Right on the Pulse by ConScribe

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Submission Name: Right on the Pulse dots

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Author:	ConScribe
ASL Info:	19/M/Tucson,AZ
Elite Ratio:	5.11 - 262/360/143
Words:	426

Class/Type:	Poetry/Misc
Total Views:	1172
Average Vote:	No vote yet.
Bytes:	2651

Description:
Please read the description, it might help you understand the peice a little better.

I wrote this peice about a wonderful work of art I have always loved. Pink Floyd released a compelation album called "Pulse" and I decided to write a peice based off the album art.

When you read this take in consideration that I go into great detail about nick-picky details that you might miss in a small print such as the one I have found here. E.g.- I write about the airplane and the diver, which appear very small, and I also speak of the pyramids that look to be a blur sometimes. I also mention the bike and the watch gears that are almost microscopic within the "Iris of God" I also tie in the red dots around the pupil, hints the "red blinking way stations."
If you are a fan of Pink Floyd's then you might want to see how many song titles you can find hidden within the text.

I hope you enjoy my work.

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Right on the Pulse dots

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When mars was still a moon
it eclipsed the pupil of God,
giving to the maker of our matrix the vital meditation needed
to complete the plotting of all the perfect planetary points and poses,
to finish arranging the astronomy domain.

Way stations for stars were set like soft, smoldering smoke signals
too small to see in the supernatural sea of empty space,
evenly dispersed in the round, about the celestial planes,
perfect red beacons flashing in thought,
solid and secure as to not, risk a ruining of the rather randomized rotation.
God set the gears of time to mechanics,
centripetal symmetry in a spontaneous order
that left nothing but mystery for man.

God spun existence and it’s still spinning,
Cycle after circle, every since this beginning.

Before the pyramids there rested a sea of red,
like antique rust stuck in time around the green iris of God,
surreal sands of the first hourglass that swept from above, into the blue,
waves that brushed over the birthplace where life first drew,
up from the ocean, from the primordial ooze,
coming from a white topped breaker of both past and present blues.
Life can come in any colour you like,
but in death all the colours just look alike.

It was a great day for a dawn as life began to Run like Hell,
fish swimming up from the ooze into the ocean,
sharp fins that cut against the current,
traveling along the path of least resistance,
that which also makes creeks and canyons curve.
The eyes of these early organisms
impregnated the egg in which all angels would exit,
in the form of a flock of freedom flyers,
the far fluttering feathers of freemen learning to fly
in high hopes of hitting even halfway to heaven,
across the Atlantic on a 747,
trying not to crash like the diver’s desire
not to dip too deep,
a leap limited by the loss of life,
the deluge of death at dangerous depths,
and the coming back to life,
uncomfortable in the uncertainty
that can cause irreversible brain damage,
a numbed, irregular pulse,
to the involuntary mechanical beat
of his heart’s red, blinking way stations,
to the timeless tempo
of a tiny ticking timepeice
always steady, yet ever random.

God spun existence and it’s still spinning,
Circle after cycle, every since that beginning.

Submitted on 2006-04-12 20:00:50 Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
Submissions: [ Previous ] [ Next ]

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

||| Comments |||
Wow this was long and beautiful. I enjoyed it very much. It was a great write. wehre do you get all this stuff from. I would like to know lol. well anyways great write. take care.
-Christina aka POETRY
| Posted on 2006-04-12 00:00:00 | by POETRY | [ Reply to This ]
Seven reads (two were mine) and only one other comment. Such are the whims of the members here, let me have what I can read in ninety seconds. Well, here is a critique that will take longer to read than the poem. PM me your e mail and I can send it as a word doc, I'm not sure all the formatting is going to come out here.

Right on the Pulse

<When> [M]ars was still a moon
<it> eclips<ed>[ing] the pupil of God<,>
giving <to> the [matrix] maker <of our matrix> <the> vital meditation needed
to complete the plotting of <all the> perfect planetary points and poses,
to finish arranging the astronom<y>[ical] domain.

At the open, and this is strictly a suggestion, let’s not start talking about a time, lets start with action.
I’ve suggested removing a lot of articles and changed the syntax a bit. The above shows where I would cut and where I would add, but this is how it comes out after the editing.

Mars was still a moon
eclipsing the pupil of God
giving the matrix maker vital meditation needed
to complete the plotting of perfect planetary points and poses,
to finish arranging the astronomical domain.

Way stations for stars were set[,] <like> soft, smoldering smoke signals
too small to [be] see[n] in <the>[a] supernatural <sea>[ocean] of empty space<,>
evenly dispersed <in the> round<,> about the celestial planes<,>
perfect red beacons <flashing>[blinking] in thought,
solid and secure[,] <as to> not<,> risk[ing] <a>[the] ruin<ing> of <the rather> randomized rotation[s].
God set the gears of time <to mechanics,>
[to] centripetal symmetry in a spontaneous order
<that left>[leaving] nothing but mystery for man.

Here is one spot I’d like to see the similes turn into metaphors. You can simply say that the way stations were set, smoldering smoke signals…
I’d get sea away from see. I hear your intention, plays the s in sea against the s in supernatural, but the o in ocean plays nicely with the o in of, so it’s a push sonically. I also added a b sound to play off beacons, changing flashing to blinking, but that was the only reason, and if you don’t like that or any idea, theses are only subjective suggestions. I’ve not found any true errors except the typo in the next stanza, where you made ever into every. So. S2 looks like this with the brackets removed and the editing in place.

Way stations for stars were set, soft, smoldering smoke signals
too small to be seen in a supernatural ocean of empty space
evenly dispersed round about the celestial planes
perfect red beacons blinking in thought,
solid and secure, not risking the ruin of randomized rotations.
God set the gears of time
to centripetal symmetry in a spontaneous order
leaving nothing but mystery for man.

God spun existence and it’s still spinning,
Cycle after circle, ever<y> since this beginning.

[Eons] <B>[b]efore* the pyramids, there rested a [red] sea <of red,>
<like> antique rust stuck in time around the green iris of God<, >
surreal sands <of>[in] the first hourglass <that> swept from above<,> into <the> blue<,>
waves <that> brush<ed >[ing]over the birthplace where life first drew<,>
up from the ocean, from the primordial ooze**
coming from a white topped*** breaker of <both> past and present blues.
Life <can> come[s] in any colour you like<,>
but in death all <the> colours <just> look <alike>[the same].

*Before, do you mean in front of, or time-wise, like a time-line?
First there was a sea of red, later the pyramids came? Or there was a sea of red resting in front of the pyramids? I can’t tell with this syntax. I think you mean time wise, so I’ll suggest an edit for that scenario.

**You don’t really mean that life, whatever it was at that point, first “drew” as in drawing a picture? No, you have an incomplete thought here. Life first drew, what? Life drew its first breath? Well, that’s terribly cliché, so I hope that isn’t where you were going. And speaking of that, you are way to fresh and original here to fall back on that old, timeworn expression “primordial ooze” so PLEASE invent a different term or phrase there.

***White topped, I live near Lake Huron, so I know what you are going for here, the White-Cap, but topped just isn’t expressive enough to help the reader see what you and I see when we hear that term. Frothed would be effective. Not the most original, but not cliché either, from my point of view.

As I mentioned earlier today, I would not rhyme like with alike. I’ve suggested changing “alike” to “the same”, and I’d drop the term “just” By now you’ve noticed a bit about my poetics, or opinions of poetry. These aren’t rules, aren’t a way of measuring right compared to wrong, just tastes. Some like coffee, some thing it’s putrid. Well, I prefer to use line breaks instead of commas, not combined with commas, with some necessary exceptions on occasion. You’ve noticed that. You may also notice that I will try to minimize articles like “the” or “a” if possible. Conjunctions like “and” can often be eliminated. This gives the line a sound more like verse and less like prose, to my ear, but it’s a subjective call. I’m sure you’d find someone to disagree with me on every single point I’ve suggested so far. And I couldn’t say they were wrong and I was right any more than I can say you must change anything in here. Take it all for what it’s worth, do mull it over, and use what works for you. I’ve a mind that you’ll say some of the points I’ve re-worked didn’t feel right to you, and perhaps you weren’t sure why, or how to edit them. Maybe not.

Here is a suggested S3

Eons before the pyramids, there rested a red sea
antique rust stuck in time around the green iris of God
surreal sands in the first hourglass swept from above into blue
waves brushing over the birthplace where life first drew
up from the ocean, coming from a white frothed breaker
of past and present blues.
Life comes in any colour you like
but in death all colours look the same.

It was a great day <for a> dawn[ing] as life began <to> ,R.[r]un[ning] like <H>[h]ell<,>
fish swimming up from the ooze <into the ocean,>
sharp fins <that cut>[cutting] against the current,
traveling along the <path> of least resistan<ce>[t path],*
<that> which also <makes>[made] creeks and canyons curve.
The eyes of these early organisms
impregnat<ed>[ing] the egg <in>[from] which all angels would exit,
<in the form of> a flock of freedom flyers,
<the far>** fluttering feathers of freemen learning to fly
in high hopes of hitting even halfway to heaven,
<across>[crossing] the Atlantic on a 747,
trying not to crash like <the>[a] diver’s desire
not <to dip>[dipping] too deep,
a leap limited by the loss of life,
<the>[a] deluge of death at dangerous depths,
and <the> coming back to life,
uncomfortable in <the>[an] uncertainty
that can cause irreversible brain damage,
a numbed, irregular pulse,
to <the> involuntary mechanical beat [s]
of his heart’s <red,> blinking way stations,

*A cliché that might sound fresher as “the least resistant path”, a bit fresher, perhaps.
**I think that the four “f’s” here are just a bit over the top in the alliteration, compared to the other instances in your poem. “far” seems least related, which is why I chose to pare that one out in my suggestion about this stanza.

When to choose “the” or “a” or “an”, well, there are some rules for prose I suppose, however for me it’s all about the sound. I also like to minimalize, forcing a reading, or listener, to connect dots. So I’ve dropped some expressions, some bridges or conjunctive phrasing. In the heart’s red, blinking way stations, well, some times I feel two many adjectives detracts rather than helps. I suppose you could say red hearts blinking way stations, but ask yourself: do you need to? Does red do much here? Is it like the opening to “Lost in Translation” where you see the red lights blinking on the tops of Tokyo’s radio towers? Then the reader will see it red in their mind’s eye. You can make your reader see things you don’t even speak about, sometimes, when you construct things well. If you said blinking beacon, I think that the reader would see the red light flashing, like a rail road crossing.

It was a great day dawning as life began running like hell
fish swimming up from the ooze
sharp fins cutting against the current,
traveling along the least resistant path
which also made creeks and canyons curve.
The eyes of these early organisms
impregnating the egg from which all angels would exit,
a flock of freedom flyers,
fluttering feathers of freemen learning to fly
in high hopes of hitting even halfway to heaven,
crossing the Atlantic on a 747,
trying not to crash like a diver’s desire
not dipping too deep,
a leap limited by the loss of life,
a deluge of death at dangerous depths,
and coming back to life,
uncomfortable in an uncertainty
that can cause irreversible brain damage,
a numbed, irregular pulse,
to involuntary mechanical beats
of his heart’s beacons, blinking

to the timeless tempo
of <a tick in> a tiny timepiece, [ticking,]
always steady<,>yet ever random.

God spun existence and it’s still spinning,
Circle after cycle, every since that beginning.

Here I’ll assemble my edited parts as a whole for you to look at all together.

Mars was still a moon
eclipsing the pupil of God
giving the matrix maker vital meditation needed
to complete the plotting of perfect planetary points and poses,
to finish arranging the astronomical domain.

Way stations for stars were set, soft, smoldering smoke signals
too small to be seen in a supernatural ocean of empty space
evenly dispersed round about the celestial planes
perfect red beacons blinking in thought,
solid and secure, not risking the ruin of randomized rotations.
God set the gears of time
to centripetal symmetry in a spontaneous order
leaving nothing but mystery for man.

God spun existence and it’s still spinning,
Cycle after circle, ever since this beginning.

Eons before the pyramids, there rested a red sea
antique rust stuck in time around the green iris of God
surreal sands in the first hourglass swept from above into blue
waves brushing over the birthplace where life first drew
up from the ocean, coming from a white frothed breaker
of past and present blues.
Life comes in any colour you like
but in death all colours look the same.

It was a great day dawning as life began running like hell
fish swimming up from the ooze
sharp fins cutting against the current,
traveling along the path of least resistance
which also made creeks and canyons curve.
The eyes of these early organisms
impregnating the egg in which all angels would exit,
a flock of freedom flyers,
fluttering feathers of freemen learning to fly
in high hopes of hitting even halfway to heaven,
crossing the Atlantic on a 747
trying not to crash like a diver’s desire
not dipping too deep
a leap limited by the loss of life
a deluge of death at dangerous depths
and coming back to life
uncomfortable in an uncertainty
that can cause irreversible brain damage
a numbed, irregular pulse
to involuntary mechanical beats
of his heart’s beacons, blinking

to the timeless tempo
of a tiny timepiece, ticking
always steady yet ever random.

God spun existence and it’s still spinning,
Circle after cycle, every since that beginning.

I hope this isn’t too heavy handed and that I’ve given you some ideas that you can consider if you decide to edit anything. Good luck with everything you write,
Dave
| Posted on 2006-04-17 00:00:00 | by Sandburg | [ Reply to This ]

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