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David W. Parsley

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About David W. Parsley

  • Birthday 04/03/1958

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    Demosthenes1
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  • Gender
    Male
  • Location
    Rancho Palos Verdes, California, USA
  • Interests
    Literature, philosophy, music, science, religion, God, space exploration, camping, hiking, history, women and feminism, politics, economics, engineering, enterprise and program management, higher mathematics, theology, epistemology, ethics, ontology, cosmology, stock market, art, history, God again, ballet, poets, poems, poetic forms, informal asthetics, film. And other stuff.
  1. P.S. I also want to thank Tony for this post. It's just good to know that you are doing okay. It is also good to see your comments in the 'Member Poetry' and the 'Member Poetry (overflow)' sections. (Though not in 'Workshop'... ;-)). Dave Again
  2. Hey, badge, I will follow with interest the path of revisions this will take. For my part, you have achieved a valid realization of a poem with Revision 3. That does not mean it is yet the poem you intend. But it works for this reader. - Dave
  3. Fascinating poem and back-and-forth of analysis and revision among colleagues of long standing. At this point, the poem is so finely honed that I can only recommend removing "of" in line 1 and straining "upon" down to "on" in line 4. I particularly admire the deft use of detail in "her inked skin" and the mention of a specific place - a place associated with remoteness from common human society and interaction. It is as if the bottle, once settled on that shore, will remain forever like a footprint on the Moon. As a result, despite its brevity, the poem relates a unique experience with a universally felt blend of nostalgia and unbridgeable separation. Thanks for sharing this, Tony. - Dave
  4. Hi Geoff, I too like the blank tetrameter of the piece, the near-rhyme at the end and in lines 8-9. Pulling on that thread, I admire the starting substitution scansion, it's intonation of breathless introduction that dismisses the need for explanation: . / - - / . / - - / Out of a past under the stairs As if to say, "Hey, it's a ghost. Deal with it." The same movement is used in the penultimate line, preparing the likely term of Tommy's restless search, though even more anonymous than Shelley's figure of furrowed brow. Thanks, - Dave
  5. Tinker, join my voice with those that went before. I enjoyed this cozy poem. - Dave
  6. Tony, your commitment to this site is an inspiration. I am grateful for PMO. It is a place to find poetry not ruled by the tyranny of academia, which has imposed a standard of taste that excludes much work that could eventually prove more permanent. (For a prophetic anticipation of today's scene, check out "Who Killed Poetry," by David Orr, clear back in 1988.) But that permanence can be realized only if there is some place to go back and retrieve the work currently dismissed by "the Establishment. PMO will be one of those repositories, in my opinion. Thanks for your vision and commitment (time and money.) Dave https://www.commentarymagazine.com/articles/who-killed-poetry/
  7. Tinker stole my response, but I'll repeat it anyway. WOW. All the imaginative imagery and turns of phrase are there, the sense of wonder that we all can expect from your pieces. But the narrative progression is breathtaking, possessed of a stomach-dropping unity. You step confidently into a country of symbol and image not repeated from your prior work. You take care to craft the piece, so there is nothing to distract the reader from the journey you narrate, its searing and current landscape. Very, very well done! Thank You (I think!), - Dave
  8. Thanks, Geoff. And thanks for the lead-in tilt of your own at "alternative truths/facts", since the poem itself takes a few liberties with the original story. It is a Snopes-like joke among the dozen or so that sprinkle this poem, presuming that Hesiod and the rest of the gang were a little off on the whole business of Athena supposedly springing out of Zeus's head fully clothed, armed, and bearing a shield. Nor does the faux revisionism end there, since the whole business reportedly occurred while Zeus was still with his first wife, Metis. It also implies that the famous intrigues featuring the lover transformed into a heifer and Zeus himself taking the form of a swan, all to camouflage his "carnal capers" (love that phrase!), actually were repeated more than one time each. I had a blast putting this thing together. As always, feel free to make suggestions. I am not completely satisfied with how the diction works. Does everybody like the lack of punctuation? I think it adds to the sense of surprise and yields alternate readings at strategic points. True? Thanks Again! - Capering Dave
  9. Now isn't that gratifying. Congrats on the publication, Marti! - Dave
  10. Breakfast cup spills tea Darkening pool reflects chilled Sky swelling with geese -------------------------------------------- previously unpublished © 2017 David W. Parsley Parsley Poetry Collection
  11. Great start to this one, Barry. For me it falls a little off-rail starting with "I am allowed.." But what an image: "ladder of my shadows"! How about something more like, "I see the last rung touch the moon as I am laid..."? Just a thought. All the Best, - Dave
  12. Oops, I meant stanza 5, not 4. 4 is great!
  13. Phil, version 4 works best for me, except for stanza 4 - it tells rather than shows the solitude. I like the idea of eddying coffee aroma and/or steam, but (for me) the language disturbs the simple brevity of this neo-imagist work. Can a simpler, more suggestive approach be taken, alluding to something visual like a few strands of lingering mist, or... ? I really like the possibilities of this poem! - Dave
  14. - - - - - - - - - - - - Revision 1 Athena and the Zeushead (How it really went down) There would be no keeping this quiet With the formidable little tyke Squalling to the high heavens In the pool of fluids still Oozing like a lava flow from the Dilated cheekbone splattering off his Till now massively prideful shoulder No there won't be a soul Not informed on the subject By morning and Hera will get all Spun up again about another Of his likely stories and so The plots start cooking themselves Into a brew behind the puckered Forehead while she revisits The tawdry list of heifers and swans At some point triumphantly dragging Argus from whatever he had Gotten back around to since His last assignment All his eyes blinking at least six Of them fixing Zeus in resentful Disappointment now that they would Be spending more quality time together Cronus be praised the pain was easing He couldn't recall ripping so lusty a Roar since that memorable episode with The kidney stone when it fell crackling To land igniting nearby cypresses And rooftops just look at the kid grow Like weed before his eyes she wouldn't Be another mouth to feed indeed Can't someone in the gathering crowd Throw a cloak around the meteorically Maturing girl before she stands like One of his misplaced bolts shimmering Womanhood between earth and sky Each blink of his own now robs him A glimpse of the burgeoning wisdom In those ever darker eyes she is soon To depart without a backward glance Like a composition he must abandon - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Original There would be no keeping this quiet With the formidable little tyke Squalling to the high heavens In the pool of fluids still Oozing like a lava flow from the Dilated cheekbone splattering off his Till now massively prideful shoulder No there won't be a soul Not informed on the subject By morning and Hera will get all Spun up again about another Of his likely stories and so The plots start cooking themselves Into a brew behind the puckered Forehead while she revisits The tawdry list of heifers and swans At some point triumphantly dragging Argus from whatever he had Gotten back around to since His last assignment All his eyes blinking with at least six Of them fixing Zeus in resentful Disappointment now that they would Be spending more quality time together Cronus be praised the pain was easing He hadn't roared so lustily since Passing that crackling kidney stone Just look at the kid growing Like a weed before his very eyes At least she wouldn't be another Mouth to feed at this rate Indeed isn't there anyone nearby Who could throw a cloak around The meteorically maturing girl before She stands like one of his misplaced Lightning bolts shimmering Womanhood between earth and sky Each blink now robs him A glimpse of the burgeoning wisdom In those ever darker eyes she is soon To depart without a backward glance Like a composition he must abandon previously unpublished © 2017 David W. Parsley Parsley Poetry Collection
  15. Hi Phil, I kept coming back to comment, but the revisions came fast. I like revision 3 quite a bit - nothing to suggest. You're good! (Tinker said it first ) - Dave