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    dots Submission Name: Junkshopdots

    Author: ellisa
    Elite Ratio:    5.51 - 400/415/125
    Words: 141
    Class/Type: Poetry/Misc
    Total Views: 944
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 936

       i was wrong, this was in my journal and a few people DID read it. Ok so ive attempted to change what has been suggested...

    for anyone who i havent moaned at yet, im missing someone...

    but its cool, not like hes going to holand, it's poland...i missheard, trara!


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


    In this swarm of crisp-paper dust,
    Looking out and seeing that youíre gone,
    Obtuse corners reach out and pull me back.
    Very close to being happy again,
    Even close to smiling, but I canít.
    Your hands are two weeks further now.
    Old glass eyes, boiled and sold second-hand
    Under that glass table top, staring out.
    Dead owners ghosting around.
    Eyeless, and prodding the next collector.
    Sadness in a junkshop;
    Pouring in, like the wind off this ten-mile street.
    In solo my voice sounds lonesome Ė hollow.
    Teeth hitting my tongue, late-night phone-call numb,
    Everything a greyer shade of green or deep-velvet red.
    The sickness of an empty single bed.
    Heroines donít cry over time spent alone, so -
    I let my eyes fall down, to stare through glass, at
    Soap stains in my jeans, neglectedly unrinsed (that final time).

    Submitted on 2005-05-13 15:33:08     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
    Submissions: [ Previous ] [ Next ]

    Rate This Submission

    1: >_<
    2: I dunno...
    3: meh!
    4: Pretty cool
    5: Wow!

    ||| Comments |||
      As I've said before, possibly one of the most beautiful, intricate and sorrowful acrostics I've ever seen :)

    "Your hands are two weeks further now." - I am struggling to understand how you manage to evoke such emotions within one simple line...both emotional and physical desire, longing, all the while giving the reader a sense of time and space....

    "Sadness in a junkshop;
    Pouring in, like the wind off this ten-mile street." - I'm trying to think of something more comprehensible that 'wow', but its not that easy :) Strengthens the title, and creates a vividly lonely image of missing....not only him, but the feelings he offers...of comfort, of belonging and security...your love shielding you from whatever Nature throws your way...

    "In solo my voice sounds lonesome Ė hollow. " - its not just the thought of not being with him, its not talking with him, thinking with him, dreaming with him...even writing with him (although longing has evidently proved itself to be a poignant Muse)


    All the best,


    P.S. And this is totally irrelevant, but as I was reading this piece, my laptop (on shuffle) decided to play 'Other Side Of The World' (K T Tunstall) .....your words got though to my technology :)
    | Posted on 2005-05-13 00:00:00 | by Katia | [ Reply to This ]
      i thought the last few lines of this were really interesting, after reading your poem outloud, i really started to feel it, good effective writing, i dont think ive ever read something of yours before, so im glad to have read this...look forward to more, great job

    | Posted on 2005-05-13 00:00:00 | by nwproud | [ Reply to This ]
      of all the poems of yours iv'e read, this is so far my favorite (so far). I like the idea of longing for a love now gone. Holding on (maybe not by choice) to memories that seem to pop up out of no where and every at once. I got the idea of a piece of furnature that would sometimes remind you of this lost love, perhaps a glass top coffee table? Nonetheless, the was very well written, short and to the point and overall beautiful. Nice Job

    | Posted on 2005-05-13 00:00:00 | by spoken | [ Reply to This ]

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    January 10 07
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