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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: Life and Illusions:Letter to Lady Cousindots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: lori_tab
    ASL Info:    27/f/alabama
    Elite Ratio:    4.33 - 1752/1517/481
    Words: 900
    Class/Type: Misc/Love
    Total Views: 782
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 5110



    Description:
       I hope you can understand all of this. It is a letter of sorts, to my cousin.




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

    dotsLife and Illusions:Letter to Lady Cousindots
    -------------------------------------------


    I am a child again. I step onto the bus. I listen to music. I watch as my own Tara opens up to me. Fields and Mountains surrounding every corner of this world. I sigh and wish for some outlet for the bubbling ecstacy that this place seems to bring to me now. The air is still and cool, saturated every fiber and cell of my being.

    I observe different pigments of green, in the mossy trees, reflecting in pools of water, on blades of faded and dirty winter grass. I think on different things. I think on the lovely reflections in the river.

    I love the river, the river I believe, loves me. I picture myself crawling through the tiny bus windows, floating out, flying down into the bath of glitter and smiles.

    I swim down.

    Rushing to the bottom, tossing and turning I reach for the mussels at the muddy floor. These are rare mussels, they only live here and no where else in the world. In my river. My paint rock river.

    Drenched and airless, I float down into myself, still sitting on brown leather seats.
    Trees fly by me as we gain momentum. THey fly...swoosh, swoosh, swoosh...by me.

    From this seat I look out and observe every joy in this morning. I float, with a hidden smile, behing my stone face, the rest of the way down the ribbon of concrete, to my destination.

    Upon my arrival I find you. And I am a child again.
    I love you.
    How can you understand my love. I watched as a child, always wearing a party dress, weeping at broken balloons, weeping really, all the time. With the balloons, your heart broke. Tiny pieces reserved into your small mind. But the feeling was strong and held on. Real love, love of another without their love in return. Only wanting, deeply and passionately your happiness. I love you. More than...

    I love you.

    From a flooded river
    came desire
    and she covered the feilds and saturated the earth
    cows sloshed in grassy marshes
    dirty and happy

    in the night
    a sweetly decieving
    warm blanket crept over the beast
    they slept and grew cold dispite the bunch of wool wrapped 'round their bodies
    from damp and disease
    the beast coughed, and died

    How could I let this happen? Would it be possible to take the beast, as a child, and cradle her until she's big and strong. No, not possible nor practical.

    Like a hollow, bitter wind I was swept from her existence. Swept from her beauty, swept from her pain. At first, in the budding weeks of her new garden, I could see in her a kindling warmth. This warmth filled her eyes and gave her a gentle blush about her cheeks. The heat grew. A fire combusted, flames consumed and suffocated, penetrated, her innocence.

    A small white rose fell from the vines that crawled through her garden. The vines retreated from reaching out. When the rose landed, it turned to dust.

    With me, dust is carried away by a violent and hungry storm. Upon landing I stood and watched the dust settle on my feet, in my hair, chalking the dust into the skin. This is not my dust!

    Like guilt the dust clung to me. I blew it away, it came quickly back. It blew in my eyes and burned them, making all around me a blur. Blindly, I swept the dust into a small glass box. I then wrapped the fragile thing with bubble wrap, put it inside a cardbourd sculpture and sent it through the mail, where it reach her.

    I'm here for you now. Im almost angry that you refused my package, I suppose I can understand. Yet, there is so much you don't understand. I was only trying to help you. Who else would suffer your loathing to tell you that they're all peeking at you through an opaque window. You're naked. Lovely, temptress, you are beautiful. But you are not alone. And you are still young, as I was. I simply ask you.

    Does it bother that we all watch you naked, walking with him like Adam and Even. Eating forbidden fruit and keeping each peeling so that no one will see. They can't look at you without seeing his hands. I'm sorry.

    This morning I was filled with complete joy, it consumed me so that, I thought I might not contain it, might not care if my body broke apart to let it into the world. Please feel this joy. I understand you as a child, and though you may not be again, childlike, I know...KNOW how much you would glow with the joy.

    I came to you, opened your letter. You sang and angry song. I wept at your song and was unable to reply. The accusations before me were of a bitter nature, and I had no room to believe such spite was seething from your angry claws. How devoutly you sang, as if you sincerely believed I intended to harm you. And I would never, ever dear cousin try to harm you.

    Admittedly my concerns sometimes make me seem foolish. I don't know what else to say.

    Sincerest Affections
    Jazmine




    Submitted on 2007-03-08 09:16:18     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      Well no, I donít reaqlly understand ALL of this, but enough to be touched. Itís lovely, if a bit confusing in places. Although I usually raise the flag for clarity, I think it is a non-issue here. Your words are clear, their meanings are clear; I simply donít know and understand the particular events to which they refer Ė and thatís alright.
    What I criticize you for most here is: ďFor Godís sake, spell-check your work!!!Ē Respect your work enough to at least do that much editing. ďDisceiving, despite, and (instead of Ďaní)Ē etc. are w/o excuse. The other fault is that their are too many short sentences. Work flows better and seems less monotonous (though the writing is interesting, the style is not) if sentence-length is varied: a few short sentences, then a long; two short, two long; and so on, seemingly at random, but really the result of editing. Let things run on a bit now and then. Also, the semi-colon belongs in a lot of places here Ė itís a good device for combining related thoughts contained in short phrases going to longer ones. Last of the critiques is for the change in voice: From third to second to third person. Iím not certain, but did you do this intentionally for some reason?
    Having said this, let me say that you are an imagist. Like Williams Carlos Williams, you tend to depict what you want the readerís mind to SEE. Of course, his style is very different from yours. He tends to succintness, and you to a lyrical style. Finally, this is a very tender write. Very tender indeed.
    fred
    | Posted on 2007-03-26 00:00:00 | by fredmelden | [ Reply to This ]
      man -- all those images, one after another, really cool stuff. i don't know what it's about. i'm not going to pretend to know. it made me hear that song "flying" -- by the beatles -- in my head. which is cool. as you said -- this is a letter to your cousin . . . most people think they know better -- every one is really self-aborbed these days. if she reads this then hopefully she will find some inspiration of some sort from all the imagery. honestly a person could be at this for hours finding different meanings for each thing you wrote about. i really loved it. good stuff. i'll come back and read it again again probably -- whenever i need to fly a little bit and do a little introspection, hehe. peace and love!
    | Posted on 2007-03-09 00:00:00 | by Solomon Disease | [ Reply to This ]
      This really caught my eye, and i loved it so,
    this is beautifully written and can stun the deadest of hearts.
    The way that you write is wonderful, and seeing it all of the time makes me realize why i like being close to you.
    As always after saying a few words, you always leave me speechless.
    Well peace out.
    And remember be beautiful as you were intended to be, my dearest Jaz.
    Be wonderful
    | Posted on 2007-03-09 00:00:00 | by WonderfulComa | [ Reply to This ]
      I think that talking on eliteskills and in metaphores are a horrible way to go about all of this. I am not going to talk about any of it here anymore. You want to talk about it, or tell me anything, come here to do it, and just say what you mean. I have heard Raivn say that all you'd have to do is call her and tell her to come and get you. Things are too easily misconstrued when we talk in text and metaphores. We do need to talk about this, so when you are with time, I suppose. Come here.
    | Posted on 2007-03-09 00:00:00 | by jessie thomas | [ Reply to This ]
      This is absolutely beautiful. It brought me to tears, and it has nothing to do with me. I think it is beautiful, and perfect, and explains so much, but I also know that your intended reader will not feel the same. If she even reads it.

    I honestly think this is one of the most heart-felt and beautiful things that you have ever written. I wish that someone felt this depth of emotion for me, that someone could create such beauty from such an ugly situation that I am in. I don't know. I'm actually jealous.

    And this is magnificent. You are beautiful, Jaz!
    | Posted on 2007-03-09 00:00:00 | by Raivn | [ Reply to This ]
      Tara? are you a fan of Gone With The Wind?

    Interesting poem.

    GBG - Leah
    | Posted on 2007-03-08 00:00:00 | by MornSweetSong | [ Reply to This ]


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