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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: Echo (ode to the phoenix)dots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: monad
    ASL Info:    64/M/California
    Elite Ratio:    8 - 1082/406/116
    Words: 575
    Class/Type: Prose/Passion
    Total Views: 1727
    Average Vote:    4.6667
    Bytes: 2610



    Description:
       This is the first poem I ever wrote


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

    dotsEcho (ode to the phoenix)dots
    -------------------------------------------


    Pain , sorrow , flame , and passion said her rainbow in my ears ; like an echo from the past with no love for living here ; so I tried to light a candle for her golden woman's tears . But like the cool of a blown out candle for the thunder in my mind I watched a young girl try forever just to burn a million times , and we were leaving in the summer with no sympathy for wines ; it was violence , stones ,and hatred , love for pain was left behind .
    She never stopped to think for her patterns seamed complete as her golden sun came rising and her colors met with mine , and from a simple warriors passion what shall we leave behind in a world where color is not but need , and death the woman's wine .
    He couldn't stop to play or light the shadows of her mind , and like the golden light of misery she spiraled through his time , and who is to say there is more to her as she burned slowly in her dying , and fell into the gravity of her northern lights so blind , and listened to the howling wolves as she weaved for better times .
    Thoughtless killing , thoughtful tool , I love you said her tune ; and yet as summer turned to fall the leaves upon her loom sang of spring's new hope again in a land of westering sun , "For in dying I will rise again to greet tomorrow's rain with no thought of bringing back your killing , no screaming from your pain ."
    The ice it slowly covered me as I sank into her womb , and the myriad stars of children's dreams echoed softly from her rock ; like the endless ripples of her final chords and the broken glass of dreams , and said to me a man is never truly what he seems , but only just his moment , and how I build tomorrow's dreams .
    I stood upon tomorrow's shores a witness to her schemes , and watched my mother burning , saw my father's broken dreams ; to chew upon coca leaves and watch as mother weaned .
    I must learn to grow old again for she died from all our pains , and yet continued weaving as her winter brought the rains
    ; for children must learn to live in the golden honey of her pain , with time her only company , and her rhythm father's game .
    Like a child on the edge of night I stopped to sing my song
    of a thousand lonely burials and I must carry on , and yet I too must learn to live on the fragments of wind's sails , or try to build a better ship as her dawn comes on so pale , and the cold light of our father's eyes an icy wind in hell .




    Submitted on 2010-02-28 06:29:45     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
    Submissions: [ Previous ] [ Next ]

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    ||| Comments |||
      Oh, how wonderful you kept this and shared it. It is a pure gem in the sea. It's very mythical, ethereal, and yet so down-to-earth as well. It makes me think of the sun...she as the sun. Or any other things that can light her...like the flame of candles or the fire in the fireplace. She dies every night and yet she is not quite dead.
    | Posted on 2015-02-05 00:00:00 | by wordsofmind | [ Reply to This ]
      I just came back to read this poem again ... it newly mind-bllew me. It's good construction of verse but what makes that so much worth composing and (for me) reading is how you have this deep involvement in episodes that made you conscious of personal growth, in yourself and also others. We are reading some things here which have been really well lived-in and understood, and your verse about it digs up our emotional understanding from where we are hiding it ... I don't like criticizing poetry but I think you mis-spelled a word in there: should not "cocoa leaves" be "coca leaves" instead? Cos if it were cocoa, I think you would be chewing beans not leaves, supposing you had really good teeth?
    | Posted on 2014-07-03 00:00:00 | by Glen Bowman | [ Reply to This ]
      You are so good with the rhyme and metre! And another technique that I don't know the name of; it's how the meanings of each line drive the tempo of the verse. It goes like a steam train, I can't slow down till it stops at a station. Is that rap or hip hop or something? For sure, it's lyrical (to use another scholar's term).
    | Posted on 2012-03-14 00:00:00 | by Glen Bowman | [ Reply to This ]
      

    http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Circe

    Women, can't live without them, can't kill them.


    Circe was the daughter of Helios, the god of the sun
    Circe worked at a huge loom.
    Circe would ask him to bed, but Hermes advised caution, for even there the goddess would be treacherous. She would take his manhood unless he had her swear by the names of the gods that she would not.
    She also advised Odysseus to go to the Underworld and gave him directions (apparently she told him to go to hell).
    Circe had the habit of eating the animals into which she transformed men (this could go either way, I suppose)
    She had one daughter: Aega, who was born from the ocean in a shield of ice.
    | Posted on 2012-02-10 00:00:00 | by Blue Monk | [ Reply to This ]
      I cannot speak of this. I cannot say . . . like watching someone take her last breath . . . like falling from a cliff. I cannot say.

    My favorite lines:

    "I watched a young girl try forever just to burn a million times"

    Wait. That isn't my first favorite. And there are too many to list. And it isn't one line or another by itself.

    It is the whole of this.

    There are no words left. You took all the best.

    Jane
    | Posted on 2011-12-06 00:00:00 | by JanePlane | [ Reply to This ]
      this poem meets me halfway...i get lots of meaning from it...not struggling to put thoughts together...

    i agree with Dalep and like the way he broke it up with the shorter lines....the longer ones can be overwhelming for the reader to tackle..

    but here there is fluidity of thought and words..."she died from all her pains"

    so sad...she dies so i can live...i must rise from the ashes of us...and make her death worth it....

    such pain in the this on so many levels...

    jacob
    | Posted on 2011-03-26 00:00:00 | by jacoberin | [ Reply to This ]
      First I read this as the block of text u presented us
    with. I got a rhythm from the read and I wondered.
    I Then organized it a bit and found I not only got
    a rhythm but a tune as well. A melancholy tune yes
    but pleasantly sorrowful and depressing. A tune
    one would listen to while his tears washed the salt
    off his pretzels before they fell into his beer.

    Well then this is what I done with it
    (Now some of your sentences are too long
    they should be fixed however I leave that to u)








    Pain , sorrow , flame , and passion
    said her rainbow in my ears;
    like an echo from the past
    with no love for living here;

    so I tried to light a candle
    for her golden woman's tears.
    But like the cool of a blown out candle
    for the thunder in my mind
    I watched a young girl try forever
    just to burn a million times,

    and we were leaving in the summer
    with no sympathy for wines;
    it was violence, stones and hatred,
    love for pain was left behind.

    She never stopped to think
    for her patterns seamed complete
    as her golden sun came rising
    and her colors met with mine,
    and from a simple warriors passion
    what shall we leave behind

    in a world where color is not but need,
    and death the woman's wine.
    He couldn't stop to play
    or light the shadows of her mind,

    and like the golden light of misery
    she spiraled through his time,
    and who is to say there is more to her
    as she burned slowly in her dying,

    and fell into the gravity
    of her northern lights so blind,
    and listened to the howling wolves
    as she weaved for better times.

    Thoughtless killing, thoughtful tool,
    I love you said her tune;
    and yet as summer turned to fall
    the leaves upon her loom sang
    of spring's new hope again
    in a land of westering sun,

    "For in dying I will rise again
    to greet tomorrow's rain
    with no thought of bringing back your killing,
    no screaming from your pain."

    The ice it slowly covered me
    as I sank into her womb,
    and the myriad stars of children's dreams
    echoed softly from her rock;

    like the endless ripples of her final chords
    and the broken glass of dreams,
    and said to me a man is never truly
    what he seems,
    but only just his moment,
    and how I build tomorrow's dreams.

    I stood upon tomorrow's shores
    a witness to her schemes,
    and watched my mother burning,
    saw my father's broken dreams;

    to chew upon cocoa leaves
    and watch as mother weaned .
    I must learn to grow old again
    for she died from all our pains,
    and yet continued weaving
    as her winter brought the rains;


    for children must learn to live
    in the golden honey of her pain,
    with time her only company,
    and her rhythm father's game.

    Like a child on the edge of night
    I stopped to sing my song
    of a thousand lonely burials
    and I must carry on,

    and yet I to must learn to live on
    the fragments of wind's sails,
    or try to build a better ship
    as her dawn comes on so pale,
    and the cold light of our father's eyes
    an icy wind
    in hell .

    | Posted on 2011-01-22 00:00:00 | by DaleP | [ Reply to This ]
      I'll begin with something that has irked me a few times reading this: rainbow. It doesn't seem to belong in the first few lines... A rainbow is like the calm after the storm, but you go on as if in the middle of her storm.

    I do like that a lot of your language seems to piece itself together well. You slope through the weather, colours, and mesopotamic in age simplicity (the stones, the simple warrior - a time when thinking was too much for the primal being). I don't, however, understand how you use wines (in either case) and I almost want to say that the second time it ought to be wile.

    Wow.. I just considered a new idea reading this piece once again. The mother you speak of (although unusual as imagery) could simply be the "westering sun" -- and so the father would be the moon of "broken dreams". And learning to grow old is not as direct as the expression usually is: you are learning to become geriatric, no, you are learning to go on in life, to move forward in spite of difficult partings.

    You see.. this reminds me a lot of this girl I once knew. She was a very passionate girl, and very much so had me lost in a storm of emotions when I knew her. Since, she's left my life but is still around in many ways... I feel like I could trade a lot of things just to see her exploding beauty once again. I feel like she was so much becoming in such a small space of being that no digital apparatus would be able to properly encapsulate her enormity in a picture.

    And I suppose that is what you're doing.. appreciating her beauty. You also acknowledge the father as quasi-unaware of this flaring quality of being she has, he perceiving her among the mundane like any other thing. And all of that making this a very immature and innocent write, I would say..

    (I might come back for more, but I will leave this to not lose it like the rest..)
    | Posted on 2010-08-13 00:00:00 | by Outlaw | [ Reply to This ]
      Nice inner-line slant rhymes throughout this piece; it gives it melody, cadence, rhythm which pushes your message/s through as it should. I'm more in favour of writing like this which is more direct and easier to digest; more connections are made, both emotionally and cerebrally, yes.

    By the way, what sort of feedback were you wanting specifically? Overall impressions or editing suggestions/hard critique? I often shy away from the latter unless someone specifically asks me -- I'm in the middle of co-editing and putting together a collaborative chapbook at the moment and let me say that honesty from someone you admire is a rare commodity...

    But I blather.
    Arrivederci
    | Posted on 2010-03-09 00:00:00 | by trinityfinger | [ Reply to This ]
      This is tremendous writing. I can relate to this vary deeply because in my works you will find an undercurrent of this - shall I say my real life in the fifth dementia dimension I relate to spiritually as I understand it and where I find myself in Spirit.
    Well done. I have peeked at your comms with Mythica and sometime find answers elsewhere that is relevant to what I need to understand a person more deeply. People dont always relate to me in the same way they relate to others and that sometimes is a revelation I can learn from. Learned that in CSI where I served for 26 years in the RSA Intelligence Directorates until retirement.
    Regards Joachim..
    | Posted on 2010-03-05 00:00:00 | by Joachim | [ Reply to This ]
      There are no words to describe the way this made me feel, but I can tell you this........reading such a piece sent shivers through my very persona and I felt something deep within me stir. Very Moving, I have to say.
    | Posted on 2010-03-03 00:00:00 | by Mythica | [ Reply to This ]


    Think Feedback more than Compliments :: [ Guidelines ]

    1. Be honest.
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