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    dots Submission Name: Weathermandots

    Author: isselman2001
    Elite Ratio:    5.38 - 37/47/46
    Words: 221
    Class/Type: Poetry/Misc
    Total Views: 1105
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 1300


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    I walk toward myself on a warm, windy day
    And the thoughts of tomorrow are flooding away
    And the weatherman says there are clouds in my head
    And the weatherman rests, his head safely in bed
    And under the sheets are large, buzzing cities
    The tires on the road are quiet and gritty
    And the thunder rolls quietly under my hair
    And the dog walks inside, like there’s nobody there
    In the parks there are people that visit each night
    And read in the papers that nothing’s gone right
    There are little green houses, each made of stick
    Inside big guarded fences made out of brick
    And the people walk briskly, each hand in hand
    And go to the beaches and write in the sand
    And walk over mountains and climb up my skull
    And pull on my hair and almost do fall
    And the sun shines happily under the bed
    And gives puppies food till the puppies are fed
    In my birdcage the moon sits quietly each day
    And does not fly off till the night’s first dark ray
    And the stars are turned on with the clap of a switch
    And the little green men think they’re all very rich
    And the bright shining birdies are always in flight
    And the lights of the city go out every night

    Submitted on 2007-10-07 01:57:03     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
    Submissions: [ Previous ] [ Next ]

    Rate This Submission

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

    ||| Comments |||
      "And walk over mountains and climb up my skull,
    And pull out my hair and almost do fall"

    That part's a bit awkward... I don't think it's the lack of rhyme, though. It's something in the second bit.

    My reasoning for putting the critique above the compliments is simply because I flipping LOVED this poem.

    The title was a bit misleading... I was expecting a very dreary, bland poem about rain and storms and loneliness or whatever. But THIS... Yeah, this is pretty darn cool.

    Almost makes me want to paint a picture for it. You know the type of literature... The kind that's just MEANT to have some sort of picture go with it. If someone picked a picture for this, I'm quite convinced that it would be very beautiful.

    It flows SO smoothly, too! There's no pausing and rereading or thinking 'Wait, what was that?'. It just fits. Expression practically oozes out of it.

    The last line was probably the best closing line I've ever heard. 'Of the city' sounds so much better than what I expect many people would've put ('In the city', perhaps).

    Reminds me of dreaming. Which might've been what you intended, but really, I've never had a dream as gorgeous as this one.
    | Posted on 2007-10-07 00:00:00 | by Darkess | [ Reply to This ]
      mad cool poem. I love the beginning about the weatherman and the part about the moon in a cage.

    Grim Aylin
    | Posted on 2007-10-07 00:00:00 | by WD-40 | [ Reply to This ]

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    January 10 07
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