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moondeer's profile
AGE:
32
LOC: United States
GEN: Female
LAST LOGIN: June 03
LOC: United States
GEN: Female
LAST LOGIN: June 03
I am new to this site, and having a time deciphering exactly how it works.((ANY pointers on networking, reviewing, and commenting, would be much appreciated)) I consider myself a novice writer, although i have been jotting scribbles, inks stains and short,adolescent poem bits into journals for as long as i can remember. It is my goal to use this site as a sound board for fine tuning and finessing my work. So far, it is but rough renderings of an ideal I hope it will someday come….......kind of close too. So, please, critique away.
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gnomon i knew you in my sleep a man of sticks and ashes with wooded heart and silenced breath beyond flames of our shudders and stares the crowd held you quiet under fleshy guise i am nothing without your forest. the children understand. shrieks of stones make the fires worse waiting october rains of I without eyes , faces, lips the nature of being a reminder churches burnt the cross skyward and you were absent but who cares for death in a hush or a whisper a woodland hand weaves my ends of d...
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the room isn't mine i sleep there and nothing is quiet about brown in october snowless hills slumberless sidewalks 'don't stop to breathe the earth isn't ready for it.' naked without seasons shifts into complexes greyprints of houses like homes like each other, all of them all absent suburban catalogs 'don't stop to listen the earth isn't ready for it' quietly i fold a revolution under the stair, stare moon telecasts to Zues and Dylan and King secret papyrus prayers 'please don't bleed the ea...
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a miles long wait down the aisle curves moon blue into your sleeping lips: stilled lids ivory under things unbelonging of you rest slow, soft strange. i can almost touch, reach, tender your cool: you are slabs of rust color chalk: kiln skin: clay heart: and with potters hands i mold your frame into an ocean, where my pools of eyes become salted lagoons of you which rush, swell, swim beyond your hour last, and know like goddesses and gods and angels, a water buddha who speaks words, dolphins, ...
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i am looking out of an american window remember soft eagles bonfire claws hues and shades and feathers in airs waving statics of clouds letting loose fleets of wings roses - but the shape of the sky was different then i notice bloodworms have burrowed under the bed i notice these days i notice less space for trunks and trees and lovebirds and chocolate i notice less room in night for stars and comets and crowds in cafes i notice less i notice silence not only mine but yours and mine and their...
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i am just searching for a place to put words to page that wont turn ink into cigarette ash regret bullshit dead water my two cents turned into a deficit
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god. ((this is my life.))you have beautifully brought to life the terrible vortex (at least thats what it brought to my mind) of being smitten with someone, some idea, some art---but not being able to express that infatuation in a fully flushed manner. i loved it, from start to finish. clean. succint. lovely imagery. beautiful word pairing. And the 'dry-drown' works- the idea of two contradictory terms is 'frustrating' indeed. The only line i wonder about, which seemed less powerful and direc...
I really enjoyed this prologue- excellent beginning hook. And i have to disagree with 'dead poet'--- I prefer your lack of physical description of said boy, to create an overly precise image cuts out the reader from flushing out their own. As well, it works when we wonder wether or not this boy is god like. What does god look like?? I also loved the lack of warmth he has when referencing his parents....it makes me wonder about the nature of god. Is God really good? Could we have a selfish God...
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There are some beautiful descriptions here, and i love the bird metaphors. I especially like the lines 'still smooth and delicate as larva' and 'vein boned hand'. As well, the entire stanza where the narrarator remembers her own child is stunning - and would close the piece beautifully. I have questions pertaining to the ' segmentation of my fingers' line. What is is referring to? And, why the 'thorax'....I found these descriptions quite 'scientific' in nature, and wonder if that was the poin...
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