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meghancurley's profile

meghancurley avatar
AGE: 29
LOC: Long Beach, NY
GEN: Female
LAST LOGIN: October 16

Why I’m here:  
I make plenty of expensive mistakes in life. At least in poetry, mistakes are free. I’m here for educated criticism, not pep talks or handshakes.
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Why You’re Here:
If you ask for a review, you’re going to get one. I’ll back up every comment I make. If you can’t handle that, keep the poems in a journal, nestled in obscurity.

About Me:
On any given day, I’m busy getting away with nothing.

Education:
-Kinesthetic learner
-Benefits from frequent breaks, background noise, and pacing.
-Student of teaspoons, broken things, surrender.
I gossip with disaster.

Vanity:
http://www.myspace.com/megcurley

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Items
Poetry / Grunion Memory
Version 1
7 Reviews   4 Comments
Grunion Memory In the goat heat of summer, beneath boardwalk planks with their nail-strung coronals over sand borrowed from another time and laced with urine and ocean, we lay in a blur of sixteen and no home and a boy unfolded his tongue at the edge of my lips, saying "Never."
Ratings & Rankings
Poetry / October
Version 1
9 Reviews   3 Comments
Something can't be said about the way October falls upon us-- silent and precise. Our windows are still open. The same slow noises gather on the sill-- crickets and cars, cans and papers tripping by. If we had fields they'd be empty, our cellars would be full. But we're suburban and economical. Wrapped in the dust of April and August, we're using three blankets. Soon enough we'll wear masks and test each step for icy promise. And so I take you in the orange morning moment by moment by moment.
Ratings & Rankings
Poetry / Encounter
Version 1
9 Reviews   4 Comments
Insects lumbered into the house all year, surprised and terrified as we were to find them here. Ants on the window. Centipedes in the sink. It was best to not think of them until tonight when an orange spider ambled across the white of my page, skirting the dark forest of a poem. That lover of connections, born to praise lines, I scraped him into the binding and shook him to the floor. Tonight we lie together each in our separate darks. I dream of Whitman in a garden, angry with me for not lo...
Ratings & Rankings
Poetry / Dear John (for Keats)
Version 1
6 Reviews   2 Comments
We keep getting introduced at parties because our friends think we’d be perfect for each other. So here you are again. You search my eyes for a reflection of yourself. Frankly, you swagger. You walk into the room. You contemplate the fruit. It’s fine that you’ve forgotten my name every time we’ve met. The first one on the balcony when you watched me smoke a cigarette and I proposed the death of consonants. Tears gathered in your eyes, your lip trembled and I can't remember anything you said. ...
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Poetry / Prophecy for the Little Girl Staring at Me Over the Top of Her Seat on the 2:09 Train to Long Beach
Version 1
7 Reviews   5 Comments
Everyone has awkward years, but yours will be fantastically so. You will have a series of bad haircuts. You'll smoke two packs a day and be overweight. You will marry badly and always make that face when your mother says your name. Your own voice will deepen then get softer like stones of melting chocolate. You'll work fifty hours a week and always want to get out of Queens. You will never get out of Queens. Don't put your tongue on that window. Though the rain there makes a mosaic of your fa...
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Reviews
Poetry / An Ode to Liza J. Bümmifunger
by Mikhail_S
Removed
Journal, Diary, & Blogging / The Last Goodbye
by acdoyler
Interesting story, not quite because of the way it's told, but because the air of self-importance is astoundingly strong. The best kinds of personal essays reflect on larger issues than the self. This does not. It's more apologia than anything. I'm actually quite shocked at your age, because it does sound quite a bit like a 19 year old's rantings. Hidden in this piece is the same old tripe about screaming, blood, anguish, desire, and all the other blahblahblahs that cripple the intelligence. ...
Poetry / Black Moths
by bulletwithbutterflywings
I was drawn by the title immediately, but the poem fell short for me. It's a bit too focused on the self. The image of pain as a black moth (or, in this case a series of black moths) is quite interesting. You should perhaps try to resist the urge to over-narrate. Can the poem just be a metaphor? By that, I mean, can you take out the "I" of it and just let the moths come out? Maybe try it in the second person "you". I suggest you start the poem with the second stanza, get rid of the buzz words...
Poetry / eruptides
by chickiemcweird
I love the dips and drive of the poem and the reflective quality of the final line which leads me back to the opening stanza, much like a photograph's version of reality and the reality of the memory, etc. and much like the sky/sea metaphor. (I like structure befitting to the theme of any poem.) The line "between both parenthesis [sic]" is beautiful, though it should be "parentheses" since that's the plural. It's such a nice image, in fact, that I don't think it belongs in this poem. Parenthe...
Poetry / Birth Knife of Islam
by Spriglief
While there is some nice phrasing here, the tone is uneven. "Twas" is archaic to begin with, but having it paired with a text-message/IM 21st century tick like "Ohhh" and "Sooo" makes all three terms (thus, the two competing tones) unbelievable. I also thought the poem would continue. Why the stanza breaks and the asterisk? Why have two speakers in one stanza--particularly confusing not only because of the lack of punctuation and but also the fact that these are quatrains, a rather neat form ...
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