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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: Detoxdots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: rws
    ASL Info:    57/m/ohio
    Elite Ratio:    8 - 2777/1297/258
    Words: 116
    Class/Type: Poetry/Misc
    Total Views: 575
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 883



    Description:
       Acid rain leaves the skin supple...


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

    dotsDetoxdots
    -------------------------------------------


    ...and despite the swirling
    imprisonment inherent in a magnum
    of your finest enigmatic brew, nothing
    will suffice for wonder
    nor seem to emulate
    such sadness as a pair
    of empty sockets
    lifted toward the stars

    if it weren't for a
    dalliance with illness
    I'd live the life
    I write

    soon it will be
    December and death
    will forward
    an installment
    of her story

    slate skies
    heavy as a skillet
    hover like a bent
    umbrella dripping
    sorrow, and
    I'm not in the mood
    for rain

    mesdames, monsieurs
    good gentlefolk
    a toast

    the time has come to
    raise crude cups
    and spit upon
    the pretense of all praise...

    salamat malam




    Submitted on 2006-11-14 15:13:35     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      you know, i have an affinity with the difficult element in your writing and the typically single-numbered responses that your writings encourage.
    your style is awkward and that is as it should be - so far as this poem is concerned anyway...
    your treatment of your subject is appropriately sparse and cold and short worded and - seasonal i suppose.
    but like others who have come here to read this, i am of a mind that you have withheld component parts so that you remain on top.
    i could wax on as to how i would do this if i wrote it but that is not what you want i think: rather a nod at an ability to get backs up or better yet cause hairs to be raised. because in the absence of other landmarking or anchor points, you have written a mood, a sensation and that, i think is an elegant sufficiency...
    take it easy rws and
    good evening...
    k
    | Posted on 2006-11-30 00:00:00 | by Awkward | [ Reply to This ]
      This strikes me as being quite alluring. I have the impression that - among other things- you wanted to convey the idea of feeling downhearted and dejected when it rains which reminds me of an old piece I wrote and it also calls to mind a very depressing song called "Every time it rains" that it's sung by a sweetish band called “Ace of base.”

    In the same vein, I thought the following lines were very scintillating and I can particularly relate to them since I have also felt that way when it comes to rain and, as I said, I have written some line which are very akin to them.

    "Umbrella dripping
    Sorrow, and
    I'm not in the mood
    For rain"

    At the beginning of the poem or more like in the second and third stanza of your piece I had the feeling that the person that's being portrayed here has got a terminal illness and that's waiting rather impatiently for death to come, so to speak.

    There is definitely melancholy interspersed with frustration and despair. Very interesting indeed. I'm sure you meant to say more than just that ... I guess I'm too dim to see through it.



    That's about it!


    Warm Regards,

    Ethan.

    | Posted on 2006-11-15 00:00:00 | by Ethan Brody | [ Reply to This ]
      
    ...and despite the swirling
    imprisonment inherent in a magnum
    of your finest enigmatic brew, nothing
    will suffice for wonder
    nor seem to emulate
    such sadness as a pair
    of empty sockets
    lifted toward the stars

    if it weren't for a
    dalliance with illness
    I'd live the life
    I write

    soon it will be
    December and death
    will forward
    an installment
    of her story

    slate skies
    heavy as a skillet
    hover like a bent
    umbrella dripping
    sorrow, and
    I'm not in the mood
    for rain

    mesdames, monsieurs
    good gentlefolk
    a toast

    the time has come to
    raise crude cups
    and spit upon
    the pretense of all praise...

    salamat malam

    It occurs to me that you could begin this poem at the end and
    reconstruct is using the same stanzas and the meaning would be the same. Addiction,s love is one, gambling, drugs drinking and you've chosen love and drink to show how we become intoxicated. Oh, I left out one, arrogance or being intoxicated with oneself. And it may be that losing those we love has to do with this very thing. So while we insist on poking the shell until a rebirth is possible, the only recourse is for us to give up all of it.

    Give up wanting everything and then all of it comes back to us.
    And we're given the ability to move about the cabin freely. And you remember what mattered most is reaching for end of your dream, and love is something we share in pieces of time. But it never claims ownership or any ship.

    Blink, now where did all that come from? Beautiful write, and bittersweet all told. Keep them coming so I can drink them into my soul.

    Nan
    | Posted on 2006-11-14 00:00:00 | by nansofast | [ Reply to This ]


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