INTRANSIT
replying on Haiku by INTRANSIT
11 Dec 2002, 5:36 PM
ok, I can accept that. stiiiilll, am i even in the ballpark?
the long way of saying (good visuals)
huh?
either you've done something here or I have an easy minds eye.
round and round, where we stop nobody knows.oh yeah... at a brief confessional, but look again is it really? yes. but notice how well it's blended into the magic plum sauce.o
You are now it the land of the idiots of this site. It is not a confessional poem. Sorry. Again, learn your terms before you debate me.
poetandknowit
replying on On waiting to pick up my daughter on Tuesday by poetandknowit
11 Dec 2002, 5:19 PM
Sweetheart, you obviously are mistaking autobiographical with confessional. Learn your terms before you make a supersonic ass out of yourself. I am sorry you cannot bear a bit of criticism. That is sad But, dear, your poem needs work. It will be good with a revision. Love and kisses, P&K.
lo and behold, yet again, by confessing children, but the same time not really confessing you achieve the unachievable. 24 tens, from a place where apparently the confessional works by not actually working. hooray. i'm impressed.
is it...could it be?...no it couldn't!, but yes..once again 'not confessionally confessional poetry', by none other than..? you got it mr. poetry. not just any normal poem boys and girls but a riveting american staple that you to can purchase at wallmart in the form of a taxidermied mallard with a brass enscribed plaque. thanks uncle charlie! i'll put it right next to the rocket i built last week...say,,will you fire her off with my at the play ground this afternoon uncle charlie..that'd be swell.l
i played both pinball and atari. i am older than both of you, which is why i suppose i preferred pinball. actually, it's the physicality of slightly grinding the machine, to move the heavy steel ball, but never tilt it, that was so attractive. violence, tightly reigned in, and seductive--when you get that inanimate 4-legged box to go your way.
my brother, on the other hand, preferred the joystick. he would go sleepless playing space invaders. he is one year my junior, and still older than you guys.
my mom still prefers a typewriter to a computer.
old habits die hard, h.
secondly,the biggest confessional of all time...here i'm leaving this fruit cake for the holidays at your altar..it's my aunts recipe.one dash miles bettween us, a sprinkle of endless sea..steeped in the sun for a week with a pinch of photograph in wallet. vuala 'disinfranchised confessional poetry that's not confessional but still true with just a tinge of metaphorical middle america dustings <the babbit special> enjoy children it goes with coffee and scones along with carolers and snow drifts.t
If I call you on my cellphone will you come out to save me? I'll be the little thing floating on a raft made of silcone implants (and they called Noah crazy). Would you PAKI would you brave the Tsunamis to come to my rescue ? Just think of the photo-op... Giant Journalist saves Petite Poetess from Drowning in an Ocean of Tears. accompanied by a picture of me standing on a chair my arms around your big neck. I had a boyfriend once who was 6'5" are you as tall as that?
first off, it's too ummm confessional.
have you just read a certain novel, p&k? why is that the compliment du jour?
Funny, you put a generation between us. I believe I am only a few years older than you, but I must admit I love pinball, still do. Never had the pleasure of owning Atari or coloeco )sp) or a TV for that matter. Maybe it is all those diplomas. Yes, my friend, it was that hard knocks on the streets of KC. The tinman here wandered day after day through the drug infested mean streets until one day I met this guy and did a favor for him...because everthing dies hours8 that's a fact, but maybe everything that dies someday comes back, put you makeup on fix your superman hair up pretty and meet me tonight in Culver City. Please define sad little man; I am actually quite tall, and I am not sad, I am happy. Are you happy hours8. Do you get free food from the Boston Chicken?
No all poetry is not confessional. Only a pretty boy would say that.
I changed my vote; feel better. This is a revolutionary work of heartbreaking, staggering genius.
all poetry is confessional. prison mentality? slam poetry? these are all words that you toss around, not me, i would never be caught dead reffering my poetry to either of those labels. what others write about me or classify my shit as, and with, is their opinion. also my nose is cretian, olive brown and not detachable. this piece was not planned, nor is it something i would sit and stare at, and go, well... let's try and make this hunk of "confession was it?" ten worthy. that's what editors are for and assholes like you. i don't get paid for this, so it retains its pure value to me as a magical process that goes against 'images', 'pre-conceived notion', 'edges', and whatever other critique-ing term you throw around, loosely might i add, to help you sleep at night. see...it's like this your generation played pinball...mine played atari. heroin sadly, has nothing to do with anything, nor has it ever. it's just another plant amongst many that can be used not to write 'better', but to sleep longer. then, never sleep again. you are a sad, sad little man.
Oh my sweet sweet Mr. Longfellows, I was just giving out the only call I knew you could answer. The other route is inaccesible, buried under the mud of my dirty words mixed with tears you gave me, a landslide of emotions. You know I love you deeply, terribly. There are so many roads to you, and I want to travel them all. For know it's unseemly backroads of conflict. Kiss kiss.