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Poetry Magnum Opus

Sussex (slightly R)


dedalus
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Down the village street she goes,

past Tescos, past the illiterate graffiti

delimiting horizons. Wee Timmy & Sheila

are away with the mother, never him,

and beyond is the sea, Portsmouth!

I’ll join the Navy, lose ten stone

and stop shopping at the Paki corner store,

every lost ounce will keep Britain free

as once it were before.

 

Now the French are over the sea ,

behaving themselves,

and the good old days are o’er;

I can’t go running down the docks

like I did with Maggie and Silly Liz

nor act the happy whore. My life

will change, you’ll see, and a range

of opportunities, those things

 

will open out before me, no more

charity communities, no more

pill-popping fuckin life. I will

attack France, they seem to need it,

and they are right across the water

within, you might say, spitting distance.

Never mind Iraq and Afghanistan

so far the fuck away you’d be having no interest.

You need wars with people you know.

Drown your sorrows in drink, by all means, but the real sorrows can swim

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Hallo - I'm new on this forum. I like the subject matter and tone of this poem, and I'd like to offer some crit, but not sure if you just want comments or if crit is welcome too? Frances

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Hi Frances, welcome aboard! As far as I know you can do whatever you like as long as you keep your language relatively non-hysterical and steer away from personal attacks. We're open to ideas and opinions and there are no Site Nazis (thank God!) which makes this a rather comfortable home for misfits and people who are actually poets. Shove in a poem or two, why don't you?

Drown your sorrows in drink, by all means, but the real sorrows can swim

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Hi Dedalus

 

thanks! I suppose I was also asking if you personally wanted just comments or crit...I am the kind of neurotic artist who is particularly masochistic in my desire for lots of criticism and analysis, and sometimes that's not, er, appropriate or desirable for other people.

I've posted something of mine, but I jumped the poetry ship a while ago to music and am not quire sure where my latest writing sits yet.

 

I have one main comment about your poem, which is that the voice of it doesn't seem entirely consistent. There, is at some points, what seems to be the voice of the knowing author bleeding through, interfering with the very compelling character portrait. How old is this person? When were they born? Is this a woman? I have assumptions based on the content of the poem, but they don't seem consistent with the way in which she speaks.

 

I also thought the strength of the opening, the great energy of it, stalls a tiny bit on 'illiterate' and 'delimiting'. It felt a bit too verbose and 'showing instead of telling', and the opening is otherwise very immediate and real.

 

Finally : It's nice to be getting a reminder of what poetry can explore, express and achieve.

 

Frances

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abstrect-christ

Nice narrative as usual Dedalus.

When i read it I saw an older woman who's somewhat bitter and waitig for her opportunity at lifes goal --

though is she from Brighton/hove or the more religious parts of sussex? Cause that bitterness isn't characteristic of a church goer.

 

lol also [R] I believe belongs on the title.

Pinhead

"Unbearable, isn't it? The suffering of strangers, the agony of friends.

There is a secret song at the center of the world, Joey, and its sound is like razors through flesh."

Joey

"I don't believe you."

Pinhead

"Oh come, you can hear its faint echo right now. I'm here to turn up the volume.

To press the stinking face of humanity into the dark blood of its own secret heart."

"There's a starving beast inside my chest
playing with me until he's bored
Then, slowly burying his tusks in my flesh
crawling his way out he rips open old wounds

When I reach for the knife placed on the bedside table
its blade reflects my determined face
to plant it in my chest
and carve a hole so deep it snaps my veins

Hollow me out, I want to feel empty"
-- "Being Able To Feel Nothing" by Oathbreaker

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aBPy3xNwwL8

"Sky turns to a deeper grey

the sun fades by the moon

hell's come from the distant hills

tortures dreams of the doomed

and they pray, yet they prey

and they pray, still they prey"
-- "Still They Prey" by Cough

https://soundcloud.com/relapserecords/sets/cough-still-they-pray

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Frances, m'dear ... Fair comment, as far as it goes. I'm not too bothered about criticism & analysis, which is not to say I don't listen. I do. I've been known to make radical changes in the light of comments received. For the most part, though, once I finish a poem more or less (usually less) to my own satisfaction, I tend to move on willy-nilly to the next one, leaving what you might call a string of poor bastard children trailing in my wake. Except for some of the Irish ones, the ones on Irish themes, because I want to get those fuckers as pinpoint accurate as I can.

 

I do value your comments and would encourage you to combine your interest in music with the written word!

 

Abstrect-christ, my friend ... Basically the narrator is an ex-party girl whose best days are over and she knows it. You think I should put in an [R] rating for language? Whatever you say. I'll see to that immediately. In the meantime, you might want to stop getting laid in a lawn chair every time you post ....

. :smile:

Drown your sorrows in drink, by all means, but the real sorrows can swim

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abstrect-christ

Lol hey I've written a lot worse and swear like a sailor myself so this isn't to me, it's just in the rules for the f bombs is all and partying hard can make you old faster... Maybe that's why I sensed some bitter old woman. However... It's fun okay, can you stop doing something fun such as getting laid in a lawn chair? I bet not...

Pinhead

"Unbearable, isn't it? The suffering of strangers, the agony of friends.

There is a secret song at the center of the world, Joey, and its sound is like razors through flesh."

Joey

"I don't believe you."

Pinhead

"Oh come, you can hear its faint echo right now. I'm here to turn up the volume.

To press the stinking face of humanity into the dark blood of its own secret heart."

"There's a starving beast inside my chest
playing with me until he's bored
Then, slowly burying his tusks in my flesh
crawling his way out he rips open old wounds

When I reach for the knife placed on the bedside table
its blade reflects my determined face
to plant it in my chest
and carve a hole so deep it snaps my veins

Hollow me out, I want to feel empty"
-- "Being Able To Feel Nothing" by Oathbreaker

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aBPy3xNwwL8

"Sky turns to a deeper grey

the sun fades by the moon

hell's come from the distant hills

tortures dreams of the doomed

and they pray, yet they prey

and they pray, still they prey"
-- "Still They Prey" by Cough

https://soundcloud.com/relapserecords/sets/cough-still-they-pray

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These days I prefer comfortable surroundings ... not to say there haven't been some peculiar alignments. OK, 'nuff said! :smile:

Drown your sorrows in drink, by all means, but the real sorrows can swim

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