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    dots Submission Name: Prologue to Winterdots

    Author: jcpdandalice
    ASL Info:    16/m/behind the cpu
    Elite Ratio:    7.47 - 158/133/34
    Words: 151
    Class/Type: Poetry/Misc
    Total Views: 1036
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 1096

       this is titled a prologue,at the time I wrote this it was the beginning of my first full winter in 4 years, and i kept thinking about how there were so many other winters...and springs

    to me this is about why we (the poets) are poets

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

    dotsPrologue to Winterdots

    The internal workings of a cog-like mind
    Pull slowly on winter days
    Creaking in harmony with cautious steps
    On icy snow

    Through the cold
    Cranks spin like windmills
    Supplementing the spiritless lungs
    With oxygen and a death wish

    Winter: Lived-“December to March”
    Led a full life, until the spring sun
    Melted it away.

    What now,
    But to build a new life in snow
    Where leaves mulch and dream
    Where dreams come and go

    And where idle living
    Haunts the dead

    What then,
    But to salute a new season
    Where dead trees tell old tales
    That Winter is still bitter

    at Spring, nestled against the dreamer's neck,
    who pushes its comfort away
    By means of revelry in snow

    Winter destroys to create
    Spring creates only to be destroyed
    Maybe a waste
    But to be reminded that

    Creation certifies existence
    Existence certifies creation

    Submitted on 2005-12-11 20:06:18     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      I really liked reading this. For some strange reason I thought of Emily Dickinson, not really because it made me think of her writing, but because I think it's something she would like to read. (I dont talk to dead people i swear), but I've studied her recently and she likes reading things that "boggle the mind", and this isn't necessarily confusing, but it makes me think. Almost every line makes me think. I love that.
    At the beginning I'm reminded of a clock struggling to work during winter. My favorite lines are definitely:
    "And where idle living
    Haunts the dead"
    Fantastic stuff... it's interesting, comparing winter to spring and not winter to summer... I liked that. Winter merges into the spring, that's where the transition takes place. One thing i noticed was your use of capitalization. I'm guessing it was on purpose, and I like the variations. Anyways, it was a really good piece to stop by and read. And I really liked WolfStar's thoughts. Hope you don't thing I'm an idiot from my odd comment

    :) tennisfuzz
    | Posted on 2007-04-29 00:00:00 | by tennisfuzz | [ Reply to This ]
      A really neat and nifty poem ... this is original (it is very, very easy to write "original" poetry that is pure crap, folks do it all the time) but THIS is original and really quite excellent ... I love it, really love it ... bravo ... bravo ... bravo ... michael
    | Posted on 2007-01-17 00:00:00 | by Algol46 | [ Reply to This ]
      I think this is the first piece of yours that I have really completely enjoyed for some time.

    I definitely feel that that is true, that it often in our cold and bitter days that we poets create our best works. Poets have to be that way. Stability is not in our nature. Brilliance requires at least a little madness, for the sound of mind would not see the grotesque connections so evident to a poet.

    In that respect, the bitterness of winter is perhaps preferable to spring. We may feel most alive when we are miserable; suddenly we must examine life, we must find reasoning and justification for our pain and for our existence.

    Personally I have found that misery and sadness are all that ever move me to write. It is only in that moment of pain and suffering that I seek to release myself, to express myself in words. It is the extremes of life that often give us the inspiration to write, and in that I fully agree with you.

    Writing with passion comes in glimpses and windows of time. Even the best of writers cannot write in every season of being. We live in one season, and we write as if we were dying, and then more seasons pass without a single word from us.

    But what happens, and what you seemed to touch on in the seventh stanza, is that we often try to stay in one season, prolonging that feeling and the sudden sight, even if it means we must relive the pain over and over because that moment is that sudden rush of clarity and vision.

    Needless to say, this is a fave. More on the stanza with spring later.
    | Posted on 2005-12-21 00:00:00 | by WolfStar | [ Reply to This ]
      this is a short comment...
    i liked this poem - duh - but more cuz i feel like its ur writing but there's a slight touch of different...there's something more special about this ... other then the fact that u gave an excellent description to what winter is...i find the first to verses a bit weird, maybe the transition or the most obvious answer: me ... hehe
    just to close off, my favorite line...hmm this is hard..im gonna go for a good one..hehe
    What then,
    But to salute a new season
    Where dead trees tell old tales
    That Winter is still bitter

    great job jay! goodnite
    | Posted on 2005-12-16 00:00:00 | by DeepsLighter | [ Reply to This ]
      Existence of course really certifies nothing except existence. Whether we evolved or were created, both sources lead to our existence. You are here for a number of springs, enjoy them all. You are here for a number of winters. enjoy them equally. Winter of course doesn't do much destroying either. Winter is sort of like life in stasis. It is actually in summer and autumn that the destruction takes place, when bacteria and fungi break down organic tissues in the warmth and moisture. Thus far I have simply not been swayed by your argument. As for the poetics of this piece, it is way better than most. It has a serious and sad tone, but is elegant and not over the top with imagery. I like the machinery of the mind bits in the first stanzas. Sometimes it is almost painful to be aware of one's own ratiocination.
    | Posted on 2005-12-12 00:00:00 | by hanuman | [ Reply to This ]

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