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This Poem was Submitted By: Thomas Edward Wright On Date: 2004-05-11 21:50:44 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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This Leda and Her Swan

Where once Zeus, wrapped in Swan feathers Penetrated mortal Leda, begetting Helen and Clytemnestra, Pollex and Castor twinning, too – Dimly, Greco-Roman architecture, myth, Statuary, Renaissance oil on canvas – I must admit with a sigh - such was art. But what of a palsied boy, locked in the wheeled Chair, hidden within the crooked stiff unwieldy self? What of his swank head? What of his passion? Should he chance meet a princess - One From another realm, what be his goals? Any different than the Swan’s? Any less Royal? Any less impotent? Where unsheath he his sword? And if Leda is a thirty-something babe with Downs’? Who’s zoomin’ who? One wonders which Agency Would the loudest hue and cry raise to protect her. Protect from what? Breast to breast, they lay. The palm, so creased, redirects the dark storm. The offspring cry out from the simplest omelet - From the deep heart of man, that beast in each of us.

This Poem was Critiqued By: Marcia McCaslin On Date: 2004-06-06 19:03:49
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.63636
Thomas--I read this at the beginning of the month--and now, again, at the beginning of the next month, I have the same feelings. Your compassion and your questions shout at us from betwen the lines. You separate bone from marrow in each of us (readers). We are probably all guilty--but yet from your viewpoint, I see it--the whole complex issue--in such a clear light. I am ashamed of the secret (untold) feelings I've always had, but you have exposed me and in my heart of hearts I am sorry. I see these people you describe going up and down my street all the time--walking to small jobs, riding their wheeled 'pedal' vehicles with the white flag waving at the rear. I have seen them come to the lunch counter (years ago)--alone, one month, and in love and with someone the next-- making blushy plans to get married. And marry they do. "The palm, so creased, redirects the dark storm." "offspring cry out from the simplest omelet--from the deep heart of man, that beast in each of us. There is just no suppressing nature. I look at the grass and pops up through rocks and black fabric and lives in spite of Round-up--and I know. Our Creator will not be suppressed-- in you, in me, nor in these you so lovingly shine on. Great work. Thanks. Marcia

This Poem was Critiqued By: Nancy Anne Korb On Date: 2004-06-02 00:29:12
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.43750
Thomas, I don't know quite what to say. You begin describing the gods and how they were admired, despite their sins. And then you go from there to how would people react to someone who is disabled....I think I quite like the poem. The metre and the images you've painted with your words are wonderful...but for some reason, I want to laugh. Was that your intent?

This Poem was Critiqued By: Wayne R. Leach On Date: 2004-05-30 10:59:52
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.33333
A beautifully constructed and revealing metaphor replete with sensuality and sensitivity. Truly remarkable, sir. The beast not always lies at rest, eh? No need to bore you with line-by-line details, for I can see no need for change. peace. wrl

This Poem was Critiqued By: Sandra J Kelley On Date: 2004-05-23 21:52:27
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.46154
Thomas, I work with people with Mental Retardation and multiple handicapped adults so this poem truly spoke to me. Your first stanza does a good job bringing to mind the images of erotic art without being graphic and sets the poem up nicely to transition to the second and third. But what of a palsied boy, locked in the wheeled Chair, hidden within the crooked stiff unwieldy self? (one of my clients is a twenty two year old man with CP-he has a girlfriend in the agency with the same condition-everyone thinks its cute-I wonder if they would feel the same if the couple were sexually active) What of his swank head? What of his passion? Should he chance meet a princess - One From another realm, what be his goals?(another of my clients has a goal-he wants to get married to someone who is not a part of the agency) Any different than the Swan’s? Any less Royal? Any less impotent? Where unsheath he his sword? And if Leda is a thirty-something babe with Downs’? Who’s zoomin’ who? One wonders which Agency Would the loudest hue and cry raise to protect her. (and we would almost instinctively try to end the relationship if it were a healthy relationship-consentual between the two however it seems that some agencys are not so quick to end the relationship when it is not based on consent-go figure) Protect from what? Breast to breast, they lay. The palm, so creased, redirects the dark storm. The offspring cry out from the simplest omelet - From the deep heart of man, that beast in each of us. I love your poem-not just on the personal level but on the level of excellent writting giving service to social issues. I will look for this on the winners list. Sandra

This Poem was Critiqued By: Joanne M Uppendahl On Date: 2004-05-15 16:21:16
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.75000
Tom: This poem seems to have appeared simultaneously with another 'swan-themed' one. I glanced at the times -- within nine minutes of one another. Though this swan and Leda are very different than the protagonists in the 'other' swan poem. I always read your poems, and always 'talk' to you as I do - my inner conversation, I've decided, should be the same as the response I write to you here. With that in mind, I will backtrack a little, and, reproduce my inward dialogue with you. Where once Zeus, wrapped in Swan feathers Ah, Tom! You know I love to talk about Zeus and his progeny. And anything archetypal or symbolic. Penetrated mortal Leda, begetting Helen and Clytemnestra, (Pollux) and Castor twinning, too – Oops! Seems that though Zeus impregnated Leda, Clytemnestra and Castor were Tyndareus' children, therefore they are mortal. Helen was immortal, as well as Pollux. Seems odd, because Pollux and Castor were twins that they could have different fathers. You are the physician, so I will let you sort that one out!Seems like they were really only half brothers. Dimly, Greco-Roman architecture, myth, Statuary, Renaissance oil on canvas – I must admit with a sigh - such was art. "Art" is a guy who lived so long ago that he's given credit for a whole lot of stuff that I think maybe somebody else did. But what of a palsied boy, locked in the wheeled Chair, hidden within the crooked stiff unwieldy self? Here I can't be frivolous. What about real, live, breathing people, you ask? How do they stack up next to paintings, statuary, and myths? Where does art leave off and life begin? Are we too taken in by symbols to see the immense beauty in "his swank head" you ask? What of his swank head? What of his passion? Should he chance meet a princess - One From another realm, what be his goals? You've caught me where I live. As a personal aside, while in college I worked at a small group home for children and adolescents labeled as developmentally delayed. Truthfully, in those days, they were called, "Retarded." An ugly label. "What of his passion?" Those I met had many passions, as well as hopes, fears, loves. Most to be completely ignored, as survival itself seemed to take priority. Going by the externals, we often overlook those "from another realm" you show us here. Any different than the Swan’s? Any less Royal? Any less impotent? Where unsheath he his sword? And if Leda is a thirty-something babe with Downs’? Good question! One for all of the Ledas and Swans, for all of those, of us, whose appearance suggests that we are not entitled to the same kinds of feelings as the more capable, better-looking, younger and more intelligent of our species? Excellent question. Who’s zoomin’ who? One wonders which Agency Would the loudest hue and cry raise to protect her. Protect from what? Breast to breast, they lay. The palm, so creased, redirects the dark storm. The offspring cry out from the simplest omelet - From the deep heart of man, that beast in each of us. Very organic, those eggs. You correctly picture "Agency" as impersonal, uncaring. We are alike, you show us here -- like beasts, like Leda's and Swans. We are like the omelet, full of the substance of organic life, full of its yearning to reproduce itself, to taste life with all of our senses. I love the reference to the simian crease. You give these two the respect they deserve - and by extension, all of us. My hat, if I had one, would be off to you, Sir More later, Joanne

This Poem was Critiqued By: Rachel F. Spinoza On Date: 2004-05-12 09:53:04
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.75000
This Leda and Her Swan This glorious poem Where once Zeus, wrapped in Swan feathers Penetrated mortal Leda, begetting Helen and Clytemnestra, Pollex and Castor twinning, too – Dimly, Greco-Roman architecture, myth, Statuary, Renaissance oil on canvas – I must admit with a sigh - such was art. ah, yes... But what of a palsied boy, locked in the wheeled Chair, hidden within the crooked stiff unwieldy self? What of his swank[perfect word-reminscent of "swan"] head? What of his passion? Should he chance meet a princess - One From another realm, what be his goals? Any different than the Swan’s? Any less Royal? Any less impotent[why impotent? ]Where unsheath he his sword? And if Leda is a thirty-something babe with Downs’? indeed Who’s zoomin’ who? One wonders which Agency Would the loudest hue and cry raise to protect her. Protect from what? Breast to breast, they lay. The palm, so creased, [amazing tender reference] and redirects the dark storm. The offspring cry out from the simplest omelet - From the deep heart of man, that beast in each of us. This is what poetry is for

This Poem was Critiqued By: G. Donald Cribbs On Date: 2004-05-11 22:29:36
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
TEW, Here's the shocker of all: my name is not a pen name. In fact, it's one my parents had a big fight over. Luckily, my dad lost, or I'd also have "wallace" to contend with...although the relation to William Wallace isn't bad...but I digress. Suffice it to say, I come by my name honestly, and that's all there is. I go by my middle name to rebel against this damned society so bent on only using first names and middle initials. My small useless rebellion. Oh, well. Now, onto the poem. If you're like me, you might skip that crap I wrote above, get to the part about your poem that I actually talked about, and then, if you liked it, MAYBE go back over the first part just for kicks. But, who knows? It probably depends on how many beers you've had recently. Here's hoping! I love how you start this with an ejaculation. Not just any ejaculation or wet dream, but Zeus's, by god (notice the lower case here). So, pretty much, it's all about sex. Isn't that the same message the cable company's ramming down my throat? Thanks, didn't need it from you too! Just kidding. I liked the inference that the Greco-Roman architecture somehow came out of this raping of Leda. An intriguing idea. That's what sells your poetry, anyway. It's all about those little details that keeps the reader interested to find out what you're gonna throw out there next. This next stanza, I like to call the "phallic" stanza. For obvious reasons...do I need to explain? Hey, you wrote it, you should know all about those references. So, for that unique approach, I love how you twist it and offer a man who's got a physical disability, and a woman with a genetic disability. Not something we use for topics in our poetry. Not nearly enough. A whole population of people constantly overlooked in so many areas, including poetry. Thanks for that. I think that's awesome. What really sells this poem is the last stanza. All kidding aside, this is what takes a swan, cooks an omelete, and brings the mirror up to our faces for a sharp focus on the darkness within. What a punch in the gut! Terrific. Nothing else to say but simply astounding. I had to catch my breath. An enjoyable read, my friend. Thanks for sharing it with us here. Warm regards, Don

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