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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: dusty shuttersdots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: discombobulated
    ASL Info:    26/m/nz
    Elite Ratio:    5.22 - 81/63/24
    Words: 325
    Class/Type: Prose/Venting
    Total Views: 703
    Average Vote:    5.0000
    Bytes: 2264



    Description:
       mid-edit.
    frozen.


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

    dotsdusty shuttersdots
    -------------------------------------------




    revolt
    for those
    who have fire

    and a home away
    from endless lights


    somewhere in the coromandel
    where a lonesome dinghy
    provides that perfect shot.

    that rickety red car we owned
    struggled up those gravel slopes:
    wayward grip, loose laughter

    at the sixty foot drop
    beneath.

    i often spread my arms
    to call the lighthouse back
    into my sternum: cape reinga,
    dreaming sands,
    feisty currents shaking hands
    and rubbing noses.


    wish for anywhere
    but my room
    filled with chocolate fudge
    and last night's couscous.

    this house is old. my mood
    is tropical and skulking amongst the ferns.
    the cat next door deserves a spanking
    for ripping through our weekly rubbish.

    and i
    another piece of bric-a-brac
    in this shining mix
    of migrant
    and historic flux,
    of phonecalls and forgotten runs,
    believing this rain will stop
    through huddled books and strangers' smiles,
    but it's warmth all the same.


    pohutukawa, they'll bloom this christmas, as always.
    gashed amongst the rocks, roots of weaving castles
    tempting me away from here

    from faces which barely say hello. i could walk this street
    in my underwear screaming "release me to this wilderness"
    and not one would rush to tackle me.

    revolt
    for those
    who care enough
    to jot each ocean down,
    each waterfall
    a silent train
    smiling over bridges,
    each a sentinel for that divide,
    that gap between
    each finger
    saluting the smoggy sky.

    i want fire. i want my skin to feel alive.
    i'll wash each vein and dream of flight.


    ________________________________________________________________




    Submitted on 2008-08-25 08:48:36     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      If you paint and you paint like you write you must be amazing. The poem is almost impressionistic. It was abstract yet very symbolic.

    that rickety red car we owned
    struggled up those gravel slopes:
    wayward grip, loose laughter


    I love the parallels in the way you describe the car and the way you describe the laughter. Your choice of adjectives in the entire piece are used like good choice of color. Props.

    Are there any giant hotels on the side of a mountain where you live?
    "slopes"
    That's an odd question. Still I'de like to know.

    This was a great piece in the sense that it captures the essence of a specific time in the characters life. This is something I think a lot of people can relate to, it seems to speak for a generation, something that Bukowski did, Millay did, and for the creative process that this piece went through I would place it in the same regard I have for the best pieces of all time.
    | Posted on 2008-08-31 00:00:00 | by lori_tab | [ Reply to This ]


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    164948

    Be kind, take a few minutes to review the hard work of others <3
    It means a lot to them, as it does to you.


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