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    dots Submission Name: Land of a Thousand Dancesdots

    Author: rws
    ASL Info:    58/m/ohio
    Elite Ratio:    8 - 2779/1297/258
    Words: 152
    Class/Type: Poetry/Misc
    Total Views: 1085
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 1224

       Occassionally, a post seems to be blood squeezed from the veins of the poet.

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

    dotsLand of a Thousand Dancesdots

    Here's a bit of madness
    karma never claimed;
    insanity, thy name
    is just another alias
    for her pretty's sake:
    cruelty, thy blessed intellect
    shimmers by degrees
    in the annals of anarchy.

    Restraint, the grey slug
    spit from my tongue;
    I am an alien insurrectionist
    and your dizzy dilemma
    may be cured by the sly Mesmer's
    whirling glass anode,
    a bit of whiskey
    and a single word.

    Philosophy? The fine print
    on a cereal box.
    Religion? A slow dance
    on slippery rocks.

    Neither cruel mercies
    nor fame's sweet threats
    arouse old passions,
    feather the frets
    of well worn instruments:
    slender notes made
    for slender napes,
    fingertips whisper, pulsing
    Cento severed sound
    carved into sailcloth
    thick as shrouds.

    When the luminous gather
    pouring divinity in cups
    to slake Gobi frozen holy lips
    with nectars dribbling from
    exquisite tongues;
    ghost lyres will weep
    fecund hymns-
    Hagia Sophia
    a song unsung.

    Submitted on 2006-06-11 13:54:24     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
    Submissions: [ Previous ] [ Next ]

    Rate This Submission

    1: >_<
    2: I dunno...
    3: meh!
    4: Pretty cool
    5: Wow!

    ||| Comments |||
      Man, you have ALOT of reviews on this. What's your secret. Okay, let's review.

    First, here's a cookie in case I misinterpret.

    This is the stanza that stood out the most in my opinion.

    Neither cruel mercies
    nor fame's sweet threats
    arouse old passions,
    feather the frets
    of well worn instruments:
    slender notes made
    for slender napes,
    fingertips whisper, pulsing
    Cento severed sound
    carved into sailcloth
    thick as shrouds.

    Cruel mercies inply that the 'mercies' they bestowed upon you were far crueler than anything way they could've killed you?

    Fame's sweet threaths arouse old passions?
    Okay...thinking.... Fame, is what knowing, everyone knowing you? old passions are passions that you tend to hate or regret? So, you regret old lives, loves and goals?

    Feather the feats of well worn instruments is saying something close to this: Hear the soft melodies I play on the old instruments of a life.

    Slender notes made for slender napes,fingertips whisper, pulsing cento severed sound carved into sailcloth thick as shrouds.
    Alright, I'm getting there... your small notes are made for small necks, and fingertips whisper, pulsing.

    Okay, your fingertips are playing the small notes that are being whispered? To whom? Those who are entranced? And cento served sound carved into sailcloth thick as shrouds.

    Okay, the last lines, I'm thinking mean that the whisper is like a life, an entity that is covered, concealed in something like a mask, hence the shroud. They are flying, being heard, or going on?

    Geez, I'm gonna tell you bluntly. Your poem makes me think...I like to think. Do you know what that mean? This was excellent in that...metaphor/philosophy sense that I so happen to teach.

    But what I want to say really, is poems like this is what the world is missing. Poems that cause you think, that refers to real life, and you can understand.

    Ah...well...my main point of this entire thing was to dissect it and say my take on it...so if I am COMPLETELY wrong, then that cookie should make up for it!

    ^_^ Twisted

    | Posted on 2006-09-18 00:00:00 | by Twisted | [ Reply to This ]
      I don't even know why I'm commenting...I have no literary advice. I have no epiphanies to confess, or to even relate to this, Bill, but I somehow wanted to tell you that this was bloody GREAT.

    I always come away from your posts with many things to ponder on.

    Sorry to be a total moron, but shit, you like to hear it's good, don't ya?

    be happy

    | Posted on 2006-06-13 00:00:00 | by wewak11 | [ Reply to This ]
      excellent work!!! bill you are a master with words my friend. this piece is very subtle, yet it bares its self to all the further one reads. now i just may be insane but this speaks to me about salvation. you mention madness, karma, mesmer who we know was considered to be a fraud tring to heal the problem of adizzy conscience. all to no avail. maybe a bit of whiskey, for what? finding philosophy on a creral box. dancing on the slippery slope of religion. where than can one find find salvation? in whom can one find solace? well, for me it is the person of Jesus the Christ.

    the last stanza tells yet another wonderful story. i love the line "ghost lyres will weep
    fecund hymns-" to me this is the writers, poets, hymn persons of the past playing one final tune. truly this is my fav. line in the whole poem.

    bill, certainly this poem is a poem of a thousand dances. if my words are retarded excuse me im new at this remember.
    great work again.

    | Posted on 2006-06-15 00:00:00 | by rev.jpfadeproof | [ Reply to This ]
      Neither cruel mercies
    nor fame's sweet threats
    arouse old passions
    feather the frets
    of well worn instruments:

    I can't help but feel there is some punctuation missing here as I can not figure out how to read it. I would prefer to read it as follows for optimum meaning, but you may mean something different:

    Neither cruel mercies
    nor fame's sweet threats
    arouse, old passions
    feather the frets
    of well worn instruments

    That's the only problem of that sort I had in this poem, but I must admit I have had the usual difficulty, as I seem to with yours, to penetrate the layers of images and the convoluted way you have of expressing your premise. (Convoluted but well written):)

    I suppose I like to boil things down to the most basic message and as I said I have trouble with that here, but what I feel this is about is the failure of something great to come to fruition---related perhaps to the fall of the Byzantine Empire. "Hagia Sophia a song unsung" and the fact that the ground covered in the meantime is not new ground.

    "When the luminous gather
    pouring divinity in cups.......
    ghost lyres will weep
    fecund hymns-"

    This to me speaks of the rebirth of beauty and light.


    | Posted on 2006-06-17 00:00:00 | by ponykeeper | [ Reply to This ]
      Hey Bill,
    As always, amazing work. Great wisdom is shown in this work...maybe a bit more than i can relate to or even understand but the depth behind this piece is powerful. It takes a lot of passion to write what you have here and a lot of experience which is what you have already. My mind has been blown away by your gracious words that it is hard to find anything wrong with this piece.

    I seriously wished that i could have given a better comment but what can i say that you have not said already. Your words are quotable and a person can't really argue with quotable words.

    Anyhow, Hope we meet again soon. Until then, take care...
    | Posted on 2006-06-13 00:00:00 | by charmedidentity | [ Reply to This ]
      well, First off I want to thank you for inviting me to comment after I had faved this peice. And I'm glad you requested my "thoughts" - I feel any changes made to this peice would be unnessary and a thorough critique would feel like decapitation.

    Reading through this, I felt just enough room to breathe from it's overall density - Blood-squeezed as you've put it.

    Philosophy? The fine print
    on a cereal box.
    Religion? A slow dance
    on slippery rocks.

    The fine print. Strange how sometimes what we search for can be found in the most strange and unlikely places - or under our noses. The moment in how it just seemed to "click".

    And as for religion - or slow dancing on slippery rocks, does this imply risk or danger? "to step out in faith" is what comes to mind. But then again, is there any logic in it?

    Thanks again,

    | Posted on 2006-06-15 00:00:00 | by vohomegirl | [ Reply to This ]
      Hmm. Did you know that you misspelled "occasionally"?

    I may be very wrong in my interpretaion, but I'm making an effort with the first stanza.

    Here's a bit of madness
    karma never claimed;
    insanity, thy name
    is just another alias
    for her pretty's sake:
    cruelty, thy blessed intellect
    shimmers by degrees
    in the annals of anarchy.

    Insanity is the guise of cruelty? when we are so shocked at humanity's insensitivity and outright brutality - do we simply pass it off as insane in an attempt to justify? Please tell me if I'm wrong.

    "When the luminous gather
    pouring divinity in cups
    to slake Gobi frozen holy lips..."

    Now this I like. Very much. I love your way with language. Like a bloody Jimmy Hendrix with words and imagery. Make it sing... go ahead... make it bloody sing and get all you can out of the only free commodity this world has to offer.

    However, I disagree with Irena's words:
    "Your words are quotable and a person can't really argue with quotable words."

    Your words are quotable... but I reserve the right to disagree.


    | Posted on 2006-07-01 00:00:00 | by shana | [ Reply to This ]
      I get the impression, here, Bill, you may be talking about territory that's grown far too familiar to be exciting anymore. I dunno. It seems to be what I'm pulling from this, so if I'm off the mark, accept my humble apologies in advance.

    What's that old saying about familiarity breeding contempt? You don't go so far here as all that, but what you do say is that prolonged exposure to things that at first excite us, even love, over time just fall flat. And I couldn't agree more. I think that's a challenge life puts in front of us. To find the new in the old, and stay passionate . . . or to always seek out things that are fresh, so we don't grow stale.

    What's the cause, and what's the cure? Dimming consciousness, or drowning it? Well, I won't presume.

    Overall, nice write.

    | Posted on 2006-06-15 00:00:00 | by Vancrown | [ Reply to This ]
      Pertaining to your description: as opposed to blood squeezed from rocks perhaps? In that the words they write emotionally impacts you instead of just being "next" in your head? I get that sometimes, when I know the writer has poured some measure of him/herself into the pages they write on. I like to think I do that, but everyone is entitled to their own opinion. Everyone would like to think that, but it's a matter of another person being able to identify with what's written and apply it to their own life situation/ideology/state of mind.

    Like Toxic Rose said, that part she mentioned is very quotable-- almost the main 'point' of this poem to me, or the one that makes the most impact upon me.

    Your second strophe brings up a lot: mesmerization, drunkenness and the power of one word over another to perhaps change someone's perception for that moment, and possibly forever? That's what I get from it.

    In your last strophe, it seems to be a calling to arms of the written kind. To unfreeze this metaphoric Gobi Desert with knowledge and music (metaphor for life and passion to me) perhaps? Hagia 'Sophia-- a church amongst a parched land where the majority make do searching for this oasis? Who are the guardians, and do they know they are so? I think some do.

    A very interesting write Bill. No nitpicks from me :)

    | Posted on 2006-06-11 00:00:00 | by alteredlife | [ Reply to This ]
      Holy cow. This is kind of like an epic squeezed into five stanzas.

    Holy cow.

    It just flows from one scene to another- well befitting the title. Land of a thousand dances- and scenes. You use words like 'thy' and 'nor' transport the reader back in time.

    Philosophy? The fine print
    on a cereal box.
    Religion? A slow dance
    on slippery rocks.

    Those are totally quotable. Especially the bit about religion.

    Overall, sweet job.

    -T o x i c R o s e
    | Posted on 2006-06-11 00:00:00 | by Toxic Rose | [ Reply to This ]
      It's so possible in a world like ours to disseminate so much information each day. And in the dance, we do forget what is important. All the time, the image of humans who live from the signals given is a sore sight for me. I wonder, how could I give them a clue that their design is to be lived from the inside-out? No two
    devices is alike and how we inter play in this setting called earth is paramount.

    so instead of looking for an idea I might gain from another, I make up my own, even if it's not the best, it's mine (and didn't come from the back of cereal box mind you) and that is what we've lost in our world. No one will question or challenge in a stealth intellectual way that utilizes intuition.

    Now, as for the write, you can tell me if I hit the center of it's rant or not, but I say it's a good one. Because from the inside out we all dance in such beautiful rhythm.

    | Posted on 2006-06-15 00:00:00 | by nansofast | [ Reply to This ]
      "insanity, thy name
    is just another alias
    for her pretty's sake
    cruelty, thy blessed intellect"

    Bill, I'm not sure what's missing in this part of this stanza. Some how I'm loosing your train of thought. Is there supposed to be some punctuation after sake? I'm not getting any meaning here, and I have no trouble anywhere else in the poem.
    | Posted on 2006-06-12 00:00:00 | by DavidHirt | [ Reply to This ]

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