-
Popular Forums
All Activity
This stream auto-updates
- Yesterday
-
This is all perfectly clear, but somehow it feels more like prose than poetry to me. I'm not talking about rhyme, meter, or suchlike nearly so much as a certain something that moves a reader beyond their superficial perception of a subject into something new, greater, or deeper. I was wanting a comma after "nickname."
-
What good’s a house that scorns to catch the light? Can there be any clumsier design Than windows placed where sun demurs to shine, Turning the livelong day into near-night? What good’s a house that scorns to catch the light? In such a way true joy is kept from sight Or viewed but dimly, as through fine-meshed screen Or sheer imagination, where the scene Of nature’s glory blazes warm and bright! What good’s a house that scorns to catch the light? Our homes, as “castles,” ought to boast such gold As doused the planets on that day of old, That first day, when God’s word spread gilded white… What good’s a house that scorns to catch the light? We still have time, I think, to get it right: Slice holes in roofs for skylights, trim a bough That blocks our spirits’ sustenance—from now On, situate our homes at fitting height And setting, and with aspect that we might Catch all our outer, as our inner, light.
-
First of all, I'm a fan of your title pun "con/jur/d"! Next, hmm, what an interesting format of passing a word from the end of one line to the beginning of the next, conveying a sense of stuttering and hence of psychological uncertainty, of slight dislocation, and yet of things slowly building upon each other--which the theme only enhances. As usual, a few questions: Why the dash between "some" and "thing" in the second line? Why "wrote" instead of "written"? I'm also wondering who's doing the accepting of the poem? The poet? A publisher? Favorite lines: Now that feels downright Romantic! I also like the way the pattern breaks down at the end without dissolving completely. I get such a visceral sense of interpersonal confrontation; of realization, of incredulity. I love being made to feel as if at the center of your awakening awareness. Despite my few questions, I was quite gripped by your poem.
-
Wow, that's quite a name for a fish--I enjoyed learning about it! The Hawaiian language certainly has to be one of the most inherently lyrical languages in the world. Your askerisked explanation was very helpful without being intrusive, although I was wondering abut the quote in there--are those lyrics to a song? Anyway, I so love --such a worderful evocation of a dancer's hands "becoming" the fish they portray! delivers a similar sense of the intrinsicness of the tales to the dance. Your whole poem has a lyrical yet direct quality that seems so fitting to a Hawaiian native speaker. The concrete yet evocative power of these lines is gripping: Swiftly, they deliver the reader a sense of a multicapable, compassionate woman whose enterprises are all interconnected by a common thread: strength combined with sensitivity. I'd like to meet this woman! What an interesting drama you have captured here, Judi: the trajectory of this woman's life coming full circle as she begins to write the kinds of stories that she used to dance. What gave you the idea? A concise, deft poem--I so enjoyed the craftsmanship.
- Last week
-
And you've just disproved the maxim of William Carlos Williams that there's "no ideas but in things". Losing and leaving.....gut punches.
-
Four decades collapse into an absence of days. Mere blood is exalted into right relation. Disaster is enjambed through surgical technique and pain numbing Intubation. Relatives are assigned but family is chosen. It is best, perhaps, when the two are not reconciled to distance or doubt, when the two are not compliant to either mistrust or to fatigue, but thrive without precondition.
-
"...random becomes deliberate....." I hope somebody steals that from you! 😉 Love that.
-
Thank you Tony. Pleased you enjoyed. all the best Phil
-
I have found in The Chicago Manual of Style and on the site ProWritingAid what could be construed as endorsements of my initial advice to you. In the latter's exhaustive list of when commas should be used in a sentence is this item: "When a word is omitted intentionally for stylistic reasons." However, neither source's examples of this guideline resemble the case we've been discussing, so I'm not sure if the rule is really applicable here. Then again, the Manual also says that "Aside from [the few obligatory rules of comma usage], the use of the comma is mainly a matter of good judgement, with ease of reading the end in view." This is exactly the opposite of what the source I'd cited earlier said! So, it seems that the confusion is definitive.
-
We must have some psychic ESP, posting such close topics so close in time.
-
Hi Marti, This one hurts, I know these 100 days, I've lived them twice with my husband over the past three years. Thankfully, his mind did recover as well as his body. But there were many moments when I was unsure. But those days he was in the rehab facility gave me a much needed break when I thought I might go under. And now my friend is taking this journey. See my blog, As Reflected. ~~Judi
-
In saving the body, have they condemnedHer to brief moments of lucidity?In strengthening the arms and the legs,How will they again give power to her voice?Unsteady is the hand that feeds the mouth;The once clear eyes question the simplestOf questions in reply; the IndianAnd Nigerian nurses call her byHer nickname but that she understands.
-
The 3500-year-old Rig Veda describes the individual as a crystal woven into the cross threads of the fabric of the universe. Our reflection is colored by the myriad of other crystals that surround us into infinity. I am who I am as perceived in the eye of the beholder, whether it be you the reader, myself, a stranger I pass on the street, a coworker, a lover, acquaintance or a friend. Last night I received a phone call from one of my oldest friends. She was wrapping herself in the tattered and worn fabric of her memory and grasping at the elusive rainbow of color she perceived to be me.Her first words reflected me as a young girl. "Is this ?", she used my maiden name. The weak voice was unsure and timid. It was not the strong, assured voice of my life long friend, but I recognized her. We've known each other since the 3rd grade. She reminded me she lived on the block above mine. We walked to school together. She was always pulling on me, afraid of being late while I would hang back picking up pretty leaves or finding some other distractions. We both sang in the choir, she is a soprano, sometimes soloist. I am an alto, I sang harmony. Our differences separated us and brought us together. She followed the rules, I blurred them. To her, I reflected the golden optimism of our youth.She gained confidence and mentioned our time at college, we swam together at the same school. I literally saved her from drowning. No great feat of heroism, she panicked and thought she was drowning, she just needed calming and I was there. If I hadn't been, she very well may have. Two small fish in a big pond. Her first love was no good for her, controlling and abusive. It was me she confided in, hid her from him, took her to get help. She was breaking free of the rules and I was her guide. I was her savior, the blue glow of trust my mantel.Then we went our separate ways when she went east to another school and I dropped out to earn some money. She returned to be my maid of honor, and I was her matron of honor a few years later. I embraced my passion for horses, rode color guard, trekked into the wilderness, became a Mom and eventually an insurance agent. She was an early childhood teacher who went on to get her Masters then Ph.D. She became a sex therapist and eventually a corporate consultant. Though we lived on separate ends of the state, we continued to get together at least once a year. I remain married to my first husband, while she had three husbands and a couple of lovers. Yet she saw me as the explorer and wrote about my scarlet adventures in her thesis. The last time we spoke, almost 4 years ago, she was preparing to move and she'd recently fallen and had had a concussion which caused some short term memory loss. Near the end of the conversation, she sounded irritated because I was asking too many questions. Then her birthday card was returned and her voice mail was full. She disappeared from social media and fell off the grid until last night. She was in a hospital, she didn't know why what hospital or what city. She didn't want to talk about herself, she wanted me to do the talking. She couldn't remember her address but would tell me next time we talked. I know she is being cared for, though I fear she may be lost to me. But here we are in our winter white, and she is reaching for the swath of colors she perceives me to be. rainbow hues reflect off crystals colors of me ~~jvg Keep writing, ~~ Judi
-
Is this a perfect evening?!? Art appreciation, the green fairy muse, and together time -- is it time to turn in, call it a night? A lovely esoteric piece ... Tony
-
Just a guess on my part. But we have some access to the author, so we'll ask. Inquiring minds want to know. Paging Barry! 😃
-
Tony, I see! I had imagined that it was a metaphor about something like spring making herself able to see herself more clearly again, but that just doesn't make a lot of sense. @eclipse, what is the answer?
-
Awesome work, BottomsIn. It's a dark path. Others have been down it, and more will follow. I loved it (the poem, that is). Tony Ozzy Osbourne - Suicide Solution
-
On my backs a burden & it's a heavy load. Caused me to carelessly turn down this road. Been driving for a while just snorting pills Now running low on funds from cash it kills My pockets are tired & could use a break Cheaper solution appears so that turn I make It's a hotel & I see a vacancy sign With the bottom reading you only snort its fine While pulling in I see an ambulance is leaving. With a mother of three, sitting outside grieving When i walk up to the door, it's off the hinges See the lobby floor & it's filled with syringes My decision to come i'm already hate'n At the front desk i'm welcomed by satan Wish I could leave but I'm already here listened to what he said & heard him clear You only have to try us a night, you"ll see Since it's your first time this ones free Submitting to his ploy, he showed me a room Upon walking in I got high as the moon After I came back down I'd chosen my path Sold my soul to the devil for heroins wrath Now my life is ruined without a doubt I've checked myself in, can't check back out
-
I see you've edited the poem and added some more lines, Barry. The line I was referring to was: "fingertips of drowning men scrape the hull." I love it. Tony
-
Yes, Phil, that's the one. Thank you! Tony 🙂
-
Barry, what a fascinating piece. ~~Tink
-
Hi Tony, I think you are referring to the exchange in this thread: http://www.poetrymagnumopus.com/forums/topic/5140-pontneddfechan/ best Phil
-
Whitney Frame Designed verse alternating short and long lines in couplets. three in all. A heptastich with seven syllable end. ~~Judi Van Gorder
-
I presumed it was an obscure allusion. The poem is set in a very specific place, Tentsmuir, and it could be a reference locals would recognize. A while back, Phil wrote a poem that mentioned a specific rock. I can't remember what it was -- quartz, maybe? I don't know, I searched @badger11's poems and couldn't find it -- but I could not figure out what the point was of mentioning that specific type of stone. Phil replied that the stone was local to that area.
-
Awesome! Just curious, am I the only one here who doesn't understand this? spring reaches out from a mirror to retrieve and to put back the broken piece of glass.
