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    dots Submission Name: Lesson on Death & Dyingdots

    Author: Santi
    Elite Ratio:    7.28 - 299/307/90
    Words: 92
    Class/Type: Poetry/Misc
    Total Views: 1316
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 582

       I even came up with a title.

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

    dotsLesson on Death & Dyingdots

    the young bird is barely here: brittle leaves & debris
    born in Domenica's palm; one leg, a twig and thin foot
    broken at the joint, the other crushed.

    & though the body is bitten through, its ombre blue
    is still intact along the wingtip, like pinnate
    day-sky turning to dusk:

    it is this, the lightest bit of being
    she loves without reason, mourned all the more
    because of its fragility and how it took

    its last lung of breath.

    Submitted on 2011-03-19 20:16:52     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      Returning to this; I love it.

    The sticks thing, it's so birdy and broken.

    and the poem comes at you in sections.

    The sounds of that second section are just wow, they make me feel like a kid on his first triip to the zoo - and put a bit a wonder into life.

    And the last section it's sad but it soothes, it comes down like a pair of cupped hands to hold that crippled wonder.

    So, technically, with the 3 distinct portions, it's an accomplishment, that process of placement.

    That second section, I love sound, that is sound so good.
    | Posted on 2011-04-26 00:00:00 | by theludus | [ Reply to This ]
      Oh man. My main nit here was that: & it is this. But you've nixed it. Or was my nit that there shoud be one? Feck knows. Well, you may know, or be able to surmise, but yup, yup, yup.

    Another thought I have with this one: it feels very dense, in meaning and weight -- and I guess I'm thinking mostly meaning, here -- these ideas of fragility and death and learning that, for the first time, that one last lung. So part of me wants the lines a little shorter, and I guess that would maybe make the stanzas need to be shorter, meh at me -- it's a minor thought, I don't really really know why I think it. But I do.

    Something about breathing space, perhaps?

    I think the darkness of the colours have that impact too -- they're deep shades, maybe they need space.

    But man, I'm being drab.

    Looking at it, reading it -- the way that last lung of breath stands -- you know? That part has the space it needs, and for that it's stronger.

    But maybe I'm being a tosser, because the main thing is always the words and the reading aloud -- I'm bad at that part -- so line breaks and the such are relatively unimportant compared to the rest. Gah.

    And the words here are excellent -- I could pick 'em out and say why I love them, and maybe I will. Yeah, maybe I will.

    The first line is like a marriage of parts, if the parts are the science, the meaning, the individual words. Am I making sense? It's the sonics, it's how you say what you say as well as what you say, and it makes for a frickin great start.

    Domenica -- this kind of detail makes a poem, in my opinion -- adds a feeling of history and humanity -- somehow it makes it relateable in spite of me not knowing this Domenica. Maybe because I know the name of whom I'm relating to, if that makes sense? So the relating feels more real.

    & though the body is bitten through, its ombre blue
    is still intact along the wingtip, like pinnate
    day-sky turning to dusk:

    -- my only response to this part is: mmmmmmmmm.

    I dig how you qualify her love, or maybe specify is what I mean: without reason. Something there, it's that human quality, again, you know?

    Rhythm-wise (and this is outright rude) I want it to read: how it took its [one] last lung of breath.

    Rhythm-wise, that feels more like a song; and it also furthers (though only a little) the specific of Domenica and without reason -- am I making sense? Some days I worry that I don't.

    For some reason birds are always hardest. You know the way a person automatically holds its breath when they see a bird hopping on the ground, and starts to move so slowly, or just completely freezes? They really speak to us, at any age.

    Anyway, I love this 'un.

    I do.
    | Posted on 2011-04-04 00:00:00 | by AlyRose | [ Reply to This ]
      I admit for some reason, although I think birds are quite beautiful, I've always been afraid of them. One of my earlier memories as a child was of some large tree being cut in a field, and a nest of eggs happen to be in them... blue speckled eggs that broke and bled. And I had the unbroken one in my hands, and I wanted to see what was inside the tiny blue-speckled egg, and some other child was there... someone a little older, I want to say, and convinced me to break it open and look.

    And the tiny bird was monstrous to me, I remember a dark red-gray skin, barely formed, and this delicate tiny beak thing... almost like wet black fur, the forming feathers. And it moved, and I screamed and threw it out of the moving truck. I cried and cried that I had 'hurt' it, although I remember someone telling me over and over, the mother had flown away, it was doomed anyway. But I knew, I had done a terrible thing. I was so ashamed, too, that I had flung it in fear.

    And later, I found a baby blue jay fallen from the nest. I tried to make it a new nest, but I didn't know what I was doing, and it wouldn't eat whole worms, and it horrified me, the way the wings flapped, and the next day, it was stiff and dead.

    They are too seemingly delicate to survive as they do. Their tiny feet... stick-like... how do they not freeze? Do they have feeling in their feet? The sharp eyes.... And they think, they mourn, I learned... at least the hawks do. I inadvertantly killed a yard hawk here a year(?) ago (it seems longer now, maybe 2?) and wanted to save the feathers... put it outside, and two other hawks came and circled it for days... I was so sorry it happened. I had killed another bird as well (new electric fence), but it was the hawk that was so tragic. The others watched over its body for days... I cried with them, couldn't bear to remove the feathers, and ended up hanging it from a tree that later died as well. Everything here dies.

    Lastly, besides these weird thoughts, birds are an omen to me. I don't understand WhY I end up killing birds, but I do. Especially when I drive. And usually, when I hit one with the windshield (they seem to swoop down all the time when I'm driving... it never seems to happen to anyone else, these suicidal birds)... but everytime I nail one on the glass, something tragic happens. Someone/thing I love ends up dying within weeks of it, if not sooner. I will lock up brakes if I see a bird flying close, now, like I do with possums and such. I nearly wrecked my now-wrecked truck trying to avoid a crazy possum one night that froze, then doubled-back as I swerved. I had a friend in the truck, who cursed me for trying to kill us both over the thing. But I can't stand it. But birds... hard to avoid. They just seem to dive and SMACK! and it's such a terrible THUNK too. It's like you've killed an angel, in a way.

    Anyway... yes. Beautiful poem. I really liked it. I know why she mourned and share her sadness.
    | Posted on 2011-03-21 00:00:00 | by Runes | [ Reply to This ]
      I think birds give a lot of people the thought of life in death at the very same moment as of seeing a bird of some kind.

    To see one die is different, this is related to subject matter:
    There is a character in the movie called American Beauty who's father is a retired Marine veteran at a certain level of prestige but his son, this particular character.Films little things of life because he feels he it witnessing the work of God right before his eyes.Filming things like birds or a paper bag being pushed by the gushing wind in the midst of leaves in rapid motion.
    The point is, is that this piece makes you think of the double sided deepness of life and death.

    I have seen several 'dead' birds in my life, tarnished and glued to concrete looking like little scruff and scraps of glued feathers.

    I cannot help but think of life and death from that and especially what you described here.

    Even the thought of a crow having it's last caw before croaking would give the lesson of death and dying.

    A thriving piece as of dwindle.Interesting read it was.
    | Posted on 2011-03-19 00:00:00 | by Rex Gold | [ Reply to This ]
      this is really sad...i have had the good feeling of saving a bird once..it was drowning in a lake..got it out...dried it off...fed it...

    somehow it survived...it was at my parents' house in north carolina...i was fishing when i saw it..

    oddly enough it hung around for two months or so even when it got better...but more often than not...my efforts to save birds have failed...

    and it broke my heart..they are such delicate creatures...and they add so much in beauty and song to that which is around us...

    and the life of this creature, turning to dusk...it is the color of the sky during a day..but night is falling upon it...

    such a write.

    and yes the lessons learned...death happens...and at a young age we are shown that in different ways.

    | Posted on 2011-03-19 00:00:00 | by jacoberin | [ Reply to This ]
      I love the bit and bit of the intro. it's delicate.

    & though the body is bitten through, its ombre blue
    is still intact along the wingtip, like pinnate
    day-sky turning to dusk:

    this here just ugh so bad, so good in its sound, in its makeup, ombre blue like pinnate.
    day-sky turning to dusk

    holy hell, what did you just do to me?

    it is this, the lightest bit of being
    she loves without reason

    she loves without reason, but that's not what i'm getting in the transition. i think the she needs to be placed beside the being to sort the transition.

    I love the way you can write.

    | Posted on 2011-03-19 00:00:00 | by theludus | [ Reply to This ]

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