Beneath the Feathers, into the Soul

Originally Posted by Vane Dayrose

Aw... You're poems are so amazing! ^^;;

You must have endless inspiration to continue producing such heartfelt, beautiful poetry. If I ever see you you're getting a huge hug XP

^^;; Well, thanks. A lot of my poems are inspired by contests on allpoetry.com. And I hope I get to see you someday. I'll welcome that huge hug. <3

...it doesn't make sense. I can't figure out what the words mean.
But they make me feel peaceful, the way they flow.
Is it beauty without meaning, or brilliance?

It's really quite amazing. I love your work.

Originally Posted by Awkin

...it doesn't make sense. I can't figure out what the words mean.
But they make me feel peaceful, the way they flow.
Is it beauty without meaning, or brilliance?

It's really quite amazing. I love your work.

^^ Thank you, Awkin. I appreciate your comment. And most of my poems do have meaning, but I suppose it isn't always straightforward. And a lot of the time, you'd have to know everything about what inspired a particular poem.

Alrighty, new poetry! Enjoy!

On Constructing a Novel

Fears I had dispelled enough allusions--
reminiscences recollected,
illustrations illuminated.

"OK, but how's the story?"

The story is steamrolling the resistance
that rises against characters
and intertwines the personal
with identity issues
against a monstrously epic meteor.

Moments de-emphasize
the simple thief boy's feelings.

Yearn for grandeur and execution.

The Talk of the Town

Depraved standards claimed
possible dangling is important
in becoming a democracy.

We are reminded today
of horrors
from shock
and awe
in that dank, foul-smelling
execution chamber.

An innocent civilian has been a conspicuous failure.

O.o;; Awesome. Indeed you aren't very straightforward when portraying meanings, but that doesn't detract from the value of the poetry.

"You do nothing but fine work, don't let anyone tell you different!" -- My biology teacher!!

Yes, the '!!' is necessary.

New poem. I scribbled this one down today in philosophy class, so it isn't exactly polished and pristine. But the more I read it, the more fond of it I get. Constructive criticism is, of course, always welcome. Just keep in mind that this was a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing. Anyways, here it is.

Frustrations

Freshly-sharpened point plunges downward,
cleaving memories from flesh,
painful yet utterly vital.
The struggle for life bruises charismatic symbols
with no meaning into blank whiteness.

But what is meaning?

Insensible personas so pregnant with
courage, anger, nobility, evil—
Love.
Are they said to be meaningless?

Oh, cruel conveyance of inspiration!
So elusive, so imperative—
a scornful lover.
How I long to catch you,
make you unequivocally mine!
Absent, the fires within me
morph into ice only to melt
back into fire—
Sweet Fire.

If only I could grasp you,
hold onto you without fear
of searing my fingers.
Perhaps then the Dragons would fly,
the Moon rise upon the mystical lake,
the Dream coalesce into reality.

I sooo did not get the hidden meaning behind that till you told me. Completely over the head. x.x Okay, you know I'm no good with poem reviews, but lessee...

Reading it again, I see a marked reference to a pencil and paper in the first verse, and the writings upon it not quite coming out the way you want. ^^; Thinking back in the third verse, the writer decides the desired meaning was lost and begins mourning that she cannot put her imagination into her work.

Improvement? Constructive criticism? Go look at my poetry thread. You make me look like a mumbling five-year-old when it comes to poetry. ^^;; I can give only praise and no advice. I wish I could write like you...

Frustrations: Now, see, you've come a way as far as abstractions go, and I'm proud of it. You've successfully strung the words in lines that show you MEAN this, you WANT this thing that will bring your fantasies alive. And it can be taken into the context of not just the literal interpretation, as we discussed, but a desire for the fulfillment of a personal relationship. It's like crying for the stars to align, so that age-old mystery of the writer's success will manifest and it'll all be made well. You want to awaken your Creator-soul, shake the dust from her and put those craftsman's fingers to work.

Very good, keep your poetic and prose methods in practice, and you'll only get better. Hope you find that muse.

If only I could grasp you,
hold onto you without fear
of searing my fingers.

Yay.

Your writing is very detailed, but not to the point of boring the reader.

Love it. Although, the huge words you are so fond of might scare readers off.

Red Rover, Aspirin, and Camp Counselors

You’ve played Red Rover inside my mind.
Arms tug against the grain,
tendons straining to resist—
back and forth, never clear
on who or what is coming next.
Abrupt changes in method or strategy
catch linked arms off guard
and snap defenses.

Give me an aspirin or something—
Aspirin of Goodbye.
Let it fizzle into nothingness.
Something dissolved cannot be restored,
no matter how much you try to glue back the pieces.
Chemistry has proved to be faster than you.

I’ve never liked camp counselors.
Only pliers will remove that plank in your eye.
Swallow whispers and carve a cross—
Carry it up that hill strewn with empty apologies and promises.

So long, farewell, Auf Wiedersehen, goodbye.
I’m glad to go, I cannot tell a lie.

Hmm...I try to interpret this one, but it's difficult to find a hidden meaning in it. Sounds very literal, very firm. The message is standoffish and strong--the point I imagine you were trying to convey comes across pretty clearly. I particularly like the rhyme at the very end; it feels short and sweet, very final.

So long, farewell, Auf Wiedersehen, goodbye.
I'm glad to go, I cannot tell a lie.

But there is one thing I think could enhance the poem. Little information is given concerning whom receives the message. I'd like to see a sort of "sequel", if you will, describing the other side. It'd be an interesting project, don't you think?

Also, apologies for the deleted post, there. I accidentally commented on your untitled poem at the end of page one. The link didn't take me to the most recent post for some odd reason and I neglected to glance at the page number.

It makes me think of... someone leaving childhood behind, and not knowing what lies ahead of them in adulthood.

You have a mastery of the English language that I adore. <3

So, I'm turning this into a poetry/fiction combination thread, I think. This is a piece that I'm reading tonight at a local art gallery. My advanced creative writing class wrote pieces based off a local artist's work, and this is what I wrote. I'll be posting a link to the painting I used for inspiration, as well.

Art Rosenbaum

Gateways

Do it again. The balance isn’t right.

Our producers—hidden behind glass and wood paneling—lounge amidst technological monstrosities. One of them leans back in his chair having delivered his clipped instructions. Another man toys with a rainbow of wires, tweaking the equipment’s set-up to capture our music more efficiently. We can’t help but fix them with looks of pity. The soul-music is alive within us but dead in the hearts of those only concerned with charts and labels and profits. They care nothing about us—only material gain.

Jeremiah’s fingers stroke ivory—black and white gateways into other worlds and times. Leaning against the piano, Bennie cradles his harmonica in communal solemnity. And gentle Mabel clears her throat to hum a few notes pregnant with history. My tambourine is the glue that holds the story together. But they—the faces beyond the glass—will never fully comprehend it. The gateways do not open for the superficial.

The producers beyond the glass grow impatient with us. They fiddle with dials, switches, and buttons, rousing the monstrosities from their temporary slumber between takes. Music cannot be mechanically born, though, no matter what they might think. In our own good time, we take up our instruments and dive into the gateways wide-open before us to embrace ourselves.

Do it again. The balance still isn’t right.

Originally Posted by LadyElvenarcher

Red Rover, Aspirin, and Camp Counselors

You’ve played Red Rover inside my mind.
Arms tug against the grain,
tendons straining to resist—
back and forth, never clear
on who or what is coming next.
Abrupt changes in method or strategy
catch linked arms off guard
and snap defenses.

Give me an aspirin or something—
Aspirin of Goodbye.
Let it fizzle into nothingness.
Something dissolved cannot be restored,
no matter how much you try to glue back the pieces.
Chemistry has proved to be faster than you.

I’ve never liked camp counselors.
Only pliers will remove that plank in your eye.
Swallow whispers and carve a cross—
Carry it up that hill strewn with empty apologies and promises.

So long, farewell, Auf Wiedersehen, goodbye.
I’m glad to go, I cannot tell a lie.

Super-special-awesome. Bitter at its most subtly seething level. You can taste the passion of someone bent towards breaking one too many times, and the recoil is something to behold. There is some very characteristic christian imagery here, as well as some good similes (at least, the camp counselor one can be assumedly considered such) and most of the poem carries on with powerful and terse method, but not too direct or blunt so that it sacrifices attractiveness.

I applaud this work.

Originally Posted by LadyElvenarcher

Gateways

This work is, well, flawless in design...but overtly florid, and there is a hint of pretentiousness as well that is just extra baggage. It seems like you're building up too obviously for me to really connect. What appears to be a bit of showiness or something else is what keeps me from appreciating this fully, even though there is no flaw in it grammatically.

Originally Posted by Master Shade

Super-special-awesome. Bitter at its most subtly seething level. You can taste the passion of someone bent towards breaking one too many times, and the recoil is something to behold. There is some very characteristic christian imagery here, as well as some good similes (at least, the camp counselor one can be assumedly considered such) and most of the poem carries on with powerful and terse method, but not too direct or blunt so that it sacrifices attractiveness.

I applaud this work.

Thank ye, kindly. Partial thanks should go to you for the initial inspiration, though. *wink*

This work is, well, flawless in design...but overtly florid, and there is a hint of pretentiousness as well that is just extra baggage. It seems like you're building up too obviously for me to really connect. What appears to be a bit of showiness or something else is what keeps me from appreciating this fully, even though there is no flaw in it grammatically.

Because you're looking for an intricate story. These last pieces of ours were meant to be more lyrical than narrative, hence a lot of the abstractions and such.