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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: Postcards from Argentinadots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: Santi
    Elite Ratio:    7.28 - 299/307/90
    Words: 163
    Class/Type: Poetry/Misc
    Total Views: 688
    Average Vote:    5.0000
    Bytes: 1098



    Description:
       Doodads. & last minute edit.


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

    dotsPostcards from Argentinadots
    -------------------------------------------


    Postcard No. 1


    what I have noticed so far:

    when I am away from you I feel
    homesick, that feeling of nausea

    & hunger, empty & full. bleeding
    & bled out. like

    I'm missing a part of my body.

    :

    p.s. keep it for me, please.


    Postcard No. 2


    what I have noticed this past hour:

    the spirit nestles in the mundane
    not the fantastic. after all,

    there is no need to suffocate
    on an earth full of air:

    each breath is a small mercy
    that cradles the heart

    like a kiss born out
    of nature's intention for life,

    just as this love is a freedom
    I'm tasting even now

    in the puckering of tannins,
    sipped from a robust Malbec

    & held on the tongue.




    Submitted on 2011-03-10 20:05:46     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
    Submissions: [ Previous ] [ Next ]

    Rate This Submission

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




    ||| Comments |||
      ok. i faved this, i like this. some critique, and then we'll see why and how much. and i mean that, by the end of the ramble i always come out of it feeling different about a poem.


    Postcard No. 1


    what I have noticed so far:

    nice positioning, you appreciate that when you read on.

    when I am away from you I feel
    homesick, that feeling of nausea

    one thing i notice and love about your writing is that you are a good pacer. one of the best i've read actually, in a down low kind of way, relaxed you know, but cognizant of what's important. when you pace well you can get away with stuff, you can make something like a tax report seem interesting, you can introduce something cliché that might normally turn the stomach, but here, because... well you see what you have done.

    people who say that you can't use common language, imo, it's all in how it's done. pacing is mood, mood is of the moment, therefore make damn sure you have got your pacing right. i think, at least, because poetry is about the moment.

    & hunger, empty & full. bleeding
    & bled out. like

    here, because it takes what's known and makes it different. that and the pacing is how you employ common thoughts and conceptions, phrases, to give them more purpose.

    I'm missing a part of my body.

    faluvaly (lovely) resonant, earned.


    :

    p.s. keep it for me, please.

    (pleases are the undoing of me)

    All that stuff, not even my favourite part of the poem. I like what's down below, and how that good, contrasts with this and makes it seem quite quiet.



    Postcard No. 2


    what I have noticed this past hour:

    the spirit nestles in the mundane
    not the fantastic. after all,

    that phrasing is ugh good, i find it quite amazing, not because it's of a comfort, more that you could name it that way, that you could name that place. it's grand and a little bleak. somehow that's goodness.

    there is no need to suffocate
    on an earth full of air:

    and, a lot of the best stuff i read was like this, making an observation, that when somebody reads it they understand it and love it implicitly because they had never seen it like that.



    each breath is a small mercy
    that cradles the heart

    like a kiss born out
    of nature's intention for life,


    the first set of words... each kiss... gosh i was worried you were going to glurge me, but you didn't you pulled it back and that second set of words, this poem seems stacked with your epiphanies. epiphanies is a word best used, imo, in critique, rather than in a poem. here the poem is the epiphany.

    just as this love is a freedom
    I'm tasting even now

    in the puckering of tannins,
    sipped from a robust Malbec

    these two sets of lines and the fineness of tannins as a focus point for what happens with the wines and the senses, tannins because it locates here in the world.


    & held on the tongue.

    last line, obviously lovely.

    there you go. proper comment on your poetry, as opposed to one of my fly-by summations.





    | Posted on 2011-03-12 00:00:00 | by theludus | [ Reply to This ]
      The tone of wistfulness is unmistakable. Images are powerful and so are the contradictions inevitably infused among them.

    each breath is a small mercy
    that cradles the heart

    like a kiss born out
    of nature's intention for life,

    Great lines.... each breath is a gift and this gift is so abundant and yet so measured. the very acts of inhalation and exhalation constitute an inseparable pair.... the one cant BE without the other. Here wistfulness returns again.

    Loved this classic.
    | Posted on 2011-03-11 00:00:00 | by ShiveringFire | [ Reply to This ]
      this is beautiful..."each breath is a small mercy/ that cradles the heart" wowowow.

    "like a kiss born out of nature's intention of life"

    another killer line...these set such a mood...

    the missing of the other...so intense, held on the tongue..and you will get some when i see you again..words and kisses that is...

    to show you how much i missed that part of your body that feels like a part of mine...
    | Posted on 2011-03-10 00:00:00 | by jacoberin | [ Reply to This ]
      not venezuela.... argentina (okay, my bad. but both south american places that end in a). (my next door neighbor when i was growing up was argentinian) (and still is, i imagine). augustine. (i'll never forget him). (we bathed together in the most innocent of ways).

    anyhoo... i think your doodads kick ass. you have this way of capturing moments with a punch. that feeling way punch. like a sock-it-to-ya.
    it's like... ps

    i miss you, and did you know birds have this odd way about them and, while they crawl through tubes, you are on my mind, and god, if you could just see what i am seeing, and

    life is full of tenders and mercies and wine and breath and the taste of you and...

    an unspecified of sorts.


    | Posted on 2011-03-10 00:00:00 | by isabella | [ Reply to This ]


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