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|Poem Title||Poet Name||Critique Given by Troy D Skroch||Critique Date|
|Yuletide Wish For TPL||marilyn terwilleger||amen t||2005-12-13 18:34:37|
|Replenished||Dellena Rovito||Dellena, After I read your poem I had to go and put in some CCR (Credance Clearwater Revival). They have a song called, "Have You Ever Seen The Rain?" Actually, I'm listening to it right now. It makes me not afraid to die. What is it about water that makes us live in the "cool, clear, clean"? I love the idea of reaching up to catch "Heavens tears." Truely a "communion" with life and nature. When you cry in the rain nobody sees you. It's wet, but private. I think I'm going to do that this summer. I like your poem Dellena and you are pretty special too (smile). I hope that you have a great holiday season and that your past stress is just that- past. May the eternal breezes bring you rain and always leave you replenished, T||2005-12-04 22:25:26|
|Thirty Days Has September||Mell W. Morris||MellO whose poetry is always delicious, Happy Thanksgiving!!! I hope that you didn't get too "fluffy" after the feast. Sometimes the "lure" of the table makes one a bit puffy. LOL! In Wisconsin we start our Thanksgiving day by hunting the turkey. Yes, we all take off our shirts, smear cranberry paste on our chests and breasts and take up our spears in search of the bearded bird. If we fail to fill the roaster we just eat pumpkin pie and lick ourselves clean. And sometimes each other. LOL! You didn’t know that about Wisconsinites!! On to your poetry. Your titles always evoke me to thought. Like in this poem. "September" for me is not the spring or the summer or even the fall. It is a month that symbolizes a kind of neutral passage of season. I keep thinking that you use it in your title to symbolize that time before the end of a relationship when things hang in the balance, when people are repositioning their commitments before the "fall" and the "winter" of their knowing each other. It is as much a “lost” month as it is one that foreshadows the coming desolation of winter. Do you think that September is a male month? I kind of think of April as being the female equivalent. Both of these months are kind of lost yet their existence foreshadows or portents to a future. Hmmm. to be anointed with spring’s perfumes to be wrapped forever in summer’s tall grasses to hold your hand in September’s doorway rising to meet winter with a warm heart and a lifetime of smiles Did you know that if you frown at me while I’m standing on my head, I see you smiling upside down? I’ve lived my life doing somersaults trying to see a person’s best side. Your writing is bold. The emotion in your voice always lent strength by your word choices. And they are clear. Visible and communicable. And there is your wonderful attention to detail and carefully written double meanings. I love the first line. “Owing huge sums of green to everyone in the world....” This works so well with the title for me. September is, just like April, a pay off month. There is a lot of pressure on September to perform. In some ways it is the reward of spring and summer. Alas, it is such a changeling month. I’m abscessing. I’m not sure what I’m talking about anymore. Let’s move on. Oh yes, we were discussing how well spoken you are! And your ability to say anything, good or bad, clearly. I mean, look at this: “...and set her aside like a cup of cold coffee....” What an analogy. Harsh! Men are stupid. LOL! They spend so much of their lives having to be “right” that they ware themselves out without accomplishing much of anything most times. The other day I was looking at an older man, he looked like hell, while his wife was all alive and animated. The poor guy probably wore himself out competing with his neighbor for a bigger “stake” in it all. LOL! Mell, you are a class A story teller as well. Your narratives always open strong and grab the reader, bringing them to the stage to watch your tale unfold in a poetic fashion. This next line was particularly gorgeous. Check yourself out! “Enchanted, she found comfort in the swath and sweep of stars which she watched endlessly.” How dramatic and romantic. And then you follow this with the “matador.” Now if that isn’t symbolic of the protagonist’s strength. Being a “bull” I almost slunk away towards the pasture gate when I read this. Actually, a terrible irony if the antagonist is brought to be accountable. Check this out. ”...matador might....” I love the way this both describes the decision making process and is a descriptor for bravery and courage and strength. Neat. That is just great writing. You have such a feel for words. Leaving the flowers breaks my heart. The flowers for me here are symbolic for all of the good things that were once a part of this relationship. Can we be further from the flowered spring than the days of September? Every good thing that I’ve ever did, was not decided by words, but by heart. And that’s what I see in your writing. Forever your Baby Poet, T Did I tell you that I’m taking my daughter to a professional production of the Nut Cracker in a few weeks. She loves ballet, this will be a treat for her.||2005-11-26 23:44:44|
|Replica||Dellena Rovito||Dellena, WOW! "grocery chained" ------------> that's great. Love the message of this poem. Very true, hence, powerful. What will we do when we are all the same? Cloned. Hey, how do you like this one-------------> "name branded" Like animals. Sheep for example. Kind of ties into the "God" thing, in a perverse sort of way. I like how you finish this off, leaving the reader to answer that question. Tonight, I must be brief. Just wanted to drop by and continue to support your writing. Now I'm "grocery chained" and "name branded." That will be bouncing around in my head tomorrow. Tomorrow, I will wear orange, T||2005-11-01 21:57:04|
|The Last October||Mell W. Morris||Mell, This is precious writing. The human experience wrapped in natural metaphor, carried by the lines and delivered with the smooth motion of a leaf being conducted by the breezes. For me, it's just lovely. But I have always loved the contrast of October. This is a work of art. And I don't thing anyone could have written a more powerful ending to this poem. It is "splentacular." "And a strong wind sighs, burnishes me to a bright, brilliant shine, more luminous than a nova so you may see me again...Next October." Bravo! LOL! To be polished by the wind's sighs. Great! Tonight, I will leave you with a quote that makes a lot of sense to me. It was penned by a man named Edward Abbey, who spent most of his life fighting for the preservation of the southwest. With regard to your writing, I find it very fitting. "The writer speaks not to their audience but for them, expressing their thoughts and emotions through the imaginative power of their art." Bless you for being, T||2005-11-01 21:33:08|
|haiku (first light)||Joanne M Uppendahl||Joanne, Without getting wordy, everything works for me. I really dig these lines, "I walk ahead of first light..." and "I call up their good mornings." All good, but those for me are the best =) T||2005-11-01 20:54:49|
|Until Next Year||marilyn terwilleger||"the ghost of Halloween dies in dismay" lol I kind of find that ironic Just for fun, Silly MT, T||2005-10-28 22:15:36|
|Cycle||Latorial D. Faison||Latorial, I love the measure of your voice in this and the quality of the thought. I see the "cycle" you allude to with your words. The image of the "blood," figuratively speaking, is excellent, coupled with your title and intent. Ah, the "beautiful ones", "the perfect people", "the beautiful people." I deal with some of this everyday. And no matter how hard one tries, another comes along to redefine the term and put somebody else down. I was not born to "beautiful" circumstances, yet feel that all life is "beautiful." Though, I think you are working toward a goal of "acceptance" and equality, regarding the question of race and color. I find irony in that "beautiful ones," I speak of, perpetuate their own "cycle." After reading this poem several times, I dropped, "often born without a chance." Wait, don't yell at me for editing, I just think that "whose babies are not yet born the beautiful ones," is such a great line and says, almost, the same thing, especially, when I go back and reflect on the questions the title brings to mind. I really like this poem. I like how you handled it. I know that doesn't make sense, but those are the words that I feel. ok, getting sloppy, here I go the image of the head from the hands--thoughtful and tired in a way the open palms-- trust and honesty the dove--a messenger dream, esteem--- I like the message and the rhyming what America means-- that's a tall order, simple, complex, happy, sad and changing the flow of blood-- the living cycle the burning desire-- but of course, this is life we speak of the beautiful ones-- enough said This is the work of an artist. Best, Troy||2005-10-23 06:20:33|
|October||marilyn terwilleger||MT, Excellent narrative. Touching and personal. Straight from the heart. I really like "antelope mope." LOL! We don't have antelope around here. S2 enjambs so well into S3 with the repetitive "he loved," working to create a seamless transition. The internal rhyme goes almost unnoticed, because one gets caught up in the story this poem tells. I love the fall. The leaves. The cool mornings, warm afternoons and sundown chill. Hmmm.... And you capture the wild fall moments, the hunting in its passion and passing. Your voice is experience laced with a hint of reservation given over to the remembrance of your Octobers. Well done. T||2005-10-20 20:16:48|
|With Grace||marilyn terwilleger||MT, The word "When" here is fascinating. Just it alludes to the time that night comes it reminds us of a time that there was no "night." "When," indeed. This is a "when time," when, the "cloak" is drawn. It has no power without the remembrance of lighter times, but alas, it has come, or, is this a forcast of what will happen when it comes. I think so, as you are still writing-----=) Just let me get away with being wordy! LOL! I remember "when" you first started to write cinquains and I teased you about the name of the form. I remeber that "when." LOL! But the larger question here is how shall we meet the "night" or perhaps, the "light." You answer that in your last line, even though you are using it to describe how the smile will be weened down and as a title. I think they call that more "bang" for the buck, or just good poetry! I like the use of the word "ween" here. I kind of get a personal smile out of that. Cheers MT, T||2005-10-01 20:55:41|
|Clearing Skies||Dellena Rovito||Dellena, This poem just appeared on my list. I think it's great. Look at this--------) "water blue colored" I like how you combine those three words and then support them later on with "water color." The first tricks the mind, if it's not careful, into seeing the word "watercolor." And then you use the word "watercolor," leaving me to wonder as the clever redundency. I enjoy the "flirting" sun and "feather lightness" and "accumulated clouds." Nice. It's how you say it. Like, "exalted spatial being-ness". Bravo! That's pretty cool! I want to be that when I grow up! I also dug "past my stage of atmosphere". That sure beats "above me looking up." Very nice. Like I say, it's how you say it sometimes. Somebody once said, I had a way with words, I pass the compliment back to you. I sill love that line you penned, "I kneel at the foot of my life." Now that's a way with words! Lastly I like "off into the far and away." It is just what happens to clouds and is a fitting ending. Oh, your form works well. I like the short lines on the end of the stanzas. Visually, they look like clouds drifting away. Sometimes people don't take advantage of making their poem visually appealing, based on their subject matter. I almost always do and encourage it. Poetry is as much as a visual form of art as it is a written form of art in many cases. Great job. T||2005-09-29 22:18:28|
|Penetrated||Dellena Rovito||Dellena, When I saw the title, I thought this was going to be an "adult" poem. Whew! Ok, I was just trying to get you to smile, now I will be serious. LOL! First of all I don't know exactly what this poem is about, but I keep getting the feeling it as about a form of x-ray. Like a MRI or something of that nature. That being the case. I think your choice of title is excellent. Perfect, in that it gives the sense of a violation of privacy and is concise in describing a procedure of that fashion. I also like the long "a" sound and the emphasis on "e". A rather vibrant word, "penetrated." Good title. If I'm wrong and this is really about being abducted by aliens, I will plead out my imperfection in the forum. LOL! I just don't know. It's bugging me. Is this an ultra sound? "Movement shadowed the presence," but "to eradicate it...." I'm missing the references, please forgive me. I hope it isn't a positive test for cancer or some terrible medical thing. I hate doctors and hospitals, forever. I just don't know. I know that your writing is perfect in its form. I just can't find my way tonight. My overall impression and feeling is rather chilling. Forgive me for starting in on this, I'm should have gone to bed an hour ago. Take care Dellena, T||2005-09-29 21:54:31|
|I Am Fred Chapter V||marilyn terwilleger||LOL! Fred better watch out or he will be dead. Mr. Toad has a whip for a tongue and a purse with a gun. MT, whatever shall we do with you! Writing about sprites and elves and abusive frogs. Is this something that you are writing for your grandchillin'? I like the repletion of "but I am Fred." He just won't give up on it. Like it means something or he's trying to tell us something of world wide importance. And coming from an elf in a "jaunty hat and suit of red," somebody better listen up if for no other reason than "I am Fred!" LOL! I don't know what to think. Love it, it's fun!!! And with your rhyme in my head I'm off to bed, T||2005-09-28 22:20:07|
|Last Dream||Rick Barnes||Rick, I read this several times and am still shaking my head in amazement at some of the lines. I realize that this is not exactly a happy poem, but it's great expression, forgive me for my excitement. The title works well and foreshadows the ending of something. I begin to read and realize quickly that it a relationship. I dreamed I had been inside you Through all of the pieces of our parting. Normally we dream about something, but you take it further in the narrative and have the individual dreaming "through all of the pieces." I like this because it is unusual in a sense, but then I have not been put in this position. To be able to "watch" somebody through their own eyes. Neat. Love the "mirrored moments." And the betrayals of "reflections." But, "I felt the palm of your heart, as it pushed me away," is just great! Your poem written from the inside of one to another with the another inside of the one. It's just amazing writing, fresh and original. To feel the "swallow" in the throat, the tears "pond" in the eyes, the realization the narrator has in that it was their fault for the tears. "laid awake lightly across your mind...," is superb! The empathetic perspective of the narrator ending with forgiveness, combined with your ability as a poet, has produced a flawless piece of writing! Bravo! I'm standing, Troy||2005-09-28 22:09:03|
|A Night At The Ballet||stephen g skipper||Stephen, I'm not here to "critique" your writing or tell you how to do it unless you ask for something like that in the notes. You don't need any help anyway! LOL! Rather, I dropped in tonight, to support the excitement I see in your writing, the creativity of the form and the energy and touch of humor you bring to the page. I think writing your poem to the structure of dialogoue is pretty neat and very creative! I thoughy "An adult escape" in the beginning, contrasted by "next time bring the kids," was funny. I try to involve my children in everything we do, but some nights we don't take them somewhere and wish I would have. Love the irony. And is there anything better than live theatre? Your form captures the energy of this. You nail every syllable, delivering a fine performance. Bravo! You have me excited for you and wondering when I can get away to go to a play. Take care, I look forward to reading more of your poetry, Troy||2005-09-28 21:34:38|
|Another War||marilyn terwilleger||MT, Thank you for sharing this. I had a friend who took his life after Desert Storm who felt the same way in a different sense. He didn't believe in heaven, but did believe that he had committed a crime against life. Nothing I could say made him feel better about it and the nerve gas poisoning that he suffered from only heightened his depression. From what I know of the Bible, the father, the leader or king, is more liable in the eyes of the lord than the soldier that takes orders. God didn't pass down a rank and file, because he didn't see the eventuality of things like wars. Also, you know that there was much warfare in the Bible. I'm sure that your husband saved more lives, by keeping the North out than he ever took in combat. And, it takes two to fight, both know the "deal." In my mind, I'm certain your husband was not condemned for his taking part in Korea. If he didn't make peace with himself before he died, I bet he had a happy surprise to find out that he was wrong on the other side. Your writing is deeply personal and I respect that. Your take on war is exactly right. And I'm getting really tired with the management of this country and the war we are in right now. And I'm a veteran of Desert Storm, but it's just so pointless and hurtful. Heartfelt and excellent writing, take care, T||2005-09-27 21:50:59|
|With Leaves Stirring||Mell W. Morris||Mell, I saw this at the bottom of my list and thought, that's just wrong, it should be at the top!! Let's not waste words talking about how you do what you do. It's better to say, "you write so well!" Hat on or off, your talent for descriptive narrative comes across beautifully in this poem. Wow! Your first word "Atop," starts the poem out with an allusion to action or movement. It's just so much better than "the," for example. LOL! I remember a poem you started with "Comes a wind...." I will never forget that. I can honestly say that you have taught this writer / reader a lesson. I will never start a poem with "the" again. LOL! "Atop my high-stepping mare, we ride...." I feel like I'm part of the "we" here and am immediately drawn into the lines that take me to a sunset that is so amazing that it "eludes an artist's brush" In the Grand Canyon I sat on Yuma Point watching the sun set one night. I've never had words to describe it until I read this poem. "A panorama of southwestern colors that change fom cumin, orange, then euclase. Sage with its purple-blue tints arriving with hints of earth tones, shades which Bespeak desert." The whole stanza is just stunning and exact, ending with, "shades which Bespeak desert." Is there anything more beautiful than a sunset in canyon country? I've seen the sun set on every coast and a few different countries, but the sunset on the already colorful, shadowed, canyon lands with the banding of the cliff faces is sacred. When I hike the Grand Canyon again next year, I'm going to take your poem with me and read it to Osiris, Shiva, Set and other rock formations named for the gods. I will take it to a sacred place. Love ya MellO, take care, Troy||2005-09-27 21:20:34|
|Wrath||marilyn terwilleger||MT, Your take on the storm is filled with power and "Wrath". "A mighty hand shook the sea and sharpened the teeth of wind." The shaking of the sea like a file sharpening the wind's teeth. That's a terrible image. And very original. Excellent writing. "The fallen roof of sky roared" This line is incredible in the feeling and image of anger it raises in my mind. Wow! You enjamb into the next stanza: "like hell and parts of earth were swallowed from sight. Mortals fled unguided in this" "like hell and parts of earth" What a description of the hurricane hitting land. "ghostly hour and drank of their own breath. Somber streams of supplication tears spilled" "drank of their own breath" Incredible!! So original. And look at how you use the "s" sounds. Are you kidding me. The alliteration is mind boggling in the second line. Again, excellent writing. "to meet the indignant sea. Fumes and stench the aftermath of Satan's wrath." What a depiction of Katrina. You know, I was talking to a friend last year after the Florida hurricanes. I asked him why they give such nice names to hurricanes. Why romanticize something so utterly horrible? Why don't they name them Ass Beast Creep Demon Enus F------ Good for nothing. I think you get the picture. LOL! Very well written. Sends the message with original images. Take care, T||2005-09-21 21:26:23|
|Unexpectedly Stone||Joanne M Uppendahl||Joanne, What do you call just liking the sound of something, that's not considered euphonic. Hmm. Don't know, but I like the sound of "unexpectedly stone". I just do. Maybe it's because of all of the time I've spent hiking on it or putting it on my fireplace, or maybe it has something to do with the fact that I sometimes shut down for hours and just stare at the ceiling or wall, thinking, thinking, thinking about all of the things I have to do or all of the things that I've done. I don't know, but I like the sound of it and I'm attracted to the stillness and sense of peace I get from the idea, an idea that could also be construed as tragic. I hear your voice as you read this poem. I like the repetition and the rhyme. I like the loneliness and the movement. It has a haunting quality that demands to be read, that can be heard at a soul level and resonates like a steel rain pounding the window pain on a grey day. And it breathes like static until the sun starts setting throwing color on a beach of clouds like the blanket you pull over your childhood fears. It's unsettling and beautiful and best saved for a "Blue Monday". T||2005-09-21 20:36:56|
|After Katrina . . .||Latorial D. Faison||Latorial, I agree with everything you have written here and think that you will be writing much more on this subject as this story comes out. Or at least I hope you do, you certainly have the talent to address this shameful event. I want to see the prior head of FEMA put on trial along with the people who hired him. None of them should have jobs right now. This, I think, was the last straw for President Bush. I don't think that he could get votes in Texas right now. At least I hope not. Anyway, out of all of your stanzas I thought that this one was, for me, the most powerful and memorable. If I were a poem, I'd ride the beats of an African drum Releasing fear and bitterness Upon the rising of the sun. This encapsulates the war that is being fought daily in the trenches of discrimination and it stands alone, in my mind, being applicable to many different situations. I just really, really, like it. As always, your writing is current and well penned. Your voice is direct and strong and honest. It is going to take a long time to sort this all out. Powerful stuff! Take care, T||2005-09-21 20:14:52|
|Time Ends||marilyn terwilleger||My dreams Filled with many bits Of blue emotion mirrors You with me in solitude till Time ends MT, You keep perfecting the art of this form that I can't spell. I just call it "poetry". LOL! This line is as great! "Filled with many bits of blue emotion mirrors" It is so sad. I see this person in shadow built out of a mosaic of mirrored glass. When she moves we see the reflection of her emotional state rather than ourselves. The mirror working in reverse, so to speak. The mirror showing her dreams and the solitude of her thoughts and memories. And she's true to them until time ends. How profound. Like the casting of clouds and waves together perfecting the picture of a natural fulfillment that extends beyond time eternal For me this is one of the best poems of yours I've read. =) Even though there is not a lot of lines, it fills pages. I think that you've succeeded here. Take care, T||2005-09-21 19:55:11|
|Stars||Dellena Rovito||Dellena, I love the sun and the stars. I love the fact that you capitalized "Sun" in your first line. Bravo!! Everyone smiles when they see the sun. No matter where we are or what we are thinking, we can't respond to the sun in any other way. Your bring your first stanza alive with word combinations like "flashy sparkling smile", "fancy footwork dancing" and "across a theater of sky." This, of course, works so well as you draw the reader into the second stanza with the comparison to "Fred Astaire" and "Ginger Rogers". You bring the double meaning of "star" to light. I like "shine spectacular" very much. Not as much as the line you once wrote "I kneel at the foot of my life", but close. LOL! And with that my fair lady, I tip my hat to you and say thank you for another dazzling piece of poetry. Besides, I can't stand to wear a tux for too long. LOL! Take care, T||2005-09-21 18:51:06|
|Senyru (train watcher)||Joanne M Uppendahl||SB, Sen Y R U, cheer up!! LOL!! I prefer to watch the clouds instead. Try ice cream instead of "steel stallions" =) T||2005-09-21 12:55:40|
|Your Face||marilyn terwilleger||MT, I'm not trying to be trite, but your last line just froze me to my chair. This is a good poem. It has the power that the structure is intended to generate. Very well crafted, the "face" to the "smile"!!!! T||2005-08-31 20:09:54|
|Excitement||marilyn terwilleger||MT, This looks like one of those complicated forms you have mastered. As far as I can tell, you are doing a really, really, really, good job at it. LOL! Can you tell I'm drinking Coronas tonight. HEHE! Keep smiling, one a day at least. T||2005-08-27 18:57:46|
|Green Grass||marilyn terwilleger||MT, I, over the past months, have enjoyed your vision for nature and support your expression, this poem being no exception. Here you take the reader to see these beautiful vistas, excluding the city, then, you take us home, “where the Grass is ever greener”. I like the irony of finding our way back across the “fence” to our home. Nice. The first stanza takes us into the wood; the trees handshaking the sky with wildlife abundant under their canopy. Your last line settles the beginning of this narrative, tucking us in comfortably, preparing us for the wisdom to come. I really like how “hushed is this woodland,” balances the stanza. In the second stanza you bring energy to brighten our eyes, awakening our senses to the taste of salt and crash of waves, leaving us to ponder the depths of the “pelagic liquid”. This lends itself well to a myriad of possibilities. Coupled with the energy of this stanza, I’m left thinking, dreaming and looking forward to my uncharted days. S3 takes us to the desert. A climate who’s harshness you disarm with the humor of the camel’s “funny flat feet”, before you remind us of the “sun’s lambent embers”, taking care to allows us a moment to feel the sand with “fingers and toes.” And reminding us, also, that this is a “wilderness”. At this point in my reading I’ve decided that anywhere away from the home is a “wilderness”. Hmmm.... Just something I’m thinking about. In the fourth stanza you show a “wilderness” in which you are least adaptable; a “wilderness” that is unnatural. What does this say about how we evolve or if we actually evolve? What are we? Where do we belong? To find balance for one’s self among all of these wildernesses. To do this you take us home. And it only makes sense. A good home has an established balance and gives us a sense of belonging. I travel every chance I get, but there is nothing comparable to the feeling of walking in our front door and surrounding myself with the memories of all I have been and done. Allowing a moment of reflection to pass, before I look into the future of life’s adventures. MT, you use the language poetically to express your interpretation of your life experience, yet communicate universally to include us in your poetry. I’m honored to participate in your vision. This being said, your writing itself is the highest compliment. May your grass always be green, your forests hushed, your sun bright upon your desires, your waters deep with thought; may all your paths, trails and roads lead you home. Take care, Troy||2005-08-14 10:40:39|
|The Red Hat||Mell W. Morris||The Red Hat Mell, I started smiling a soon as I saw the title to this one. Hmm, your red hat is, to me, a part of the crest of every poet. It’s the equivalent of a wizard’s staff in power and the taste of chocolate covered cherries in its sweetness. It’s like an electrified kiss! LOL! I myself would go and buy one today if the townspeople wouldn’t persecute me for wearing it. “A poet is compelled to write his vision of the world, to remake things the way he wants. He cannot leave the world alone...he has tried more than once.” I wish I could find a few more poets like the one, whose words, I see before me now. To write and live the life experience of poetry, is what I preach to any who will listen. To understand a poet and his work is proprium for those interested and not an easy task. A poet I describe always keeps his enchiridion at hand No, it can’t be an easy task if the poet has woven his or herself into their art. And it shouldn’t be taken lightly, but reflected on and researched on an emotional and intellectual level. Sigh. Recently, I spent some time with some poets, finding only a few that wrote their vision onto the world. They had everything to gain and nothing to lose. Others seemed to be comparing themselves to each other and jealously sizing up another’s metaphor. Ridiculous. and I wonder if it helps him hear hues of purple lilacs and taste the sound of blues Coltrane wails from his sax. When poet completes a poem and sets Ah, the power of the red hat bends and lends the ear the ability, not only to hear, but to taste, and to the tongue the ability to taste the sounds that flow through the air to the poet’s observant being. How beautiful. it aside, he finds himself returning time and again to make small changes. Part of his inability to leave matters alone. Nothing ever is final in vast, And returning again to the desert table, to prepare the this treat a different way, adding or taking away a few sprinkles to enhance the experience for himself and the seated guests. intricate metaphysical realms where I long to reside. Moving slowly inch by inch...to the other side Thank you for the fine dining experience. Another feather in your hat. Wink...simle. Troy||2005-07-31 15:44:12|
|Full Of Crap||Dellena Rovito||Dellena, Sometimes, you write poetry that leaves me sitting here wondering what to say. LOL! I'm trying to think of something to say. Still trying. Very straight forward and true and fun! I agree with you. This is a truism, I suppose, unless you considered all things to be neutral. I don't know, my first impression is one of smiles and would be even if I didn't know you. I think that you have a talent for getting to the root of the matter and keeping it "light", yet, at the same time not writing humor, rather, "cloaking" something more serious with a smile. I don't know what you call that. Balance? Touch? Oh, I know, poetic! Thanks for the read, best to you and yours, T||2005-07-17 18:38:56|
|I Wonder||marilyn terwilleger||MT, I choose to wonder and be astonished and speculate as long as I can. LOL! I love the beauty in this world. I want to puzzle and marvel over your poetry as long as I can. For example, in your first stanza, crafted so well, using alliteration to stream me along, smoothly enjambing me into the second. Look at “sunrise shatters”, for instance. That is a bold way of stating the coming morning, but the aggression or strength of your opening is balanced against “surrender sublime slumber”, letting me catch my breath, before I “drink of stillness and smooth my empty bed. Strong and elegant! When sunrise shatters night and I surrender sublime slumber, I drink of stillness and smooth my empty bed. Beyond the In the second stanza of this narrative, you hook me with the description of rain as pebbles. That’s impossible I say, they would break my sky windows. LOL! But then I think of how this beauty and wonder comes calling, almost as if the pebbles are cast “politely” your way to get your attention. Look. Look at this beauty, this manifestation of love through nature outside of your window, while you enjoy the “aroma” of coffee. A marvelous way to wake up. I really like the “polite pebbles”, especially when I pick up the word “peaceful” later on. And “quietude” sounds like a cast spell across this stanza, stopping the moment, just for you. Nice. Window clear, polite, pebbles of rain fall on sightless trees and peaceful is their quietude. Aromas Of saucy coffee And so the day starts in the third stanza. Coffee time. The birds start etc..., the enchantment has lifted. Great use of alliteration again in “brighten, become, bewitched, birth, birds and barking. And you know, you craft so well that it is not distracting, barley noticed actually. So fluid, this poem. Lure me and brighten my langour. I become bewitched as morn gives birth to sound. Trilling birds, distant hounds barking, A siren's solitary wail. Great phrase, “that creeps between the cracks of dawn”. The color seems to evolve into the moment just the way you describe it. Sun peeks above horizon's brink giving plaudit to sonorous hues, from primrose to maize, that creeps between The cracks of dawn. As my day begins night dreams cause me to pause And I wonder Will I see another daybreak? Is this my alpha or omega? Or is it more devine To wonder? Again, I say, to wonder. That’s the most fun part of my day, I’m not even gonna worry about whether or not it’s my last day. MT, maybe I misconstrue the question out of my denial, please don’t hold it against me. LOL! Hey, thanks for the excellent read, you have a good tomorrow. Until then, then, Troy||2005-07-11 18:18:08|
|Rungs||Mell W. Morris||Mell, I recently returned from a very satisfying vacation near Lake Michigan. It was sunny, warm and the fruit stands were full of cherries. It was beautiful. More memories to hold. Mell, Tonight, I read your poem. The last couplet is amazing in its softness. It, for me, validates the time I’ve spent at the TPL over the past months. More than anything, I wish I could send you a rainbow and a bowl of cherries. Later, enticing you to dance as the birches. Hmm. I was also happy to see your poem and our poem doing so well in the contest. I’m still very flattered that you helped me with the revision. Lastly, I must admit, I don’t pray often, though, I have strong beliefs concerning the unity of people. I want you to know that I’ve, for some time now, been tying to strengthen you with my thoughts; my will and my humor. Tonight, so I may fully receive the blessing of this poem, I will pray for you. Thank you Mell, Troy||2005-07-07 21:18:49|
|The God in You||Mandie J Overocker||Hello again Mandie, or should I address you by your pen name, "Livesintruth"? First of all, I do have a few questions for you. How can I as a critiquer help your vision for poetry? What are some of the things that you need me to do for you or take a look at in your poetry? I only ask these questions to ascertain some of your goals in a more defined way. Perhaps, you just want me to read and comment. I don't know. And I try not to make assumptions when I'm dealing with someone's personal art, whether it's about them or somebody else or just a comment on life. In short, who am I to critique you? I think you understand. Then let me introduce myself. My name is Troy. I live in Wisconsin with my wife Julie and two beautiful children, Gabriel and Zoe. My wife, coincidentally, is a social worker who spent 7 years working with Child Protective Services and 3 more focused on hospice care. Now she works at home and in the family business. We sell everything from furniture to a variety of items out of multiple locations. So we keep busy. LOL! There, I've read your bio and given you an abbreviated version of mine. At least now, I'm a real person. Oh, I almost forgot, you mentioned hiking. I've never been to the White Mountains, but heard they are beautiful. I've also always wanted to do a piece of the Appalachian Trail, just haven't gotten there yet. We have hiked the Grand Canyon 3 times, as well as a 55 mile loop through Glacier National Park in the rain. LOL! Those were some long days. Enough of that. Let's start with your title, as I find it interesting in it's possibilities. First I read it to mean "The God in You" to be comparable to the one found in the Bible, then I read this as a statement to be defined by the individual. I can go along with both of these lines of thinking just fine, though, I choose the latter, personally. The poem you have written, at least to me, seems to be an internal struggle between two people in one. If I am correct, and I'm not trying to figure out your poetry (only show you what I see to support your vision for writing), I see the "God" in one of these people trying to convey that love to the other. Very compelling writing. This surreal nightmare on inside crying and terrified, at battle with the love / God, also on the inside. And the whole supported by more love from friends or family. I also see that even though the two represented as the one contain much wisdom, the decision is still difficult to make. A person can spend a lifetime wearing themselves out on these battlefields of memory by holding them in the present. It is hard to redefine, overcome and rewrite life's experiences. The accumulation of these is what we are. You are so right when you say that no person can tell you the truth of you. Good stuff Mandie. Quiet Night; Solitude Dreaming of waking life Surreal events that already Happened This vision you write of to be awake from memory, yours or otherwise, free from the surreal quality of it all, is described so well in this first stanza. I like your line "Dreaming of waking life". I find it very poetic, and it lends itself well to "surreal". Pinch me Now I must be Dreaming; Are you not real? I can’t tell but think I hear you Screaming This is nice in that the "dreaming" amplifies the "screaming" in rhyme. Nightmares They are but don’t Forget reality It looms overhead, daring you To live Nice enjambment and transition between stanzas. And all of a sudden a bit of wisdom coupled with the irony that "reality" dares you to live. I like the honesty you convey here. And live You must lest you Cry; a lonely death you Will die unless you strive for to Survive Yes, live or die lonely, which to me is the equivalent of suicide. A subject I know way to much about. My advice to people is of course to keep living. Time heals, it really does, especially if you keep focused on the "truth" or the "God" in you. Sorry to be soap boxing, but these lines are chilling, not because I'm a backseat to tragedy, but, rather, because I care about life. All of it. And yes you will die if you don't strive to survive. Right you are. The rest of your poem is, to me, the way you survive the "nightmare", written out so carefully with love and wisdom. I have a chocolate lab named sunshine. The irony is not lost on me, but leads me to believe that even darkness can be transformed into light, if you are willing to let go of the idea of this impossibility. Mandie, I have no idea why you wrote this poem, or if it's personal for you or somebody else, but I would encourage anyone to submit to this accumulated wisdom, not be to be convinced by it, but to believe it, so there nightmares go away. Soon enough, we will be dust anyway. Finding a way to enjoy this time, only makes the next time that much better. A toast to "The God in You", continue to live in truth, Troy||2005-06-26 20:35:52|
|Talking To The Trees||Mell W. Morris||Mell, Wow, how you can write. Now, this is beyond me. Can’t touch it, only appreciate it. Truly, art. There is nothing more beautiful to me than fall’s leaves and myriad of colors, all their different shades. The variation itself is poetry. And as I know that you are familiar with northern Minnesota and Wisconsin, I know that you know what I’m talking about. Perhaps, the Rocky Mountains can compete in some ways, but these two states, for me, have the best leaves. Falling leaves give eulogies to autumn seasons and for love- long reasons and with crisp songs, please myriad beings. You open this stanza with the word “falling”. This, so skillfully serves, to my mind, three important purposes. First, the prefix, “fall”, (well maybe it’s not a prefix, close enough) ties so well to the season you are leading us into with this poem; second, it sets a precedent for the movement of the poem, which is just plain good writing, because it transitions the mind of the reader—now; and third, I like the word. Ha, caught you thinking! The leaves, themselves, cognitive to the “autumn seasons”, that’s nice, very nice, but why? “For love long reasons”. How the leaves love to come into being in the spring. Hmm, maybe leaves are born earlier within the tree itself, none the less, they come with the tulips and stay for the summer. You cloak the idea of this inside your line, for me, with those four words, skillfully taking me the rest of the way through the first stanza, allowing me to hear the “crisp songs” and be pleased. The word “crisp” serving to describe both the sense of the fall air and the condition of the leaves themselves. Crushed hushes occur when leaves tell tales: those grand raconteurs, relating music of dallying breezes and tallies of tree-bole rings. OMG this stanza owns me. You are so cool! Leaves are like pages of poetry that assuage loneliness. Come, fill empty spaces by listening to their lore of teardrop traces. Can’t touch this stanza either. It’s right there in front of me, I can embrace it, yet it alludes me. It’s just perfect for thinking about. And I’m not talking about whether I get it or not, it’s just so damn beautiful I prefer to feel the lines here rather than start the hammer in my head pounding pins. LOL! Belief suspended, the din of life aside, attend with an inner ear. Ah, the glory of their stories! Such riches to learn from turning Leaves. Yes, belief suspended before this perfect fall stage. Wonderful. I’ll try to keep it together and make it all the way through the next poem I comment on of yours. Smiles. And I’m going to show you a poem that I’m working on. I posted it, but took it down as it didn’t feel complete to me. With that, my cape billowing in the breeze, I’ll fly off commando style, streaking over tall buildings, looking for a roof top happy hour filled with social drinkers. LOL! Everything as Life souls scattered seeding this world of wax where as wicks twisting together braided in our nature we are drawn from mold skyward to the hand of the candle maker raised to touch the sun opening our eyes to the reflected flame of the All and all that we are in each other melting us down together this fire kindling a core to warm the water wood soil and stone that bears us to see everything as life before we cool and rise again to the gentle hand that lights us back into existence Thanks again Mell, stay centered, T||2005-06-26 01:14:49|
|Thunder||marilyn terwilleger||Hi M.T., Your poem brings back some of my earliest memories. I have memories before I could walk, my wife says that’s impossible, but none the less it’s true. I remember being “huddled” in bed listening to the thunder as a storm would approach. I would get up out of bed and go to the window watching the front hit and the wind begin to blow. Praying to God that a tornado wouldn’t come. I remember the sight of the trees for just a moment while the lightening flashed; they looked naked in the whiteness. Huddled upon my softened bed Hearkened thunder crashed about Lightening flashes made me dread Trees nude of bark gave doubt And then the rain would come and the thunder would grow as distant as the occasional flash of lightening. The rain would fall, droplets of water clinging to the window pane, running down the glass, while all that could be heard was the pitter patter of rain drops on the roof top as soft as the beating of angel wings. You capture my memories with your writing and you do it so well. Angel-spirit of rain rang out Skittered and scattered overtop Filled and spilled a waterspout Starlit raindrops went slip-slop And then I would climb back into my bed, pull the covers up and fall to sleep like a disappearing star. Feeling the cool humidity set in. As I dreamed of morning. The long night was dark and wet Soon heaven's light went out Daylight shone and dawn was set Flowers yawn and mountains shout Yes, to wake like the flower, “yawning” to the sun, who’s no soft shoulder when it comes to sleepiness. And rush to the window knowing that the wind and rain didn’t wash away the world. It was still there. And I was thankful. Even grasses smile therein Sinews of thunder calm throughout Bright my lamp-less room within And gone moons melancholy pout Even the “grasses” would smile. And there was so much mud to go and find night crawlers in. Great for fishing. If there was enough run off in the morning it was always fun to take little sticks and berries and pretend that they were boats racing a river. M.T., I enjoyed your descriptions, similes, rhyme, and overall content. Good luck with the contest this month. Your voice is as fun, fresh and electric as the morning after a storm. Stay dry, Troy||2005-06-24 22:47:19|
|Depending on What Is Is||Mell W. Morris||And I guess it is. You are so bad MellO. I can see a sparkling from my window to the south. I bet it’s the glitter in your eye. LOL! Tongue and cheek to be sure. Pun intended. HEHE! Where to start into this delicious pie. Well, how about the first stanza. No wait, how about the title first. Damn it, can’t make up my mind. PUT DOWN THAT PHONE!! YOU TRYING TO CALL THE CRITIQUE POLICE ON ME? LOL! Busted. Yes, the title then, a fitting place to start. My only comment is that I think you are saying that this really “is”. Ok. I’m with you, wait, just have to look under my desk. Nope, just my dog. And she looks like she’s finishing off a stick of butter that she stole from the table. Damn dog is always taking my food. Did I ever tell you the story about the day I went streaking after my dog and surprised the meter reader woman? LOL!! Same dog. He likes a curvaceous woman, no stick figures like models. He places women in a category with peach cobbler: crusty on the outside, a sweet filling. Your writing is just amazingly good. Ok, now that we got that out of the way for this critique, we can look at how you have fun with the words, or how I have fun with your words. Ha, take it or leave it, you never know what kind of crazy you’re going to run into on the internet. “Curvaceous” is an important word here. I think that some would not see or draw the connection, in that, powerful men or men that deem themselves powerful must have something to control; they need a real woman; something they can take over, brains optional. Turn of the century, early 1900s, skinny women were undesirable and not considered worthy for a real man. Real man defined as one who didn’t eat salads. “Curvaceous” fits the ticket for ego of the dude you describe in your poem. This throw back raw steak eater ain’t looking for a date at the salad bar. Hell, no. And he pays his date. Nice. No strings attached ownership-self managing. He probably gorges himself on prime rib at the Golden Corral. LOL!! "Okay, Senator," he says, seeing the girl under his desk, checking her lipstick. His voice never changes the entire time. "Well, Senator, I believe we'll come together I can’t look at what it happening in the above stanza. I’m much to young for this sort of thing. Ok, one comment. I guess I’m confused as to where they are at in this paid for relationship. I mean, are they just beginning or are they just ending the “session”. Is the girl checking her lipstick because she has finished, or because she wants to look good when he gets off the phone. I went to an escort web site to try to get some answers from the FAQ, but didn’t quite understand the procedure. Too many questions, I know, just a little naive. LOL! on the issue," laughing at his pun as he hangs up the phone and slips a hundred- dollar bill in the girl's pocket. He has no further need for the aging senator Just want to take a second to compliment you on how you use all kinds of puntuation and dialoge and leave me still feeling like I’m reading a poem instead of a story. Everything is so fluid. I will call it the MellO effect from this day forward. and should focus on his plans as the end of his tenure nears. He has options but what he wants is power. No, not power... respect. No phony backslapping, no air- I love the irony here of this goof actually being respected. HEHE! kisses with women and no gratis speeches. He wants respect in the manner Aretha demanded and then commanded. All he has to do is flash that come-back grin and...remember the definitions of small words. This last line is so wonderfully insulting. Another one for the “Line Hall Of Fame”! Again, you leave me with the simultaneous paradox of feeling more and less, as well as wondering what the hell that woman was doing under his desk. LOL!! Totally missed the allusion to “Aretha”, but that’s because it’s late and I want to go to sleep. I also quit watching or reading the news about 8 years ago. And believe it or not I was a Journalism student once upon a breath. LOL!! As they say, different times, different crimes. I better go, I’m starting to sober up, The Baby Poet, T||2005-06-22 00:53:56|
|Pickin||Dellena Rovito||Hi Dellena, Sounds like you’ve been awful busy with that tree of yours again! Are the apples ripe where you are from, cause you can’t even see them in Wisconsin. I picked an apple from the tree. Or did the apple tree pick me? I think this is a pretty cool question to ask. Depending on your philosophy, really, this could go either way. For me I just pick apples and don’t think about it this much, because it hurts. LOL! I also see something very romantic in all of this, but I won’t go there. I’m trying to keep it simple this month. Back to the question at hand. Is it possible that the tree or all life is somehow interconnected and trying to bridge the communication gap that is so evident, because of our differences? Or, is it that we are just not sensitive enough to hear or understand the different forms of communication that are all around us? I don’t know, but I do feel connected to the "All", so to speak. It sometimes feels like we are not as in charge of all of these things around us as we think we are. In fact, when you start thinking that way you open yourself up to a whole host of new questions and can even scare yourself in some ways. Ok, so now I typed a bunch of words with no answers that means almost nothing. You see what questions, such as this, do to a person? Let me end this paragraph by saying that I think it’s really, really cool that you asked! As I was passing by the tree did he reach out and touch on me? I walk in the woods often and feel like the forest is more than an almost inert life form around me. It is as is the trees are imparting to us something. I mean, why would I feel like walking in the woods if this were not the case. I know, it’s peaceful and holds a beauty, but couldn’t that be part of it’s communication, as well as a “something” else that calls us back. And why is it that I spend a whole bunch of money on plants every year? Is it just because I want to see them blossom, or are we communicating on a “feel” or “gut” level that I don’t fully comprehend? Does this leave me wanting to order and buy more? No, I believe that their is some kind of symbiotic relationship between us and other life forms. Just can’t articulate it. Anyone who’s ever transplanted or grown anything understands this—somehow. This unspoken, felt language. With attributes that I don't see did he communicate with me? Do you suppose that he can see that I'm aware he spoke to me? Hehe, now that’s a good question. That’s really neat. I think others may know and see? Does a bee relate with a tree? I'm sure the bees awake to me! Who else senses my bee and tree? Do birds on high see as I see do they have rapport with my tree? Most cats hug limbs from what I see. Everything seems to love my tree. I say beast and birds, bees and trees they seem to be, the same as me...…… I love the way you extend and include in this relationship everything from bees to cats to birds, etc.... Yes, some sort of interconnected community we live in. Everything as life and life is connected. I wish I had forever to live just to spend a thousand years studying this principal you illustrate for us here. Fun poem, smart writing, leaves me smiling and feeling guilty for pulling out all those “weeds” earlier tonight. Bravo!! If we don’t get a chance to talk more this month. I just want to say that I support your vision for writing. You have a way of writing things that’s original and your own. Thanks, Troy p.s. My wicked sense of humor told me to say that if that tree would have pinched you in the hinder you sure would have known it. LOL!! Have a good night.||2005-06-21 22:28:10|
|Wind At My Back||Mell W. Morris||Hi Mell, It’s me again. LOL! It sure is drafty in here. I’m just getting around to doing some critiques this month. And I got to tell ya, when I first read the title to this one I had a funny thought involving the adventures of using the great out doors for a bathroom. Ok, ok, bad joke, but I’m always on the verge of saying something that only I can laugh at most days anyway. So hey let’s get started. Wait, got to have a pull from the bottle first. Ahh, the wife threw out all of my bourbon, so I’m drinking mouthwash this evening. It’s not that bad, but you have to drink so much! Your title, when I feel it, brings me to imagine the wind pushing me or me letting the wind break around me. I like the feeling. It leads me to believe that this will be a linear progression. And I feel it fits your poem very well. In fact, when I’m good and drunk, I’m going to go outside, as there is a slight breeze and a full moon (I also just cut the lawn), and let the atmosphere and your poem work on me. Of course, I’ll be drunk and won’t remember a thing, but it’s the moment that counts. Maybe I’ll take a stick and scratch my feelings in the sand somewhere large enough so that in the morning, when I’m suffering from a Scope hangover, I’ll still be able to get some sort of impression before I swerve my way to work. Anyway, where was I, oh yes, the poem. Hmmm. Love your opening line. Comes a wind with no thought to intrude, no wish to oppugn.... at ease. You don’t use the word, “the” or “it” or “when” or “what” or any of those words that give people time to think. What’s cool is that you do this intentionally, at least to my mind, because there will be “no thought to intrude”. So you open strong and fast “comes a wind”, I just love that. This is not going to be an intellectual foray, rather one of feeling, do with it what you want. “No thought to intrude”, feel it. “No wish”, it just is. And then you give me the ellipses to let me be “at ease” visually as I read. A soft wind soothing my skin, perhaps formed before memory, likely a new vocabulary we may Oh my, lost my train of thought, ok, got it back. Wow, look at the next lines. Here is something that I will remember for a long time. I better write it down, right. The analogy of the wind to a vocabulary is astounding to this reader. So cool!! That is just genius that you put before me here. Love it. Going to my “Line Hall Of Fame”! It is as if the wind speaks. I was looking at the trees the other day. Actually, I had passed out in my yard and was just trying to sit up when I saw the leaves looking as though they were sparkling. The wind was blowing, lightly, flipping the leaves so you saw the top of the leaf and then the bottom. Since, the bottom of most leaves is lighter, it looked as though they were sparkling. It’s not hard to imagine that they were having a conversation with the breeze that led them to be giggling. Of course, they might have been laughing out right at me and I just didn’t know it. Oh well, next time I’ll drink light beer. never know. This wind resembles a zephyr, a breeze that pauses and inhales then rises to a wail like the one which blew us from the prairies to the seas. Ah yes, the wind can soothe as well as whip and wail. You show this remarkably clear. I think it’s especially neat how you personify the wind by letting it “inhale” and “wail”. It’s almost as if it is breathing with us and we can be a part of it, but must be keen to it’s mannerisms as it is the “wind” after all. I dig the historical connotation of “like the one which blew us from the prairies to the seas”. A well traveled line. Eternal in it’s vision. In silence, I've endured a dividing wind, especially at a sunset hour when it's said that winds lessen or die. At setting sun, with susperious winds, there is a half hour which is the color of sadness, regret, and the hue- filled rhymes. A time of longing; a time when all things are possible to the mind; a time of sadness and perhaps regret through reflection, but a quiet time, yes a quiet time, before the darkness. Damn it I’m running out of mouthwash! Yet nothing can keep out the darkness, away from illuminations that nurture a host of life forms. And I? I live in the palm of His hand. To my thinking that is a great place to be. The best I can hope for is the back pocket. Seriously, I see both the wind as a metaphor for life in this poem, as well as, the passage of time directing life with all of it’s variations. To live in the palm of His hand is out of the wind and in a place where the wind does not blow, or, perhaps, a different wind blows, whatever the case, you will not tell me and I will be left to reflect on another MellO Poetic piece of writing. Off to raid the medicine cabinet, The Baby Poet, T||2005-06-21 21:52:48|
|Walking In Morning||Nancy Ann Hemsworth||Nancy, Whether this is an observation of another and written in imagination or a personal desire, whatever the case, it is well written. You begin and complete the walk for both the speaker and the walker, how this will be resolved is another poem. What I found most attractive in this poem was how well the rhyme works, how appropriate your word choices are and how very real the observation is. I truly feel the longing in the voice and see the despondency in the walker. That this does not have to be so. The truth of the situation compels me to want to see the resolution of this poem. Like a good book, I want to turn the page. If it makes me feel that way, that is the highest compliment I can pay you. Let's take a closer look. I watched as you walked in the morning so dreary The mist laying heavy, as you shuffled along Your worries, now worn as a collar so weary That circles your neck like a noose tightly drawn. "dreary" ties so well to "mist" that is "heavy"....bring us to "worries" and a "collar" that is "weary"...and then the "noose", the suffocation...everything builds to that point leaving us to ask why? How my poor heart does break to see you so burdened I know that you mourn for the love you once found Yet you should not ache for the hand of that maiden To a love so unworthy, you need not be bound. and before you tell us you bring the speaker closer into view and further build with the word "burdened" that both reflects the walker and the speaker's "heart"...nice...and then you let us know that the walker is mourning a lost love...trapped by an "unworthy love"...isn't amazing how men can do this to themselves? I have a friend who was dumped by a love of three months and was so upset over it he hasn't dated in six years? Beats me. You never will find the true love you are seeking For the armor you wear to protect you is strong Your soul shall be deafened, when destiny's speaking For as long as you carry love's tragic song. yes "trapped" and strengthening the trap with the "armor" of denial until the soul is "deafened" and can't hear the song of "true love" only "love's tragic song"...love the parallel of this...good writing. So deep in my soul is a longing to soothe you To take all the pain and to make it subside Blinded to the one who is longing to love you You see not the truth that your fantasies hide. again taking us deeper into the speaker's feelings for the walker...the want to "take all the pain"...yet telling us the walker is "blinded" to that "love"...strengthening the statement with "truth that your fantasies hid." Everything works. Come live in the moments that you shall be given Let your frigid heart warm to the one who is true Embrace all the love that is yours to be taken Hold my hand, let me walk those mornings with you. and then the call, the wish, the statement of total commitment to follow the building in the speaker's voice, built by the "embrace"..."hold my hand..."let me walk with you"...tying the title back in with "those mornings"....how wonderfully written. Again, a complete thought with an unknown resolution. I want to know. Fine, well crafted, honest, heartfelt poetry Nancy. Great observation, personal, or not. Best to you and yours, Troy p.s. hope you are having fun mowing the lawn lol||2005-05-24 22:50:43|
|Around the Block||Mell W. Morris||Mell, It has been an unusually busy month. I’m just getting some time to read and comment on some of the poems at the TPL. Your poem, I read earlier, but wanted to be sober and of a clear mind before I wrote to you. Hell, forget the poem. I just like talking to you. lol Oops, I better be careful, the critique police might be watching. lol Anyway, now that I’ve vented my wicked humor we can talk about your favorite subject—poetry. It's said that poetry is a dualism of spirituality and worldliness and one poet called it, "That weird word world." Defining poetry is such a difficult, impossible task, just trying takes something away. I like the idea of a “dualism of spirituality and worldliness”, it’s as close a statement as any to finding that place, “that weird word world”, that poetry resides in. Yet, part of me wants to add that it’s when we see beyond the words that we truly see into poetry’s world. It’s as if the words are just the key to the door that let us into a state of indescribability that’s both spiritual and worldly, but at the same time, something else. It’s certainly its own. It’s like a fundamental truth that’s always there, yet has to be accessed to be appreciated and admired. I guess there is too much romantic in me, aside from my wickedness. lol I’ve caught myself describing and defining this genre as the most efficient, thought eliciting form of communication possible. Not good enough. That it is the closest relationship a reader and writer can have short of holding hands. Kind of cool, but still not good enough. I’ve boasted it to be a metaphor in and of itself analogous to the best and worst parts of anything occurring naturally, spiritually or created. And perhaps I’m getting closer to the mark. I don’t know. It’s elusive and is so much to so many. It is part of what I consider the All. And that doesn’t make sense. lol “Give up and move on”, you say. “You’re about as crude as a streaker at his ex-wife’s wedding!” Actually heard about that one. lol For many, poetry charms, inspires, and resonates like a few bars of hesitation blues. Nice. This art form dislocates and places me atop a mesa, a plateau never before reached and from where I can watch the activity of raptors and feel a rapture reel and radiate from an aerie. Many queries thrum Perfect description of where I picture you to be. I once thought of you inside of a room of windows looking out from every direction. Then I transposed that to a diamond. Now I see that you are much freer than that. “Raptors” Are you talking about the dinosaurs? Kidding of course. lol Love the alliteration. Always love the way you shape and write your poems into existence. through our poetry and the answers produce knowledge, my most important need. Whatever style or form we use, come the days when poets are silent and quiet, wordless and maimed by self-doubt into a sadness Yes, any form indeed. Personally, I am afraid of margins. I find them pushy. A dangerous place for kings and queens always yelling back and forth across the page. This lowly Jack chooses to keep his head in the center. hehe Ah, well, no sadness anymore. Piss on sadness. The pains in my chest get a little stronger each year. I will leave sadness for those who want to be sad and tell them to give me love instead of bread. A meal more nourishing than any. But, yes, a poet without words is a sad thing indeed. That is the time when they need the vision the most to look past the words into the very truth of it all. To see and touch this law, this universal, this magic . To let this place burn the words back into them as gentle as a kiss not given in Hollywood but as the breeze blows drying the skin both cool and warm beneath an eternal sun. To that “weird word world” that flames the eyes of surprise and lets you pull out of the wax. I guess if it made sense, I would know the answer to that one. Just content to be clueless, am I. of no seasons. The darkness occludes spontaneity, insouciance and however long the block lasts, we are united in this problem and the union seems to render strength. Poets' hands find pens and our lives return to a degree of normalcy from that which we learned. Namely, if muses mutiny or a curtain falls mid-rhyme, all we need do is bide our time as we exist for poetry... ...and poetry exists. Yes, poetry exists. There you go. You said it. Mell, I know that even though you wrote this in the first person, it is not necessarily a poem to exclusive to you. You exclude nobody who has ever braved to raise a pen or plink the keyboard. I find your writing, always challenging, inclusive, expressive and, in some ways, entertaining, though, that may be exclusive to me. lol And when I’m done reading your poetry, somehow I find myself knowing more and less than when I started. I hope you and yours are well and in love with life, poetry and have come to the conclusion that margins are a very limited dangerous place ruled by Kings and Queens that are always trying to tell you what to do! Troy p.s. I have been lax in my homework. I still intend to read your favorites list, but as you are on the top of my favorites list, they have to wait. When I read them, I will place their poems in the center of the page.||2005-05-24 21:13:15|
|The Opposite Side Of Life||marilyn terwilleger||Marilyn, Love the title. It kind of ties itself to this tragedy both in the death of this sacred spot and it makes me think of a mountain side. This is a poem of fine description. I was immediately drawn into it. In fact I felt as though I was riding too. On a subtle autumn noon I rode my Arabian steed through stately Teton timber. With gingerly placed hooves we skirted impassive beaver ponds What a soft, lazy autumn day. Riding through the timber. A breeze overhead. The stillness of the beaver ponds. "stately" / "gingerly" / "impassive" You pick your way along the trail in kind of a wonder of the beauty of it all. Nice word choices; nice imagery. and loped across turfy meadows. The air was enhanced by a rhapsody of swaying Aspen, scampering squirrels, spruce trees, and melodic Now you begin to move me faster. Balancing the first stanza with a movement in the second. I know I'm on my way somewhere, just don't know yet where we are going. I can smell the "turfy meadows" and feel the breeze picking up when I see the "swaying Aspen". You even parallel the movement of the "Arabian" with the alliteration of "scampering squirrels". You really let the reader feel the pulse of this poem here. song birds. Suddenly, without flourish, an astonished silence surrounded us. I pulled the reins stopping at the edge of an errie scene. I like how you wrap into this with the song birds and then stop the song "suddenly". Neat. It's brings to mind a classical music piece. The orchestra is playing their hearts out and then stops suddenly allowing us to hear the call of the violin just after the "errie" silence when first viewing an errie scene. Ghostly trees stood like skeletons, skinless and frondless in whited ash. The woods had sputtered from a fanatical fire that ate The trees burned, "skinless" , blackened bases, streaked up into a bleached white, perhaps, like the hands of lost souls reaching toward heaven. Eaten alive by a fire. Love the alliteration you use in this stanza. And I love how you keep emphasizing words throughout to tie lines and stanzas together. Very fine writing here. all splendor with hot lashing lips of flame. The gaping gash that scarred the statuesque Mountain was nature's grisly wrath. Oh, the "hot lashing lips" of that "fanatical fire". Good stuff. The "gaping gash" and "grisly wrath". Kapow! Such strong description. Softly and reverently my Arabian carried me across the powdery cemetery until grass turned jade and trees wore their harvest shawl. Here, with "harvest shawl" you give me something to commit to memory. I would tread soft through this place of destruction. It's like wow, you had your peaceful afternoon shattered in a way and enhanced in another way. In time sap will well up and nourish boney limbs that now blindly grope the air to breath, and saplings will peek through the forest What a perfect stanza; a perfect visualization of new growth. floor seeking revival. Looking back, as we picked our way down the Mountain, I thanked God for giving me a glimpse into the opposite side of life but...without finale Ah to look at the opposite side of life, but not have to stay there. Again, I like the confirmation of "revival". This is a statement on life as much as the description of a lightening strike. Who knows really. Marilyn, as a hiker, you've painted a very attractive picture here. I came across such places in Yellowstone and Glacier National Park. Both have had some major fires. I've visited the Tetons, but didn't have time to hike them. I will be going back to be sure. Perhaps even this year. Autumn must be splendid with all of the yellows and reds. Nice. To my thinking, this is one of your best pieces, at least while I've been around. It feels like a very complete journey. It involves me on many levels. I like it a lot. And "harvest shawl" I simple adore that. Thanks Marilyn, Troy||2005-05-23 20:46:10|
|A Long March||Nancy Ann Hemsworth||Nancy, So fresh and full of color. Even scented, if you use a little imagination as you read through the alliteration. The title, so fitting. The poem becomes the release. The Spring breeze. I just did my first real lawn mowing. You know, the one where the grass is finally full. The tulips and daffodils blooming. What a nice Haiku. It's just perfect for my evening tonight. So much from three lines. Hope you and yours are well, Troy||2005-05-22 21:06:29|
|Cinquain||marilyn terwilleger||Marilyn, Hmm..., what a nice kiss. LOL! Sorry, I'm laughing only because we so seldom see a kiss like this on TV today. It's more of a savage, erotic, lustful lip smacking. I think your word choices capture a real love kiss instead of the other, making this more powerful and meaningful in a poetic sense. Very nice and tastefully done. I have to go looking for some of your longer poems. Troy||2005-05-22 20:52:27|
|Two Souls||marilyn terwilleger||Marilyn, Hi again. I have been kind of scarce this month and am trying to catch up. Hey, this is one of those pieces I can't name, but boy are you getting good at it =) First, I think you are right with your title. That is where love should be, on the soul level. I think that your lines wrap into each other brilliantly. "Two souls - join" / "language - of love" / "passion - melding" / "a - bold bond" "bold bond" I can sure empathize with this poem. Very efficient, great word choices and communicates inclusively. Nice. I hope you are doing well in Wyoming, Troy||2005-05-22 20:45:44|
|Gripping Dirt||Dellena Rovito||Dellena, I'm not very active this month, but felt I would be remiss if I didn't stop by to tell you that this line is as fine a line as I've read at the TPL. "Bending to my knees, at the feet of my life I kneel……" I just love it. It's the kind of line I never forget. I mean that. I have a little memory bank just for things like this that blow me away. I also like the concept of letting your life teach you or help you figure out what may lie ahead. Overall, very well written, but that one line is simply amazing. Thanks for the memory, Troy p.s. I hope you are enjoying your flower beds and garden this spring. I worked all day on mine. Sore and dirty as I type this.||2005-05-22 20:32:45|
|Excuse me, did I ask?||Mell W. Morris||Mell, First of all congratulations. You kicked my butt. But HEY, I was in it to the finish. LOL! Yes I know, I don't get any points for commenting on work that isn't current. There's just so much good stuff out here to look at. And you have a hell of a resume my dear Mell. Tonight I looked in on the forum and saw arnie's post. I was going to make the comment that he should go and read some of your poetry, but I didn't want anyone to take it the wrong way. The irony in this poem is so true. One of my friends came to me one day and asked me if I thought it was wrong that he was seeing a married woman. I said yes I did. We didn't talk for two years. LOL! Another time a friend came to me and asked me if he should divorce his wife, because she was watching too much TV. I told him to divorce the TV first. Where do these questions come from? I absolutely love how you wrap, sew and seam your words together. Your fluid style is amazing. Your insights are wonderful. And your voice, though maybe it's me, because I'm a goof, always seems to have a little glitter of humor. This is where winning poetry comes from and this is a winning poem. I never did check to see how this one did. LOL! A great read. Again congratulations, Troy||2005-05-09 20:47:27|
|Who Are We?||Helen C DOWNEY||Helen, I can't take it anymore so I'm going to type until I figure this out or go away letting you know I tried. First question: What shines? The sun shines, the stars shine, the moon reflects, eyes reflect, lights shine. Is Helen talking about reflection or a source of light? Symbolically everything can shine. Memory, history, people, buildings etc.... Something shines and you take. Take what is needed. What needs shine? Plants need sun, people need sun, animals need sun. Symbolically everything needs this shine to make it healthy. What has expectations? People. This must be about people? Or Helen could be speaking figuratively. Swallow tears and widen veins? If tears are rain then veins are rivers. The sky is never without rain and will not be drained. To erupt. To be filled with tears and shine in the face of bloom giving back little. Wait, the key word here may be "seek". Knowledge and wisdom is something that a person would seek. The giving back could just be the passing of time to build the base of this. Tears could be the tragic histories of the world. The widening of veins could mean the expansion of the mind. Of course this could not be drained and the person would be more complete. Bloom to represent the fact that knowledge and wisdom will always be accumulated somewhere. Helen, that's my best guess to answer the question. I apologize for splashing around the page so. I would appreciate it if you would tell me. You don't have to of course. LOL! You could just let me go crazy. Best, Troy||2005-05-02 20:49:28|
|She speaks||Audrey R Donegan||Audrey, Another night of critiquing. I get the sense that you want me to challenge your writing more than just merely compliment it. I will do this only if I feel you are being confusing to me, but I have to tell you, and I'm not trying to just be complimentary when I say this, you do write well to excellent. I can hear your voice and you have a canny way of maintaining a balance in the flow of your writing that lends to the overall poetic feel of it. So don't be surprised if most times I'm giving you smiling comments instead of frowns. LOL! Here we go again. First of all I like how the title of the work mimics the first line. "She Speaks" - "perversion speaks" Looking at this in view of the poem I'm left wondering if you are having a conversation with yourself in the sense that there is something about your character that you think perverse. Or rather, the desire to manifest this perversion is so close to the surface that you feel like doing this, dancing nude, dishabille even unveiled and vulnerable to experience- atop skyscrapers on early Tuesday mornings after my first bowl of Applejacks. I actually think this would be fun, but then I could be construed as being a little perverse as well. Heck, I'm critiquing this after all. Does that make me perverse by association? LOL! Sorry, I'm in a light mood tonight. Back to the point. For me, your word choices are fantastic. I applaud the words "nude", "unveiled", "vulnerable", when I string them together. The drama of the "skyscrapers" is great. Naming the day of the week brilliant, but the true genius of the stanza is seeing it poured into a the "bowl of Applejacks." Very colorful. She speaks of the salt, stick and sapor of his skin from the distinct perspiration from our backyard chess competitions on any random day in June. You start this stanza with great descriptive words with heavy emphasis on the "s". I count eight. Followed by "distinct perspiration" for extra reinforcement. All of it working together. I used to play chess, a lot. A great game by the way. It's making a comeback with online play becoming popular. BTW as you named the day of the week in the first stanza, so you name the month in this one. No accident. Good attention to detail. She coaxes me and summons my recollection of adolescent past-times, yellowed now in their antiquity- of hearts pounding, lips on thighs, teeth teasing skin and shouting out to passing cars with all the might our bones could muster “Lets fuck the blues away!”. (shame not yet defined then) Now, to my thinking, this perversion is still alive and well on Tuesday mornings, but in your speaking this to yourself you show us the memories. It's a perversion to be savored in a humorous fashion. The above stanza is full of energy and really is the spirit of this poem. Here, with her hidden intents and oh, so invasive temptations lies my self-abandon. I go to her willingly, without hesitation or concern without prerequisite or care, exposed. For sense is futile as death is relentless. The following lines are so wild, so honest and passionate about wanted feelings. I just love it in view of the fact that "sense is futile as death is relentless". Talk about a "go for it" statement. LOL! Tuesday mornings are alive and well. I don't know where to challenge you on this one Audrey. It's written flawlessly. You can play with the words until your eyes hurt, but I don't think you'll improve it. This is the poem of yours I'm picking for my list. So alive! Perversion, indeed! LOL! Best, Always, Troy p.s. I will send you that poem we spoke about sometime, but not linked to this read.||2005-05-02 20:29:36|
|Cracked Plaster||Helen C DOWNEY||Helen, I was out and about this evening and spotted this poem. I will keep my comments brief, because I don't know whether or not I should even be in this room. =] Seriously, and poetically speaking, this is very sensual. The excitement of the moments you describe is undeniably communicated. I did have some difficulty with the word "vehemently", but that's the only word that gave me pause. I make no suggestions, because I don't believe in giving words to a poet, not that I would change it. I just thought I would let you know that for this reader it didn't read smoothly. These lines in the first stanza are so relaxing. flickered Flames of love shadowed around the room. Sinking into the warm silky lake I began to dream. I really like the "flickered flames of love" and the way you describe the bath. The body of the poem works very well and I don't think I need to go into detail. It is a vivid dream. The last lines are such a nice surprise. And as I lifted my glass toasting you... I felt you nuzzle me from behind. Lastly the title reminds of an old fashion bed and breakfast. It just has a romantic feel to it. Perhaps, it has some sort of symbolic meaning to the poem as well, I don't know. Overall, a perfect way to end the day. And I think that from your last response you indicated that you put in some long hours. LOL! Been there and am still there. Thanks for sharing, Troy||2005-05-02 19:44:14|
|In your wake (an afterthought)||Audrey R Donegan||Audrey, Every time I turn around I'm reading your poetry. Which is just fine with me. The title works well considering the last line. This poem races down the page and has great rhythm accentuated by the phrase or line "all the more reason", which keeps the acceleration of your writing in perspective for the reader. And some great wording. Some of my favorites include. to bend minds moons times---------------------wow! to tie trip sip stand and settle up-----------------the rhythm here is musical all the more reason for inspiration through desperation panting, begging, screaming---------------this says a lot Shorter than usual, but I'm running out of words to describe your talent and varied writing. Your energy is amazing. Goodnight, Troy||2005-05-02 00:24:15|
|Your Passion||marilyn terwilleger||Marilyn, I’m partial to poems of love and nature. There’s enough negativity in the world that we have to grab on to the good stuff while we can. “I welcome the checkered silence” of this poem as I work my way through the lines. I see the “sky over-brimmed with rain” hearing the drops falling with freshness. As you are hearing the speaking of your name. “When through the willow flits a bird and spangled sun shatters blue.” I see this and love the alliteration even as you dream of love. “As I drink deep of coming spring and clamor of life confounds me.” Again I see this, long to be free in the coming spring even as you are set free by passion. What a beautiful poem. I like the classical style and gentle delivery of the lines. When read slowly, it is most excellent and satisfying. Smiles all over, Troy||2005-05-01 23:27:14|
|Lament||Audrey R Donegan||Audrey, I know that this is the third poem that I've commented on of yours but after reading this I'm not going to stop. It's almost as if I'm reading a book of poems by a published poet, perhaps, I am. "Lament", took me totally by surprise. The quality of your writing here is the only thing that shines in this darkness. Sun stained and golden his strands perfectly a skew intrude upon his face yet never so to impede the view of his eyes a tortured blue. In the first stanza you show us this "sun stained" child, "golden" in two ways. First he is tanned by the sun and second he is, even though he is young, at the end of his "golden years." Your subtle rhyme, uneven, but not unheard through the words "skew", "view" and "blue". I can see those tortured blue eyes. There is no peace there even in death. I saw them just before two of my best friends committed suicide. Six months apart at the ages of 24 and 25. You couldn't see their eyes afterward. Terrible. I will leave you with an old poem I've written. It's not something that is visible here on the link and I probably won't publish it, as life has moved on, yet I want to share with you, because, honestly, I think you could give me a worthy critique of it. It will be waiting for you at the end of this critique. I'd appreciate it. I don't know if this is a suicide or not. It feels similar. The vision appears my stomach twists violent and swift- a bathroom door ajar death’s not so subtle scent rising off the boy hollow, hushed, and hell-bent. This is so strong in its description, I can almost smell the death. I like the fact that you have the smell of death rising, almost as if it were his soul rising, and you follow that in alliteration, ending with "hell-bent". An irony I see there and later when you use the words "heaven sent". One of the reasons I think of this as a suicide, is that many people believe that the person who takes there own life is bound for hell. Perhaps, this was a good and beautiful child that did some very bad things. It's all very troubling, but I'm here. In sullied boxes of the mind such memories of lament of a stolen love so pure and true half bloomed yet heaven sent. Hmm...after reading this stanza again I am confused as to the nature of the child. I see "stolen love" as the loss of something good, followed by "so pure and true", followed by "heaven sent" and am left wondering if in fact "hell-bent" should be seen in terms of motion. Like the child was running "hell-bent for election" and ran into something that killed him, figuratively speaking. I don't know. Lastly, I want to say that if this was your son or brother or friend, I am truly sorry. I only analyze it to support your work, not because I'm a callus uncaring person. As for that poem. I decided not to post it unless you in fact want to read it. It's ok either way. No one has seen it for the last five years. And again, I'm sorry. Best, Always, Troy||2005-05-01 23:04:00|
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