SupremeDreamer
on The Weight of Words and the Meaning in the Wind by somemorepoetry
4 Feb 2004, 10:11 PM
Its looks like a theraputic journal entry. Could have used these title(s) instead:
"A patients written letter of grievance to his therapist" (or: 'infantile contempt for ones salaried shrink')
Who are you, and from what anal cavity did you crawl out from?
And what would interest you exactly?
Oh, another thing which I failed to mention earlier:
Its not really much of a pimple.. other than the subject having a romantic context, it is devoid of mis-spelling, trite rhyme schemes, poor use of language, crude humor, and other characteristics usually found in most pimple poems.
It's pretty much a very decent free verse poem, atleast to me.
I like it- my only problem with it is the use of "thronging", which doesn't sound right.. perhaps
"enough to shake you awake, call it quits,
step out of the house into the [crowded darkness] (or) [tense {or hectic} dark]"
Or something, because "throng" is a verb; def: press tightly together or cram- which makes little sense, so I don't have a clue what you intented to express with its use.
I could be babbling foolishly, but an explaination would be nice.
Blessed with nine.
Whether its an actual poem or part of a novel your working on- its written in a way which makes it more than just a narrative dialog; at the least its very good prose.
What makes it enjoyable for me is the suggestion of pantheism and the theory that god is a manifestation of the mind- and that you depicted the humor that it could entail.
I'd love to read this novel you're in the process of making; your style of writing and the subjects you explore fascinate me immensely.
How you managed to conclude that Iâm Wiccan is beyond me. Not only did someone on here ask me out rightly in the past, but also one of my poems clearly mocks it. Additionally, you are stupid and should either shut up or die, maybe both, but not necessarily in that order.
I will not see the years and decades that I have spent building myself into a pillar of selfishness and overall bad naturedness wasted simply because you think I should be a nice girl. And who really cares that you wouldn't be willing to cross the street to urinate on my G. Miu stilettos if they were on fire? Not I, but let this be a warning to others; although evil still abounds on this weird and wonderful site, it has strongly manifested in the form of Horus8, The Angry Poet who attempts to destroy Lenore and her way of life through thinly veiled threats and redundant comments of complaint. Terror ensues. Donât worry about me though. Through rigorous counseling, I will manage to block out the dialogue and I can piss on my own damn shoes. hsssssssssâ¦
Yeah, we could tell sweet heart. As sacastic as a chicken trying to hatch a turn up. You must think that in the real world, on planet earth, you are special, loved, ready swing your rainbow wand and air dagger into the magical state of moon time fluff? Do you honestly take yourself so fucking seriously? Absolutely, and that's why your sex life is bloated cow plummeting off of the fall in Zanzisbaumbar, with a one eyed vulture and a blind tarapin in audience, congratulations. Well, judging from the way you read into poetry, it's wonder you don't pee out of your ass.
By the way... Loved the we part, really.
When I read your title, I went "Oh God".
When I read your poem, I went "Oh God", and farted.
But it was then when you told the story "through the thunder" was right about the time that I realized... We've made love in our past life... If not several hundred times. Like the incessant rain pounding the dusty gravel of the high desert. Bringing the dry river beds to a seething surge of brown flood water with swimming animals and drunk people standing on the hoods of their cars.
Dime flicker.
re: "weird, awkward poetry about things that haven't been written about." ONE LAST THING and then I swear I'm done with this fucked-up string! See if I'm not!!! See, you (blindpoetry) write about breakups, sadness, and that guff because it's embedded into your consciousness, the way you see a sunset and say 'that's beautiful' because someone has told you sunsets are beautiful. You pay attention to them. Now what if instead of telling you sunsets were beautiful, they had told you poo was beautiful, or a duck dying of AIDS, its tender stiffening body tracing duck angels in the powdery snow, was beautiful? Then you'd stop when you saw a duck dying of AIDS and pay attention. You'd think it was poetic. That's what we do. We who write poetry are the ones who TELL PEOPLE THAT THINGS ARE BEAUTIFUL (or insert any other adjective for beautiful.) It's not the other way around. We're the ones who embed things in other people's consciousness, which means the first thing we have to do is get rid of all that guff embedded in us. Does that make any sense? Great. Tchuss!
Tres evil. What happened to Biff-chin?
Well the better version is here, actually.
http://allpoetry.com/Poem/481015
I edit my poetry at an accelled rate.
hahahaha!
Nice parody...
"for water's search of nooks" - neither 'for' nor 'of' seems right.
"her currents steer / your bow to break" - also weird.
Very clever. Reminds me of good metaphysical stuff, some Herbert or Donne. They didn't bother naming their structures. Never really used the same one twice.
Point 4 has been shortlisted for inclusion in next year's edition of 'The Gentleman's Code'
This poem has become a forum of the profane. I shall give it a 10, or what the old hippy upstairs would say "23.8457654657" whatever in the greenest fuck posible, that means.
Yes, and number one should be aids. Here is your task, save the planet from aids. What will heaven say then but "surely come in" Or ducks, I believe ducks have gotten a bad poetic deal in the scheme of things. Songbirds, crows and the almighty EAGLE are the survey says front runner, but I picked up this information from an inside source... Write up aids and ducks, wait... OH MY GOD... write about ducks with aids, create a whole galxy of ducks with aids, and their battle against Mallardophobia, fowlpes, and the dreaded DuCKBuTTER.