horus8
on going by slipping
11 Dec 2002, 3:26 PM
do you know rebecca?
Hey, I know. I predicted your response. You are so far ahead of your time, man. Confessional poetry will be all the rage one day. And you my friend are doing things that no one else is doing. I was giving constructive notes. Take the big red nose off. You have nice images here, but a good deal of muck. But I know, slamming poets like yourself are above rewriting. It takes the edges off the work. It loses the prison mentality. Please. I think you would actually be more interesting if you were on heroin.
I think if California (minus San Francisco) would fall into the ocean it would be a great news story. But first I would want the 40,000 goofs who traveled here in 1993 and started a craze that has lead to the ridiculous californiazation (sprawl, cars, sprawl, ugly buildings, look how pretty I am) of Colorado to go home and join the swim. Then we could work on building real culture and real cities again; (minus SF of course), but if we have to give it up, well we can build a new one on the chunk of land left over. Of course, the democratic party would take a beating, but they need to refocus anyway and find a new progressive direction. Maybe this would be the first step. Just maybe the world be a better place without Tommy Lee and Pamela Anderson and Poison and soap operas and people who get off an sticking hands in cement.
At least I gave you a 3.
i'll put your opinion right next to my guitar pick collection. To be lost in the dulling colors and teeth marks. here let me help you out, i'll give myself a zero and take your critic to my eyebrows like a straight-razor cuz that's how fucking much i care about what you think mr. poetry.
Like I said, he is fond of crap.
Cut the confessional wanderings and the telling-to-much antics and focus solely on some on the better images of this poem and you may have something in the end. But I know, I know, this is really high art and I should just go fuck myself because when we are all long dead they will be studying this in schools going "why didn't anybody understand that this man was ahead of his time. The Jimi Hendrix of poetry."
And will UPS deliver these things?
So now, I am PAKI. I see. If a poem is worthy of praise, I give it. This is not. Nor is there anything you can do to make it worthy other than rewrite it completely using better words that somehow form images. Why must you take "you fucking he-man woman hater route"? I am really quite sweet.
a plethora of information that equals what i already know to be a three hour tour.r
As well they should.
For him:
A key
Wings
Love
For her:
A map
A tongue
Hope
So he can be free from the torment
Unlock the cage of his mind
Not suffer anymore.
So she'll know which route to take
Speak her mind.
So she knows these feelings are not in vain.
Just an example. Write it down on paer and play around with it. The material is there, you just have to design the pattern.
thanks well it is only an early poem i dont really know much about structure-my poems reflect my thoughts!
lunar
replying on Gilded Stumps of Olde (AN STORY THAT IS NOT AN POEME) by -=Dark_Angel=-, P.I.
11 Dec 2002, 2:11 PM
well to be honest i didnt read it all coz i dont have the time but it seems to be one of ur better ones coz it hasnt offended too many people
Don't pay attention to him lunar, he thinks that giving anyone here praise somehow weakens the great poetry. I think your poem is transcendant. It speaks the truth quite clearly. I might structure it differently but so what. A map, a tongue, hope... these are some of the things every women needs in her arsenal. You know for years we had to steal them, and if someone like PAKI caught a glimpse of them in our Gucci purse, theyed burn us for witches. Now you know. Smiles to you from the birth place of Nixon.
that is certainly a lovely visual way of putting it
im kat at alton. im the one stamp says stalks tom
oh and you are so knowledgable on this subject. if he likes it, he likes it.
Thank you
Can someone help me, I think that I'm lost here, lost in a place called America... I am crying now because of your poem and Mr. Foster's poem and talking with Andrea last night about her dead dad, and Joey asking me questions about how exactly did his father's head get bashed in, and how did it look and an articleIi just read about the decay of my homeland and everythings so overwhelming. Joey put on his band uniform last-night for a final fitting and he looked so dear with his little bowtie and cumberbund. He'll be 12 tomorrow and still doesn't understand what a frightening, pain-filled world this is. It's layers deep. I will cry for a few more minutes and then i must pluck up the courage to trudge ahead for your boy, for my boy, for me. I love your poem. The soft sweet part of you.
and as such giveth you fodder to muncheth on.