Lisa stands with her back
against the tree
watching me;
"The young always surpass the old",
she says softly
her bare toes digging in the loose soil.
"I stepped in other's footprints too" I say,
flinging a stone towards the pond
"blessed are the souls on fire
for they will be consumed,"
she says hiding a smile.
I deal in human waste,
the residue of ruined mind.
I excavate the heart
extract the mountebank
the Rake,
the frail, the innocent,
the spells that intersect the world.
Arbors with dead flowers
the tomb of Baudelaire--
pussy willow evening
with a gentle breeze.
"You only paint my heart,"
I say angrily.
"Indigo", she says
rubbing her fingernails
against the bark
of the old tree.
Author notes
Written April 21st, 2006
In a list
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1 - 45 of 45
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Very unusual, I like the huge pauses it made me take - sent me on my own journey. This is very pleasurable to read!
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A very interesting write . To me it is like a quetion that has no answer. This is well written and does make one think.
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ah the souls on fire, i think i must be blessed then though it feels like punishment more while i live, though i still keep laughing anyway
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Now this is unusual.
I like to stop and read the unusual because it tweaks the mind to ask, where is the rest of the story? So therefore I know there is more but yet the piece says so much. I am glad for something that challenges the mind. -
There does tend to be something enticing in much of your verse, I am just not sure what it is.
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your write is somehow refreshing like cool summer breezes.
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Wonderful!
the conversation is deeply rooted...love it! -
This is a very good write I enjoyed reading loved these lines
I deal in human waste,
the residue of ruined mind.
I excavate the heart
extract the mountebank
the Rake,
the frail, the innocent,
the spells that intersect the world.
Arbors with dead flowers
the tomb of Baudelaire--
pussy willow evening
with a gentle breeze
Lisa stands with her back
against the tree
watching me;
"The young always surpass the old",
she says softly
her bare toes digging in the loose soil.
"I stepped in other's footprints too" I say,
flinging a stone towards the pond
"blessed are the souls on fire
for they will be consumed,"
she says hiding a smile.
"You only paint my heart,"
I say angrily.
"Indigo", she says
rubbing her fingernails
against the bark
of the old tree.
The whole thing
Excellent keep up the good work
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Wow, its going to be in my thoughts forever. I love the great description. And for me the quotes are like a guide for me. I LOVE IT! GREAT WORK!!
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What i like about this poem, is, after reading it you just want to put all the part together, it's ok where he is going with this piece, is he playing with my mind, this is a well put together piece, but i'm still trying to connect everything together, to me it's like a puzzle, but i love it.
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ohhhhh
great write. i wish i can come up with stuff like this. boy, i start to think i'm getting better and then i read poems like this and then i realize i have a long way to go. man, i wonder will i ever be this good. maybe you can take a look at my poems and tell me what you think. please. -
???
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it's beautiful. but towards the end it just sounds more and more like random lines that sound cool put together, with no real meaning behind it. it sounds like you're just trying to sound cool.
no offensive if it is in fact something personally meaningful to you, i am simply giving my interpretation of it.
the words are beautiful, and the emotions are there.
thanks for entering
write on -
definitely not. -
THis piece was excellent in flow, meaning, and the way that it was brought out with contemporary style. I loved the imagery too. Keep up the great work and thanks for sharing!
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very good
an amazingly good read my friend very very good , thank yo ufor sharing this with us and keep up the good work this is a lovel ywrite
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wow this is a good look into natural instincts of life, nice choice of words.. thank you for sharing..Linda
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This was a very well done poem
I liked it very much although
it isn't the type I usually read or
critique.
Well done -
I really like this poem, and yet im not sure why. It just takes me away. I feel like I am watching this conversation. It's great, the story paints a picture in my mind. Very good!
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Son, Poetry is Magic..... then some other stuff.
I want to make it go around again, so I will.
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outstanding
Now I see why Ariosto touts you so highly. You wrote actual poetry with poetic devices... not one F word, or blood gout.
This is stunning - absolute perfection and on my faves list you go, dear poet. I look forward to reading more of your fine work.
hugs WolfHeart -
beautifully illustrated.
This is an excellent little poem. Although a little macabre in its illustrations at points, it has an smooth flow and keeps a reader going. My favorite part is lisa's quote:
"blessed are the souls on fire
for they will be consumed,"
she says hiding a smile.
It elicits a Dantean feel, something i will eternally enjoy in a poem, when executed as well as in this piece.
One suggestion would be to remove the word wounded from the last line. with wounded in it, the word sepulcher seems an awkward fit in terms of beats, while without it, "sepulcher fits in more naturaly.
Cheers. -
Exquisite!
I straight up adore this piece of work.. as well as others I skimmed through after reading this.. wonderful, wonderful poet! Your grade on the PROTE BLANK scale of 1-10 is an 11 1/2
Keep it up friend. -
supercalifragistalisticexpialadocious
hey, im loving it. this is intriguing and very creative. i love the young always surpassss the old part, its completely true because they young have the old to guide them. i think thats what you were getting at....maybe? i could be completely off here but hell its still a great read and an impressive write. thanks man! -
I feel kinda bad clicking on you in the feature box, but you seem to put "older" poems in there, and I have a hard time finding them otherwise. Perhaps I could refund you. Yeah.
I believe I've read this before, or maybe another one where she's leaning against the tree, because I don't remember the moth-in-the-spider-web bit. I'm thinking Lisa is to Lute as Mona is to Ed. She teases and drives you crazy. My muse is nameless, and mothlike, herself.
Indigo is a very deep blue indeed. Van Gogh's Starry Night. Turbulent, to steal a word, the angry side of sad.
This piece is full of the magic "that intersects the world." You do that sometimes - make it visible.
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Good poem. Don't completely understand it, but that's OK.
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Interesting look into the mind of someone...I like how it begins abstractly and then goes to a very specific setting and then the conversation takes it back to abstraction again. lovely write!
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Definitly a good expression of how crazy reality feels. The wording is amazing and captivating! Lovely writing and excellent poem!
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WORDS ARE WOVEN TOGETHER VERY WELL KEEP UP THE GREAT WRITING I RELLY LIKED IT
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you got max talent, and a personal cathedral of images and references to draw on... I find the stanza: "The young always surpass the old", she says softly her bare toes digging in the loose soil. "I stepped in other's footprints too" I say,
flinging a stone towards the pond." particularly arresting. the conversational style of the poem and its earthy feel are very strong points in its favor
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A very wonderful piece filled with such wonderful images. I loved the feel and form and the flow is just excellent. great work from start to finish! Keep your pen forever flowing! Bunny
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Oh this is utterly beautiful and well written. I love it, it flows just perfectly and makes one think. well done and take care x
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i kind of don't know what to make of the meaning of your piece as a whole but each verse could be its own curious little poem. wonderful writing.
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each stanza is a painting strung together, as someone said ,like pearls on a neckless.
The fact that it's not so literal as to leave out all guesswork is part of it's intrigue, what makes it intrigueing in fact.(sp)One becomes a part of this, a curious voyeur.
Most excellent!
david -
this was an intriguing display of words..and no-one says it needs to make sense..except to you... peace to you...shzoosy
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So many layers, so many vistas.. so many ways to string pearls into necklaces..
I love the last stanza.. no.. I love the entire thing. The young always do.. funny how so many miss that as they get old.
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Contrast and conflict...but good introspect into the way things are. Things are not tidy, orderly. Thoughts are not tidy, orderly. Frangments make up our days and our lives. I see this as a refreshing insight into reality.
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really neat
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Not sure how the title relates to the rest of the verses - but saying that, I did enjoy the way you have woven the words together in this huge net you call humanity -
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Are you mocking your Muse? I think you are half-mocking the Poet whose Poems can't help but be Spells. Is the Poet the spider too?
And Lisa, well, Lisa knows she always did. Even way back when she was swinging under the cherry blossoms - or on the porch or scratching through the trees.
I like when the sky is Indigo. And there is nothing else worth painting, is there?
I like it better here with that pretty flower. Its very good. And as usual, I've probably made up my own story but thats okay, it felt great.
Lisa -
If I have a muse, she is avoiding me these days, which is worse than the mockery of yours. Or maybe she's not, but rather lading me with clumsy sentences and blinding me to everything around me, like that soil, like that bark. As if it's a task.
Anyhow, you got her.
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this is rich, packed with good stuff. I think my favorite part is:
"The young always surpass the old",
she says softly
her bare toes digging in the loose soil.
the dialogue in this poem is riviting, for me. and the imagery
very top shelf. I always love a layered lute poem!
~travis
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I wonder now always about Lisas and Monas and Guineveres because I used to think them real persons, but after a while I see I am stupid because they are muses. I do not have such a thing, so I always take literally, but here real or not she is the muse. I love the pictures I have here from the poem, of half angry throwing stones and disturbing things then regretting disturbing things, but really wanting to disturb things big time perhaps. I talk drivel, but I think the poem is so like a fresh green walk in a Spring evening with the substance of purple bullrushes and the textures that make it full of life even though there are so many dead references. I don't make sense do I. I do in my head but not in the box.
Same comment I leave in the other reading, I know. Forgive. -
The poem is like a web itself, or a web of interlacing branches of the pussy willow, timeless as time and all coming back round. It was strange- mad eme think of time travel, you know, going back and wondering if you interfere if you will alter the whole course of history- I think it was the moth that did it, or maybe the young will grow old but the old were once young and youth, the next generation, is supposed to push civilisation that inch further, but does it? Not sure, jury's out.
Anyway in the poem there is intimate whispering in the hugeness and such beauty, such beauty in hope. -
I seemed to be a little lost in this poem. It is very well written and well worded, but I don't really get the meaning. It kind of jumps around.
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