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Verses


Author: Car va g o
ASL Info:    35/M/NY
Elite Ratio:    7.84 - 180 /185 /45
Words: 129
Class/Type: Poetry /Serious
Total Views: 1268
Average Vote:    No vote yet.
Bytes: 801



Description:


I wrote the poem very early in the morning after reviewing for quiet some time. I was tired and I asked myself why am I still awake when I should be in bed? The answer was this poem. In terms of a review. I would like to see honest constructive critqueing. I am an artist and have been trained in the studio tradition so I am already well prepared for honesty.


Verses



It is a drug
It is an addiction
It is my ecstasy
And yes it is the emptiness
That threatens to consume me.

These words
Strung in lines of verses,
A small army of thought,
Stretched and toyed with,
Somehow they are - my crutch - and frame - in one.

My cosmos defined,
The whole of me in these words
Forever
or as long as this hard drive will hold

The “thought” of it - a piercing;
Cruel and crippling!
I horde my treasure of conceit
Somewhere knowing it is my better part

For I am the seed - the moon -
The great hot mountain -
The thick red tree -
Bound between those lines
Choking on the will to be…




Submitted on 2005-09-22 04:05:30     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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Comments


        "Lines of verse" doesn't seem so creative.
      "A small army of thought" is interesting in itself. But since you mentioned 'line' first I'm thinking about ants. Words can look like little black ants.
      "Stretched and toyed with" is good, but you can't take this on top of what has been said already. What is a line that you can stretch?
      And then the next line, where you mention crutch and frame, this stanza as a whole doesn't connect. It's like an animated head pulling in seven different directions, like Scooby Doo trying to flee the scene of a monster.
      Your opener: Verse/poetry is addicting and may destroy ones self all in one pass. If not done correctly, or treated without neglect, it can be the end of you. Can be 'boot camp' for the soul, in a way, and if you mention lines and armies and crutches, you may be able to incorporate something like that into the work.
      "My cosmos defined" is an interesting line in itself. Again, taking the other lines into account, it doesn't necessarily fit with what is being said; the continued metaphor continues to morph into several different meanings or coherence. However, "the whole of me in these words forever" makes the cosmos thing clearer. Still, I haven't been given one set of images I should hold on to – and if the poem doesn't lead me through one entire image I may leave with a jigsaw puzzle of thought, or a flash-card memory of what may have been said and meant.
      The last two stanzas are great. In a way, I can think that the line of verse that you mentioned in the second stanza can now be what is piercing (as in the heart), but I feel that is reaching a bit. And if not, what is the "thought" of? The thought of it, you say, what does it have to do with piercing and crippling moments/feelings? It remains unclear; you could mean that you just feel taken by the fact that you will remain in words forever...but I feel that would be the eventual yearn for all writers, not a pain or unpleasantly.

[Ending]
      "It is the emptiness that threatens to consume me."
      I can only attribute this 'emptiness' – though I can infer from your description you mean comments – is your later described cosmos...some form of thought forever spanning over time to infinity. This is the conscious thought, the ability to write and perceive what is written. Your treasure of 'conceit'...as you've spoken to me early, I can detail some of your philosophy on writing to that of a magician. Words are magical, like beholding that of a great galaxy. Space is rather empty.
      Yet we end on earthly descriptions: the moon, mountains, trees. Nature, in other words. Is it natural to write poetry? Maybe to desire a great wealth of knowledge (the cosmos) – poetry would definitely be the ultimate knowledge in how one perceives reality.
      The remaining and final images you leave me with are of space and earth: green, black. I don't know if you should narrow down the search or not to explaining one of these two. I still leave with a nice image but not completely aware of what it was you really meant with this one.

| Posted on 2006-09-27 00:00:00 | by rouge wave | [ Reply to This ]
  Well, this is just chockful of evocative images, though I'm not sure all of them work. The best line in the poem, out of many good lines, is

Somehow they are - my crutch - and frame - in one.

In addition to its great wording, this is fantastic insight.

Other good lines - A small army of thought/stretched and toyed with - that's exactly what we do when we spend time on a piece - stretch it and toy with it.

The whole of me in these words - and isn't that how we feel, especially when we've written something worth reading?

I hoarde my treasure of conceit - I really like this line. We work on a poem or story until it's just the way we want it (or as close as we can make it) and we are convinced it's good - so we add it to the others that we are convinced are good - the treasure of our conceit.

All this has been fantastic - until we come to the last stanza. I see nothing tying in your metaphors with writing. They're just sort of dropped there and left in the middle of the floor. The last two lines of that stanza fit well with what you've written before, but those metaphors just don't mesh. You're reading along with a smile on your face going 'yeah, I know", then the last stanza and the smile changes to a puzzled look 'Huh?'

I would suggest substituting other examples that can actually be bound - you cannot bind a seed or the moon or a mountain or tree - or change the bound line. I can, actually, see how you could say a seed would choke on the will to be, but the moon? Nah.

I'm sorry. This was a really good poem, but the last stanza really doesn't work. The rest of it was really, really great. mae
| Posted on 2005-09-22 00:00:00 | by mae | [ Reply to This ]
  Nice wording and flow, just that I'm clueless what it is exactly about, so the metaphores at the end seemed a little odd.

I reckon it was related to writing a poem, and I liked the images you created, "Somehow they are - my crutch - and frame - in one." was a pretty nice line.

All in all a bit of an mysterious yet odd write, must say I liked it.

Keep it up
| Posted on 2005-09-22 00:00:00 | by machine dream | [ Reply to This ]


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