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Poetry Magnum Opus


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  1. With the announcement of Google+ shutting down, most of my work are now in Facebook 🙂 This is one of the best places to visit in the Philippines, the island of Batanes, an island of rock and rolling hills. https://photos.google.com/album/AF1QipND7fBsIU_PHmglbAaB42Gmg2uwQBKO7FUBSvys
  2. JoelJosol


    Hi Tony. Thanks for the read and insight. I am glad that you caught the repetition. I like the music of the "l"'s :-)
  3. JoelJosol

    Trail of Dreams

    Tinker, I read the footnotes on Dream Song. Then, I went back to your poem. Your poem has more structure and coherence. The three images - cloud, river, and path - bring it together as one story moving forward. There is minimal discord. The example in the footnote shows the discordance in trying to embrace other images with the Lady subject who keeps popping back into the forefront of attention. But aside from that, the impression that your poem gave me is psychedelic. I like the same lines that Tony mentioned, other than the colors, it is their musical sound.
  4. JoelJosol

    This is About

    This impresses upon me how a potentially mundane exercise of running through a cemetery turn into profound reflections latching into images and thoughts in the library of our mind converting the routine into a "liturgy" or a poet using spoken poetry takes the mic and ignites our reflections of hawks and hares.
  5. JoelJosol


    The use of enjambment has worked effectively for me with the theme of "everchanging" present, dr_con.
  6. My poetic response to your piece, Tinker. "Counting numbers is a basic skill, but this is not a drill. The difference will not count as a typo error at the core. Recalculate and reposition if you must it is the same sum game."
  7. JoelJosol

    Browndown Gosport

    The poem also took me along like a river, just kept going, presenting to me images and sounds along the way. Images like "men's eyes turn to stone", "inscribe names into bone", and the last lines mentioned by Tony.
  8. JoelJosol


    When I have walked this long, this far, in my life I was like testing a string attached to mom to see how far the string goes before it breaks and anxiety like a sudden downpour caught me umbrella-less, in a street full of cars, with strangers rushing to find shelter from the rain, and I can't see my mom anywhere, anymore in the crowd, with an empty pocket, not even a centavo of a coin and the tension made me hungry and cold. I have walked farther in this life mommy-less resigned to get wet in the rain for days I am umbrella-less with no space in the sidewalk to find shelter for myself I just have to be wiser not be sucked into some hole without a string to life to keep me from drifting farther and be plucked out from deep waters life-less, umbrella-less. An umbrella once kept a girl alive, or so I heard, because she held on to it while falling into a man-made hole. I should have known better than be umbrella-less. It is the next best thing when everything else, everyone else do not have strings attached. NOTE: Glad to be able to share something after a long while with the workload lighting up a bit.
  9. JoelJosol

    Funny Man

    The piece is like a journal of the funny man's transformation himself.
  10. JoelJosol

    Cold Bed

    Thank you guys for the read. I have been through several rides on that cold bed. I reflected on the instances where I am awake there and heard everything, and the instances that I dozed off. I reflected on the thought if I want to hear them exclaim an error has been made, a mis-procedure, the staff debating, or the surgeon scolding another, something bad happening that I cannot see but hear. Of course, it was all fictional. But, I wanted to walk the reader into that journey with me. You guys captured the reflection and the posture. Thanks.
  11. JoelJosol

    Cold Bed

    Despite the promise to make me comfy in this cold bed, the first time I laid down in it I asked please put me into deep sleep, so deep even if death stole me from lawyers who could not bring me back, only my body would convulse against the error of a machine mis-configured, or against a surgeon who mis-heard or mis-read or whatever else he missed, but not my wakeful thoughts strapped in it- to record the tensed voices, to actively compute the pain, to calculate how many minutes more are left, to feel the dread of the last breath until it is gone. I prefer to go into a deep sleep in this cold bed. I already have a blanket. Just pull it up to my head when done.
  12. JoelJosol

    Pablo's music

    I thought you captured the spirit of an autistic child, his self-contained world, and their special talent. Just as Judi wrote it was beautiful the poem built its cohesiveness through the butterfly imagery and the music box in the end.
  13. JoelJosol

    The Escapist

    Memories, remembrance, flash of life, all converged in death. I found your piece a collage of snapshots of images and thoughts that death provokes in us who are left behind.
  14. JoelJosol

    The Box

    The tone of the piece reflects how you handled the crisis, Judi. It is positive signalled by the "blink" and the pace of the unraveling of the poem. I hope that your husband will do fine with all the help he can get plus prayers.
  15. JoelJosol

    The Shaking

    Hi Tony, thanks for the read. I have the time again to visit while recuperating from a cataract surgical procedure.
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