This Poem was Submitted By: Latorial D. Faison On Date: 2004-12-11 00:27:39 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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We've got way too many people walking  and talking inside us people the world will never know and it's an ironic sadness a stillness that calms the craziness that meddles with our minds to deceive and leave our eyes  ego tripping . . .  There's nothing shallow in between but the spirit man they've never seen who calls my real world make believe making reality of all my dreams white folks can't explain it black folks call it crazy I just call it what it is . . .  unknown.

Copyright © December 2004 Latorial D. Faison

This Poem was Critiqued By: James Edward Schanne On Date: 2005-01-03 14:53:16
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.18750
Vell my dear Latorial zee doctor must attempt to penetrate all of zees individuals to delve into zee inner complex .............. oh wait a minute that was just one of my personalities the doctor, I locked him back up, this poem did make me think about the inner workings of my mind and also the interractions of the mind and spirit and emotions................ Very interesting, Thanks for letting me read and comment.

This Poem was Critiqued By: arnie s WACHMAN On Date: 2004-12-28 16:48:55
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
My question is why is there a difference between white and black? Is it because of upbringing? The region of the world we live in? The money? The fairy tales we're told? Due to the area of the world I live in, my contact with Blacks is very minimal...although I have had contacts way back when I was in University, etc.You have brought up a valid subject on the inner voices. As a Psychiatric Nurse I can tell you that these voices can be real to some people (namely Schizophrenics)and can be considered dangerous if acted upon which many of the latter do. 20% of Schizophrenics wind up committing suicide. Thanks for posting this piece.
This Poem was Critiqued By: Tony P Spicuglia On Date: 2004-12-15 19:44:28
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Latorial, this poem has such life to it, after reread and reread, I was still “tingling” from the phrasing and written theme. Your immediate catch, that of the people walking and talking inside of us, hit me with quite the meaning of my life. There is a “character” within this verse, and it is definitely alive with the meanings of that development. “We've got way too many people walking and talking inside us people the world will never know” – I have written on this theme so many times, and your words here were like dissecting the human psyche. You didn’t lay it out as a bypass of life, rather as the reality of living, and with me it hit home. “and it's an ironic sadness – this is the written definition of Greek Tragedies, where the separation of comedy and tragedy was a thin line. Only those reaching from one side to the other could ever really tell which, and the irony is, it was always both. a stillness that calms the craziness that meddles with our minds to deceive and leave our eyes ego tripping – “the stillness that calms the craziness” I would say you suffer from being a poet, for this line probably defines the true poet as well as any single line I have ever read. “To deceive and leave” great alliteration, but also it grants a look into the book that is the life. Wonderful. “There's nothing shallow in between but the spirit man they've never seen” – I like this, the “spirit man” not seen, that is in control, yet out of control, and the shallowness presumed, is the misnomer of a shallow sighted observer. ”who calls my real world make believe making reality of all my dreams” – ah Latorial, yes indeed, and without those dreams, if the person persists, still the poet dies. A pragmatic poet is not a poet, he/she is a mimic. “white folks can't explain it black folks call it crazy I just call it what it is . . . – this line brings me to me, of who can explain, who thinks I’m crazy, but within, there is the “enormous” unknown, but the irony still, by that “unknown” I hope to be known. unknown.” – I think I understand you best after this verse, that unknown, is not so distant from the voids in me. This is a beautiful and stirring piece. I think it is my favorite of yours to date.
This Poem was Critiqued By: DeniMari Z. On Date: 2004-12-14 21:20:34
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Hi Latorial! (Where have you been hiding?) I really enjoyed this poem. In your first verse where you say, we have too many people walking and talking inside of us - well - that's so true. Not only do we rely on our own resources, we keep advice from others stored and tap into it at will. I rely on spirit - to follow, to guide me through the real world - and I feel fortunate to know - that no one will ever really know everything I think. Your title is perfect - Unknown - simple yet compelling to the reader - to want to read more. Such is life, such a mystery - in between the dreams and reality and ego tripping - I like what you call it, Sincerely, DeniMari
This Poem was Critiqued By: Mell W. Morris On Date: 2004-12-11 13:49:33
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Latorial: I'm sure you've heard by now that I am chronically ill; it seems like years since I've reviewed a poem with your name inscribed. "Unknown" intriguing title for there's so little we do know. I find this an itchy-twitchy title and can hardly wait to read to what it refers. Predominately tetrameter, it has a great cadence as if a song although your piece is predominately free verse. You tell us immediately there are too many people inside us the world will never know, an ironic sorrow that brings peace to the rolling waves, that deceives us and leaves us "ego tripping..." "There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy, Horatio...." from Hamlet by Shakespeare The quote from Hamlet reminded me of what you're saying here: there are limits to what the reason of man may know. At least, this far, it's what I'm thinking. You relate to us in Stanza 2 that there is nil between except spirit man BUT THE SPIRIT MAN THEY'VE NEVER SEEN who calls your real world make believe MAKING REALITY OF ALL YOUR DREAMS. I just call it what it is... unknown." This is a purely exquisite poem, Latorial, the best I've seen on TPL in a long time. I find it very intriguing that when encountered by a white person, they "can't explain it" while the black person's reaction to something unknown is to "call it crazy." And what you entitle your poem is the white man's take...unknown. Obviously (to me) the spirit man, Allah, God, Yaweh, matter the word we use for him, unknown, he is the same. And when I say "you", I mean the poet or narrator whom I do not equate with Latorial. It drives me nuts how everyone at TPL thinks if I write in the 1st person, it means it happened to me. This "unknown" is very critical to your life because the entity, whether divine or a hunka-hunka burnin' love makes your dreams reality. that's as good as it gets where I live. There is an economy of words, a brief lyrical poem that relates so much and not with a bat but a whisper. I really relate to this piece but cannot begin to say why. Congratulations on this accomplished composition. Best wishes for your success, Mell
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