This Poem was Submitted By: Mark Andrew Hislop On Date: 2006-01-25 06:13:10 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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A void worth all the trouble

Jack could talk about it with Jill, not you nor any other of his friends, his certain death, his memory that will not persist, his what’s-the-point of light time’s obliterating, bouncing white from a bondage, the bad news  of a life-long headache that cannot think  outside itself, the spiraling chink of a clock’s seconds that no other soul can ever watch the search for the precious apex that points from the ancestors through the ancestor you are to a void worth all the trouble to endure skin burnt by its transactions with eternity red raw on which each puff of air is an agony that leaves ontology with no further questions

Copyright © January 2006 Mark Andrew Hislop

This Poem was Critiqued By: Thomas H. Smihula On Date: 2006-02-07 06:16:38
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.57143
Mark you have given a well written poem and I definately like the lenght. I do not like to see words like ontology the science, chink that I thought might be better with click for I never heard a clock go chink. These were my only areas of concern yet that is only this readers opinion. Overall a good poem. Thanks for sharing.

This Poem was Critiqued By: Mark Steven Scheffer On Date: 2006-02-02 15:43:32
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
I've save this one until now. I may have said that to you before. No matter. Your poem was superb. It had great dic . . . it flo . . . nice verbiage. Etc. etc. - see my last critique. and da one before that.
This Poem was Critiqued By: Thomas Edward Wright On Date: 2006-01-29 18:27:45
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.68750
Well, a closet I'm not familiar with...possible, but not likely. I don't follow the imagery here. Something painful inspires you to return to a place that only you can resolve... ontology: the metaphysics dealing with the nature of being while this makes for interesting word order/choices, it does not make my poetic string sing. sorry. tom
This Poem was Critiqued By: James C. Horak On Date: 2006-01-25 09:17:31
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
If a poem cannot be dissected, placing one line apart from the rest; if it cannot be illustrated meaningfully when tampered with so and a piece taken to taste some common essence, it contains a lineage of unmitigatable truth paralleling this poem's driving core. You, Mark, have found the awesome distinction between lineage and heritage, and the void in-between. Where both challenge each other, and where redundance can become a law unto itself. Primogeniture was/is the fatalist's tool, self-deceived into a thought of overcoming oblivion. Part and parcel of the embedded evil notion of opposing change merely for the sake of opposing change. Status quo at all costs. America has grown a whole class of pathological egotists that would overcome evolution with one carefully marketed device after another, just as they would place the fortunes of whole families on the potential of an eldest son, mindlessly. That would replace the value in being with the nothingness of disbelief, elevating nothing more than longevity to Godhood. And so it is within us, a scourge, "an eternity red raw...", finality without a beginning. A great poem but written for too limited an audience. Preaching to the choir, you have not evoked the necessary triggers to reach "the world". And they need this breath to the brain most. JCH
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