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Poetry Magnum Opus

After Hours


tonyv

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The brouhaha is over,
and the girls-gone-wild are gone.

The jukebox is dark, and the neon
that glowed Miller-- choked, snuffed out.

 

For months I sweat you --
where you were, what you were doing
whom you were with.

 

I go for a walk to clear my head.

 

A black rain mingles with silver flakes
in the yellow coronas of nearby luminaires.

 

Inhuman draft, cold-filtered moon

 

I'm alone.

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

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goldenlangur

Hi again Tony,

 

 

Another somber poem - after the jollity, the emptiness of the narrator's own feelings seep out and pervade the narrative. Everything that made up the fun and sound of the partying seem s to mock his brooding stance.

 

This image is indeed inspired:

 

tonyv wrote:

... cold-filtered moon

 

 

Just a wee thought - I do feel a bit piggish to pick a nit - do you need the last line? Do please feel free to ignore my point if you're happy with your poem as it stands.

 

 

goldenlangur

goldenlangur

 

 

Even a single enemy is too many and a thousand friends too few - Bhutanese saying.

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Larsen M. Callirhoe

interestring subject to write a poem about, what exprexessions. loved it, this put me in dreamland,

 

larsen aka vic

Larsen M. Callirhoe

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its ok......lots of sordid details ae missing though......

that's what I want to know about......not these intense lines.....

just my oppinion

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Another good melancholy poem. I believe you could still make the last line stronger by painting what it is like to be alone. Something like

 

no other weight presses against

the sofa.

"Words are not things, and yet they are not non-things either." - Ann Lauterbach

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Thanks again, Golden, for your close look at this poem. This is another old one from PC -- February of last year. (I really must write something new ... icon_redface.gif )

 

I'm pleased that you liked the cold-filtered moon image, but I am wondering why you didn't care for the last line ... I myself like it; I see it kind of like a period at the end of a sentence.

 

Tony

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

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pawn shop wrote:

 

its ok......lots of sordid details ae missing though......

that's what I want to know about......not these intense lines.....

just my oppinion

Thanks, pawnshop! icon_lol.gif I'll try to spice the sequel up a little ... Perhaps I could include a youtube link to a Girls Gone Wild video ... icon_razz.gif

 

Tony icon_cool.gif

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

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JoelJosol wrote:

Another good melancholy poem. I believe you could still make the last line stronger by painting what it is like to be alone. Something like

 

no other weight presses against

the sofa.

It's a good point re the last line, Joel -- thank you. I'm wondering if it's in fact possible to overload a poem with images ... Perhaps in this case, an additional image wouldn't hurt. Thanks for your input.

 

Tony

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

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goldenlangur

Hi again Tony,

 

One of the great and also surprising elements of a forum is that sometimes, a reader sees the poem and images and the motif in a light quite unlike one's. I thought the build up to the moment of the "cold-filtered moon" already implied "I'm alone". But you see, I'm driven by an eastern thing about not saying, suggesting. Perhaps, for you a more stated closure works.

 

My stance does not always work. So please do ignore my reading. Your other readers seem to have no problem. In fact Joel wants the image made clearer. Different perspectives, but ultimately, the voice is yours.

 

Your poem still makes it impact.

 

 

goldenlangur

goldenlangur

 

 

Even a single enemy is too many and a thousand friends too few - Bhutanese saying.

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goldenlangur wrote:

 

Hi again Tony,

 

One of the great and also surprising elements of a forum is that sometimes, a reader sees the poem and images and the motif in a light quite unlike one's. I thought the build up to the moment of the "cold-filtered moon" already implied "I'm alone". But you see, I'm driven by an eastern thing about not saying, suggesting. Perhaps, for you a more stated closure works.

 

... In fact Joel wants the image made clearer. Different perspectives, but ultimately, the voice is yours.

Golden, thanks for coming back to this. When I replied to you, I hadn't read Joel yet. I think what he means is that it's not an image -- that I am telling rather than showing -- and he would like an image. I see this now, and I'm wondering if a certain amount of telling is in fact okay. Perhaps not in this case, as I can gather from both of your helpful thoughts. Thank you for your continued support ...

 

Tony

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

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goldenlangur

My pleasure Tony to be helpful in however tiny way I can.

 

But after the discussion fervor has quietened, your instinct as to how it really works, should prevail.

 

But an exchange of views is great icon_smile.gif

 

 

goldenlangur

goldenlangur

 

 

Even a single enemy is too many and a thousand friends too few - Bhutanese saying.

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Aleksandra
I go for a walk to clear my head.

 

I love that line Tony icon_smile.gif I am used to do that icon_razz.gif

 

Here you have some wonderful job done:

A black rain mingles with silver flakes

in the yellow coronas of nearby luminaires.

 

 

Inhuman draft, cold-filtered moon

 

I'm alone.

 

The poignant expression are little bit hidden and you let to the reader to guess...

 

With the last line - I'm alone - you are proving the loneliness, what you start to show at the beginning, with gone parts, darkness etc.

 

Wonderful poem. The first time - last night when I read it for first time, I didn't understood well this poem. But now. I did and I loved.

 

Thank you so much for sharing this poem, what is really good mix of common words and strong expressions with the spirit inside.

 

Much enjoyed!

 

Aleksandra

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

History of Macedonia

 

 

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