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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: I imagined,but I never imagined...dots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: Temidayo
    ASL Info:    29 male Nigeria-lagos
    Elite Ratio:    8 - 161/40/20
    Words: 216
    Class/Type: Misc/Misc
    Total Views: 670
    Average Vote:    5.0000
    Bytes: 1290



    Description:
       Something worth imagining.


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

    dotsI imagined,but I never imagined...dots
    -------------------------------------------


    I imagined like always you would come,
    Whistling that moronic tune,with your breath soaked with rum.
    Asking like always,if I have eaten,
    before dressing my palm with bills -spoils of a gambler's war,taxed from those you had at the table beaten. Though drink was cascade-ing ur voice sore,with a lil lime,you gulped the gin more.
    Today as always I waited
    with pitched bliss,
    Ignorant of what life had fated.
    I imagined your coming,more than your leaving, I imagined your arrival,your presence,your gift, but I never imagined it come to an end like this.
    Only natural that blow be dealt by the booze, only natural that sometime at the table you would lose.
    I expected but I never expected that for you so soon: of life and death you would have to choose.
    Lying spread eagle in the gutter toes peeping from holes in socks in dire want of shoes,
    Your story vendetta visit on a weakened drunk,
    Bitterness for your wining streak.
    The report accident of a kind- that was freak.
    None to but you to blame,thus you were lifted from the drain with a clinging filth like shame.
    I had imagined,but never imagined that it would . . . its best I stop imagining what I had failed to imagine.




    Submitted on 2010-05-06 09:03:42     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      You have a very nice rhythm and flow in this piece. It talks about a trouble I'm sure many have had to deal and face with a ending sad yet not unfitting to the melancholy of the piece. Very well written. ^_^

    Kudos
    Ren
    | Posted on 2010-06-28 00:00:00 | by Renada | [ Reply to This ]
      There is beauty in the experience of pain and remembrance. This piece is evocative. i respect your style. Your use of rhyme scheme is elusive and yet i find it makes for a better connection with the motif, a kind of blidungsroman of a man who never grew up, the coming of death story. The antithesis of bildungsroman I suppose.

    sincerely Colby W. Bradshaw
    Texas,May19, Two Thousand and Ten.
    | Posted on 2010-05-19 00:00:00 | by colbybradshaw | [ Reply to This ]
      for me this piece reads like a child waiting for the return of their father... the imagining... the waiting...

    i know how this works. my father would come home drunk at all hours and he would wake me up regardless of my age and tell me all sorts of things..
    when i was 3 and 4 yrs old he would wake me up to say goodbye because he was going to leave my mother because she was with someone else and he knew it.. i would get upset and he would end up getting me out of bed and we would lie on the living room floor listening to music to calm us both down... usually it would be bob dylan...

    then my mother left him for the person dad knew she had been with and he would drink and wake me up and we would cry together and listen to music though it would usually be tracy chapman at that stage... or cat stevens...

    and you know... my father was less present than he was present but i always worshipped him and always loved the moment when he came home with a funny story that turned into a drunken mumble...

    and now... now im an adult aparently. and i go to see him and hes always drunk and while he didnt gamble with money he gambled with health and as a result of smoking for most of his life he now has emphysemia and chronic breathing related illness's which make seeing what he has become hard some days... like seeing the image of the drunk/gambler in this piece beaten and left for dead in the gutter...

    i guess alcoholism does that to the dreams of the young... drink drink drink until youre old and cant remmber how you got there and realise your dreams are long forsaken

    this was a bit of a ramble but it was my response to your piece.

    sometimes imagining is worse than what really is... sometimes it gets you into all kinds of holes and heartaches... sometimes it makes moving on impossible..
    | Posted on 2010-05-07 00:00:00 | by Someones Epiphany | [ Reply to This ]
      I get it now yay!
    | Posted on 2010-05-06 00:00:00 | by istalkmurdoch | [ Reply to This ]
      It sounds very sad actually, what I got out of it was that you had a moment where some you thought you knew really turned around and bit you? I could be wrong, tell me if I am :P but that's what I go out of it.

    If so, I know how that feels, and it's very crummy.

    keep writing, this is a good piece of work.

    istalkmurdoch
    | Posted on 2010-05-06 00:00:00 | by istalkmurdoch | [ Reply to This ]


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