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Poetry Magnum Opus

Heart's on the shelf...


Rea

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Heart's on the shelf...

 

Too full of emotion, to full of self

You write with your ego, heart's on the shelf

Your thinking, sad thoughts,

leave us in doubt.

It's your mind, not poetry,

decorating the cloud

 

Violins beseech, I hear them tonight

They play in my sleep,

harmonies creep

Do you think of your soul?

Do you think of today?

I wish to read love songs,

not memoried clay

 

So whisk up your thoughts

They're starving in hell

Lonesome times coming, death's not a shell

To err is a true man

Forgive, a sad rhyme

Your heart is beating, the hell out of time

 

© Rea 8th January 2011

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rosschandler
Heart's on the shelf...

 

Too full of emotion, to full of self

You write with your ego, heart's on the shelf

Your thinking, sad thoughts,

leave us in doubt.

It's your mind, not poetry,

decorating the cloud

 

Violins beseech, I hear them tonight

They play in my sleep,

harmonies creep

Do you think of your soul?

Do you think of today?

I wish to read love songs,

not memoried clay

 

So whisk up your thoughts

They're starving in hell

Lonesome times coming, death's not a shell

To err is a true man

Forgive, a sad rhyme

Your heart is beating, the hell out of time

 

© Rea 8th January 2011

 

 

i love the last line. and good rhythm.

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How true, Rea. It's most important for a writer to have his heart in whatever it is he writes. Stephen King (in his book "On Writing") expresses the concept well when says to "come to the blank page any way you want but lightly. Do not come to the blank page lightly!"

 

Tony

Here is a link to an index of my works on this site: tonyv's Member Archive topic

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  • 4 weeks later...
Aleksandra

Hello, Rea. This is an interesting mixture of expressions. Very impressive.

 

Aleksandra

The poet is a liar who always speaks the truth - Jean Cocteau

History of Macedonia

 

 

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  • 4 weeks later...
Heart's on the shelf...

 

Too full of emotion, to full of self

You write with your ego, heart's on the shelf

Your thinking, sad thoughts,

leave us in doubt.

It's your mind, not poetry,

decorating the cloud

 

Violins beseech, I hear them tonight

They play in my sleep,

harmonies creep

Do you think of your soul?

Do you think of today?

I wish to read love songs,

not memoried clay

 

So whisk up your thoughts

They're starving in hell

Lonesome times coming, death's not a shell

To err is a true man

Forgive, a sad rhyme

Your heart is beating, the hell out of time

 

© Rea 8th January 2011

 

 

i love the last line. and good rhythm.

 

 

Hello Ross

Thank you for commenting, sorry about the delayed reaction.

sincerely

Rea

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Hello Rea. Most of us have intrusive thoughts... it's a question of deciding which to pay attention to.. and which to let float off on the clouds. Benjamin. :icon_cool:

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You tell on yourself, me thinks.

Relax the force!

from the black desert

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You tell on yourself, me thinks.

Relax the force!

 

 

Hello Gatekeeper,

What do you mean by reply? which can be interpreted in many ways, but one way, and one way, is your way of crit, directed to the poet!

Rea

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Gatekeeper
You tell on yourself, me thinks.

Relax the force!

 

 

Hello Gatekeeper,

What do you mean by reply? which can be interpreted in many ways, but one way, and one way, is your way of crit, directed to the poet!

Rea

 

My sense of your poem is that the narrator is telling on herself, as opposed to some unidentified "you" (that is not a personally directed crit). In other words you are the you in the poem. Am I wrong? Maybe so, but that is how I read it.

I also get the sense that some of the wording is forced, for effect. I find that a distraction.

from the black desert

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