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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: NYC (ars poetica) dots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: rev.jpfadeproof
    ASL Info:    27/m/nyc
    Elite Ratio:    6.14 - 366/359/149
    Words: 52
    Class/Type: Poetry/Misc
    Total Views: 546
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 327



    Description:
       i wrote this half asleep last night.
    its not done and unedited. it is written as it came to me.

    WRITERS BLOCK!!!


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

    dotsNYC (ars poetica) dots
    -------------------------------------------


    evening falls dark purple over the city, the stars
    slip past the skyscrapers, moon muses beyond the shifting clouds,

    and

    the poet stalks his prey. the elusive beast shut up in stark white,
    a jungle of paper tethered with thin metal coils;

    her legs spread before him.




    Submitted on 2011-06-12 12:18:42     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      I would love to visit NYC. The giantness of the life has got to be awe inspiring. It is soooooo different where I live and grew up. Alabama is a mass of nature and simplicity. The buildings rise up as if asking permission to exist at all, and those of us who dwell here, we are all small and down to earth as our literal inability to rise up on anything but a mountain keeps us humble and soft. How big things must be in comparison.

    Last line reminded me of pearl jams black.

    | Posted on 2015-11-04 00:00:00 | by lori_tab | [ Reply to This ]
      I like this, especially the last line. Go NYC!!! :) The format is also great. It reminds me of my old poems. You can check them out, I've used similar formats in many of them.

    Keep on writing!
    | Posted on 2011-07-30 00:00:00 | by Paradox | [ Reply to This ]
      Is that your muse in the last line?

    hmm, a little sexy and sort of frustrated but that is why we write isn't it?

    I can see the skyline and night falling and it's beautiful

    being stalked by blank pages, I know that feeling

    it's good to read you, jp

    love,

    Nan
    | Posted on 2011-06-18 00:00:00 | by nansofast | [ Reply to This ]
      Yes, a blank page can wait for a while, then it needs to be fillled. But unlike clay, it will not dry up, it will wait patiently for your words to appear.
    Short an' cute, been there, done that.
    | Posted on 2011-06-14 00:00:00 | by DUSTYTU | [ Reply to This ]
      
    Sometimes it is good to just get something down & let it sit, huh? I have found that I'm not a writer that can write a poem slowly, but I know writers who can do that, & I love how they add & add, evolving the piece. I guess it's more like a sculptor in that way. & I guess I see you doing something like that with this.

    I think that this portrays the city well. It is both dangerous & exhilarating, elusive & taunting. & I like how you've personified NYC as a woman, supple & ready for, well, you leave us hanging there, but in a good way.

    Two thoughts: I think that you could find a better word for "jungle". Such terms like urban jungle are common place, & I think you'd do better to break away from that image. Really, it's just the word "jungle" that you could find an alternative for.

    The other word I think might do well with a substitute is "spread". This might be purely personal preference though. Just strikes me as being a little too risque. Again, person preference might be interfering.

    But I hope you keep writing & creating this poem! I'd like to see where it goes.
    | Posted on 2011-06-14 00:00:00 | by Santi | [ Reply to This ]
      evening falls dark purple over the city, the stars
    slip past the skyscrapers, moon muses beyond the shifting clouds,

    and

    the poet stalks his prey. the elusive beast shut up in stark white,
    a jungle of paper tethered with thin metal coils;

    her legs spread before him.


    That's quite the jolting metaphor for inspiration in the last line, JP. The spiral bound notepad with untouched (pure? virgin?) sheets of emptiness , both beckoning and frustrating the befuddled poet (writer? troubadour?). Whatever shall he do?
    | Posted on 2011-06-13 00:00:00 | by rws | [ Reply to This ]
      I worked for a New York firm for a decade, but was in their Dallas office, and only went to the home office on occasion. Amazing city; NYC. Haven't been there for years.

    A lot of us writers and poets really know what you mean by this short verse; the blank page is a mistress, beconing; flirting; pouting.....

    the unspoken word is disguised as a blank page, and the unheard song has a siren's echo....
    | Posted on 2011-06-13 00:00:00 | by Ron Cole | [ Reply to This ]
      moon muses...the city, the poem unwritten, the jungle of white paper, smooth white paper with no letters on it...like a quiet city waiting to erupt...like a poet stalking his words, she spreads his legs waiting for him to come to her...yet he just stalks, because the words won't come...so he just wanders the city in the moonlight, searching for something palpable...something to feel that can become a poem...

    jacob
    | Posted on 2011-06-12 00:00:00 | by jacoberin | [ Reply to This ]


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