Mark Steven Scheffer's E-Mail Address: msscheffer@mac.com
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Below you will see ALL of the Critiques that Mark Steven Scheffer has given on The Poetic Link.
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Poem Title	Poet Name	Critique Given by Mark Steven Scheffer	Critique Date
The Nightingale's Song	Robert L Tremblay	Bobby T., I miss you, man! Yeah, that's right: I miss you. Doesn't mean i won't have critical things to say about you now and then - not even my wife is immune to that. But your "stance," your confronting of the world with your voice, is something i think we should always see in the world around us. So . . . I miss you, man. This has all of the Bobby T. trademark style, from the central metaphor of the lone nightingale, to all of his individual feathers. Sing on, Bobby T., sing on. Mark	2004-08-16 14:49:36
Unspoken	Jana Buck Hanks	Jana, If what I've copied below were the entire poem, this would be one of my best of the month. Alice is not the only little girl who stepped through the looking glass into a world of self, and mixed messages, inside her mind. I do not know the exact time my journey into twilight began. The memories still come in bits and pieces. There is a strangeness in certain sounds, smells, colors, snatches of conversation and old photographs, which key vivid recollections, for an instant. Often, later in deep sleep, the remembrances of childhood so long ago, are knit together. Somewhere, among the billions of clichés, someone said that children read between the lines and hear the unspoken. This is magical, full of mystery. You seem to have gone through a secret door into some incredbile revelation of things. A great poet once said, maybe it was Berryman, that a good poet is one who spends his or her life standing out in a field during thunderstorms and gets hit by lightning once or twice, and that a great poet is one who spends a lifetime standing in an open field during thunderstorms and gets hit by lighting maybe a half dozen times. I'd said you capture in these lines one of your moments of being hit by lightning. It's such moments that make poetry worth it - the rest of the moments are just getting wet and waiting. This will be on my list because of the majesty and sacredness of such moments . . . despite the rest of the poem, where you draw the "conclusion," as it were reflecting in the ER after the lightning hit is over. I think the latter half of the poem is unnecessary. I mean this part: What they perceive is in fact, their reality. My past is not viewed through rose-colored glasses. I wish it were so, because the color rose represents, happiness, all my life I have searched for that elusive feeling. The earliest memories are jumbled. I cannot be sure if they even belong to me. Perhaps they are collections of conversations held by adults in my presence, faded sepia photographs In dusty albums, and/or stories told in litany. Regardless how acquired, they are the fabrics of the crazy quilt that makes up my psyche. As I remember the tunnel, maybe I will find the light at the end. Adele Stephenson’s famous quote: “In the twilight of our times, there are no quick paths to the light-switch,” could well speak for my entire life. I'd cut that. I think the fault of the poet who hasn't reached the height of his or her power is tendency to tell us what the point is, tell us the "conclusion." That's a fault. Poetry is not a telling, a giving of information, but an experience, an aperture in the looking glass that brings us magic and a sense of defying the world with its three dimensions - because the poet has created something within those very dimensions that transcends them. It's also playing - and we're the only creatures who can - God. I'm privileged to share in, and witness, your moment of insight in this poem. A remarkable gift (which I thank you for) and moment. Mark	2004-08-16 14:37:25
Conception	G. Donald Cribbs	Don, I questioned the "like Jacob" and the comparison of wrestling with God with what the "we" are up to in this poem. Since I think Christians have read Jacob's ladder as a figure for the Incarnation, I guess there is something to an analogy between Jacob's experience of the Almighty and human experience of romantic passion - to your credit I DO get the sense of much more than sex going on here. Once again, your notes "cushion" my brain against the concrete of my dissent. I don't know precisely what bothers me. I mean, i've often used such figures myself (i.e, a comparison of human "love" with the divine-human encounter), but i get an intuitive sense of this not being quite right. But I do understand, as I intimated, that the use of such a figure can be justified and indeed defended as entirely appropriate. I don't know what it is about this one which throws me off my game a bit. Otherwise, great poem from a great explorer of human experience. Mark	2004-08-16 14:20:17
The Rock of Heaven	Gene Dixon	BFB, What can I say? This is not merely a beautiful poem from a fine poet and friend on the birth of my son, but . . . your return. The fact that you would break your principled and self-imposed exile for me and me boy . . . I'm humbled. They do say actions speak louder than words, even beautiful words. You've hit for the cycle with one swing of the bat. It's been a long time since I've seen that type of stroke around here. This is much better than my twisted musing. And THIS ONE i can share with Maryann. Thank you from the bottom, bud. FP	2004-08-12 15:31:35
The Helpmeet	G. Donald Cribbs	Don, Beaver or man? I'm assuming you already read my prior critque of your Holy Thursday poem. I'd say . . . man - it wasn't even a close call here. :) One i imagine you sitting on your deck with a notebook (the old fashioned kind) and a beer - no, you're a young punk with a "notepad" and and a latte (I don't even think I know how to spell the damn thing) or something. :) In the good ole country of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. At nightime, looking at the same star. My numero uno so far. With the good old King James title and all. :) Mark	2004-08-12 13:42:38
Maundy Thursday	G. Donald Cribbs	Don, I've made this point recently in a critique of a poem by Brenda, and you've given me an opportunity to expand on that here. Sorry that you take on the bulls-eye for this one. :) The middle section of the poem shows a sentient being representing the observations of his senses in langauge - not much more, in my view. Sure, the fact that you are working in language, uses poetic devices, raises it somewhat from the mundane, but it's still . . . beaver work. This is the section I mean: have come to listen for deer hooves digging into the soft saturated earth. In the hillcrest I spot the muscular umberture of four prancing and angular does. I can nearly smell their moist noses, their hairy hide, eyes darting ferociously. I straddle a fallen trunk massive enough to have rooted itself in the stream on its side. Perhaps laid down in oblation, (this line is the exception) the moss shroud sealed by stones rolling over the sandy bottom. Stripped of its bark the tree is threadbare as I in the amber sunlight spackling the water rushing by me. The rest of the poem is of another order - a man's work. We see a sentient being taking the data of his senses and passing them through his creative imagination, which he has as a special being created in the image of God, and re-ordering, making metaphorical leaps, CREATING in its primary, most powerful sense. Here it is: After an hour of repast I climb back onto dirt, push back through thorns and trees to the wheat field and come upon a deer skull. I turn it over and peer into its eye sockets where insects happily feast like apostles on the manna of brains and bits of skin flesh still matted to bones. I pull the lower jaw free like a wishbone and count ten teeth on each side and eight on the crest. I think of where the rest of the deer has gone, my hand cradling underneath the lower jaw as if the deer were feeding straight from my palm! There is no laud or Tenebrae here, no palm branches passing over missing tongue and throat. I feel my own jaw and this is what I know: the pull of tendon which snapped as I lifted this jaw from its skull has clenched The Word, His Eucharist, from my mouth as surely as the body lifted up from this world, finding a wheat field to fill the space between soul and bone. See the difference! I sure do. This is POETRY, and fine poetry indeed. You've help me crystalize some thoughts on poetry, my friend. Gee, i think it's not much more (and a lot less) than Coleridge's thinking on the imagination in Biographia Literaria - which i go back to for more crystallization. Sorry, friend, for using you as my "target" here. Best, Mark	2004-08-12 13:12:20
Sleepless in Colombo	Mark Andrew Hislop	MAH, Fortunately, i've never suffered from sleeplessness: perhaps I don't have a conscience. No - I think i do. I'm not trolling (or trolloping)for sirens. Yeah, that's it. Oh. Splendid poem. I felt like i was there . . . young man. Awake in Philadelphia, MSS	2004-08-04 18:07:57
Kaddish for Ginsberg	Rachel F. Spinoza	Rachel, Yours is much richer in the memories of Ginsberg and his work. I, as I often do, do not care much for the detail, but try to distil essences in short, elliptic speak that often has heads being scratched. Too different voices - but not so different, in many ways - approaching the great Beat poet who had a way of cutting through the bullshit and presenting "The Lion For Real." Great work, particularly the part about the deplorable "coming / home to Starbucks" etc etc. Yuck. Of course, i've always been physically "in" Starbucks while mentally off - metahporically speaking - with Ginsberg and the gurus. I was born a little too late to be part of the flower crowd. And life has basically lead me by the nose, rather than me leading it. But I think i can say with some conviction that IF my nose had been led up those moutains to those gurus I would NEVER have come back. What the hell is the matter with those people, those backsliders? You gotta love Ginsberg! Mark	2004-07-21 12:09:38
The Force That Through My Muse Drives The O	Mell W. Morris	Mell, Did you just discover Thomas? I would imagine, since i know you think the world of Hart Crane, that Thomas also gets you going. Having just read your poem, I put that mildy. He's one of my favorites, too. That "In My Craft and Sullen Art" is in the top ten of all time, probably - i never got down to listing me top ten: In my craft or sullen art Exercised in the still night When only the moon rages And the lovers lie abed With all their griefs in their arms, I labour by singing light Not for ambition or bread Or the strut and trade of charms On the ivory stages But for the common wages Of their most secret heart. Not for the proud man apart From the raging moon I write On these spindrift pages, Nor for the towering dead With their nightingales and psalms But for the lovers, their arms Round the griefs of the ages, Who pay no praise or wages Nor heed my craft or art. This is a site about poetry, so i thought i'd just paste that here. But damn, i think the site i pasted this from has the punctuation screwy, but it's grandness still comes across. Crane and Thomas. When it comes to the "magic" of words, it doesn't get any more magical than that. Anyway, your O lust has opened . . . I much ever be on guard against pornographic orthographic lexicographic tendencies. To me, the mere shape of an O . . . opens imaginative doors. Speaking of the lascivious nature of O, and the capacities of language to open doors of sexual meaning, have you ever read Partridge's Shakespeare's Bawdy? Those who think the Bard is quaint and classical, archaic and Roman toga'd, don't realize what a horney bugger he was. I love the way you really O-pen yourself up here. This is grandly theatrical, just like your O. I can't help but associate this with Romeo and Juliet, the type of language and theater Shakespeare reached in that effort. Suggestions goodly sexual and allusions to Thomas. Now I'm all riled up. I'm of a mind to finish a Ginsberg poem i'm working on, which is not sexual per se, but . . . now i'm off to see what i can do. "Pleasure like a post-coital murgeon, / Minus the coitus like roe without a sturgeon." Smiles all around. Thanks to you. Mark	2004-07-20 17:45:49
Tree Forting	G. Donald Cribbs	Don, Again, thanks for the notes. This is a soft, little poem written by thoughts sprung from a tender occasion. I thought the conclusion was powerful, with your son's arrival expressed in terms of the Second Coming (to me, anyway). I remember looking at my 3rd son just after he was born, just out of the operating room, and having a sudden impulse to call him David because he was a king/messiah/prophet to me at that moment - but we named him Daniel, not too shabby neither. So the poem brought the ole tears of that moment back. Or, more accurately, the notes did. Which, let me say again, i love the way you set up the poems for us in the notes. Did I mention that? :) Thanks. Mark	2004-07-07 23:39:42
The Wall	Jana Buck Hanks	Jana, Very nice. My favorite poem of yours. It is very hard, often, to back up the perception of "poem well done" with an elaborate - or even simple - analysis of the reasons. I liked some the subtle sound effects, hidden in the poem as it were, like the way "center," ttowards the end of the first stanza, is assonant with the "e" in "letter." I love the precise, specific, image of the beginning, "french manicured nails." What a context it places this death in. Might it be "reality's" in the phrase "reality's disbelief." I dunno, just suggesting. Back to the sound effects, i love poems that conclude with the finality of rhyme, or assonance. Like the assonant "twice" and "life." Well done. Mark	2004-07-07 13:38:50
The Dust of Worms	G. Donald Cribbs	Don, I, for one, love that you "explain" these poems to us. Much lyrical poetry has its genesis in a personal experience of the poet. And, because modern poetry is much more elliptical, almost beginning "in media res," but not in the middle of a story, but in the middle of the poet's imaginative experience, even astute readers can not pick up fully on what's going on. So . . . i like the fact that you show us how we got to the "middle" of the experience that is your poem. Great work, as always. Mark	2004-07-06 17:43:19
Morning Coffee	Edwin John Krizek	Edwin, Another nice poem from you. This time, you slipped the ego in directly, but almost as an object in itself. A mere comparator. Back on your game. Mark	2004-07-02 14:48:27
Bushes	Regis L Chapman	Reeg, Come awn, let us know how you really feel! Pussy! :) Were it not that i believe an omniscient, omnipotent God is in control of it all, and sometimes even wills the nightmares we dream and live in, I wouldn't get out of bed in the morning. In light of that need, some, like my Danish friend with the big brain and the hands of a surgeon, would say that my belief is a convenient projection. I need water, but water is not the less real for my need. Anyway . . . There is one bush you left out, I believe. But that may be another poem, one for my perverted mind. I like the birds that rose out of your bushes. I'd like to refer this poem to Turner to give him an example of how one can be political, make a political statement, and still make poetry. I shall back to my monastery. They have a voting machine there, which is causing many of the brothers some consternation. Mark	2004-07-02 14:14:39
Goodbye, Ophelia, We Pine	Thomas Edward Wright	Ho, " Littered with "fritillaries"? Seems too clever by a half, to me. But what do I know. You can't help but be clever. For me, it would be too clever by the full dozen. Ok. The "vowels of intransigence." That's cause she sings; songs involve words; words contain vowels. I get that. And then the aural connection with "Willow," creating a very vivid link between those willows and those vowels that kill. I may not be clever but i'm imaginative. I think when you say "bow," you mean rainbow. Don't know how Ophelia could "bow" while floating on water. The task of critiquing, like a little water and some sun, has caused this poem to grow in my estimation. Your ear has been fine-tuned. Perhaps I'll shoehorn this piece into my list, with your Melville poem. Or replace the Melville poem with this. There are some big toes on my list. Poet, in thy orisons be all my sins remembered. Nox	2004-07-02 11:47:01
Homesick	Edwin John Krizek	Ed, I'd say, having read many of yours, that your talent lies more in what Keat's called a "negative sensibility." You do well in entering into the experience of another character and describing it. When you get more lyrical with the I and me, i think your poetry falls off a bit. Mark	2004-07-02 10:53:44
Return to Reeow	Regis L Chapman	Reeg, It's interesting that you insert Reagan and a wider context into this very personal poem. Just interesting to me. Anyway, I came; I saw: I read. I am loath to comment on the substance of it. Again, very personal. Peace, Mark	2004-07-02 10:51:18
Alabaster Angel Wings	Wayne R. Leach	Wayne, Hmmmm. I dunno about this one. There are some very good moments, good phrases, and good rhythmic sections, like: I want to hammer it, stab it, shoot it, re-tune it, drown it, kill it in its own slimy blue-red blood, The great value in critiquing is it forces you to analyze what makes, for you, a good poem. I'm early in that stage of analysis. I wish i had something more to offer here than the nothing i've given so far. Bear with me. Maybe if i keep at this long enough, i'll get good at it. In the meantime, i'll try to be entertaining. This place is moribund; mordant, or droll, would be better. Just my preference. Not that i'm mordant with you here, my friend. The place is also too full of love for objects that are not befitting love, poetically speaking. I just don't know. Peace, Mark	2004-07-01 18:52:36
Regret	Edwin John Krizek	Edwin, I'm beginning to get a feel for your voice. Your paint some good Rockwellian type of poetry portraits. I liked the searching for a piece of her heart. Not the language of it, but the meaning of it here. Which gets me to my observation that it seems you could think some more about form, line length, stanzas, meter (or not) and word choice. You have an innate sense of good imagery. Or, after looking back at the poem, CREATING the sense of good imagery. I see there wasn't a lot of imagery there. A remarkable effect. Best, Mark	2004-07-01 17:34:02
BEFORE WE….	Wayne R. Leach	Wayne, Loved the matador, the whore, and the shoe and the shore. I think there's a Picasso in your first stanza. Mark	2004-07-01 15:40:40
THE PAISLEY WINDOWS	Wayne R. Leach	Wayne, My "fat balloon" always seems to find helium, and rise again. E tu? Or is the balloon now grounded, and the halo in place. :) You write many of these dense, descriptive poems. Sprinkled with spiritual observations that make them much better than the eye. Not my style of poetry, but well done. Zeppelin	2004-07-01 14:01:35
INSIDE MY HEAD	Michael N. Fallis	Mike, Since it's "[j]ust for fun": I liked the idea of the head holding things. 'Tis true. Sometimes a straw would be better than a tongue. Or a pen. But that wouldn't be as much fun. Quite ugly, actually. See, critiquing can be "just for fun" too. Good point. Necessary, very, at times. Especially here. Mark	2004-07-01 11:13:04
THE CLOUD THAT FOLLOWS ME	Michael N. Fallis	Mike, This outpouring of your doldrums had the benefit of a metrical vehicle and the rhyme. The rains from this cloud were mostly iambic and trochaic in their patter. I'd call it The Rain Ballad. One thing i can tell you: do keep writing in meter. Mark	2004-07-01 11:05:45
Heaven After Lunch	Edwin John Krizek	Ed, Your finest poem among the ones i've read, i think. There was a nice descriptive quality about this, and all of a sudden there were clouds coming out of a mouth. I tend to value creativity; support neologisms and such (language is the tool of poets, we are not language's tool!); and, like the type of bold turns exemplified by the colors coming out of the mouth here. Interesting poem, with some real creative force at work. Mark	2004-07-01 01:21:48
japanese verse 52 (Zephyr)	Erzahl Leo M. Espino	Erzahl, Having read two of your haiku in a row, i'm starting to get more of a feel. I really, really like this one. Why? Let's see. Incredible metaphor. The wind as an "air diva," and the resurrecting of the leaves that "bury your feet." Just solid. For me, and for now, this one is something to use as an example of the art. Very nice. Mark	2004-07-01 01:17:03
Double Feature	Jana Buck Hanks	Jana, You are perhaps the surest way for me to get to the immortal 7 i so desperately crave. When i tell you that your poem worked, i get what, a 9 or 10? When i make an analogy to "intellectual farts," from "one bean eater to another" (guess you missed that part), i get a 3. You should get a sense of humor. I realize people use critiquer ratings as weapons here, but really. Extending the analogy, and in view of the topic, i mention diarhea here. 'Twould be doubly apt, both in the sense of "flash" and "flood." O yes, the poem. Not being Freddy, and not having the vested interest of extolling a shared memory, it was ok. Not diarhea. Nor a fart. Not even a burp. A nice mint after the fact. From one bean eater to another. Again. Mark	2004-07-01 00:44:05
japanese verse 51 (Belt)	Erzahl Leo M. Espino	Erzahl, I don't even know the rules for Haiku. You'd think, there being so many haiku around here, i'd bother to learn. Is a Japanese verse 51 anything like a Colt 45? Does the number have any significance other than letting us know how many you've written? Having recently seen The Last Samurai, and been very, very moved by the nobility of that Katsumoro character and the tradition and the sacrifice of those brave Samurai, i'm of a mind to get to know some haiku. Though i've nothing to offer you as to your haiku, other than a general observation of nice metaphor with the pants, perhaps you would inform me of the tradition and let me know how i did when (i'm gonna do it!) i write one. Mark	2004-07-01 00:28:06
The Desert Wind	sheryl ann minter	Sheryl, Another newbie with a horn that blows. The poems are now stacked in the shed, crowding the shuttle. This one will make my list, most definitely. Superb in many ways. And with what really, really grabs me, a great consummation. Welcome and do stay. Humbly, Mark	2004-07-01 00:04:21
Invisible	Jana Buck Hanks	Jana, It's amazing that, after being here for over 4 years, I don't really think often about the therapy of poetry. But there is a therapeutic side, clearly. Or else just a lot of ego. Or cries FOR therapy from someone else. Or maybe the intellectual equivalent of farting after eating. It's amazing. This one was a room clearer. Remember to consider that observation in context. I.e, perhaps this place is about farting. From one bean eater to another. Mark	2004-06-30 23:49:16
♥ Moon Dance ♥	Carolyn Gale McGovern-Bowen	Gale, Lots of words there. Clustered. More of a grape poem, than a moondance. Interesting thing at the end, and at the beginning - the quoting of yourself as if the poem itself were but an epigraph, and the heart thing in the beginning. And, as i said, the grapes in the middle. Hmmm. Hearts, Moonlight, grapes, epigraph. I'm thinking Westlake Village is a Greek cemetery. I don't think that was intended. But . . . who knows? Mark	2004-06-30 17:35:14
Good Grief	Regis L Chapman	Reeg, I'm gonna call you the title man. Man, you come up with good titles. I couldn't help but think of Charlie Brown, though. Which is not a bad thing, if you like Charlie Brown. I do. Another nice work from our resident Hamlet. So introspective. Coming to one of yours i always know i'm about to meet the self-scrutiny of a keen mind. It is the musings of such minds that make poetry really, really matter - in ways a little more meaningful than a ballgame or a crossword puzzle. But then i'm a hopeless Romantic. My Dad, who worked for IBM for a brief spell, got a little desk sign when he was with that company, with bright orange borders, that said "THINK." Don't know why i said that. Well, i do. Sorta. Mark	2004-06-30 17:30:52
I Know You Love Me	Edwin John Krizek	Edwin, Sometimes there is. Which makes no sense. Either there is, or there isn't. Ok. There is. Only, it's inconsistent in its presence; it appears to sleep a lot here. You will have to wait for the full consistency. There's no other way. In the meantime, love, whether there's justice or no. Mark	2004-06-30 16:36:35
The Perseids Are Coming	Joanne M Uppendahl	Well, well, it's Aunty Jo. Hmmm. I thought that rhymed, but looking at it - not by a vowel. I know my poetry pisses you off. Or gets you depressed. Or something. That's fine. Life often pisses me off, gets me depressed, or something. That's fine. "The concernancy, sir?" Well, I just can't really relate to poems about the Perseids coming. I mean i look at the stars, but I see something else. The physical fact of the Perseids falling is of the lesser moment. It's the thing behind the mask, Starbuck - no, Aunty. Anyway, i do not doubt that this is finely crafted and chiselled. I have just not counted the ways. Mark	2004-06-30 13:49:19
MY BEST	Michael N. Fallis	Mike, See, i've got a critiquer score of something like 8.1 - the only "qualifier" under 9, or 9 and a half. My goal is to reach the immortal low of 7 or so. This critique should help me. Oh, yes, your poem. I have no complaints about it, nor praise for it. Mark	2004-06-30 13:35:53
THE TRUTH IS…	Wayne R. Leach	Wayne, Wow. I'd have covered it in tons of metaphor and named her Ophelia or something. And put a Shakespearean epigraph at the beginning. And said it was about the '72 world series. An allegory. If being a poet is laying one's soul bare, you are a poet. And, yes, i do believe that is one of the most vital things about honest poetry: laying one's soul bare. Of course, some souls have a certain oracular bareness. Bear, bare, bore, borne . . . I better leave this area before it's too late. I always get entangled when it comes to bearing, baring . . . Mark	2004-06-30 13:33:00
Paper Scatters	Jacob W Roberts	Jacob, Welcome. I think you're new here. This should catapult you into the winners' circle here. Two points to make about that. I said, "should." The second is, I said "here." Not that the poem is not good, it is. Not exceptional, but it really stands out here with almost all i've recently - up there with Mr. Chapman's in my recent reading. Don Cribbs has a great one, and Rachel Spinoza too. Some of the best poems of the month make that circle. Often, they don't. Go figure. Anyway, I extend my laurel to you. And i'm very particular about my laurels. I mean, i may say nice things about most poems, but that's just blather. The good ones, i say i'm voting for, or it's one of the best i've read this month, or something in kind - I don't bestow my laurels with a mask on in a closet. Welcome again. Mark	2004-06-30 13:26:25
Eternal	Thomas H. Smihula	Tom, Welcome back. My gut reaction, which is what you want, is . . . i just read a poem. Sorry. Not much of a gut reaction. But I am who I am. Maybe i have something to contribute here, maybe not. I like the lay out. Mark	2004-06-30 13:16:03
Watcher (revised)	Jana Buck Hanks	Jana, The poem was formatted, and read, like a journey. And ended like one. It worked. Mark	2004-06-30 13:13:57
Fractals of Fear	Lynda G Smith	Lynda, I don't know if you meant to convey this, but the ride was a bit bumpy. Well, since you had fractal in the title, i guess you meant it. Ok. Cheers, Mark	2004-06-30 13:12:18
Hosanna In A Hole	Regis L Chapman	Reeg, Gosh, i just love that title. Wonderful, disjointed ride. Love very much some of the internal rhyme. You got a leg up on my list this month. Mark	2004-06-30 13:08:31
The Black Waltz	Lynda G Smith	Lynda, Hmmmm. Interesting revelation of a psyche. Couldn't help but read this against Poe's Raven, which made the reading a rich experience for me. mark	2004-06-30 13:06:31
The Christmas Angel	Michael N. Fallis	Michael, Yes, I'd say your warm and funny side. Nice. Mark	2004-06-30 13:04:33
The Cancer of Tropics	Mark Andrew Hislop	MAH, I've been there. Too often. If you bore through the bottom, you will find yourself on top. Our lives, like the earth, are round. Christ hates the lukewarm. I'd rather be where you are then content and self-satisfied. You may be Augustine about to leave Carthage. Peace, Mark	2004-06-25 13:09:57
Dragging Time	sheryl ann minter	Sheryl, A truly wonderful title. I also liked "temptuos horns" - the devil's capital excrescence in the from of a saxophone, through my mind's reading of "tempestuous." And then the coinage, "temptuous." A portmanteau phrase. I don't think i spelled that right. You will notice that about me. Welcome, and brava. Mark	2004-06-19 01:58:43
Daybreak	Jana Buck Hanks	Jana, I could ignore this, since i never, ever wrote a simple nature poem, and don't have much feel for reading them. But i don't need to like nature poems to appreciate the step quality of the last stanza, in perfect correspondence with the meaning of the lines. What should you gather from this critique? I just told you. I liked the last stanza very much, and i don't like nature poems. You want more? We all do. Mark	2004-06-19 00:54:09
Tree	marilyn terwilleger	Marilyn, Very nice lyrical bounce to this. Great phrase at the end, "simple to see." We usually don't associate sight with ideas of simplicity and complexity, at least not natural sights. You pack a lot of power in that unique use of the phrase. It got me thinking about "simple" sights. Mark	2004-06-18 16:45:39
Cartoons	Karen Ann Jacobs	Karen, Some nice moments of lyrical movement. But the end just didn't close it right for me. I'm not strictly talking sound and rhythm. You have the rhyme there, but somehow i felt it was a bit of a let down. The prior stanza was very solid, and maybe i sensed a falling off from that height. mark	2004-06-18 16:42:31
To the Man Reading Melville on the Beach	Thomas Edward Wright	Ho, Hmmmmm. The sparks are flying. There is a barnfire on the beach. The man is still reading his Melville, in the light of a fire, the way it was written. Apparently he didn't hear you, or he understood that the threat was but elaborate poetry. I've heard of being desperate for a smoke, or a drink, or . . . I shall cut short the debauched declension. But being desperate for a Melville? There should be another copy in your neighborhood somewhere. Prithee, put up the gun forever. Had you been listening to Finnegan's Wake, half of Minnesota would be gone by now. I haven't read literature in weeks. What i've been reading would be on the modernist counterpart to the Index librorum prohibitorum. I both envy your passion, and lament for your soul. You are either deranged, or a fallen angel. For a moment, I almost thought i was witnessing literary history, and not playing in a sandbox with other other toddlers. I don't think i ever made it past "bald he was, and a millionaire." Or the "ineluctable modality of the visible. " Or, "Jesus wept." If only one had time, and didn't need to feed one's own, and one's beloveds, mouth(s). But it's a mild, mild sky, Starbuck. Gimpy	2004-06-17 15:22:58
Old Age	Edwin John Krizek	Ed, I don't really know what to make of this. It doesn't have much metaphor (as to the meat of a poem), or much rhythm (as to the bones or form). Sorry. Maybe next time. Mark	2004-06-17 14:36:43
Spiritoso	Jana Buck Hanks	Jana, Welcome back. I remember thee - sort of. I really liked the "drenched wicked." Sounds like many a storm i've been in. Mark	2004-06-17 00:07:18
Poem Title	Poet Name	Critique Given by Mark Steven Scheffer	Critique Date

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