Jellineck wrote:

Very nice, Alexandra. I particularly like the fact that I have to read it several times to understand, which gives me a chance to really absorb the imagery. This by no means is a bad thing. It does require a deeper reading, faintly obscure but not overly. I especially enjoyed the image of the frayed wings. The ending stanzas seem almost optimistic in contrast with the rather bleak nature of the rest of the poem.

I just wrote a poem a few days ago, based on my readings of Wallace Stevens. I always need inspiration like that - it's a weakness of mine that I can never write poems based on my own emotions. Still, I rather like this one. Haven't thought of a title yet.


I came to the place where the waters stirred,
And in the sea I saw the shadow of my blood
And in the blood I discerned the wraith of myself,
From the husk of that which is and what is established.
Restless, ghostly, obscure but immortal.

I came to the swollen breast of the waves,
To the shore and the edge of the palm of man.
Yemaya seduces in the pale child of the water:
In the white cessation, I seek the final quietus.

When the human sense is formless,
And the thought is wed to the waters,
Ageless is the exquisite pain of being.
Bound in the ocean's turmoil and peace:
Perpetual in death's agreement.

It doesn't rhyme.

I kid, of course. I really liked it, especially your choice of diction. I'm something of a sucker for nature images anyhow, and I enjoyed the link you seemed to have made between the essence of water and human purity. You've used quite a few heavy and dark images as well, which, although often feeling forced in poetry, I felt ran smoothly together. This poem isn't too personal, either, which gives it a more artistic and neutral property. Although the poem is clearly dictating your own feelings, it has enough isolated philosophy to allow the reader to connect their own thoughts with the images.

So, I really liked it.

I'd like to post something as well, but I'm not much of a poet. Is there a thread made for short fiction, by any chance?

Why, then I think I shall!

I kid, of course. I really liked it, especially your choice of diction. I'm something of a sucker for nature images anyhow, and I enjoyed the link you seemed to have made between the essence of water and human purity. You've used quite a few heavy and dark images as well, which, although often feeling forced in poetry, I felt ran smoothly together. This poem isn't too personal, either, which gives it a more artistic and neutral property. Although the poem is clearly dictating your own feelings, it has enough isolated philosophy to allow the reader to connect their own thoughts with the images.

Thank you so much for taking time to look a bit deeper! Everyone has a hard time finding people to really analyze their poem, I think. The problem with the one that I wrote is that it's rather obscure, just like Stevens. I would like to note that I stylized it after him due to the class we're taking on his work. So it isn't actually dictating too many of my feelings - I think I need to assert that since the poem is essentially about a desire for suicide. The ocean is the ultimate symbol for chaos and destruction, life and death, so immortality is preserved only in that cycle.

The short fiction thread is appreciated. I think I'll eventually post something there, yes. And I find him difficult but worthwhile, satyreyes. It's like putting together a puzzle with a satisfactory reward at the end.

Mazoboom, I like how you define something that is usually described romantically in such a scientific matter. That has a nice contrast to it. Also, the fact you're writing a poem with science in it with some classical language and an overly classical structuring. Stylistically, those contrasts are nice.

Bio, thats awesome. i can hear it now....hmm..hmmmm...hm hm hmmm...hmm.

a little much for my brain, but totally awesome.

Very authentically Seazer-sounding, Bio.  Don't take this the wrong way, but I wonder how easy it would be to write a computer program that could generate suitably absurd Seazer lyrics.  The style is so distinctive that one imagines it wouldn't be that hard.  Suppose we take this algorithm:

* PHILOSOPHY WORD.  Definition of a word two degrees removed from that word in a thesaurus.
* Line of real poetry two lines after a line that has PHILOSOPHY WORD in it.
* Definition of a word two degrees removed from a word from the previous line.
* Sentence from the second page of Google results on the previous line, phrased in the first person.
* The same sentence, with odd-numbered verbs, adjectives, and nouns replaced with their antonyms.  (If you can't find an antonym, instead use a random verb, proper adjective, or proper noun associated with religion.)
* A sentence from the Bible two verses after a verse that contains PHILOSOPHY WORD, phrased as a question, preferably rhetorical.  (If that word doesn't appear in the Bible, use another from the first line.)
* An imperative verb two degrees removed from a verb earlier in the poem, followed by a line of Shakespeare near a line that has that verb in it, phrased as an imperative sentence.

Depending on the word we start with and the choices we make along the way, we might get:

Science!  An ability that has been acquired by training.
Why preyest thou upon the poet's heart?
The place where something begins, where it springs into being.
I came into being with the onset of the age of agriculture.
I went from being with the end of the age of Gnosticism.
Is the spirit of the gods not in you?  Have you not insight, intelligence, and outstanding wisdom?
Embark!  Do not sleep, but let me hear from you!

Or:

Fantasy!  The act of deceiving.
It liveth not in fierce desire.
A member of an uncivilized people.
This monstrous biological warfare is what truly destroyed me.
This gentle biological diplomacy is what truly destroyed me.
Must he return what he stole or took by extortion?
Accept!  Prevail against the spite of man!

Not as good as Seazer, or for that matter as good as Bio's, but still -- not bad for something generated by pseudo-algorithm.

Oops, I did it again. I can't help but write this way. It just seems comfortable to write weird duel chorus type poetry for me. Without further ado...

Evolution of the Midnight Chrysalis

Evolve! Break free! Fly away!
The witching hour grows near!
The maturing larva nested within
Awaiting the freedom of the skies.

Upon the seeds of the dandelion
The midnight moth grows strong.
As the hour of spells draws nigh
The chrysalis dies to be reborn.

Fly away! Be free! Be alive!
The witching hour grows on!
The midnight moth flies the wide sky
Seeking the thrill of the world beyond.

Upon the rays of Luna's light
The midnight moth flies steadily.
As the hour of spells draws onward
The chrysalis watches silently.

Fly high! Fly away! Fly like a dream!
The witching hour grows late!
The midnight moth feels a pain
A tug at the depths of the soul.

Upon Mortis rides the Shinigami
The midnight moth knows its fate.
As the hour of spells draws to a close
The soul is hooked by the Reaper.

Fall away! Lie fallow! Just a dream!
The witching hour has passed!
The midnight moth dies in flight
Its world lasting but mere minutes.

The Reaper carries his prize away
The midnight moth knows no more.
As the hour of spells passes once again
The moth looks toward the heavens.

Not as good as the last two, in my studied opinion. But it's still okay enough. What do you folks think?

-untitled as of now-

the more I want
the more I get
and I'll keep taking
whatever you'll give to me
I'll take anything
anything
that you have
just please don't tell me that you will stop



sidenote: was originally in the poetry drabble thread, but because I'm a doofus---anyway its here now

We move through life
From the light and into the dark
We start as heroes
We end as villains of our own making
And we make these choices
Because there is no one else to make them
Once the path is taken there is no going back
Though the memories of who we were remain
And that person seems a stranger in our eyes
That person who watches us move forward
And can only cry, for the dreams that were lost
As we pay the cost with our lives

satyreyes wrote:

When all the good rhymes have been taken,
When all the good tunes have been played,
When art is revered and forsaken,
When glass is mistaken for jade,
I'll temper my sorrow with beauty,
I'll beat back indifference with pride,
And say I've accomplished my duty
When in truth all I've done is to hide.
And I hide behind race, class, and gender
From the army that waits at my door,
On the theory you never surrender
If you never submit to the war.
But the world is so lonely of feeling,
And my bedroom is lonelier still,
So I lie here and talk to the ceiling
As the sunlight comes over the sill.

This is really beautiful.

last night when I was taking a shower a poem came to me that had the same opening and ending as this poem does, but... the words I thought of original slipped down the drain with the water from the shower. This is my meager attempt to try and recapture what was lost.

Emily, Sylvia, and Anne

I wonder about you Emily, Sylvia, and Anne
I wonder why there was no one who could understand
Why you lost to the darkness
To what critics and fools called your weakness
But those who have never been lost
Never really understand the cost
And they’ll pick your metaphors and verses to bits
They’ll try to claw away to find pieces that fit
Can they ever really know as they read your lines
That each word you were able to put to paper gave you a little more time
And all those doctors, those sages were deaf
To the simple things you no longer had left
And as I sit in this place where you were before
I know I can reach through the dark and open the door
But as I make the move and begin to stand
I look back and I wonder about you Emily, Sylvia, and Anne

I'm prolific this morning. Sorry for the double post.

All along the waters edge
I watch that rapid flow
I sit and think of what it’s like
To be caught in the pull and dragged below
Rushed along the riverbed
And battered all about

All along the waters edge
I watch the shallow pool
I sit and think of what it’s like
To sink into the dark a lost and lonely fool
Falling slowing to the bottom
And gasping one last breath

And we drown
In the sorrow of our own making
And we drown
In the joy of our own making

All along the waters edge
I watch the waves roll in
I sit and think of what it’s like
To be dragged into the ocean
Pulled out into the vast unending sea
And fighting for life against the current

And we drown
And we drown
It’s of out own making
When we drown
We drown
It’s of our own making

Alithea, you write beautiful poetry. I especially like the last one because I often equate water with death. Humanity first emerged from the ocean, after all, so there's something oddly complete about dying in liquid depths. I love the organized but unpredictable rhyme scheme and the inclusion of a chorus. The imagery is also striking. Very powerful and meaningful.

Last edited by Katzenklavier (10-28-2008 10:04:33 AM)