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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: "Continuity Obscurica"dots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: Clayman
    ASL Info:    28 - getting late
    Elite Ratio:    6.34 - 609/327/167
    Words: 193
    Class/Type: Poetry/Misc
    Total Views: 520
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 1409



    Description:
       Written from the perspective of a stranger in a restuarant looking at some youth sitting outside eating and enjoying themselves. Growing old is a bitch.


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

    dots"Continuity Obscurica"dots
    -------------------------------------------


    Long haired and youthful
    they invaded my interest
    with bright faces unscarred
    by the talons of life, reality.

    My atmosphere was littered
    with soft notes from Italy
    beckoning a culinary mood,
    but they were not sufficient
    in coloring my focus elsewise
    or pulling me away from the
    intruders.

    They sat around jesting jovially
    amongst tasty snippets of pizza
    and shiny spots of juice,laughing.
    I coughed at their fresh actions
    as all nuances of appetite vacated me.

    One boasted her technicolor hair,
    a wig of course, as another two
    swayed in mock-choreography
    while the rest babbled in unison.
    Watching them with adoration
    and hate i realise why the elderly
    are always grumpy.
    Old.

    Thirty odd years is not too old
    I try musing to myself as the nail
    gets forced deeper by knowing
    it isn't of youthful range either.
    What once was.
    Was.

    Faces without masks bob with
    paintings of carefree joys, pure,
    speaking their motives directly.
    Their veins and lungs amuse me,
    having not yet been touched
    by the embrace of chemical love.
    I wince.

    I hate them.

    -Svw




    Submitted on 2009-11-29 05:01:30     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      You do a much better job.
    Ive written several things about the elderly and what they must be thinking when they walk the streets, or sit in our establishments. The cordial hug they recieve from reletives who 'missed' them, before they are shoved into a corner before a television and completely forgotten. To look at yourself in the mirror every day and barely stand to look at your latest facial atrocity.

    I had a point here...what is it?
    ....

    Well, one thing is for sure. The youth of today does NOT respect their elders in the slightest. They don't acknowledge the old as someone who worked 45 hours a week for 45 years when all they have to look forward to thereafter is the indignity of crapping themselves? The eldery should be hailed as seniors, with love and respect, not written off as someone who takes up your time at the bank and always has to win the lottery even thought they have like billions of dollars in the bank already from their social security.

    ...wait..did I say that out loud?


    MyX
    | Posted on 2009-12-13 00:00:00 | by MyX | [ Reply to This ]
      strangely, this is third time this week I have been struck by my own fear of aging after reading a write here on e.s.

    I am still a wee one but totally supporting you in hating the babbling stoopid kids. It's worse when you're stuck on a bus with a group of them all showing off to one another (maybe I'm an old soul, lol).

    I think your first stanza would have more impact if you had 'reality' standing on its own line, like:

    Long haired and youthful
    they invaded my interest
    with bright faces unscarred
    by the talons of life,
    reality.

    Your language is quirky- nuances of appetite, littered atmosphere, culinary mood.... it adds interest to this write, I think, gives it this whimsical air.

    Young people, those bas.tards.
    | Posted on 2009-12-02 00:00:00 | by AlyRose | [ Reply to This ]
      I can personally appreciate the insight of wordy poetry, but I think in this case it is doing you a disfavor. The reason I think this is because your poem is relative to a shock (and the value of this shock), and that aspect is awfully hindered by loquacious descriptions. This is to say that the fun of language (which is, itself, an obscurity in continuity) can go hand in hand with descriptions when they're of context, but that is not the case here. You are taking, embracing the raspy tone of the elderly, taking in their stead the defensive stance of looking upon ignorant (in the pejorative sense) youth and grumbling. To give you a more concrete sense of what I mean, words like "littered", "vacate" and the "mock" from "mock-choreography" are more of the vernacular you are going for, and much more poignant because of this. On the other hand, you have words like "jest", "jovial", "technicolour" among others that don't really fit the tone. To extend the tangible advice, you should also look to cut this poem down a bit, allow the sediments to concentrate themselves in certain points and make these your lines.
    Like this, for example:
    Their veins and lungs amuse me,
    having not yet been touched
    by the embrace of chemical love.


    Also, as a critique on the overview of why you write poetry.. What is the sense of this poem? Why did you choose to write this particular poem? Was it for a witty twist, a feeling you had, a sentence, some kind of vendetta, pride? Why?
    | Posted on 2009-11-30 00:00:00 | by Outlaw | [ Reply to This ]
      This poem remind me of the of days yesteryear not so long ago when I stepped into this world to walk the walk of Life as I should chose to.

    My poem "Boulevard of Broken Dreams" refer to what I expected to find but never endured. WhY? I did simply not chose to!
    I am still young and chose to remain thus! My pic does reflect that I think. Regards Joachim.
    | Posted on 2009-11-29 00:00:00 | by Joachim | [ Reply to This ]
      How do you spell your name? "Sean" or "Shawn?"

    I like the first stanza. I never thought of Life having talons...

    "elsewise"?? You sure that's the word?

    "tasty snippets of pizza" --That's a cute way to say it. And "shiny spots of juice." Like it.


    For the most part, I like stanza 4 altogether. However, it may sound better to say, "a [insert chosen adjective here] mix of adoration and hatred" and after that, the rest of the line seems a little cliché. Maybe describe the grumpiness of old people. That simple "old" is a good, strong word.

    "as the nail gets forced deeper" Deeper where? Your heart? Just beneath your ribs? Your skull? Your churning gut? Your wrinkled brow?

    "What once was. Was." Keeps it strong. Good.

    "Faces without masks"? Doesn't everybody where a mask? How come the kids you see seem maskless? They aren't hiding? And if they wear not masks, what is painted?

    "Their veins and lungs amuse me,
    having not yet been touched
    by the embrace of chemical love."

    I really like this stanza. Instead of simply saying that their joy and liveliness amuse you, you talk about their lungs and veins. But you get off the topic of youth when you say, "chemical love," I think. You were originally talking of old age.

    -mo-
    | Posted on 2009-11-29 00:00:00 | by mojymo | [ Reply to This ]
      God, I do too... I think it's their stupidity. I was sitting in a bar once, listening to the table behind me, laughing that those damn awful lines these wanna-be studs (all of 19-22) were throwing to these airheads who needed an ear-blow to refill them every 5 mins. I kept thinking, I was that stupid? while knowing, oh yeah, you so were...

    I think wrinkles are something that should be kept when you're born and smooth out and tighten over time... why is it so not that way? I am looking at little crow's feet, worrying about frown lines, I haven't hit 30 yet but that's when the first nip/tuck is needed.

    I knew pretentious horrible people in another lifetime who worried and oiled and creamed and smoothed and patted up against Time, and freaked over every sign. I am rather disturbed in one sense and then again, off-hand in the next... who cares, I hate the Self, let's watch it age and rot now like some abandoned fruit in a window... For the most part, I consider I'm in a car... as long as it's running, who gives a [censored] about the scratches you get along the way?

    But yes, I hate the chatter, the stupid pretty things would be bearable if they would just stfu.
    | Posted on 2009-11-29 00:00:00 | by Runes | [ Reply to This ]


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