This Poem was Submitted By: Robert L Tremblay On Date: 2003-11-24 08:36:50 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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Joe T's Pub and Billards

See additional notes for poem in normal format for ease of reading. Soulful      songs      that      celebrate      the      evening,       while        suspense        aligns    along    the   cueing, stills his      eyes    engorged  with   moment’s    passion,        bridling    hustler’s    heartbeat’ s    furied    fashion. As he         pauses,        captured    by    repression,      thoughts      reflect       upon     the     snapshot’s    session; years gone     by,     that   matter,   not,   this   second,           summoned    from   emotions,     beastly    beckoned. Agony                                                                                                                                                      aside, denied                                                                                                                                                    by any ego, making,                                                                                                                                      history of                        many  acts                                                                                                                                        bewitched thoughout                                                                                                                                         his    life’s sojourn in                                                                                                                                         time,   this man, alone,                                                                                                                                        reflects  a life’s    sin.                                                                                                                                      Never once around his                                                                                                                                       owled eyes lose  sight                                                                                                                                        of    eternal purpose in                                                                                                                                       divine light emanating                                                                                                                                         all around his visage,                                                                                                                                       manifested as  angelic                                                                                                                                       drawbridge. Object orb,                   eyed                                                                                                           coldly    for a moment.                   frozen                                                                                                          in    miotic, eyeglassed                    view                                                                                                           bent round his  glassy                                                                                                                                        occupying bridgework,                                                                                                                                     challenges the   knight                                                                                                                                     before   his eyes    lurk.                               Onto                                                                                             cueball,  he relies                                       upon a                                                                                                   steady hand                                           that                                                                                                     rests, reposed,                                                                                                                                              beyond grey matter                                          of                                                                                      belief,  with God, above                                            all,.                                                                                 adding  His bay spices                                               into                                                                               man’s   pall. The Divine                                                will                                                                             sings    key, also kindly,                                                  sung                               ,                                         in  baritone of rhythms                                                     timed                                                                      to   sounds amidst the                                                         pined                                                                   lea  , where behemoths,                                                          freed ,                                                               distill    the essence of                                                              God’s                                                             purpose in, throughout,                                                         exiistence.                                                         Twenty-two and adding,                                                             yeaning                                                         yearly   for agape love                                                           so cherished                                                     dearly,   on fair maiden,                                                         Barb  or   Kim,                                                 whatever  ; somewhere,                                                   somehow,       I  will                                              love forever. First    kiss,                                                  last kiss,             sealed,                                             ironically, steps away                                                from third                 Great                                          Love’s art; Dali,   with                                              his brushes                   stroked                                     across  the stretching                                               canvas  of                         his ego,                                 missed the etching.  A                                           belief     in                            dreams,                               beneath the table     top.                                        beneath the                               surface                              of  a  fable, is     reality                                          exposed to                      others, so true                            meaning is revealed,                                              my brothers.               JOE  T’s  PUB and                       BILLARDS, two miles                                               distance    in           a  welk,   beyond    the                    moon,    for instance;                                                  torment brewed      in caldron once created                        through Kosiba,                                                      justly mediated.     Woe, my soul to keep on                       rocky Ridges,                overlapping lives, unknown,  with bridges butressed by my love in gentle                     offer toward the guiding light of Christly coffer.          But,  such  buts  deserve  not  earthly  mention,    not without  infernal   soul’s   contention,  twenty-two years,  coming,  going;  damn,  if  I’ll withdraw without this knowing.

Copyright © November 2003 Robert L Tremblay

Additional Notes:
Well, without a doubt, this has been my most difficult challenge to date. Not that my imaged poems are popular but they do afford me a stimulating exercise in creativity. Below is the poem in normal format. The image format is "off" a little bit due to the copy and paste, the main flaw being the right side of the pool table from the transfer, but you can get the "picture". Soulful songs that celebrate the evening, While suspense aligns along the cueing, Stills his eyes engorged with moment’s passion, Bridling hustler’s heartbeat’s furied fashion. As he pauses, captured by repression, Thoughts reflect upon the snapshot’s session; Years gone by, that matter, not, this second, Summoned from emotions, beastly beckoned. Agony aside, denied by any Ego, making, history of many Acts bewitched throughout his life’s sojourn in Time, this man, alone, reflects a life’s sin. Never once around his owled eyes lose sight Of eternal purpose in divine light Emanating all around his visage, Manifested as angelic drawbridge. Object orb, eyed coldly for a moment. Frozen in miotic, eyeglassed view bent Round his glassy occupying bridgework, Challenges the knight before his eyes lurk. Onto cueball, he relies upon a Steady hand that rests, reposed, beyond grey Matter of belief, with God, above all, Adding His bay spices into man’s pall. The Divine will sings key, also kindly, Sung in baritone amidst the pined lea, Where behemoths, freed , distill the essence Of God’s purpose in, throughout, existence. Twenty-two and adding, yeaning yearly For agape love so cherished dearly, On fair maiden, Barb or Kim, whatever; Somewhere, somehow, I will love forever. First kiss, last kiss, sealed, ironically, Steps away from third Great Love’s art; Dali, With his brushes stroked across the stretching Canvas of his ego, missed the etching. A belief in dreams, beneath the table Top.beneath the surface of a fable, Is reality exposed to others, So true meaning is revealed, my brothers. JOE T’s PUB and BILLARDS, two miles distance In a welk, beyond the moon, for instance; Torment brewed in caldron once created Through Kosiba, justly mediated. Woe, my soul to keep on rocky ridges, Overlapping lives, unknown, with bridges Butressed by my love in gentle offer Toward the guiding light of Christly coffer. But, such buts deserve not earthly mention, Not without infernal soul’s contention, Twenty-two years, coming, going; Damn, if I’ll withdraw without this knowing.

This Poem was Critiqued By: April Rose Ochinang Claessens On Date: 2003-12-05 22:06:58
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 8.40000
hi robert, it is indeed very challenging to do image poems. and for that, i give you a ten.awesome was also challenging to read. well i tried to do it but its a good thing you made another copy of normal format.i liked the part where it said a certain man reflects on what hes been doing in the past.i may never understand why he did that in a pub over a billiards table but i guess being alone for a while did the did a good job on intertwining the subjects of love, God, and the meaning of ones did it so effectively.i also liked the part where you used an allusion, i.e., First kiss, last kiss, sealed, ironically, Steps away from third Great Love’s art; Dali, With his brushes stroked across the stretching Canvas of his ego, missed the etching. however though, i got bothered by the line beneath the surface of a fable, Is reality exposed to others... well dont get me wrong because i dont have anything against it.its just that i feel like there has been a slight error, and it might have been a typographical one. is it really "beneath the surface of the FABLE..." or "beneath the surface of the TABLE?" also, the beginning of the words in each line are capitalized. is this your style or is it just because the computer did it for you? but anyway, capitalized or not, you still did an awesome job.take care and God bless. april

This Poem was Critiqued By: madge B zaiko On Date: 2003-12-04 23:27:56
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
Some of the images were lovely. I think perhaps you should avoid using so many in one poem though. I was dizzzy with these images that seem to jump around a bit. I would love to explore each idea separately. " On fair maiden, Barb or Kim, whatever Somehow, Someday I will love forever..." God I love those lines!!!!
This Poem was Critiqued By: Claire H. Currier On Date: 2003-11-24 14:46:44
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.56818 Lord what a project you undertook and the finish project is so amazing.....structure, well it certainly does take on the form of the pool table and even down to the pocket.....I might not know about pool but I do know about what the table looks like.....great job my friend and one that you can feel good about.....good word flow too allowing the reader to see, feel and experience what is being felt within the the rhyme as the way you add God into being a part of this as well........this has a catchy sound to it too my friend, might make a great song of sorts as well.......thanks for posting and for sharing this most difficult , time consuming, love of your adventure beat , for it takes patience and understanding as well as your creative nature to complete this task. Be safe, you are very much appreciated.....God Bless, Claire
This Poem was Critiqued By: Jordan Brendez Bandojo On Date: 2003-11-24 14:42:24
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.68421
Dear Robert, First of all, thank you for sharing this amazingly structured piece. This is really a new experience in poetry. I can't believe you have made such kind of undeniably difficult work! I have read your critiqued your piece last month entitled "The Mountain Man's Mystic Missive" ---which has also a very unique structure but this one is more to be proud at! It is really hard to do this. The structure, the body, the thoughts, the wordings, the subject, etc. seem to show up harmoniously. And gosh, the rhyming is perfectly carried out all over the poem! I could not imagine how you did it perfectly knowing that there is a big restraint on the structure. I really give my utmost appreciation to this kind of work. Its content puts me in the playful mood. I am fond of billiards as this is one of sports during leisure time. The rectangular shape of a billiard table is structured well and I can imagine it physically. The cue ball with the stick gives me a nerve to play! SMILE. The essence of the poem is established in making a reflection in this man's life. I can see you are giving us here a philosophy in life. And the association of God here is more than a food to energize one to make the cue balls hit the right score in winnung this game of life. I could not give any further input to this outstanding piece. I have saturated myself on this kind of new experience, a challenge for every poet. You have a trademark here, poet! This is a poem to be put in the Guiness Book of Records. Thank you very much for sharing, Robert. You should get a big merit on this one. Jordan.
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