who will sing
the rising of the sea
who will mourn the passing of the world?
the children wail piteously,
boom crash of inner Earth,
bass gong,
the long trek,
mostly it was left behind
rotting in the landscape,
mauve weave of heat
behind behind,
Still
down south
you might be able to buy a girl
a soda
and tell her that you love her.
Aye, mother
sweet sin
A series of little dooms
blunders & fools.
It’s all in the preparation
of the tea,
The placement of the leaves,
the trees, taking their revenge.
stale green muck
that lines the new formed shores.
Mother races through the storm
in her nightgown,
her hair wild, mad.
on your knees
on the cold concrete
you cannot call her back.
In a list
A contest entry
- Futuristic by nansie.
600 points, ended May 16, 2007, 8 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 11 of 11
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Ok, first time I've used this "critical feature" of AP, so bear with me lol.
This line:
"mostly it was left behind"
--could be reduced down to (in my opinion)--
"left behind"
--the reason is because "mostly it was" seems a bit too flippant for the overall tone of this poem.
"mauve weave of heat
behind behind,"
--"behind behind"? Is there an extra "behind" here? Regardless, having this in your second strophe makes it lose its impact. Repetition can work well, but in this instance, I don't see how it benefits this piece.
My other nitpick was your change of 'voice': your first two strophes led me to believe this would be a more all-encompassing piece about the elements; the switch to a more conversational tone (about this girl etc) was jarring. Basically, your third and last strophes that talk about a girl and a mother don't seem to fit to me. Why that is is because there is no lead-in... it just happens and it makes me ask a million questions. Sure, questions are good, but in this case, I was confused as to your intentions.
Good points: your lineation and enjambment was great, and helped move this poem along smoothly. I think my favourite strophe was your opener, which was very spiritual and relieving in a way... a pure moment to me.
Hope this helps... I'm not really on this site a lot and thought I'd give this one a crack.
J -
I love the imagery and chaotic tone of the piece. The events feel truly irrevocable, as if whatever has been done is not completely understood by those who did it, but they surely know that they've screwed up by seeing the world physically deteriorate around them. I like the theme and the descriptions really add to the context, effectively. Great piece of work! ^_^
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Gaia Mother Earth
Crying she is. As are the mothers with children who wonder what will be left
She is angry and her anger is sad.
Lots and lots of your pomes deal with the destruction of the earth due to global warming, over population, over manufacturing of things. Waste, wasted. the Greed of Man.
Excellent poem for the contest. Excellent poem without the contest. Weave of heat is particularly good -- but it is always the impression the words leave behind. This one such sadness.
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Very unique write you have shared with us here. Liked the parade like start, the sounds, cries of watching something pass by so quickly, nothing we can do to change this, life goes on, the earth keeps rotating, and deteriorating...
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I was recently watching a DVD about the changes our planet has gone through over the millenia. Have you heard of Snowball Earth? Quite a bizarre theory, and new to me. But anyhow, there have been, I believe, 6 cycles of life - where all but the most discreet of single-celled organisms were wiped out, and the process, the millions-of-years process, had to start all over again. All over again. Jesus!
We are arrogant in that we will live our selfish ways and destroy life that is not ours to destroy. But we are even more arrogant to think that it matters one iota in the Great Big Plan.
It matters like going south to buy a girl a soda.
We here in BC say "yay! global warming! orange groves, here we come!" You've heard the latest, of course: how to adapt. How to adapt! What a fucking joke.
Nope, you can't call her back. Too bad for us, her children. But it doesn't matter. The Earth will recover, and maybe something smarter will come around the next time.
End of rant.
Love the poem, every bit of it. Good luck in the contest, and all that, if it matters.
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Liked the poem, interesting and imaginative desriptions. But few things seemed out of place like this-
Still
down south
you might be able to buy a girl
a soda
and tell her that you love her.
Aye, mother
sweet sin
A series of little dooms
blunders & fools.
One minute you go from talking about the end of the world the next you talk about a boy who loves a girl and has problems, like a side plot. But it shifted my thinking and only confused me. Try and find a plot and stick to it. The last stanza feels like I skipped A beat, what happened to mother. One minute she running in the storm next minute you are crying, this line is supposed to bring emotion but since I don't know what happened I don't know how to feel. Hope the advice helped thanx for sharing.
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You succeeded, I beleive, "Lute", to approach this very pertinant subject without falling into glib clichés. The poem ,I find, is very original and still accessible. I love the drama of it, too:
"on your knees
on the cold concrete
you cannot call her back": chilling!
(as a foot-note:I like your "portrait"...is that Braque or Picasso?)
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I like it. You put a lot of stuff together and made it one. good flow. good choice in words its bootiful!
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Ravelean
Great orchestration
opening with bass drum and cymbals -- and the gong -- very much a Maurice Ravel style orchestration
Prohephtic fortune telling in the leaves
and trees walk imperceptibly -- they live so much longer than us and needn't rush.
Peace.
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Such a visual image you make in the last stanza my knees feel scraped and bruised like they have done dragging penances for miles and miles.
Yes is going to come and punish, the trees will punish with rotting and stinking back to primeaval sludge and we look for the higher ground. Is it all random fate as tea leaf placing in the cup? How in control are we really I wonder. Much storm in this little cup and we still do not see beyond our own inconveniences.
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I've been hitting "random" in the "Poetry" menu above and that is how I landed here. Boy, did I get lucky.
This piece is more than a poem, more than imagery... I feel like I am there, reading this. I don't know how else to say it.
All five common senses are touched -- and the sixth is, too.
The lines about buying a girl a soda... that little touch of normality brings home all that is lost or will be soon. Excellent touch.
I've read this several times now and each time I see something else and am more there. It rings like a bell.
It feels true to me. I believe the "end" would feel like this; dreamlike.
Lilac Moon
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