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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: Seperate Roomsdots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: comradenessie
    Elite Ratio:    6.5 - 626/539/110
    Words: 113
    Class/Type: Poetry/Love
    Total Views: 1779
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 679



    Description:
       


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsSeperate Roomsdots
    -------------------------------------------


    She seems to live in the kitchen--
    a Da Vinci, Madonna of the stove.
    In between meals, she makes coffee
    and takes it to where he sits, in state,
    in front of the television set.

    Before he came to England
    he sailed the oceans of the world,
    and has a precious tale to tell
    if you can prise his shell apart.

    They seldom go out
    - dwell parted by a hall
    yet when he speaks to her
    his deep molasses voice softens
    and her eyes worship him.

    She asks that two hands
    be carved on her headstone
    one white, one black
    holding each other.




    Submitted on 2006-04-29 08:49:39     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      Hey nessie


    I'm just popping in here to give a small comment and not really much of a criticism .. I don't realyl have the time for it and to be honestI am commenting on this one because it struck me as a good poem.. having this initial feeling it's quite hard to be critical in a rush

    I think you've painted the images here quite well, following on from each other and not sidetracking in anyway ..the two first stanzas seems to elaborate on something mundane .. sad in some eyes perhaps .. although there is an underlying past .. a depth that we the reader cannot quite probe through .. not until the end of the third stanza .. where the subtle underlying hint .. the emotions under a dull surface .. show their deep vibrations ..

    The last image seems to be a powerful image of contrasts intertwined .. I am not sure whether this is an indication of a racial image .. .. teh social segregation and the issues of being with someone from another race .. if it is this kind of ruins it for me .. .. or rather .. it changes it from being a story of peopel who have found great value in life to people who are infinately sad in their hangups with cultural stumbling blocks that have been dealt with for too many generations. If it is an image of black verses white .. contrasts .. binaries etc .. then i think it is brilliant .. what puzzles me now when I look over it is the line .. dwell parted by a hall. .. I am starting to think that this is a poem about the sad and infinately dead-end running people ..rather than the mundanesurface-right depth image I first got when I read it

    when I say that this shift in realisation ruins it for me that isn't really true .. what I mean is that it changes it .. from something I thought was an exposition of a rare trait .. to something I am too familiar with ...which almost directly describes my grandparents . ..although they are married and not strangers like these two people here. I guess what I mean is this path of life that leads you to never expressing yourself .. never voicing thoughts and thus endlessly running against the dead end brick wall ..even if the door to the other side is unlocked and there is soemone on the other side waiting for his que to throw it open for you .. just one word .. ... no word ..


    ..anyways .. come by ..check out my blog and forum if you want to know what I'm up to .. and be good .. thanks for a lovely poem
    | Posted on 2006-05-15 00:00:00 | by x-ianhoyskolt | [ Reply to This ]
      What a fool I am to live this life not knowing that love described within these words. A love never forgotten, a love that flies away but always comes back since it flutters from the heart of one lover to another. I am sorry I am talking nonsense but this poem compels me to think of love in such a different light, no matter what it will always be there. Its inside of our hearts. Love yourself and then you will be able to love your sweetheart.

    She seems to live in the kitchen,
    a Da Vinci, Madonna of the stove.
    In between meals, she makes coffee
    and takes it to where he sits, in state,
    in front of the television set.

    I understand what is your meaning by saying a Da Vinci, Madonna of the stove. Its as if she was one of Da Vinci's protagonists "Madonna on the Rocks" or even Caravaggio's "Death of a Virgin". (Ok you caught me I am a big The DaVinci Code fan!) but I think for me there was some confusion in that sentence. Looking at it now I understand what it means but in the beginning I wanted to state that I was confused. I couldn't help but think of my mother when I read this stanza. Her life sometimes seems routine, a stage and script that have been written many times before. The performance is the same and the star has grown tired of playing the same role.

    Before he came to England
    he sailed the oceans of the world
    and has a precious tale to tell
    if you can pry the shell apart.


    The traveler has sealed his soul. He is determined to keep inside his own world and I believe cares not anymore about the world. The shell was created to protect him from the world, a world he has known all too well.

    It was a great poem written about a love that will never be forgotten. Even if at times the lover forget what is it that made them promise that they would spend each moment with them there will always be reminders. Love is never forgotten, you are never lost, you are just a bit distracted by the dealings of everyday life. Thanks for sharing.

    Take care,

    Katrinagolden

    | Posted on 2006-05-12 00:00:00 | by Katrinagolden | [ Reply to This ]
      this poem is beautiful, im a bit late on the crtique but better late than never.....it reminds me of my grandparents....they never seems to be in the same room at the same time but you can tell there world began and ended with eachother....

    "They seldom go out
    - dwell parted by a hall
    yet when he speaks to her
    his deep molasses voice softens
    and her eyes worship him. "


    this part is my favorite.....

    very well written

    AL
    | Posted on 2006-05-09 00:00:00 | by Amanda Lynn | [ Reply to This ]
      
    She seems to live in the kitchen(--)
    a Da Vinci, Madonna of the stove.
    In between meals, she makes coffee
    and takes it to where he sits, in state,
    in front of the television set.

    An em-dash after 'kitchen' or perhaps at the start of the next line underneath seems appropriate-- the transition is more than a comma to me.

    As to this opening, it's a pearl. You're talking about the paintings that Da Vinci did of Madonna right? Or did he? Maybe I'm confusing him with Michelangelo's statues of the Madonna. I can't remember. I need to brush up lol. That comma between 'Da Vinci' and 'Madonna' implies a separation when aren't you really implying 'Da Vinci'(s) Madonna of the stove'? That's what I think.

    Before he came to England
    he sailed the oceans of the world(,)
    (with) precious tale(s) to tell
    if you can prise (his) shell apart.

    Somehow 'and has' in the second line doesn't sound right. Perhaps it's the blending of tenses here-- from past tense in the first half to present tense in the second. 'With' seems more appropriate as it doesn't seem to have a tense attached to it. With that in mind it would have to be 'tales' to make this part sound right. And 'his' is a suggestion I'll throw at ya which I'm neutral about.

    Now this says all that needs to be said. It makes the reader think about England, about the oceans, about adventures and about molluscs of some form... I'd like to think it was one of those huge clams or maybe an opalescent abalone. When it's not too specific (like this isn't), it lets the reader fill in the gaps with his/her own whimsies. And I like that.

    (Parted by a hall,
    they seldom go out--)
    yet when he speaks to her(,)
    his deep molasses voice softens
    and her eyes worship him.

    This part troubled me the most. I think the first two lines sounded awkward... so I switched them around. Hopefully this is still in line with your intentions. And a comma after 'her' seems appropriate.

    And this part is where you get emotional... the scene has already been set but now you have more detail, which is great. I like how you've got 'molasses'... it's a very rich connotation... and it segues with the worshipping part nicely.

    She asks that two hands
    should be carved on her headstone(--)
    one white, one black(,)
    holding each other.

    I think you need an em-dash after 'headstone'. Again, I think so because there's a pause here that a comma doesn't quite satisfy. I'm concerned about the length of the second line. Personally I would stick 'on her headstone' on its own separate line. But that would destroy your 5/4/5/4 stanza line formation. A suggestion to remedy this would be to make all parts five lines long instead... which would mean that you could add more detail to your second part. Which is also the part which doesn't sit right out of all of them with me, upon further thought.

    As for this bit, it's a wonderful outro... you state the theme of your poem... that colour is only that... colour... and that it's about love and always will be, regardless of what skin tone we are.

    And that's a lovely thought.
    Peace,

    Jase
    | Posted on 2006-05-03 00:00:00 | by alteredlife | [ Reply to This ]
      "Before he came to England
    he sailed the oceans of the world
    and has a precious tale to tell
    if you can prise the shell apart.

    They seldom go out
    - dwell parted by a hall
    yet when he speaks to her
    his deep molasses voice softens
    and her eyes worship him.

    She asks that two hands
    should be carved on her headstone
    one white, one black
    holding each other. "

    I wish I'd gotten to this write sooner, but the passage of time hasn't diminished the elegance of these words, noe could it in any blunt the theme that couples in love must learn to cherish their differences as much as they treasure their similarities. As more people read this post, I'm certain some will call it profoundly beautiful, but I beg to differ; this piece is profound, period.

    I could babble on about the interracial relationships I've been in, the children of friends who've called me 'uncle,' or my marriage to an Asian woman; but the tone of this write is so hushed and reverent, I'll just nod and say 'well done.'

    Sorry, Nessie, I don't have any nitpicks here.
    Take care.
    Bill.
    | Posted on 2006-05-01 00:00:00 | by rws | [ Reply to This ]
      I have often said that it is these inter-racial marriages that will eventually save the world. That's how I feel on that subject and that's all I will say about it. Your poem is not so much about that, but about the love shared, how it has altered over the years, but remains deep and alive. You carry the dream of the hereafter as remaining in that love, symbolizing it with entwined hands, together forever. A stirring sentiment, aptly portrayed.

    I could sense the walls of difference, "kitchen" and "T.V. ", but those seem small compared to the "worship" of a lover. A very good example of boundless love, of colorless attraction, of maturing adoration, and the realization that nothing can tear them apart, not even death.

    Loved it.

    Phil
    | Posted on 2006-04-30 00:00:00 | by phil askew | [ Reply to This ]
      Interracial relationships are hard - my ex-boyfriend was Italian, and I am Black (and Portuguese and Cape Verdean, but that's beside the point) because no matter where you go, it always feels like everyone is looking at you, and not because the two of you look cute together. I had to deal with that a lot with my ex, and it hurt because I felt everyone focused more on the fact that we were two different races than they did on the fact that we loved each other.

    With that being said, I think you did a good job of showing how - I'm not sure if this is how I mean to say it - a love unspoken is still love. It is truly [color] blind, but unfortunately, the world is not.

    One thing I would like to point out though. In this line:
    "if you can prise the shell apart" I think you mean "pry", not "prise".

    Other than that, this was really beautiful, and I agree with Clyde. True love knows no limits, no boundaries, and is blind to complexions and racial differences. Great job. ...bb...

    XoXo
    ~Tayla~
    | Posted on 2006-04-29 00:00:00 | by Phoenix2004 | [ Reply to This ]
      Hmm, I think you have stepped out on a limb here to show that love has no boundries.
    I kind of get the yearn for racial acceptance
    at the end of the write. A message of sorts that lets people know that the woman is passionalty in love with her man.

    Before he came to England
    he sailed the oceans of the world
    and has a precious tale to tell
    if you can prise the shell apart.

    This I can relate to, being an old retired sea dog myself (22 Years). The last two lines makes me think that he is a quite man and that it takes a lot for him to open up or trust people. I could assume that that would be because he is either a very private person which happens to people after spending years at sea or because of things that have happened in his life and he has become very gaurded.

    Now the last two stanzas speak volumes about the love they share. One being that she is completly in love with him and the other is that even though they do not venture out much they are happy within their own life together.
    Kind of old fashion in a way. I like that because I myself do not like to go places and when I do It will be with her.

    The ending is a never ending pledge to the memory of their love.

    I believe their is no boundries to love. Too many lines have been drawn in the past creating those barriers that keep us segregated in society.

    I might be wrong about my comments but this is what I see here with you and your life or someone you know.

    Happiness

    Respect and Admiration

    CLyde


    | Posted on 2006-04-29 00:00:00 | by Wisdom Seeker | [ Reply to This ]
      She seems to live in the kitchen,
    a Da Vinci, Madonna of the stove.
    In between meals, she makes coffee
    and takes it to where he sits, in state,
    in front of the television set.


    first time i read this opening i thought the poem was going to be about a sterile seperate rooms and no love relationship where the beautiful wife is trapped by the tv slob of a husband. which just goes to show it's bad to make assumptions, especially if you're me.

    yet when he speaks to her
    his deep molasses voice softens
    and her eyes worship him.


    haha how wrong was i? there's something so simple and understated about their love which really roots it down, strips it of all show into something pure.

    She asks that two hands
    be carved on her headstone
    one white, one black
    holding each other.


    you could maybe do with getting rid of the should in the second line. but it's up to you.

    Adam.
    | Posted on 2006-05-02 00:00:00 | by Icarus | [ Reply to This ]


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