Description: I found this in an old notebook last night.
The Death of an Intense Writer -------------------------------------------
He was such an intense writer
that he wanted to die
from an infected paper cut
if only to prove
he died for his art.
His body was as thin and white as a page
that smelled of ink.
I think he bled it, thick and red.
You could see his words as he spoke
in bold Courier New.
Everything from his mouth or hand
was as vivid as a poem
even shopping lists and directions,
and when he finally died
his brain was clogged
with the thick residue of stories,
and a council of his characters
carried him to the afterlife
where he danced amongst
an endless supply of blank leaves
and never ending fountains of black and blue.
Oh my, this is so very clever! It is really tongue-in-cheek as he bleeds his words and is so intense that he must die for his art. This is one of the most unique and most incredible writings I have yet to read on this site. Your last line about the black and blue is priceless, really, because often times it is like a beating that brings us to the page. You are amazing! +Jo
I like this a lot, I like what you've done because I can relate to it so well. I've often caught myself doing things (like shopping lists), but this guy, LOL... he's like, everything you'd *expect* a writer to be. I have used the idea of bleeding ink myself but never as skilfully as this. I liked so many lines, but I think that possibly the death from an infected papercut was what I liked most. It was a humourous touch. I like the way he spoke in courier new (I like Arial, myself :P) and.. it's just really unique, a good length and... it really works. I agree with Angela that this is fantastic and that you should consider sending this one away. Good luck with the jury duty! Lea
I think what I got more from this is that writers live, breath, sleep their work but they can't die from it. They can't die like they lived, and they can't truly be their work. Tell me if that makes any sense! Anyway, he seems very haunted by the words. Nice work.
i like this one a lot. it is so vivid and haunting. dying of an infected paper cut to prove he died for his art! that's great! when did you write this one? i can see him dancing with all the leafs of paper around the fountain of blue and black ink! very visual!
Great imagery in this. I love the comparison. I love this. Blahed Blahed Blah! I wish I could say more than "I love it!" about your pieces but I can't. I don't know how to give advice on something that I see doesn't need fixing. LoL I'm stuck trying to find the words to describe how wonderful, beautiful, excellent, great, good, brillant this piece was. :) Anyway! Loved it. Great job Sunshine! ;) -blt
Nice find. "his brain was clogged up with residue of stories" and "council of characters carried him" has has great sound. I love it, every line is just right, the last four are spectacular. When I'm stuck and feel I 'm not writing well, I look at my older work too. Somtimes, I missed the meaning at the time. It's amazing how we change and poems are means of measure. You're writing well, you're just looking at that new horizon and wondering what it's like.
For some reason this poem made me stop and reread it several times. How creative the words were. Such a gathering of thoughts to all tell the tale of this soul that lived and died for "his art."
His body was as thin and white as paper, smelling of ink. Bleeding ink. Nothing as mundane as a shopping list or directions...everything was poetic and artful unto his death from a brain clogged with the very words he sought to release.
And the afterlife for this creative soul was so apt. Carried away by his council of characters to a heaven of blank sheets of paper and fountains of writing ink.
You know how you always ask for our opinions of which poems you should submit for manuscripts? Well, this is one of them. I think it was brilliant.
I would have to say that I feel this way about myself at times. When I start noticing alliteration in your inter-office email, and worrying over hyphenation of words like Post-It notes, it may be time to lighten up, what do you think? Dave
Now I'm sorry I did not write about something my wife told me. She said spme day I'll die from an idea or phrase clogging up my neural-net. Too Late! A great idea, I might still write it, but keep it personally filed away, if I do I'll e-mail it in an IM here so you will not think I stole your great ideas! My one question is; If one might be so intense, I wonder if the thought of dying might ever be entertained? You cannt pry them from the place where they write> just a thought. Great idea here, See Ya.
first I read "He was such an intense winter". I guess I'm fixated on winter and snow cause today it started snowing here. anyway this is a good piece. but I would suggest to reword your lines 5- 8. cause you start very, very similar all these lines.
I know you said this was an old thing you found, but you seem to be posting a lot of pieces with poetry/writing as the main theme lately. Personally, i love reading pieces that seem to be almost conscious of themself and using there own nature and for as a metaphor for the poem. I love this poem. Thanx for shring your words. -Jimma-