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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: Hording Colordots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: VanillaLeaves
    Elite Ratio:    4.1 - 101/110/23
    Words: 147
    Class/Type: Poetry/Nature
    Total Views: 1103
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 969



    Description:
       What are you looking for in terms of feedback? Any background information behind the piece? Hints? Is this just to vent? Emotional state while writing?


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

    dotsHording Colordots
    -------------------------------------------


    Three days into December
    and suddenly the passion of autumn died.
    Leaves that ignited as they soared
    with knife like arms and legs entwined
    intimately with the wind,
    lay like soggy remnants
    of burnt poetry in the street.

    Long ago I walked to the cadence
    of leaf on air
    leaf on asphalt
    leaf on concrete
    leaf on gutter streams,
    a river of red and orange.

    Now I scrape for color in the predawn,
    where the clouds hang from the sky
    in bloody strips
    of red.
    I twine orange peels in my hair,
    Smear my face with yellow paint.

    As the world fades to gray
    and the dull brown of decay
    I stare gather the remaining tatters of neon,
    swathes of brightness lying
    like beached whales on bleak shores,
    a small solace in the months ahead.










    Submitted on 2004-12-03 15:38:30     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      Hi, Emily, I continue to wend my way through your wonderful work (aliteration)
    Seriously, I can't find much wrong with this. I may be totally wrong (wouldn't be the first time) but I guess it was a huge metaphor for a failed love and broken heart?
    If not it was a nice nature poem.
    If correct, it was brilliantly written!

    Be Happy

    Graeme
    | Posted on 2005-06-21 00:00:00 | by wewak11 | [ Reply to This ]
      I really get into what you are saying here, but for me the leaves went long ago in November. Here are some things I'm looking at in your piece.

    Three days into December (nice alliteration)
    <and suddenly the passion of autumn died,>
    {autumn's passion suddenly died}
    Leaves that ignited as they soared{,}
    <with> knife like arms and legs <entwined>
    {entwined} intimately with the wind,
    lay like soggy remnants
    of burnt poetry in the street. (very nice image)

    <Long ago>{once} I walked to the cadence
    of leaf on air
    leaf on asphalt
    leaf on concrete
    leaf <on>{in} gutter streams,
    a river of red and orange.
    (or, a red and orange river)

    Now I scrape for color in the predawn,
    where the clouds hang from the sky
    (where, or when? I think predawn is a time)
    in bloody strips
    of red.
    I twine orange peels in my hair,
    Smear my face with yellow paint.

    As the world fades to gray
    and the dull brown of decay (good imagery)
    I stare gather the remaining tatters of neon,
    (I stare{,} gather the... missing punctuation?)
    swathes of <brightness>{brilliance} lying
    like beached whales on bleak shores,
    a small solace in the months ahead.

    So there are some ideas for you, free, take what you like, pitch all or any.

    Nice poem,
    Dave
    | Posted on 2004-12-03 00:00:00 | by Sandburg | [ Reply to This ]
      Super.
    Very evocative and clever use of descriptives and a sweet means of wrapping lines - is that enjambment or is that something else altogether? It sounds like that's what you've done anyway...
    It's earth mother meets stig of the dump with scraping and daubing and I'm aware of the free-for-all use of colour. But it's not free-for-all in the true sense because rules have been applied but:
    there's always the but:

    Three days into December
    and suddenly, the passion of autumn died.
    Leaves that ignited as they soared
    with knife-like arms and legs entwined
    intimately with the wind,
    lay like soggy remnants of burnt poetry
    in the street.

    Long ago I danced to the cadence
    of leaf on air,
    leaf on asphalt,
    leaf on concrete,
    leaf on gutter streams
    and a river of red and orange
    danced with me

    Now I scrape for color in the predawn,
    where the clouds hang from the sky,
    in bloody strips of red.
    I twine orange peels in my hair,
    I smear my face with yellow paint.

    As the world fades to gray
    and the dull brown of decay,
    I stare, gathering the remaining tatters of neon,
    swathes of brightness lying
    like beached whales on bleak shores.
    A small solace in the months ahead.

    Small messing but it's the only way to cogently explain what I think might be done.

    Even with a stiff ignoring of the critique, this stands up well.

    Well?
    K
    | Posted on 2004-12-03 00:00:00 | by Awkward | [ Reply to This ]


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    35782

    Be kind, take a few minutes to review the hard work of others <3
    It means a lot to them, as it does to you.


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