Tony P Spicuglia's E-Mail Address: poetbard@poetbard.com

By adding a Personal Profile, the information you add will be displayed whenever someone clicks on your name from any number of different screens. You can also add your very own Picture, Favorite URL & Favorite Song to your Personal Profile!

So far 709 People have Entered a Personal Profile on The Poetic Link! Click Here to see the rest of them or to Add your Own Personal Profile Now!

Below you will see ALL of the Critiques that Tony P Spicuglia has given on The Poetic Link.
By Clicking a Poem Title, you can view the poem that is associated with each Critique.

If you would like to view all of Tony P Spicuglia's Poetry just Click Here.

Click HERE to return to ThePoeticLink.com Database Page!

Poem Title	Poet Name	Critique Given by Tony P Spicuglia	Critique Date
Electrifying Remembrance of "Don't do that!"	Paul R Lindenmeyer	Paul, this is a deligtful look back at a moment held only by you. I have, I believe, several similar moments that remain crystal clear with not only the lesson, but the results of a certain "impropriety". Being four is full of fits, finding outs, fun and thankfully, a future. - i have often looked back on my life, and my childrens life and wondered how we ever made it to adulthood. You grabbed that thought and produces a delightful "a future", and since you wrote this, I see you made it like the rest of us. of no consequence to four years of wisdom - I can recall dramatically the first time "no" or "don't do that" was transmitted to one of my children. Thier reaction to the tone, to the passion of the words, was incredible. It is true that only with consequence they understood, but prior to that, there was the suborning knowledge presiding. "Don't" now understood, painfully and permanently personified - So Here we are, and we are, now Knowledgeable. How I wish all my lessons came so clearly, and I could pinpoint the moment of wisdom gained. A great verse, an endearing read.	2004-11-27 21:30:16
verse 64 (Doubts)	Erzahl Leo M. Espino	Erzahl, I found this particular piece to stand out in several areas. The meter is correct and the format fits well your message. “on my mind” – I will get to the spiders later. I believe “on my mind” is the suffice to a thousand exclamations/explanations/passions/ect, and so immediately presides over the entire verse. “on my mind” there is always something, but then, now there are “spiders”. That is taking a euphemism and making it a malapropism, if you will. This is an endearing, albeit, foreboding, beginning. “Quietly stitch their web nets” – we know the webs will catch something, and that the spiders are “quietly” meaning “surreptitiously”, and those webs contain no good for the harborer of the nests. An interesting twist is your use of the term “stitch” which connotes a “knowledgeably” made web. That is the maker “knows” the web is being made and may, or may not, understand the connotations of that web. Finally we have “trapping my chances”. This is a broad enough statement to apply to many applications, of remembrance, of finding a way out, of ever hoping again, ect, many applications. What remains with me is that as the web is allowed to be constructed, and the harborer doesn’t occasionally sweep out the “cob webs” the damage is far more severe, than with one who actively wages war against the spiders. That also, by the way, is a truism dealing with Alzheimer’s Disease. A very wonderful verse. Thank you for sharing.	2004-11-24 09:55:44
November Elegy (connected haiku)	Joanne M Uppendahl	Joanne, I guess I should be glad to critique this new version of your verse, but since you seem to have “spirited” the other version away, I must tell you, this “style” adds some and takes away from the previous version. As an Haiku, it is required that the “universal symbolism” and specific “nudis verbis” be evaluated separately. Blackish-brown debris covers the earth with remains spit back by the wind – Your first stanza stands much speaks to the dying of the spring/summer evolution. “blackish-brown” is moribund, simply in description and when you compound this word with “debris” it resonates dying, replaceable, of no further use. You continue on , “covers the earth with remains”, remains, unwanted, defecation, no longer containing life, once again reinforces your idea that life comes to a definite transition point. Finally, in an odd switch of tone, you speak of the wind “spitting” those remains back. Here we have the active breath, if you will, of nature, choosing to discard. One can assume that the remains are unwanted, or there is a “greater plan” that the reader is yet unaware of. Of course, you and I know that answer, but let’s pretend. What we are left with is the allusion to life, by the death which now defines all life. Lingering frogs--gone! Birds sing faint farewell to dropped yellow leaves – Frogs GONE – proclamation to all around that it is time for all who remain to leave or prepare for winters worst!! In this evolution your birds “sing a faint farewell”, and I wonder what birds remain. It is November, and I think I need their encouragement…. to “dropped yellow leaves”, soon to be blackish-brown debris, the birds sing, a eulogy?… and the leaves, to far gone to respond. Calm in downward flight, leaves crave more than burial-- glorious descent. – The leaves, who are the only real sentient persona throughout this poem, calm in downward flight, calm because?… one can surmise they know the cycle to be, and after the “glorious descent” they will combine with the nature of life, and be reborn to life again, or maybe they just like the ride. Brassy calls of geese sound surprisingly thankful, leaving me behind – Once again the geese, they always sound hopeful as they travel on the next great adventure, in their patterns which mimic the patterns of nature herself. Now here, other than the entirety of the tone of the verse, you interject yourself. “Leaving me behind”. I think the cycle of life has us all, and although the hopeful sounds of those to follow is desirable, there is enough of the “blackish-brown” throughout life that one must forgive the cycle that decries such, and look to the cycle that suits all of nature, that cycle of life. Joanne, I think this has such a different “feel” than the other format, I do wish you had kept the first version, and let us glory in two perspectives awash with each other. Great piece!!	2004-11-23 15:44:44
The Things I Leave Undone	marilyn terwilleger	Marilyn, a very insightful piece. It certainly had me checking my scorecard. I read this several times and decided after the third reading to not only view this as if life was winding down which seems the obvious interpretation, but also to compare this with each “era” of my life, and make the mention to my heart for each revelation. I have frolicked in blades of emerald lawn Known breathless passion till crimson dawn – one of my favorite thoughts, scent and sight always return me time and again, is the lawn. Not so much a suburban thing, because I have lived all over the world, but the lawn represents to me the consummate health of my innocence. I frolicked, breathless, and reading your verse I more miss the innocence than desire the fun. The fun was a product of the other. Beautiful opening lines. Strolled across austere plains Climbed stubborn rocky terrains – I think we have shared our commonality here, the plains of SO Cal for me, and No Cal, and Spain, and it is a wondrous adventure in waiting. How effortless it was being young, how effortless just being!! I have felt flaming darts of sin With but a shield of faith therein Worn a breastplate of righteousness Known absurd folly of eagerness – You seem to be writing to the hearth of all of us. Not so much the darts of sin, maybe not even the shield of faith, but there is the breastplate of righteousness once worn, probably worn more now than then, but with little effect. This is a powerful verse taking me to times I have to recall whether I wish to remember them. I find it difficult at times to label the “absurd folly of eagerness”, for after the fall, there always seemed to be something beyond, but how true it all is. Borne burdens of anxious toil Defied the madness of turmoil – you spoke of fear, and almost all for me in life has been lost love, so your last two lines, “anxious toil” and the “madness of turmoil”, have I lived my life and the highs are defined by the lows, the trepidation referred by the serenity. This is an excellent stanza. Now the sharp edge of midnight creeps And my doleful heart quietly weeps For the many things I ruefully leave undone As I wend my way beyond the wizard sun – You know, I have found it difficult to step into the poets shoes, and not have my shoes overwhelm me. “Ruefully left undone” how, of all fears and trepidation, is this not the greatest of fears, of lost hope, and I dare not think of it. To this day I awake early and stay up late in hope that I might not miss something. A wonderful verse, a poignant, wonderful verse.	2004-11-18 19:50:56
The Texture of Blue	Mell W. Morris	Mell, you have caught me on several level in this extremely, to me, personal piece. Vincent Van Gogh, and the reasons one may/may not like his painting is a very personal trait. Starry Nights, although the most beloved/hated painting of his, is not my favorite except when I want to sit back and dream. It is stark in its simplicity, but boundless in its enthusiasm. For your verse, what immediatly jumped out at me was "religion still grapples with sin after all these centuries" - there is a certainty about your verse that makes inconsequenctial the trappings of religion, while at the same time comes to judge your personal struggle against that exacting standard, "which we all know is, relative to the religion and sect anointed". I'd rather repair than prayer, is an extremely powerful line that is not matched till the last stanza. The scent of laburnum and lilac on the breeze brings me repentance - I find in this piece the contradictions of redemption and sin, lilac sweet subtle scent that resonates, unlike jasmine which dominates, and "laburnum" another subtle scent that holds the secrets of poisen and death, and was, in fact used for that very purpose as an "acceptable" resource. And from the sweetness to the poisen, the scents bring you to repentance, an apt particular if blended. The blue-eyed sea seems to be a reference to the swirling nights of "starry nights", I feel though that the sky is more a metaphor for the passage of mankind throughout time, and your reference to learning from mediocrity, reiforces the evaluation of the moment, by comparison to that past. Your relationship to blue within the context of sin and redemption appears to challenge the notion that what appears within the "hue" is in reality the "nature" of the hue. Whether birds, minerals or precious stones, looking within the hall of Van Goghs dream land reveals more than the total of its parts. Most like Beethoven, what was created never redeemed what was inside, that was the nature of the search. Mell, this piece leaves me with your last, most powerful line, "truth from empyrean view" which at first seems to reflect his present status, as one who has passed beyond to the "paradise" always sought, but moreso for me is the reflection of everything I do in creation, that drives me, the veiw is from that point, and like Dante, somehow the result never seems to approach the charector of the attempt. A wonderfully personal, and philosophical piece.	2004-11-18 11:35:05
Last Milk	Kenneth R. Patton	Kenneth, this is a scene seen so many times on the "information" channels, and each time I feel a twinge of guilt for the mother. The awaiting life of the child will soon turn from fear to excitement and discovery, but for the mother, the burden goes on. Unlike the wild kingdom, for humans this transfers over to the fathers as well. Charging the adolescent - I like your choice of "charging", it indicates not only the "false" anger that the mother must show towards the adolescent to "make her point", the child not really understanding that the mother wouldn't really hurt him/her. But also, the charge, in a sense "charges" the adolescent with making his/her own life. Go and make something of yourself, it is your time now. Great choice of words. Then sat bawling for his milk - Although this is the sad part of your verse, I think it is also the moment that will decide whether the young bear makes it or doesn't. There is strenth in truthfullness, and that truthfullness will be more than obvious soon. He cried alone for awhile then turned away distracted by some tasty berries - here is the discovery beginning that the cub could never have imagined. He/she'll try to return a few more times, but eventually, the end and beginning make coalesce. I like your choice of distracted, for really it is usually the excitement of discovery which makes one leave home, no matter the unknowns. preparing for the new life stirring - for the bear we understand what this means, I think for us as humans there are two meanings, that of raising the remaining brood, but also the "newly found" excitement that life is, subsequent to the children leaving. All of these feelings have invested themselves in me, and I seem to escape few. Thank you for sharing, and I wonder if you feel you're being pushed away, or if you are the pusher with new life.	2004-11-17 12:35:13
The Clock	Patricia Gibson-Williams	Patricia, I thought long about whether to critique this verse, or let it go. It was heartwrenching to me. Being a man I feel quite, "cheated" that I cannot know the wonder of raising a child within me. So in a sense I identify with this verse, however, I do not know what it is like when raising a child is considered an integral part of my sexuality, my gender, my heritage, and this piece brings me to know, that need. It is obvious the "tick tock" is the biological time left for which a child can be born. However I also feel throughout, it is a running indictment against the woman who cannot. It is true we are each, who we are and maintain value in that guise, but it is also true, there are somethings which draw at us moment to moment and point a finger stating "your value is less" when things are not as they should be. Your reptitive clock, brings that home with a punch to the solar plexis. You have so many great lines in this verse, but what speaks them all is "filling a pelvic paradise with promise" it speaks not only of the conception of new life, but that the "paradise", that is the consumation of person and woman depends greatly on this conception. It is a fallacy of course, but feelings remain that hope may permit, this conception. Therein lies the redemption. Another crushing negative (as if she didn’t know) Soundless screams resonate as she curls closed Seeking to protect fantasies nurturing un-conceived need I have nothing left to say after these lines. I have loved a woman who did concieve and a doctors mistake cost us a five month old in gestation, I know the heartache a woman has. This is such a powerful verse that I cannot speak beyond your final words. I am not a praying man, but I will pray for this conception. tick tocks	2004-11-15 20:04:31
Great Blue Heron Sighting	Joanne M Uppendahl	Oh Joane, "but me, but me",.. everyone but me, how heartrending, heartcatching,... the total embrace of the moment, this is about herons, but this is about us all. So short and yet so exhilerating. First of all, I have a tremendous love of trains, not necessarily the trains in America, we are just too in love with the auto to know trains, but I have traveled in "real" trains all over, watching the world both in and out, from my seat of honor. I look out that window with you. You said in you critique to me you are in the North west, so I assume the pilings are from logging, at any rate, I can see these herons, and they hold a special place in my heart, because once, unthinking, I was heartless to one. I was fishing in Cuba, Guantanamo Bay Naval Base, and a heron landed not far from where I was fishing. I don't know why, but I picked up a big rock to scare it away, and broke it's leg. I felt more helpless than the heron, and oddly, since that time, I don't even step on ants. Your description "brushstroke heads" is brilliant, a wonderful moment in the verse. A painting to be had in the movement of the head, or just because, excellent. How much of humanity is in the extension of those wings, watching and saying, "here am I?" Joanne this is a good a piece as I have ever read from you. Such a pleasure to read. I think this must be bird week, because I can't get over the mockingbird either. Thanks for sharing.	2004-11-15 19:52:42
When Birdsong Colors The Air	Mell W. Morris	Mell, you begin, and capture any of us who know the Mockingbird chatter. Then you give insufficient information as to the type of japonica bush that graces your window. I prefer to see it as sort of wild looking with bright yellow flowers, it is, of course, of no consequence. Now, hearing you whistling would be great fun in itself, but hearing the mockingbirds duplicating it would be worth a cup of green tea or black coffee. To hear them attempt to mimic Toscanini would be an absolute delight, but once again, you leave me with too little information, what was Toscanini conducting that brought you to whistling? I guess it doesn't really matter, 'cept to me. An Ash Tree is one of the most neglected in poetic circles. I always envision the white ash when people speak of it, and I can see the sunlight hitting the dark green leaves (unless of course this piece was written during the fall), and you, egging on the Mockingbirds. It also brings to light the magical aspects of the ash tree and it's historical significance to the gods. A wonderful sight. Although the mockingbird does bob at times, the "hip-hop" symbolism takes a little getting used to. I do not believe I have ever seen anyone us "mimetic" before, so kudos to making my education complete. Finally you leave me with wonder “And to flavor the air with arrays of melody” Ah, a fine piece Mell, a worthwhile time for many a reread and good feelings. Thanks so much for sharing it.	2004-11-13 13:49:33
Solitude	Thomas H. Smihula	Thomas, I assume that the fog is a metaphor to entering solitude, after all the distractions of the world. That is slowly embraced as the outside is slowly walled behind. My reason is that I meditate and the “distraction” of entering the solitude of my mind is often the greater of all distractions. My mind desires other. “thoughts are only on the moment” - this is a very intuitive line. No matter the type of meditation, unless you wish your mind to race, it is important that you concentrate on only this moment. You speak of “cold” shocking the system, then “the mind drifts”, which for one seeking the quite and serenity of solitude would be as if cold water was splashed on the face. Rain soaks the body it adjusts to the cleansing renewed by its effects upon the flesh At first I though this is a curious choice of words, particularly since you speak of the flesh and not the mind. Flesh, however, has a dualistic meaning, and although there is physical reaction to a renewed soul, there is also a rejuvenation to the “flesh” that is, this existence here. “The voices speak within, without sound, comforting the person within” I find great value in this piece, in this Solitude. There is metaphors within each stanza, and a larger metaphor for life and death itself, but the value of this in interpreting “inner needs”, and meditation is remarkable. This is a well written piece whose form matches its message. Thank you for sharing.	2004-11-13 13:24:05
Winter Waltz	Patricia Gibson-Williams	Patricia, From the first words, to the format of your verse, and your choice of vernacular, I found this piece appealing. I felt as if I was looking out my window to my favorite time of the year, and that I was not disappointed. caressing whispers sooth and waft. I like this pairing, sooth, that of the calming of the soul and waft, that tells the particulars of "coldness" which can intrude on that serenity. The physical meets the metaphysical. Well Said. Then with a silent sigh we fall to answer nature’s needful call Once again you end a stanza with duality, “silent sigh” and fall (itself a dual meaning word in this context), to answer “nature’s needful” call. I shared in that moment, where fall and winter gently, silently “sigh” in unnoticed, but even in the most stark face of each, it is nature’s need for spring that the fall “clean up” from the past years extravagance. gently lightly downward ferried – (this form, though I am not a form type of guy, fits so well I could feel the wafting of breeze and leaves to their layered bed on the ground. Excellent!!) Finally you end as the snowflake itself, an embodiment of winter. Your dualism of “humans huddling” together is almost a parody in your lines “nestled together , flake to flake”. I smiled to hear the flakes, “winter” bemoaning the “cards they are dealt”, and knowing spring will once again end their reign. Excellent piece, I thoroughly enjoyed it. Voting list piece.	2004-11-13 11:36:32
This Guy Walked into the Dover Beach Starbuck's	Thomas Edward Wright	Thomas, first and foremost this is a brilliant satirical piece. I believe Mr. Hecht would have read it, and subsequently wrote a satirical piece in response. As with Anthony Hecht, and it has long been my personal feelings on the matter, his satire of Matthew Arnold revealed not so much an understanding of the formality and allusions that Matthew Arnold wrote with, but more his personal inability to understand the foundations within that Mr. Arnold wrote from, which in years to come became the absolute foundation for many poets that Anthony Hecht would have believed cutting edge. That said, this is a brilliant piece. From the moment of your title, to the postulate of Matthew Arnold and the response of Anthony Hecht, you caught me in a web of seriousness and frivolity all at once. I wish I could write satire as you, and also Mark Steven Scheffer are able to write. It is a form I have little expertise with. This piece, as does each of Marks, inspires me to attempt the craft again. “I had seen the obituary, And knew for fact that he was gone.” – I believe as much as anything else in this verse, this line caused me to think, and smile. The dryness of British humor would not have been lost on the poets of the past. Possibly you did not mean such dry humor, but Anthony Hecht, I believe, would have smiled. Your personal contributions to the inane motif of society were brilliant: blocks of latte religion- Nanny-talk, lovers (of late) titillating The Suit WiFi’s the web. His cell 'Ode to Joy’s' us I believe each of the poets of the day, and those with the subtle distrust for the foundations of an amoral society today would relish those allusions. You have a relative antithesis, of Anthony Hecht crucified and then the unmitigated gall of those who have questioned his vision to actually eulogize him with the palm fronds where his feet have walked. I am not sure that is “fair”, but then again, each of us who write of today, particularly those who are critical of modern heroes, never do know what our final legacy will be. It is the matter of the craft. Ask Matthew Arnold, ask Lenny Bruce, ask Walt Whitman, ect. you have well characterized this duality attached to those who speak. What remains with me, beyond the duality of the “slinking away”, the trivializing of Sophocles’s reality concerning the ocean, the satire of Mathew Arnold (and subsequently each great poet who found a foundation in Mr. Arnolds poetry), is that this is one magnificent satire, one cutting edge thesis on Mr. Hecht himself, and a piece of poetry that, I believe, Anthony Hecht would have relished reading, just before his next satire. Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful, and I am glad to have read it. It will take a very good piece to make me “reorder my list” and drop this out of #1. Thank you for making me think, and when I attempt the “form” again, I will let you know so you can judge my “success”	2004-11-13 11:20:52
The Cabin	marilyn terwilleger	Will this phantom abide when time is dead and I am gone? Or will it vanish in mystic mountain vapors with but a whimper...that no one hears? Marilyn, here you have posed for those watching the beauty around, a question that will remain till the mystery is resolved. Am I skipping to the ending? Shame on me, but since i thrice walked the trail of the cabin before arriving here, I am , entitled, to linger on the memory you have left us. I could not decide whether you wrote from waking, and imagining the wonder of this cabin, or if it is often visited by you, either way, i chose to separate myself from you and visit this marvelous place myself. I could smell the pine needles and the fulfilling, earthy scent of the forest. "I whirled about to face a startled deer with antlers of grandeur that crowned his head. " what struck me were two fold, the wonder of the sight of nature and a deer, but also the "crowning" amazement that one attune would see. Also, you "I spied a narrow esplanade that split timber grasses ", and it was as if the buck himself, in a royal sort of manner, showed you a direction yet unseen, where the esplanade was like a green carpet laid out specifically for you. It is sort of the way I feel when the sunlight breaks through the clouds and calls me to awe. Then you find the old, broken down cabin that magically comes to life with ghosts of the past "I stepped across the threshold and inhaled the scent of baking bread in a coal stove that stood against the wall, coffee perking in a blackened urn, and a whimsical butter churn I have often yearned for a simpler life, a less amoral world of goodness measured in churned butter, baking bread, and hot coffee on a cool day. This imagery is magnificent, and as i watch her, I wonder at the metaphor of heaven itself, awaiting as hope provides, those properties seen only in dreams and hope. "Momentary images of old began to fade and perish and the chimney stones turned cold but for a tick of time I visited dulcet days of yore" - Here, how many times have I returned, sometimes even with disdain, wishing to remain. Those worlds have a magnetic hold on life itself, and then we come to the end. Will this phantom abide when time is dead and I am gone? Or will it vanish in mystic mountain vapors with but a whimper...that no one hears? To answer this is that some attuned will respond to the beauty carried by the cabin, but most will only see an old cabin that might hold something that they can take home when they leave the woods. Most will never find see the buck who leads us to the esplanade. A wonderful piece, voting list, stark and beautiful.	2004-11-12 16:24:39
Sail	Regis L Chapman	A salty piece that pleases me, blowing ever on it blows, it flows - from the aft quarter I have often mused on this thought, where has it come from and what does it carry with it, the wind, my "kin", well said. In stanza 2 I smiled and felt the sailor, who has chosen to be there, who knows the ocean, for good and for bad, a sailor, keel proud can see in his vision the wind's caprice shroud - whose has vision for only the sea. This is a vision, which you have, without saying directly, often is a mystery to those who have not captured it. Well said, a truly nautical insight. stern as his fleet steady on ready on the rudder into morning's Avalon - Here again, ready on the rudder, and I got the feeling that you almost personified the rudder as the sailor, who directs his will with the waves. Finally, yielding to the the magic of the "mother", that ocean alive in his soul. As a sailor you ended it well as you began - blowing ever on it blows and the sailor sails on. A splendid piece!!	2004-11-11 20:41:44
Arioso	Rick Barnes	I could hear Francis Thompson's Hound of Heaven throughout this piece. I fled Him, down the nights and down the days; I fled Him, down the arches of the years; I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways Of my own mind; and in the mist of tears I hid from Him, and under running laughter. At first I believed this was a forlorn, forgotten lover seeking, but as Basilia Schlink taught, loving the almighty is a personal, love affair that is beyond earthly romance. I have whispered - whispered is a very sensuous word the sound of you - you know, or think you know the voice of whom you seek. that can not, and now I know must not , be answered - This is a fascinating look at the seeker, who still seeks and knows the answers once considered appropriate were exactly the opposite, and possibly the voice sought had a timbre much different than he considered. This reflects back on Arioso, which hails a melodic calling, but not the structure of an aria, which I have often written about. It is a wonderful tribute to the "sought". and rummaged through - rummaged is indicative of searching through less than valuable items to the seeker the ruined lives - ruined lives, searching where the seeking obviously misled you. of sounds I mistook as yours - Here is the foundation of wisdom, that finally the seeker realizes that the voice sought is not being heard correctly. There is another voice that remains, unhearable to the soul searching elsewhere. I have howled, heavenward, graceless vowels of a soul without words when I could no longer hold this plea, held lifelong, inside of me, “Find Me”. - finally the howling, heavenword, as if the hound within echoes in lonliness for the hound of heaven. Wisdom finally overcomes and the seeker speaks, "here am I, take me", the plea of "find me" recognizes that for the seeker, seeking is a desired attribute of a worthy soul, and without it the words "find me" would be meaningless, a surrender to the wisdom gained. "he was here all along". This is a powerful piece, as full of passion as I have ever read. The full impact is worth many a reread, and I did.	2004-11-11 11:41:05
Calluses	Laura Jeanne Dean	Laura, well, here goes, I have read this, and gone away, and read this, and left with only notions that tug at my soul. Read this and gone away, but this has got to be done, and i will try and do this piece justice. Beginning, "darkness does not lasso serenity", there is a poetic line that, had you left your verse alone, and said here it is, I would have said "wow". Your meaning that there is something innately unsettling about the darkness that leads to sleep, and being 50, I often know that feeling, then you speak almost a soliloquy about the hope of dreams, which will bring you "vividness". A beautiful first stanza, very much home to me. I, of course, do not know you well, but I feel that the rest of the poem is your dream, or at least a metaphor to your desires left alone. Dreams of the man no longer there, the man of your dreams, the man who is an isotope to the radiating of your soul and love. This man knows you well, and you know him well, and it is in that guise that the medication is a salve to the soul, to the longing heart. "the magic" it remains, whether metaphor or not. If he still lays with you, you still have the metaphor of living the magic. Finally, in response, it remains that "vivid" moment of colors, and you sleep in piece, he in your dreams, maybe in reality, but nevertheless, the moment far exceeded the need for "darkness to lasso serenity". A beautiful piece. I hope I did not butcher your meaning. A voting list piece.	2004-11-09 09:13:07
Blood and roses.	Keith Robson	Red is the unconquered rose on the battlefield of man's destruction, to raise it's crimson head (My suggestion is change "to raise" to "raising" to keep the verb tense correct). bringing beauty where none was before. I like the position you put "the rose", as unconquered, and surely it's reputation throughout broken hearts, the mender of ills and the transmitter of passion, recognizes that fact. I wished to make the connection to the “battlefield of man’s destruction”. A metaphor of the battles of love, to the battles of warfare? That was the connection I embraced. Cloaked and unbowed, is a great image for those who wish to look that deep. Cloaked is the “rose” the “equalizer or conqueror” if you will, influencing the outcome clandestinely, probably knowing that should she be discovered the backlash would eliminate the possibility of victory, yet unbowed, as if there is a knowledge among those affected, that the rose is there, but they are unable to stop the influence. “for this rose of true compassion will live for evermore” Such an altruistic statement, and I wonder at the validity, but, I too have felt the thorns and realize that whether the rose scores the back of the hand, there remains the rose, who is worth the venture. An excellent piece. thank you for sharing!!	2004-11-09 07:33:36
Lunar Longing	Joanne M Uppendahl	Joanne, what a delightful piece. Before directing my view to the verse, let me say you granted the "anthropomorphic" realism to both moons to the point that I feel I know them personally. Well Done!! Your theme, Lunar Longing, is felt throughout the piece, the beginning and title, to the very last line. You transpose our moons “distress” to objectivity by having her “actively” involved in influencing “star crossed lovers” in the same manner as she now feels. Delicious. Cassinni clicking Titan’s photos as if Titan himself were walking as a model at a fashion show, (myself I read into this line that once the “nerdish” boy, now the object of fame), and Luna looks on with a bit of disdain, larger, prettier, the next door neighbor girl, kind of peeved knowing her “round cupped basins”, are far more worth the “attention”. Excellent. “Yet Luna’s never second-best; she’s undaunted for astronauts will soon return to use her as a launching place to send off man to outer space” The there is the “undaunted”, my day will come and I’ll show the world what I can do, line. I can see her flicking her head back with a bit of peevishness, yet confidence. Finally we are back to whom the moon really cares about, and in the end, that is the issue anyways. A great piece Joanne, Superb!!	2004-11-09 07:24:18
Night Song	Mark D. Kilburn	Mark, I was transfixed on this verse. I first, (to be candid), had to get by the cliche' "mighty" before Mississippi, I think you could do better, but anyways, then I listened. I liked your "broken heart" for surely the whipporwill calls for a mate, and surely the calling ends when love is found. It was a wonderfully colorful comparison. Oddly, I went to the sound of the whipporwill and listened to it time and again, and by the time I finished, I could hear whip-o will... and it stayed with me throughout your verse. His melancholy song resounds through wooded bluff and forest, a perfect lullaby for all who hear You have captured perfectly, the melancholy, the wooded bluff and forest, and the lullaby... of ears peaked to hear the the song. In always shadowed ravine on moss covered stones of envious green, an eternal song of clarity. Hush and hear Here I had to stop and read, and read, and reread... "eternal song of clarity", was that true, ah, yes, there is truth in those words, and I hushed to hear. A wonderful piece Mark, one i had great pleasure in reading time and again. I think, lose mighty, and it is perfect, but that is just me. Thanks for a bit of joy tonight.	2004-11-08 19:57:55
Senior Moments	DeniMari Z.	I am unsure what to say to this piece. There is a tranquility that resounds, but an underlying sadness throughout. I do not know if I want to be that person, if I have the strength, or if I hope that it isn't me, for I don't have the strength to withstand the dissappointments. You end the first stanza with "It's cold in here". Although I can see the cold of age and of a "old folks home" trying to save money by improper heating, I feel this is more a metaphor to the whole poem. Here is the person, thanking the lord, but the "coldness" of lonliness and lack of respect, mirrors the cold in the hands and feet. "it’s been three weeks now since I’ve seen the sky", in this line I wonder at not seeing the sky and nature, but also it seems a memory walk of "llfe" daily reminding of what is gone and will not be recaptured. Lord, I’m tired and weak and I love you most of all. (Seems a longing to be loved, knowing it appears only he remains "actively" loving. I hope you are still watching over my children - as busy as they are They still find time to mail me things and stop by once a year. My roommate Margaret doesn’t remember her family, but I do. (I remember my family, such a searing of my soul listening to this verse. The grace, the grace, what to do without the grace). Thank you for my Wonderful life and leading me to such a wonderful place One wonders unless one sees the "seat of grace". Maybe angels have sung, and tomorrow grants a seat with the Lord, but also if tomorrow is another cold day, there is the "seat of grace" that honors the soul. This piece touched, reassured, and saddened me. A well written piece.	2004-11-07 14:03:41
verse 62 (Scarecrow)	Erzahl Leo M. Espino	Erzahl, wow!! I never considered writing a specific piece for halloween, maybe I should. I like the feeling of your first line, "lifeless sentinel", it zipped me as if looking through a retracting zoom lens from near the scarecrow to seeing the whole field with the scarecrow seated alone. The "keeper", the purveyor, the guardian, yet lifeless. Such a stark irony. I had to let go of "presumptions" before I could relate to your second line. crucifixion is a punishment and the scarecrow has done nothing wrong, yet is, in fact, a crucified entity. I decided that was the "Halloween" effect you were after, that of punishment by the "evil" if you will, even though he was an innocent, or.... at least we think he is!! Finally the "keeper of the field", how splendid to take the previous macabre description and then attribute nobility to his task. You didn't say overseer, or guard, you said keeper. in "keeper", we see the life and growth of the field dependent on the success of a "lifeless sentinel". A great turn in events, nobility, without a doubt. great verse!!	2004-10-29 09:39:00
Circumstand	Regis L Chapman	Regis, don't know anything about your living at a temple, but you created a fine, contrasting work in your visualization of that quest. I felt the early morn, and the time standing still to my purveyance. You use quiet as a parameter of adornment, "quiet creeps in the breeze", "quiet sleeps in the trees" and in so doing you set the moment for the rest of your verse. It already had me, thinking, "visualizing" if you will. Truly setting the moment. Walking a line in slyness during the summer, you speak as if the summer is clandestinely treasured. Once again the "quiet" "sneaks in". I was immediately jettisoned for a moment back to your first verse and envisioned a summers morning, maybe a little colder, reminiscing on the stark beauty of winter to come. quietly seats the banshee, I was brought to autumn, and the falling of life in preparation for winter. A sort of quiet "destruction" if you will, a moratorium on the rest of the year. "I walk in time", seemingly to take the hand of the creator, maybe to discuss the entirety of creation. At any rate, this was a thought provoking piece.	2004-10-29 09:31:58
Five loves	Mark Andrew Hislop	Mark, there is so much wealth in this verse that I could sit down and write a book and not cover the territory you have laid out in a short piece. I would smile and congratulate you for the wonderful ending to a difficult journey, or maybe chide you for making difficult what might have been a far easier journey, but mostly I bear with you by “proxy” that burden you know too well. I could not have spoken so well of the journey. On many accounts I have a differential feeling of that first love, mine did not grow to love women, however, many women who do have been my best friends and confidants, so I am tainted to respond, except of this, none that I have known returned to heterosexuality and were never happy till leaving it. That said, I believe that had my “first love” been the first “experience” with the “turning”, it would have crushed me, I might never have recovered. I understand once again the calling of the hedonist. I have seldom been “blessed” with a woman interested in such “diversity”, however the one I loved who shared that “taste” and here situations always ended in despair. It is not something that is redeeming. I can honestly say that the drawback of gained and lost love, no matter the reason, cannot have a reasonable affect. I have loved too many who were capricious, who demanded attention and respect, but desired the opposite. That you have come full circle, there is the template for success, not success in failure, but surviving whatever might transcribe into the biography, and still see the story unfold with excitement, whether with one eye open while you sleep, or not. Great verse, a mans verse, and all too familiar.	2004-10-27 16:37:55
Moon Haiku #3	Joanne M Uppendahl	I love the harvest moon, it sits on the horizon as if she it is the singular impetus of the harvest and life itself. That "halloween" and the autumn colors coincide with the final harvest, the grain harvests, and the preparation for winter, is less of providence and more of design. Harvest moon, full and engaging, jack o'lanterns-lighted personification of that without substance, and the evening that shares both. So also is the rectory erected to the moon, of substance in our souls, but in actuality simply a natural part of the universe. flirts with the high stars, the high stars, the "wanderers" those that cavort with the moon in all of it's phases, and the stars most apt to have commonality with the moon. A very picturesque piece Joanne.	2004-10-25 21:35:54
Tree haiku #1	Joanne M Uppendahl	Joanne, this is a very intuitive piece to me. And when I, or anybody reads such, it is always the design that is discoverd, and the reader who choses where that design fits into the scheme of things. I believe you have such an in depth understanding of Clotho, and and the fates of this life that you intuitively write beyond the norm. Leaves with brittle stems, a line that describes the coming of winter, or early winter, and the last few leaves remain, the season and winds notwithstanding. tethered to wind scented limbs, Here also I see us all, with bones more brittle, life more tenuous than when we were young, remaining to impart the news of an impending spring if only hope were embraced. I particularly appreciate the "wind-scented limbs", that have weathered again the season of bounty, and now the "scent" which remains is the wisdom and ability learned from many seasons, of how to survive and hold on to life. delicate your dance, is not that the dance of the last leaves before winter, that as leaves are raked, almost invisibly the dance in the wind is a tribute to the beauty that was, and a fortelling of the beauty that will be. I love the seasons, all of them, but winter is my favorite, it is beautiful, mysterious, tragic, stark, and mostly lays the table for the beauty of spring to overwhelm us. This dance, this dance remains the sole memory of what was, and the delicate balance of beauty. I really enjoyed this piece Joanne, even if I remain the most long winded of readers.	2004-10-24 12:31:42
Moon haiku #2	Joanne M Uppendahl	Joanne, Your series of haiku's seem to feed off of each other, or maybe that is what happens when nature and life coalesces symbiotically. I always have to be careful with your choice of opening lines and wording, miss them, and you miss the picture. “Fickle”, to do with the moon, is it a characterization of the smile or the moon? I decided, when rereading several times, the moons “half-smile” is fickle because it changes nightly, but also there is a character trait there, for the illumination is “stolen” from the sun, so we see a anecdotal smile that is out of it’s control, but also the mischievous Loki, nodding with clandestine knowledge, knowing that the sun has lost something and is unaware of the empowerment it is providing to the moon. The moon beaming with reflected light, stolen from the sun. There is an honorarium associated with this, that of worship to the “king” the solar provider, by passing on to the Earth the representation of the coming day. All the while, there is the moment when the Earth sees the face of “god” a face 4 ½ million years old, left there since it’s fiery birth, and ah, there it recalls in the suns glory, it’s own fiery birth. The feeling left with this verse is that of your word “beaming”, it is meant to ascribe an attribute not only to how light is transmitted, but also to the pride the moon has at showing her face. I wonder if she despairs that none may ever see the beauty of her dark side. Beautiful verse Joanne, and I do love the Haiku.	2004-10-23 14:00:52
Congress This Morning	Mell W. Morris	Mell, You captured me with your first lines, of course anyone who uses "coterie" has my attention, but also it was the manner of the meeting, that of "three" leaves which made me think of my days in Virginia, and the Sassafras tree that often produces leaves in three different shapes, (great in tea by the way), and also the "unceremonious" reputation that sassafras has among "stuffed shirts", ie; politicians and wannabe prelates. I know you were looking out your window, at the “mock” congress, but I chose each analogy, and impute each to the reality of the day. You continue on and with your opinion of the Mock congress, and if your “indifference” was of age or that the reading of “War and Peace” obviously a long, at times dry read, may have clouded the appeal of politicking in general. Maybe reciting medieval poetry would cause an injunction in the actual “compos mentis”, however, to be fare, it is probably more the age thing, and having heard and seen it all!!! In your last stanza, there is a bit of despair, that reflects a feeling that no matter how much contributions you have made, “we have made”, as Solomon has said, “there is nothing new under the sun”. The ending, though I know the feeling well, made me smile, I could hear Bill Cosby in his routine “Frankenstein” (on his second or third album, back when albums were vinyl, and records were played), saying “I’m not going to be the only one!!” as he tilted the monster. Of course those of us who know the ending of that piece, may reconsider, throwing the actions to our youth. They haven’t the wisdom to appreciate that there is “nothing new under the sun”. A really great piece Mell, thank you for sharing it. Voting piece. Also, you have absolute permission to email me anytime you wish. Joanne and I have often exchanged views that way.	2004-10-23 11:28:28
Flower haiku #1	Joanne M Uppendahl	Joanne, I reflected long on this piece, the term “rowdy” threw me. I chose to take a break, review all I knew of the Iris, and return to respond. It took my flower picture collection to “clue” me in. Rowdy, those leaves which begin in a vertical, scimitar, type growth, almost attacking the sky as they advance, leaves that leave no doubt that they are here to stay. Also, I happen to know, long after the blossoms are gone, those leaves hang on to their green and life, long after many other genus’s have capitulated, whether in wintering areas or the desert. From that moment, your second line became brilliant, “cutting” the skies to pieces. Suddenly this entire piece comes into focus, a focus that I did not have yesterday. Later, as the blossoms open, and it does not matter what color of Iris, they all have that, golden, interior band, that offers the vitality to the sun. Raising their standards to the sky in support of the rowdy leaves, and daring fall to challenge their falls. Sometimes I wonder if you simply write to the beauty of nature, and I just happen to see something beyond the initial beauty, and here it is in this verse, the metaphor it means to me. The struggles and travails may hinder the goals and hopes to be, but when fruition is meted, beyond those difficulties, the results will be more golden than if it has all been easy. Thanks Joanne, for the beauty of this verse, and forcing me out of my box, to find it.	2004-10-23 11:09:53
Shadow on the Wind	Jana Buck Hanks	A beautiful tribute to your brother. I see so much symbolism throughout this piece. I meet you there, and I meet him. Your ending "shadows on the wind of time" not only captures your thoughts on his impact on life, but also your hope for him throughout eternity. Jana, my thoughts on this verse is that you should edit it, making the tenses match throughout and send it back to us, revised, in the symbolism and insights of who you are now. I would never let this piece go as it is, but another look would surely reflect again on the magic that your words portray. There is particular magic in the "silver spun spider web" that of time of two intertwining. In the looking glass a fibrous mosaic of lives touching lives. You share the "Brother and Sister", therein is the "essence of unspoken love" yet in your verse, it is spoken to all, that shared 'tween the two of you "quietly integrated", but also, the love is subjected successfully to the rest of us, that we might enjoin, in like manner. your "shadow on the wind", there i think as much living as passed, is the truth of our passions, the moments that recall, when we speak to nobody, but know we do not speak in vain, "I love you", you have captured well that immediacy and need. This is very fine, very fine first poem, and I hope you will edit and revise it, sending it back to us, again, from whom you are now. A very touching dedication.	2004-10-23 10:38:56
Mantles	Andrea M. Taylor	Andrea, this is a fine Haiku. You grant a burden, a blanket, and change all in your first line. I leads one easily to the wind blowing as yesterdays leaves are displayed as precoursers to tomorrows "inclimate" times. your second line has one too many sylables, but speaks well of "summer", a personality that must be examined prior to interpreting this line, with forthought, "battening" down the hatches for what is to come later. A splendid analogy. lastly, "waiting winters quilt", there is the true paradox, of a quilt for warmth being formulated of the snow of the cold of winter. One must leap from the warmth of bed, a "tensile" thought if you will, to the visual of the fallen snow that "warms" the soul, no matter the cold. I also find in this (2) greater metaphors, one is to look beyond the distress and find the "silver lining", the other is that beyond the moment, tomorrow's sun will still rise. A very poignant haiku, thank you for sharing.	2004-10-23 09:19:06
Sighs of Autumn	marilyn terwilleger	This is such a magical piece i was dissappointed when it ended, from the susurrus sounds of autumn to the peerless pomp around you, a splendid piece. Your descriptives from the crackling of autumn leaves to the Chinook tangling boughs caught and held me. I was engrossed in every word of each line. "Rusty leaves rustled", "trees and grasses groaned", how I was spent and longed to look at the world with you in the moment you described. Your "arbor of splendor", leading to you "plunging" your spade into the "fertile marl", faboulous wording. In these words of death and life, there is the metaphor screaming of death and rebirth, of mystery and answers to be found. Your second to the last line "Even death of summer brings enchantment", not only bears the hope of a following spring, but also the hope of eternity beyond the grave. A truly splendid piece!!	2004-10-22 17:52:27
Moon haiku #1	Joanne M Uppendahl	Joanne, Am glad to see another haiku of yours. I read this many times to reach an accord with your passion and translation. This one did not come easy, but I felt it should. I wonder if you were reaching for something a little different than your normal predisposition would warrant, and therefore, this added a little mystery. Silver sickle moon, first off I noticed you chose "silver", since a moon is never "silver", you were obviously watching the moon from the reflection in a lake, which sits at the base of your mountain. That is important to the verse, because it shows a propensity for seeing beauty as a whole, and the crescent moon would be adding "character" to the entire beauty of the night/world. tinsels mountain peaks and trees, a referral back to the moon, and this verse has a hint of celebration, "tinsel" like christmas adornments, granted the peaks and trees, in the reflection of the entirety of the appeal. Tinsel also is "silver", silver being the "25th anniversary" representation also easily porports to those celebrations of the past, past cycles, that leave a beauty only reflected by the actual present visuals. tosses coins to the sea, As I have said, I read this many times to try and grasp metaphors you were referring to, but I also thought you were writing on less familiar grounds, so I looked for metaphors you may have written in, of you, in a quest for something less familiar to you. The first of course, with me, is the ripples that in the moonlight, look like little silver coins being tossed into the sea. It is mesmerizing in it's appeal, and I have often watched spellbound as if a compelling story was unfolding before me. In this case, of course, it is the sentinel story of mountain, life and the universe. Once again, the silver moon, which competes with the stars, is the source of the light granting this beautiful vision. But also, the silver responds with wisdom, as the silver hair of life, without temerity, colors the world in reflection, a reflection more true than those who have not the years to see such beauty. This is a marvelous piece, I have read time and again. Your story I think, and you are right to believe that those who look at the reflection are granted the benefit of the beauty gained in the passing. Thank you for sharing this piece Joanne, it is well said.	2004-10-22 13:23:29
Raw Remains	Nancy Ann Hemsworth	Being my age, this particular verse really rings home, and although I do recall my parent being "retrospective", I don't really think it brought me anything but curiosity to the time they lived. I like your line "odd, for me to be able to say that, spoken as a question, rhetorically. And it certainly is time travel of a sort, "backwards through time", from "lost youth to regret". I am glad that looking back for me there is more than "regret" from my lost youth. I certainly understand the sentiment, I do have my share. The "if onlys and what ifs" are more of a testament to my feelings, in fact, it is difficult to escape them somtimes. I wonder after your catagory of "incomplete", and if there could be any length of time that no "incompletes" would be issued. More a topic for philosphers I guess, and I don't have that hat on today. :) Your finality of all options "laid to rest, like she finally was", is as poignant a line as I have read. I am not big on structure, spelling and punctuation unless they detract from verse, but here are some ideas that I believe were not intentional by you. backwards through time, from lost youth to regreat (regret) She would spin tedious tales of "if onlyies" and "what if's (onlys and ifs) within that calagory, eternally labeled incomplete (category) A really great piece, made me "retrospective" for a bit myself. Thank you for sharing.	2004-10-20 14:56:51
If You Could Live Your Life Backward	Mell W. Morris	Mell, this is brilliant, I do wish I knew more about the object of the inquery. I feel this piece was written as a eulogy, and means precisely what it says, and says so poignantly, however I also made a decision for me, with this piece. After the third reading, each time touching me more deeply, I chose to absorb the piece as a collection of analogies, in a large metaphor for myself and others. It worked well, but I missed the woman, till I again revisited her. Of course there is the mourning, I assume it is pure, and not that of divorce, which has it's own, tainted sorrow. The mourning for that lost, as everything is destined to be lost, eventually, in living, and dying. I let "ask you to dance", take me to decisions, many small decisions that were predicated on simple choices. She had one, and we all have one, and eventually, there must be a reckoning of some sort, whether it is the quality of life, or a specific result. Stanza two and three were a difficult transition for me. The pledge of loyalty, honor, to those you agree with and those you don't, but to a higher power in thier stead, and a higher "nationalis" regardless. The second to last stanza, before the dissolution, is the quality of life segment, did living meet the quality as advertised. I spent, personally a long time on this stanza, those answers are mine I believe. You ended, and I had some answers, and some not, but the "lavender dress" brought me back to the woman and the man, and whatever thier answers were, I was glad to have spent this moment with them. Thank you Mell, thank you very much.	2004-10-17 18:36:13
Mainstreaming	Edwin John Krizek	Edwin, the first thing that catches me about your verse is the paradox between stanza 1 and stanza 2. Of course rivers and oceans are a collection point for waters flowing in, whereas the milkyway and all galaxies are "flowing" out, the inverse of a collection point. Yet within your metaphor the business end is actually accentuated by this paradox, that there is a whole, and everything is flowing into it, or creating it's parameters. Then you narrow the entire creation to "consciousness", the defining point of mankind, and maybe the universe. In recent searches far too little free oxygen and other "life-bearing" compounds has been found, and although "odds" are against us being the sole representative of life, it is yet a possiblity that that nobility remains with Earth, and with man. Your point is well made, that to be conscious of this beauty, and not respond appropriately in the flow of our lives is well put as "humdrumness". Your conclusion, in light of your thesis, is absolutely stunning and correct, "we cannot understand, the passion of our malaise." And excellent piece of writing. It is on my voting list. Thank YOu.	2004-10-17 18:20:27
Edge of a Ledge	Primrose Maclean	This is a fascinating piece. I can hear Collective Soul singing in the background, and each line, but the “I was the one who jumped”, echoes well their song. What strikes me is an agreement between the immediate, that is “an actual ledge” and the fulfilling prophecy, that is “day to day search for hope, and/or the untouched person within”. I believe the metaphor is well put in the context of living, and the context of hopeless goals. I know, in my experience, how close that ledge can get. Fortunately I have never been there, quite that long. Great Piece, on my voting list.	2004-10-17 11:45:21
Amethystine Mists	Jana Buck Hanks	Your first verse captures it all in the moment of daydreams in the beauty of winter where crystals match, snow or icicles or the frost covering everything, those warm thoughts more akin to spring and summer, a wonderful metaphor. In your second verse, there is the “mother nature” or “mother of all” feel. Not only of a natural creation, but also of thought in view of that creation. When reading the “pregnant sleep”, I felt that the birth would not only be the animated bear, but also the dreams finally coming to fruition. Your third verse goes from micro to macro, the view of all melding into the hopes and dreams, mimicking one another in an amalgamate state. Wonderful summation!! What fascinates me about your fourth verse, is you capture it all and reverse the anthropomorphism into man becoming the universal “timekeeper” if you will, and all the universe at his disposal. You end it all with you, with us, with the picture seen from a distance that pleases the palate. A truly living piece. I have no suggestions, the style fits the theme, and the theme embodies the style. (Second line, CHAINS?)	2004-10-16 13:56:03
Tree haiku #3	Joanne M Uppendahl	Joanne, I do love Haiku's and Ukiah's, and this one is filled with splendid imagery. On another not, I just last Friday used willows in a poem, soon to be published here, a pleasant type coincidence. I loved the first line, it is almost as if these English words were the Japenese equivalents, that is, each word of Japanese and Chinese were often formed from a greater story that single figures represent in the background, your first line is such, and here is what I read in it: There is the willows, often called "weeping willows", personally I prefer "introspective" willows, but that is another story. So we have willows, of obvious emotional states, whispering, as the breeze causes voice, some appearance of the willows condition may be discerned, but only to those ears willing to ingest and digest the story the willow speaks. The next line amplifies both the first and the last. There is a muteness in the first that somehow must be interpreted, but only by those willing to decipher other signs and substance, then there is the blossoming, (of course anyone who knows willows know it only begins in spring, but it is the heat of the summer that really brings to life the willow), and that blossoming amplifies the fact that there is a story to be told, but few are really listening, no matter the vibrancy/fertility of the teller. Lastly you bring out the only visuals of the poem, harkening back to the muteness that displays the soul of the tree, and the watercolors, (watercolors is an apt choice, water is a need for life of a tree, but also watercolors in a moment may be washed away by the very water that provides that life), and because of this, the last lines duality explains the beauty of mid-summer while prophesying the starkness of winters to come. One last item, the entire verse is easily set as the providence of humanity, who through stages both of “seasons” and of “lifespan” transmit a purpose or “theme” that few ever take the time to discover. Don’t know if all this was intended, but this is one of the most brilliant Haiku’s I have ever read. Wonderful Joanne. Wonderful!	2004-10-16 11:45:09
japanese verse 60 (Pillow)	Erzahl Leo M. Espino	One might take not understand the poetic liscence of adding anthropomorphic qualities to a pillow. Personally while rereading many times this verse, I was reminded the many times in my life that only my pillow new, only my pillow comforted, and only my pillow was there to hold. I particularly enjoyed "unsung lullabies" and with smile recalled the companionship of falling to sleep when sleep was so needed, and awaking with my head resting on my pillow, life a bit better. Your use of a "cradle" for thoughts, then taking that to the "dreams" being pampered, as an extension of the first line, reinforced the verse, and in a sense, brought the universal into a focused thought. Excellent Haiku. No structural or cosmetic suggestions.	2004-09-26 13:29:47
3 Late Summer	Jana Buck Hanks	Such a wonderful autumn poem. I am sure there is a term for this form, I always call it a Ukiah (Haiku reversed). Each word is measured and illicits it's expected response. The "butterflies lits" sets up the "Black-eyed Susans" nodding. When reading the obvious meaning of this, I read it again and again, and being fifty, I also read my life in the comfortable "autumness" of this piece. So much a pleasure. Thank you for sharing, it is on my voting list. One of the best short verse I have read of this type. Tony	2004-09-26 11:29:30
Canvas of Life	Jana Buck Hanks	Jana, THis is a delightful piece. Your use of assonance, and superb alliteration makes this a walk on a special day through beauty. I am not partial to formations in verse, but yours was like "dripping" into the childlike imagination of an adult seeing beauty, again and again. Each metaphor and analogy was well placed, I am still "gurgling sunshine" from my "cabin in the clouds". I would not presume to offer structural or "shame on me" should I touch your delicious choice of words. I will say this, if you can't find someone to paint the trees purple with, sounds like a lot of fun to me. EXCELLENT, voting list piece. (By the way, for me to put a non-standard spaced piece on my "list" means it really was a splendid, matched piece!!). This Lamia can counter the sweet with passion, and make it stick.	2004-09-25 13:33:51
She's...	Patricia Gibson-Williams	Prior to my critique, I will respond to your question, I like rapt over wrapped. Wrapped as a single meaning, in a sense, but rapt can mean the same as "wrapped" in the same, but also adds a conscious interest, a single mindedness, and an excitement... rapt is a well chosen word. Throughout your piece there is a sinew of sensuousness that drew me to read the next line. The innocense played with the man in me, peaking in, "rapt" if you will at the entirety of the woman. Throughout it seemed like a self portrait, but also there was so much curiosity as to the reason this was written that I felt throughout that I was probably being duped, but didn't care. The piece was like an invocation, and it had it's appointed effect, but your last lines were also an invitation that left the reader barren, knowing the "and more" was to remain unknown. Your style fit well your verse. As far as content, I have only two observations, on your line "Too heavy for a man", I believe you are saying there are burdens best carried by a woman, and rather than bring man into it, I think you should keep with your theme of speaking of her. Maybe, as above, "best carried by a woman" would work, or something along those lines. My other suggestion would be against using the word "sinuous". I believe this is a self portrait, but if you wish to continue to "include" women in general, many are not sinuous, and possibly another "physical" amplyfier would be more universal. This was a pleasure to read, thank you for the sharing!!	2004-09-24 15:00:29
Insight	Andrea M. Taylor	A great view from inside to out. Id's House is a brilliant metaphor, I wish I had written it. The view, whatever the beliefs, is well represented in your Haiku. Great Job.	2004-09-24 13:20:13
A Fragment	Sandra J Kelley	Sandra, What strikes me most of this verse, beyond the obvious meanings, is that the style is perfectly tailored to the message. I am not sure you choose a style and write to it, or write and then stand back and admire the style, but they is a good match in this verse. Each glimpse into a memory, to be deleted, was a snippet that drew us more into the mystery. You were able to capture a certain, wry humor while at the same time maintaining a background of frustration. The line that best defines your verse is "I wrestle with silence". I seldom deal with structure, am far more interested in capturing the beauty and passion, in that stead thought, unless Lawerence is an alternate spelling the actual should be "Lawrence". One other, I am assuming you left Watertown uncapitalized because it is not a formal name, or you wish to de-emphasize the town to appeal to a broader view of your audience. This was a very touching piece. Thank you for sharing.	2004-09-24 11:10:04
Moving On	Joanne M Uppendahl	Joanne, I will never see frogs quite as simply as ever before. How they interact with the metaphor of living and passing!! With the coming of autumn comes the resurgence and reappraisal of life, that good and that bad, and you have caught well the sudden daylight and musty lodgings of days past and maybe regret. The piling of dead vines, but searching for life, ah, how I know the feelings this evoke. And to end on ambivalence, lady, truly the "emotion" I consider my best friend. Love has brought me to pinnacles and sadness to the moment, but always there was the shadow presence of ambivalence that calls me to face one or turn away. Thank you lady, I will always look for the frogs from here on out. A truly beautiful piece. Tony	2004-09-23 15:03:16
An Unreal Day	Medard Louis Lefevre Jr.	Medard, I am going to tell you first what I like about this poem, where I think you excelled. The finality of the last lines in verse two and four link the reality and the madness. Well done. Stanza three, you bring to life Myrdyn, running naked in the forest, and it is quite stark compared to the rest of the verse. In the same vien the fourth verse lends truth and finality to the marriage of life, sanity, and insanity, and tempts a deeper view of the entire piece. That all said, I wish you would take it back to the editing table, and submit it again after reflection, these are the structural and theme deficiencies I see; In stanza 1, line one is unwieldly, out of rhythm with the rest of the verse, also you use "my" in line one and two, if written well, one line would make the other "my" as a given. In the last line, you have your feelings "pondering". I am sure you meant "no feelings left for me to ponder". Stanza two sets up your unreal day, and although I can "reach" into interpretation and presume the difference is that your dreams are real and desired, and that your "real" life is without reality or merit, you don't contrast that distinction very well. This could, with a little critical editing, be the most powerful verse in this piece. In stanza three there is no "definition" for sorry existance, the word "sorry" does not do justice to the passionate and poetic writing that follows. The final stanza is powerful, but using "not living a life", and "here I am noting" both detract from the power of this verse, may I suggest something along the lines of "In this life I have no soul", "a mindless actor living a role", by making each "action" direct and in play, the verse maintains it's power from beginnning to end. A very good piece, that inspired me, it may seem not, but if you read my critiques, I seldom address structure unless I see a masterpiece behind the madmans eyes. Thanks again.	2004-03-16 23:54:19
As to the Site of the Preservation of Memories	Thomas Edward Wright	Never a better piece of this theme written, essay, sans form, form self sustaining. Each line, I walked the distance, and each feeling too familiar to escape. Thomas, I am not sure what, when confronted by free verse, is considered a valid when analogy is the presence contained within, and metaphor is the memory that remains. I do know this, that I was glad to have shared the moment with you, and the moment was projected from the paper to my soul. The metaphor of platitudes which outlive the speaker, being as the children who keep alive the spirit of the deceased is mighty. Platitudes, like family, are almost genetic, an echo of what was, projected into what will be. wonderful piece, not strutural suggestions.	2003-12-24 12:11:35
Boxes - revisited	Michele Rae Mann	This metaphor set me on my way today. Looking for self, and sorting through boxes in an empty house. Both feed off of each other. We don't know if the house is box filled from moving, tragedy, or just by one self after a lifetime, but the "house" in the mind has the same questions. In a sense, like life itself, you leave the verdict out for each reader to answer. Well done. This piece is definetly on my voting list. I do have a question, why "rake". Did I miss some symbolism here? There are many more significant words I could have replaced "rake" with. Boxes are as leaves falling off the tree of life? If so let me know. THX Michele	2003-12-24 09:39:01
Tinkerbell was a Bitch	madge B zaiko	I would normally pass on this piece, if it wasn't quite the operetta!! I was quite spellbound from the first sentence through two more readings. I believe the irony and the satire, and "paradox", were well mixed with the "well used" harsher language. This is a good piece. My best evaluation, were it mine is, maybe two more edits, to hone the edge, and project the pronouns to the forfront. Thouroughly enjoyed this piece. Made my day.	2003-12-23 16:23:05
Bridge of Tears	Michael Bird	Hello Michael, You spend yourself mightily in this verse. I believe the style of prose and narrative suits well your message. I do not think many will read this and not return to thier own "figuratively speaking" Bridge of Tears. I did not notice a discernable pattern, that too suited your verse. What tragedy occurred certainly upset the patterns in your life. I found only one "typo/misspelling" in the final stanza, "I'ts" should be It's. Transferring the carlights to fireflies, and on to humanity was a very effective metaphor. It worked particularly well since you go on to speak of jumping to a semi, and joining the flow, the flying as a firefly could. When fireflies leave, as your subject leaves you, is a haunting moment in the poem. Your final stanza, holds us all, and once again you gather us in as participants, who all know, to some extent that path not taken, and the association once loved, now lost. A wonderful verse. On my voting list!	2003-08-26 16:56:25
Poem Title	Poet Name	Critique Given by Tony P Spicuglia	Critique Date

Displaying Critiques 786 to 835 out of 835 Total Critiques.
Click one of the following to display the: First 50 ... Previous 50 ... Critiques.

If you would like to view all of Tony P Spicuglia's Poetry just Click Here.

Click HERE to return to ThePoeticLink.com Database Page!