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Mantle Buddhas laugh at selfish attachment

Author: shaman
ASL Info:    32/m/Holland,MI
Elite Ratio:    8 - 821 /406 /72
Words: 190
Class/Type: Poetry /Nostalgia
Total Views: 2562
Average Vote:    5.0000
Bytes: 1309


This piece is all feeling and no work, other than recalling the memory. She was all chase and no reward. But I'm happy Now with another woman. Anyway hope you enjoy.

Mantle Buddhas laugh at selfish attachment

We graced beer basted basement ballrooms
The light of the Autumn moon strewn about like garbage
Glued to sidewalk chalk graffiti
Pale skin swimming in gaudy baubles
Bracelets, beads and a blow pop ring
Singing and swirling
Sending sterling silver slivers glittering from weighty palms
Arms over head saying some hippie-gypsy prayer
A mantra made manifest
Feet traced dizzying circles
The dank smell of wet earth emerged
In between gasps and revolutions
Cocooned in cigarette smoke
Lungs struggled for fresh air
Silhouettes spun pirouettes near candle light vigils
Empty plastic cups tread underfoot
Slaughtered in social liberation
Bottle rockets shrieked shrill
Blackened glass on cracked asphalt
She kissed me, but left with him

I pictured it

Pale skin slapping in a push pull rhythm
Coaxed into some clumsy Asana;
The pink lotus and green ohm unsheathed;
Panties on the floor
Under a creaking bunk bed canopy
Mantle Buddhas smiled on
Almond eyes forced tighly closed
Toes curled
Head back wild haired
Moans crescendoed
Then fell
As she fell asleep

Submitted on 2006-06-10 18:29:32     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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  Hiya :)

It's been quite a while since you dropped over to my page and commented on a long winded rant about neglected ideals...I stopped by here a few times and began to read over your posts. I really like your style.

This piece in particular is a gorgeous frenzy of seamy imagery coupled with disconsolate, jealous assumption.
For all you know, she went home with that guy, had another beer and fell asleep on the bog with her pants around her ankles. Or perhaps he left her at the door.
Maybe she saw herself clearly and not wanting to return to you, the scene of her crime, got her own cab and arrived home, alone.
The point I am clumsily making is that it's odd how a tortured brain will force itself to conjure the most vivid, cruel images possible, to taunt its innocent self. Not a bad thing, if it leads to poetry like this.
Anyway, you really wouldn't want her if the Venutian green and pink are her true colours.

While I do like the 'b-b-b-b' assonant introduction, it seems misleading, suggesting the rest of the poem will follow a similar vein of alliteration. No reason why this should happen, of course, and the words which follow are weighty in their own right. However, the body does become divorced from said beginning, as if the two lines came from different poems. I think there is an abundance of the Bs, and removing one (perhaps 'basted' which is paving, unnecessarily, the way for 'basement'. It's not really needed.)

I find it interesting how different poets work the words they write, and once I would have dissected this and recommended several for obliteration, singular fillers padding out for the sake of it, which (to my eyes/style) detract from a concise read.
Now though, I've learned to love works for what they are, and although I'd do things differently in my own piece (as few 'and', 'the', 'if', 'or', 'as' etc. as possible) it's beside the point, because I could never write this piece of your own psyche.

I guess that's good poetry, when we like something even if it goes against our own ideals.

What made you choose to portray this woman as almost a goddess-figure? I read that once upon a time here, legs were spread. You've now omitted that. I don't know if that's a good thing, for as I've said I like this piece as it is. However, it seems you've caved to the squeamish whims of others who do not want to see the ugly side to this whirling, desirable dervish.
A tawdry post-script would do well to cement the original emotion of hurt and betrayal. Why do her any favours, she who did none for you? You've ventured into the sordid realm of drunken sex, imagined by a stinging, rejected conciousness. Being hung for a sheep as a lamb, you're quite entitled to record exactly what your overactive mind conjured.

I do love the pink lotus and green ohm, stunning, simplistic imagery which I'm sure would make all the more contrast towards seedier visuals. But not only that.
Scattered moonlight and chalked pavements. Pirouetting silhouettes. Bottle rockets bangles.

Gorgeous work, and while it's never nice to hurt, it's commendable that through such undeserved agony you found a way to craft something delicate and sensual. A remarkable feat indeed!



| Posted on 2007-08-22 00:00:00 | by Learah | [ Reply to This ]
  I liked the title and how you relate the piece to "selfish attachment" and "lust" - I loved the wordplay and didn't find it overdone but crucial to the tone and meaning of the piece.

I'm going to buy a blow pop ring - I haven't had one of those for ages!

Well done, as always!

love,peace,joy&smiles to share

| Posted on 2007-08-02 00:00:00 | by Epiphany | [ Reply to This ]
  I 'm really glad she got away!

The light of the Autumn moon strewn about like garbage
Glued to sidewalk chalk graffiti

You set up the scenery of debauchery ver nicely here
but I see a different line break if you choose it..

The light of the autumn moon strewn like
garbage glued to sidewalk chalk graffiti

with this treament the image of broken bottles reflecting light is clearer, cans too, I also dropped the cap on the first of the line.
I know I don't use caps, hardly at all but when a line is enjambed
or completes a thought I think the cap should be dropped.

And then you continue with the glittering images, her gypsy-like
baubles jingling to entice you..nice work! But here is the line
that tells the most and even makes me believe you saw the truth all along:

Slaughtered in social liberation

not only does this refer to the cups, but the entire scene
we kill ourselves to please someone else, I can hear someone say, "oh the alcohol made us believe we were having such a good time!" I'm not against it just that it destroys people and that is sad.

And she left with him, oohhh that must have stung like Jack Daniels. I'm with Joe on the image of "legs spread" it's a little too graphic unless you want to cheapen her, and that I understand.
You're not trying to engage the sensual here but merely paint her as a "ho"? This is great work, Dave, glad I came by to read.


| Posted on 2006-10-16 00:00:00 | by nansofast | [ Reply to This ]
  Really touched me as I once did this to someone and now regret that I hurt him. How strongly you bring it all back as if it were yesterday and not 40 years ago. Women don't really change. I love the imagery fo the bed and the buddahs. Fortunately, he too is happy with someone else. I can pictue this so clearly, though mine was basement coffee houses. Thank you for the memory. Lynn
| Posted on 2006-09-17 00:00:00 | by greensnake | [ Reply to This ]
  This was really good. The wordplay might have been a bit overdone, but still this was terrific. The only change I might make would be to delete the line 'Legs spread,' toward the end; it detracts rather than helps the scene. Nice work.


| Posted on 2006-08-10 00:00:00 | by joeyalphabet | [ Reply to This ]
  This write is som full of imagery metaphors and all that stuff that especially the first part was hard for me to follow.. [plus its early in the morning]
I like it how you use alliteration.. basted basemetn ballroom.. and assonance.. or those together..
Sending sterling silver slivers
.. I do feel though that this poem needs a bit improvement with the flow, other then that its ok. I had a suggestion though, like adding a comma here:

She kissed me, but left with him

And I think it would be nice if you wrote this in italics:

I pictured it

That was all,
take care

| Posted on 2006-06-11 00:00:00 | by Darth Zeus | [ Reply to This ]
  Interesting, almost more than a reader needs to know! Two spots that I noticed, plastic cups tread underfoot isn't correct. You tread, not the cups. Cups don't tread. Other place was the very end. Repetition of fell is not sounding right.
Perhaps the moans could drop, or drop off as she fell, or perhaps the moans fell as she, asleep. It's awkward, but the close repetition of fell doesn't sound right to me.
Sounds like Hare Krishna greetings come with flower petal panties.....
| Posted on 2006-06-12 00:00:00 | by Sandburg | [ Reply to This ]

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