ... I like the debris/dream alliteration, and the total opposition of these two words. But it is only "almost" because of your next few lines. Here is where last night at midnight I heard a child’s voice screaming from a window: Lookmommy, lookmommy lookmommy, Mars! This is just amazing. The condensed "lookmommy" conveys excitement, childish eagerness, and an urgency that adults don't feel much anymore. We MUST look upwards, and we MUST be enthused by the prospect above our heads. We cannot let our adult pain wear us down to the level of sidewalk cracks and spider targets. I love this piece. It's not complex in structure or even diction but thematically, you can't deliver any message that's more important to us all. Brava, Brenda2003-09-01 09:06:12
The Law of MercyDarlene A MooreHi Darlene, I didn't see this one coming! The ending caught me by surprise and then, suddenly, the whole sustained metaphor clicked into place. Your sordid imagery surrounding this miserable debtor is first rate. "Borrowed bits of tarnished silver" could easily be taken as an allusion to the parable of the talents, wherein one of those who was given his coin, refused to use it wisely and lost even that which he had. It can also have echoes of Judas's silver pieces. Certainly, the "tarnished" surface implies something that turned into a wrong-doing. The sinner is too far gone to haul himself out of his self-dug pit. I find S3 especially powerful in the hopelessness it conveys. Notches on the wall, brackish water, moldy bread, skeletal physique ... this speaker is in huge trouble! He has reached that terrible, Dark Night of the Soul. Then comes the pivotal line, the quotation about mercy, from the Beatitudes. Here is where it gets a tad tricky. The speaker is released and can "trade places with the lender". Presumably, then, the one who gave him the silver is now imprisoned. But why? Has he, then, committed some sin? Yes, he once ordered the arrest of the unfortunate speaker, although it's clear that blood can't be squeezed from a stone. So now it is his turn to learn humility and mercy, which he did not practise when he had a chance. Christ, the bearer of the key, is seen as a redeemer who has posted bail and cancelled the debts. The simple details of bath, meal and clothes are used in place of the spiritual renewal for which they are metaphors. Into the gloom of this dank prison has come the King Himself, an unexpected rescuer. Yet we sense that He has known all along that His servant is languishing here, and has merely been biding His time until the lesson is fully absorbed. Thus, there is little chance of the speaker's repeating his error. This is a very accessible poem, to which many Christians (and all of the sincere ones) will readily relate. The sudden arrival of salvation is like light shining into darkness, that transforms even as it startles the person on whom it falls. With awareness and hope will come reverence and praise. You've done full justice to the source in Matthew and the ending is very satisfying. No preaching here ... just illustration! This gets across the message most effectively. Very Nicely Done, Brenda 2003-08-24 21:12:52
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