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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: Futuredots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: saartha
    ASL Info:    27/F/US
    Elite Ratio:    4.06 - 230/384/131
    Words: 168
    Class/Type: Poetry/Misc
    Total Views: 880
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 1038



    Description:
       


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

    dotsFuturedots
    -------------------------------------------


    Having decided to live,
    I eat salads, cut sweets,
    take up walking. A small white dog
    yaps fiercely behind his fence. I wonder
    how it feels to act so earnestly.

    At night my body resounds
    with slow tides of blood. Wave after wave,
    it says: you are, you are, you are.

    I feel old, the way
    only the very young do.
    I listen to the cricketing
    of bone and ligament,
    the stiffening nodules of meat.

    Last week, my cat died in the laundry room
    balled up like a rag. This is the end
    for every living thing. I haven't forgotten.
    It still clutches my throat.

    But it would be fine, filling the years
    with some meaningless love.
    Yapping day after day, stupidly
    whole-hearted, the sense
    of a good job well done.

    You are, says the body.
    You are dying, says the brain.

    Yap yap, says the dog,
    and goes inside for a treat.




    Submitted on 2015-03-01 21:46:50     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      yes,yes green leafy vegetables, the secret to immortality.
    cool poem I had this frame of mind forced upon me several years ago and now it seems green leafy vegetables are one of my only friends really miss roast beef and cheese burgers.
    well enough deja vu and about the cat sorry for your loss
    | Posted on 2015-04-09 00:00:00 | by DaleP | [ Reply to This ]
      Having decided to live,
    I eat salads, cut sweets,
    take up walking. A small white dog
    yaps fiercely behind his fence. I wonder
    how it feels to act so earnestly.

    I like the first line which seems abusive in its shortness
    when deciding of something that must have seemed like walking through treacle. So, yes. The eat salads and cut sweets is kind of biting.

    At night my body resounds
    with slow tides of blood. Wave after wave,
    it says: you are, you are, you are. Everything about this poem -up to a point is fucking great.

    I feel old, the way
    only the very young do.


    This is great cos kids are so up on that.

    I listen to the cricketing
    of bone and ligament,
    the stiffening nodules of meat.

    I like the i as a change in composition.

    Last week, my cat died in the laundry room
    balled up like a rag. This is the end
    for every living thing. I haven't forgotten.
    It still clutches my throat.

    I guess I'm like that too in that sometimes I think about life as avenues, or like one of my mum's storage rooms for a bunch of things that have come to the end of their uses. Or, just shopping you know, you go down to the grocery store and replenish the refrigerator, the freezer, and the cupboards but inevitably you just end up with a bunch of empty cartons again - and that's a little stilting, that purpose.

    I guess it's also indicative, life is what's inside you and also the people around you.

    It's cool (or right on) that you would use a rag as description because in rural New Zealand (on your adventures as a kid) you could often find dessicated animals, dried out but also intact, it's good on that grief and also relates to what I was talking about with those groceries, purpose turned to pointless, you could see that cat in movement and also as a scarf about the neck so what you've given us there is generous, rich in its description. *Rich can mean sad too.

    But it would be fine, filling the years
    with some meaningless love.
    Yapping day after day, stupidly
    whole-hearted, the sense
    of a good job well done.

    I like how this strophe seems to clang with the second strophe which starts with "At night"

    Night is a truth, both in happiness, and in loneliness;
    so I like that subtle way this poem points out some people are dog people and some people
    are cat people.

    You can't help but compare, the plight of the dog- to the insight of the narrator, it fastens on perspective.

    You are, says the body.
    You are dying, says the brain.

    Yap yap, says the dog,
    and goes inside for a treat.

    I don't know about these last two lines, to me they are a little bit cute and go to work making a point already made.

    Nice to read you. This was good.

    | Posted on 2015-03-02 00:00:00 | by Daniel Barlow | [ Reply to This ]


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