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Mountains offer themselves to the earth as tears during a crucifixion, angels use the sky as a drum to announce the resurrection. Can a son raise oceans and use them as mirrors to catch reflections of a cross in a fathers eyes, can he in return see the pearl soaked in Christly tears. A saviour bears A planet turned inside out, four seasons are marked with the birth of a new consciousness, king prepares His people for heaven's caress.

Fascinating take on the End of Literacy and the beginnings of something that will ineluctably follow the Information Age. Highly original and disturbing. It seems like it would be helped by introducing a somewhat concrete person here, a witnessing narrator and others. To illustrate, such a re-working might replace that fourth sentence with something like: A man I once knew announces from the dark web, Heaven and Earth are now a merged app! This is not intended to be used as is, just illustrative. Something concrete would lend immediacy and connection to your dystopia. Just a

Marti, sorry for your loss. If you believe in the Bible and Jesus, he promised to bring back our dead loved ones in a future resurrection to us. (John 5: 28, 29) It will be a grand reunion. On the poem recited for the inauguration, there were several bright lines. But I wished she had anchored the poem to something like a powerful image, and stayed on that. That would have been powerful occasion for spoken poetry. It was more like prose speech than poetry to me. I don't know. That made me think of Allen Ginsberg. America.

Lovely! Indeed. Love flows like a river and dives into a cascade. And then, it dwells on the plains, and gushes up like a fountain, as the couple become more and more senior. gurunAthan ramaNi

Marti, my friend, so very sorry to hear about your mom. I pray you strength and better days to come. - David

So sorry about your mom, Marti. I didn't know. Hang in there!

I was just really impressed with the reading. Really. Not much going on here. Just taking care of Last Will business since Mom's passing in mid Nov. 2021 must be at least a modicum amount of better than 2020.

Ah, Marti, I just found the text of that one on cnbc. I got through the first six lines and x'd out of it. I'd read you any day over that! 😃

Marti, what's going on? Why? What's this all about???

I am thinking of putting away my pen (okay, my keyboard) forever. Good luck, and godspeed to everyone.

Her popping up a question, 'Do you still write poems?' is like opening up a path to a river that could lead into some falls, 'I still do' was my reply. I could hear the rushing waters off a cliff, as she moved around to peer at me asking 'Do you still write about me?' 'I still do' was my reply. 'All the words you wrote,' she said, ' and the love and passion in them, are for no other but me?' Yes, and they still do. I can see the rushing river towards the falls, when she asked, 'Will you fall with me once more to unknown depths?', No words are needed for a rep

Our 35th anniversary is fast approaching, so that can give me the drive to revisit this. Thanks David for the revisit.

Digital angels ride quantum bees. Fire is ice, ice is fire. The end of language, matrix of symbols. Heaven and hell have merged. Water bandits are the new police. Christly consciousness spread across computer matrix.

Many thanks for those links David. I feel I may revisit earlier chapters. I've started the 'Sirens' chapter. I like Bloom, but the rest don't connect.

Phil, we must have some sort of psychic connection. I completed Derek Walcott's Omeros over the holidays and decided it was time to re-attempt Ulysses, after abandoning the attempt a dozen years ago. I am on page 105 and am finally starting to engage with some of the characters. It helps that I swallowed my pride and have decided to avail myself of online resources, some of which are quite good. But I do not consult these resources until after doing all that I can with a section on my own first. I find it interesting that I sometimes disagree with the commentators' interpretation of the a

Barry, this treatment of one of the Eclipse Narratives is particularly fraught with difficulties of every stripe. The form seems stretched to the point of damage with the enormity of its theme. I have more to say but would like to hear from others before going there. - David

Hi Joel, I am happy to see this poem going through some crafting in diction and audio effects. Would it be too contrarian of me to opine that the older version felt more spontaneous and immediate? Maybe i should sleep on this a few more times, but I thought I should share my thoughts with you. Cheers, David

This is the most difficult book I have tried to read, but I will struggle on, despite no engagement with characters and no narrative to engage. Why? The surface, the unusual diction choices in particular, and because I feel it a defeat not to persevere. Anyone else read Joyce's Ulysses?

Badger11, the poem is a mirror of a very physical moment in a persona. The war film is just a shadow of the idea.

Jesus leaves a wilderness with thoughts like fires in the sun, he is a parasol that prevents the devil's tears from tearing fibres out of God's eye-patch the sun. The tears start to mingle, weeping fire,beatific bawls, blood falls from a man on a cross, a stone is rolled from a cave entrance,a sun flails against the vision of a father whose throne created for a son cannot be attained. To preempt God,Jesus whispers into a womb and the kick inside cannot be contained for him and the earth. A father's hands loom over a planet and an unborn child they are shaken by a lone

Hi JJ I feel the war film would give context: obviously, in the history, but also in the narrative and characterisation. This connected with you and 'unlocked' the poem. As it stands, the poem is disconnected from context and therefore does not resonate. The poem's violence is random. Perhaps subtitle the poem - While watching the film...; or a more oblique key, ' Tucking into my bucket of popcorn'. I think this would provoke interesting questions on the interaction between the art form and the viewer...empathy? catharsis? corruption? cheers Phil

I am still working on a future revision of this piece. It's a WIP.

This was inspired by a scene in war movie, badger11 🙂

I used to scribble English verses during my college days, way back in the early 1970s. Since I admired Wordsworth, I chose the pen name Verseworth. Here is a poem I wrote then, taking a dig at some of our Tamil poets who coveted fame, tropies and titles. Please bear with me for any naiveté in thought and expression. The Poet of the World! (gurunAthan ramaNi) I mean to think, and not just blink-- So I sit down with Fancy's crown And try to swear in my Muses fair; But what to say amidst such bray? To write with ease I need some peace. Yet I sit down (really like a clown)

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