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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: Horriddots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: JanePlane
    ASL Info:    125/F/everyplane
    Elite Ratio:    6.76 - 419/435/131
    Words: 103
    Class/Type: Poetry/Misc
    Total Views: 1594
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 799



    Description:
       


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

    dotsHorriddots
    -------------------------------------------


    "with the stranger's seed blooming
    into the flower called Horrid.

    I walk in a yellow dress
    and a white pocketbook stuffed with cigarettes,
    enough pills, my wallet, my keys,
    and being twenty-eight, or is it forty-five?
    I walk. I walk." -Anne Sexton, 45 Mercy Street


    Horrid

    an aria,
    you know?
    when that single song
    keeps going inside.

    it wrings through.
    it wears out.
    bleeds a little,
    just for the pity of it.

    violins, too.
    rainstorm clichés.
    you name it,
    sadly,
    tritely.

    unbearably simple.
    like being impaled,
    by a steel pole

    hanging in there




    Submitted on 2012-06-27 02:38:58     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      Nicely written There was a nice corralation between the quote and the poem. They didn't look out of place together. I like the voice in the poem, sort of chirpy and sad at the same time.
    | Posted on 2012-06-27 00:00:00 | by Wolfwatching | [ Reply to This ]
      unbearably simple
    like being impaled
    by a steel pole

    hanging in there

    these lines are amazing, wow.

    i love the poem, it's frustration given up, i love it love it love it- so simple yet powerful, thumbs up!
    | Posted on 2012-06-27 00:00:00 | by expiring_touch | [ Reply to This ]
      anne sexton writing about her horrid, dried up life--

    like sheryl crow she seemed to feel a stranger in her own life...

    why am i here?

    it should be "stranger's seed"

    but i like how you pull "Horrid" from her piece, and then make it into your own poem...the parallel of the life she led...

    the kids, being impaled on the result...the husband leaving--the pity, the violins...the sadness...the single song that wears out...maybe it was our song...the one WE used to love together..just like we used to love together...but now it is just that bad song i can't get out of my head...and it reminds me of you and is torture to hear. it is horrid...

    i am hanging in there...but in a way...i am just hanging...impaled on the dream that isn't ours anymore---i feel the pain in this one...have experienced this pain...

    becoming strangers with one i used to call lover.

    jacob
    | Posted on 2012-06-27 00:00:00 | by jacoberin | [ Reply to This ]


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