Rhapsody

Wow, I can see why you're a Bard. This poem isn't really big on humility. In content, it reminds me of Song of Myself, but its struture is unlike anything I've ever seen. The repeition is used very effectively. I can almost see this as a song.

Wow, its really depressing, but I absolutely love the structure. Very original and brief, but effective. So what DO you like?

Initally it was the title that attracted me to this poem, and I wasn't disappointed. Il iked the structure--I've got a weakness for choppy fragments of poetry. And the rhyme scheme really made it flow. I only caught onto the Icarus allusion, but I'm still curious about the borken horns bit. It reminds too much of Boromir in Fellowship of the Ring, though that's probably not what you're refering to. I noticed you're trying to make this a song and I totally support that. I can see it being sung. I'm not sure the addition of a stanza was necessary, but it certainly doens't take anything away from this piece.

Oi! I love it. The structure wasn't a problem to me. It made it flow that much better. I especially liked the last line, how you're setting an example for others. TRALLA! It reminded me of Gavroche too! Are you a Les Miserables fanatic like me?

I am amused.

As a vampire fanatic, I must say that is one of the best pieces I've read in a long time. It seems like it has another story behind it. When you spoke of the girl being on the altar, surrounded by hooded figures, it seemed like she was reliving a ritual sacrifice of some sort, something she or the vampire had blocked from her memory. I am simply amazed at your economy of words. You manage to convey the most important sensory images, without giving undue details of the setting, time, or vampire. Of course the first person point of view helps with that. Still, your language is simple and very readable but powerful all the same. I don't know if you read much vampire work, but this piece reminded me slightly of Anne Rice in the fleeting imagery and also of Amela Atwater-Rhodes in the simplicity of the words as well as the vampire's seduction of the girl.

*The nine Muses gather around Rhaps like fluttering consciences, urging the bewildered girl to sing praise to the benevolent Elders* Ode to the Elders Hear me, Quill-bearing Gods, today Hear this unworthy groveling fey High lords of the Mighty Pen Add to my realm, another glen Another open door Another keep to explore Deeper ideas to seek Truer words to speak O Elders who rule! I'll not dishonor you. To you Every day I bow To you My every word is vowed I sing my thanks For this elevated rank You deemed my title, 'Maverick Muse' As more than a tragic ruse To you I sing! My queens and kings! To you, m'lords, I sing this ode Before stepping on this new road I, a Page in the presence of beloved ken I, a Page in the Chronicles of the Mighty Pen *stumbles from the Hall, blushing*

Hmmm, I may be the only one, but I really enjoyed both the LotR movies. Then again, I'm a Tolkein fanatic. Admittedly, Tolkein's style is a bit on the dry side and his books are not the most entertaining read. But his plotline is good and Peter Jackson really took the storytelling to another level. The characters are well-cast and the handling of three major plotlines was done expertly. I think one of the highlights of the films is the scenery; the gorgeous New Zealand setting really brings Middle-Earth to life, esp. in the regions of the Shire, Rivendell, Moria, Lothlorien, Orthanc, and Helm's Deep. And the music is phenomenal, somewhat reliant on recurring themes, but that's the beauty of it. Viewers eventually relate a certain musical theme with a certain culture. The elves are given this ethereal vibe consisting of Oreintal instrumentals and the otherworldly voice of Enya. The hobbits, on the other hand, have a folksy upbeat string theme while Barad-dur has this off-kilter 5/4 meter replete with deep-voiced horns and percussion. I'm not much of a techie, but I thought the special effects were breathtaking and utterly convincing. True, much of the emphasis is on action sequences, but one must keep in mind that this is an adventure, first and foremost. The actual character confrontation between Frodo and the Ring don't actually come to the foreground until Return of the King. A note about the length: one must keep in mind that LotR is an epic whose actually history spans thousands of years. Tolkein wrote over 1000 pages in three seperate books. There is a lot of plotline and culture packed in those pages. The trouble with many moviegoers who haven't read the books are that they are oblivious to the fact that Tolkein spent his ENTIRE LIFE creating Middle Earth: the various cultures, different languages, geography, and history. To do even partial justice to Tolkein's vision requires a set length of time. All that having been said, let's just say I spent a good six weeks researching the LotR movies for an AP English film project last year. I know more about FotR than even I ever wanted to know. ***** As for other good movies, one word: Seabiscuit.

Falling

Written 3 years ago. “5:31.29,” read the black print. The all-important numbers were circled and underlined so many times that it proved almost illegible. But that didn’t matter. They were imprinted, had been burned into my mind by countless daydreams. It was my ultimate fantasy. To see the flashing green numbers lighted up on the board above the pool was my personal obsession. A piercing gunshot broke me out of my reverie. I jumped to my feet, but quickly sat back down in realization. It was just the starter. His shot had interrupted my mental training, advice I’d gotten from my coach. I’d been visualizing my race, feeling every stroke, picturing every turn, inhaling deeply in rhythm, and imaging the perfect finish. The only thing I mentally blocked out was the pain I knew I’d soon be feeling. The twin icepacks resting on my sore shoulders and knees were reminder enough. I glanced at my hand. The permanent ink on it read,” Heat 12, Lane 7.” I mused Twelve is my favorite number and seven is lucky. Hopefully it’s a good sign Grabbing my silicone cap and goggles, I headed down towards the pool. On the way, I passed many young competitors anxiously awaiting their races. Quite a few were cheering their teammates on and more swimmers than usual had writing on their backs, most of which read (in bold capital letters) “EAT MY BUBBLES!” As always, I thought of my friend, Kim, who constantly insisted on writing the same motto on my back. Today, she’d won. My back sported an identical message. “Heat ten. Swimmers, behind your blocks,” blared the announcer. Hurriedly, I dashed down to the blocks and pulled my cap on. It flashed a bright yellow, made only more noticeable by the large red lettering on it. So whenever COPS (City Of Plano Swimming) swam, everyone knew who was from Plano, thanks to our prominent caps. But I quickly forgot about them as heat eleven was sent off. Now my mind was completely focused on the race ahead. The 400 IM loomed before me, an agonizing swim that tested every stroke with a taxing distance of one hundred yards each. Starting with one hundred yards of butterfly, (that rapidly wore down any rookies) it switched to backstroke, the hated breaststroke, and finally the competitors sprinted for the finish with everything they had left in the freestyle. But to me, the race was a portal to new worlds, a gate of opportunity that must be unlocked. The only keys to it were the magic numbers. 5:31.29 was the qualifying time for the state championships. The elusive numerals had escaped me during my last two attempts. I was determined to achieve it this time. “Third time’s the charm,” I repeated to myself. Coach Jack had agreed. As the final minutes of unbearable waiting passed, I recalled his instructions. “Sprint the fly. Then back down for the next 50 or so. Build up your speed during the back and breast. Free is sprint, everything you’ve got. Now don’t forget technique. Tight streamlining, no breathing inside the flags, fast kick-outs, and pullouts. Be on your toes on the blocks and remember your dive should be long and low. Accelerate into the walls and do tight turns. Remember to keep your head down on your last stroke. As for breath control…” Then he stopped and grinned at me. “What am I doing? You know all this. You’ve done it a million times. Listen, just get out there, have fun, and race. Forget about the time, state champs, and your rivalry. Just race. You’re a winner, kid, and I have faith in you. Good luck and remember, just race.” Jack’s last words rang in my head, mixed with images of my ideal race. Dimly, I heard the starter announce, “Ladies and gentlemen, event #86, heat 12. The 15-16 year-old women’s 400-yard Individual Medley. Swimmers, behind your blocks, please.” The blue water of my lane rippled before me. The noisy cheers and catcalls were blocked out and I heard nothing but Jack’s words. No nervousness or anxiety ate away at my mind. I was in a state of total concentration, known by many athletes simply as “the Zone”. “Swimmers up.” I stepped up on the block, pulling my goggles down, automatically tightening them. I caught a glimpse of six-feet, five-inch Jack and my family sending me thumbs-up signs. “Take your mark.” I took a deep breath and crouched down. My body fell into position; knees half-bent, head down, light on the balls of my feet, and waited for the gunshot. “Bang!” Instantly, I launched off, my arms reaching out, straining for length, not height. Slicing cleanly into the water, I kicked out as far as I could. Then my hands moved under and upward, lifting at the shoulders and flinging myself forward. The fly portion of the race passed by swiftly. My strokes came sure and strong and I felt as if I were actually flying. Feeling the burn in my lungs, I pushed myself into keeping the tempo steady. As I neared the end of the first one hundred yards, I kept my strokes long, ignoring the ache in my shoulders. The movements came naturally to me and I cut effortlessly through the water. Hitting the wall, I executed a quick cut-away turn and came off the wall on my back. As I gazed through the clear water, I caught sight of my rival trying to close the large gap between us. She was from the Metro team and had been my best opponent since I’d started swimming the 400 IM. The last time out, she’d beaten me by a tenth of a second. It’d been a bitter loss. I pushed her out of my mind, knowing it would distract me. Instead, I concentrated on breathing, grateful for a full one hundred yards of uninterrupted air flowing into my lungs. Unconsciously, I slowed my strokes, following Jack’s orders and relaxed for fifty yards. Then my arms moved faster, building up speed into the walls. This allowed me to perform tight turns and set me up for the weakest section of my race, breaststroke. Again, I marveled at the apparent ease in which I was swimming. There was no fatigue and no wasted energy. I was an efficient racing machine. On my cut-away turn from the transition of back to breast, I saw I was well ahead of the field. The Metro girl, my nearest competitor, was at least half a lap behind. Even as I pulled-out underwater in preparation for breaststroke, I felt fatigue nipping at my heels. As I surfaced, thunderous cheers, shouts, and whistles assaulted my ears. Taken by surprise, I visibly cringed under the pandemonium. I’d been all but oblivious to the noise before, and the suddenness of it overwhelmed me. The forward motion of my stroke slowed and nearly ground to a halt. Jack saved me. His voice, clearly audible over the din, shouted scoldingly at me, “C’mon, Pam! Get after it!” Quickly, I recovered my rhythm and stroke, but my mind refused to cooperate. I was still moving at a pretty strong clip, but my stroke lacked the effortless power it had possessed earlier. “What happened?” I asked myself. Then realization dawned on me. The audience’s clamor had broken my concentration, snapping me forcibly out of “the Zone”. It sounds silly, I know, but I’d learned long ago that I had to be in a certain mood to swim at my best. Every swimmer has their own unique “Zone”, an emotional state where the mind and body are intensely focused on a single goal so both units act as one. Swimming experts commonly define “the Zone” as the subconscious mind controlling the movements of the physical body. Therefore, almost no conscious thought occurs. The problem is, “the Zone” appears and leaves at random. In my case, the focus had been broken by the noise in the middle of my race. These thoughts flashed through my mind, accompanied with distress, while I desperately tried to regain my lost momentum. My mind was engaged in a battle. A part of it wanted to calm down and deal with my problems while another part refused to listen. Instead, it filled me with panic and despair. This wild maelstrom in my head interfered with the perfect harmony and power I’d experienced before, and abandoned my body, leaving it to fend for itself. I struggled through the water, my breaths coming spasmodically. On the last lap of the breaststroke, I caught a sudden movement out of the corner of my eye. It was the Metro girl who was passing me. Futilely, I quickened my pace and prayed to reach the wall first. Finally, it came time for my strongest leg of the race, the last four laps of freestyle. My rival and I hit the wall together on the breaststroke and turned for the freestyle. She accelerated unbelievably, drawing ahead by a full body length. I chased after her, refusing to be beaten. My arms stroked faster, and my legs increased their kick. As lap after lap passed by, a silent resolute decision budded within my heart, an undeniable determination to catch my opponent, for I wouldn’t be cheated of my goal again. With a renewed effort, I called upon my reserve speed, ignoring the burning pain in my shoulders and thighs. Stroke, stroke, stroke, and breathe. That was my rhythm and its velocity increased steadily, relentlessly. Inch by agonizing inch, I gained on her, closing the slim margin separating us. As we neared the wall, I accelerated even more under the flags, not knowing where the extra speed came from, nor caring. My turn was among the fastest I’ve ever done and it came automatically, without thought. Turning for home, we were suddenly side-by-side. As me powered down the lane, I caught a glimpse of the board and had a sudden itching urge to see my time. As soon as the thought entered my mind, the Metro girl drew ahead again. Before I had time to react, two words rang in my head. Two familiar words: “Just race”. I’m not beaten yet , I thought grimly. Simultaneously, I rallied, gathering every exhausted muscle for a final effort. Then I poured all my energy and dogged determination into the last strokes. We drove under the flags together, fighting the impulse to take a breath, knowing it could cost us the race. Instead, I reached for the wall, every muscle stretching and my outstretched fingers straining through the last inches of water. I slammed into the wall, bruising my fingertips, but hardly caring. I whirled to see the board. The fluorescent numbers read, ”First place, Lane 7: 5:31.20.” I stood frozen for a moment. Then it sunk in and I felt a burning sensation in my lungs. I choked, gasping for breath and realized I’d been holding my breath. After several deep inhalations, I turned and shook hands amiably with the Metro girl, dizzy with an overwhelming sense of victory. Then I clambered out of the pool, full of joy. The indescribable feeling of accomplishment, coupled with astonishment, warmed my heart. After talking to my enthusiastic coach, I made a beeline for the warm-down pool, already musing about my chance at the state championships.

Written in response to a creative writing class my high-school freshman year (3 years ago). A retelling of the myth. Forgive the rough rhyming and lack of originality. Demeter: Hades, take not my cherished child for she is gentle and mild, fearing cruel Tartarus, dark and vile. Hades: True, the Underworld is dark and to ease my life, lonely and stark, I need Persephone, who sings like a lark. Persephone: Lord, take me not as your bride, for I love the sun too much to hide beneath the earth, sir, I would die. Hades: You fool me not, Persephone, my love. Immortal are thee, my dove. Stay and forget the world above. Demeter: Daughter, cover thine ears. Cry no tears, have no fears. Thou shall come with me, my dear. Hades: I think not, O Earth goddess. She has tasted my food, six seeds, no less. Persephone stays! I’ve won, you must confess. Persephone: Mother, I’m sorry, but it’s true Six pomegranate seeds of a lovely hue My deepest regrets and boundless rue. Demeter: Hades, I’ll not let this rest! Let’s see if you pass Zeus’s test! Our monarch shall decide what’s best! Zeus: Demeter! Calm down, have a care. Persephone is Hades’, won fair, but I see your desperate state of affairs. My offer, you must hear. Persephone shall live in Hades’ realm for half a year. During summer, she’s yours to rear. Demeter: Very well, my king. But Earth’s death bell shall ring and your birds shan’t sing while my child is away. Night shall outlive day and all flora will decay. Your precious mankind shall not spared from the seasonal massacre I’ve prepared. Woe to you, who have dared to deprive me of my joy and pride for this eternal darkness, as Death’s bride. But all Nature is on my side, and my wrath shall not abate ‘til the blessed date Persephone steps out of Death’s gate. (to Persephone) though our separation is unbearably long, Hope thrives when you return where you belong and Earth blooms again with your sweet song.

From a contest on poetry.com a year ago. Short and sweet. 1) Challenged poets to create a short poem using the words "doubt" and "reason". Turbulence! The river rages Against the dam, erect for ages My doubt returns, a flood downstream And reason crumbles before my dream 2) Challanged poets to idealize the birdsong in the morning. Hark fast to the starling's flute Lark's sweet harp & thrush's lute Aurora's halo, her gilded ring Bids me now to take to wing 3) Gave a pic of a woman peering through her Venetian blinds and asked us to evoke a mood. What treads my walkway Today, today? Mailman, dog Or fairy fey? 4) Gave a pic of a pair of wrinkled hands folded together. Weather-worn my hands may be Bound to my toil, never free

*shudders* Loved the first stanza, though I'm not completely sure what you're talking about here... Good luck.

Chillingly sinister as the others said, but also amusing in its twisted way. Prime example of scary yet funny: The attitude from the vamp is totally casual. It's humorous. This one is even more chilling but more absurd with the idea of a vamp leaning towards math. Here, he reminded me of Gollum. lol You have to wonder what ahppens to the poor listener in the end. I loved the perspective of this one and how it is the vamp rambling. And yes, I think this would count as a vignette. A very good one at that.

Loved the last line, wonderful use of vocab in "lieu". It has this quaint medieval feel to it with your "S'long" and "alas". I love the archaic feel of it. your imagery with flowers and light is pretty and effective.

Everyone can relate to your message here, Vincent. The simplicity of the poem, its vernacular and brevity, really work in its favor. A point of special note: your expletives and words like "weird" really bang it home and being it to a level that everyone can understand. I espeically liked the structure of the first stanza.

I found this faintly amusing, esp. the title. But on a more serious note, I agree with Sorciere that this is really original in its subject. And I understand as well. I'm going off to college after this year and am already afraid of being homesick. This poem was especially poignant to me. This line was particularly beautiful in its imagery: I love how you gave he specific number of window panes, really brings across the intimacy.

LOL. Very clever. I love puns.

I really liked the structure of the poem. It had this stream-of-consciousness feeling with some erratic rhyming, rhyming between lines, skipping lines and the sort. It feels like I'm looking into your mind and f=plucking out the words. Gives a more intimate feeling to the poem. My fave line, its beautiful. Don't feel bad. Your own judgment is the only standard you have to live up to.

Hmmm, I wasn't quite sure what was the subject of this poem. Towards the end I thought you might be talking about a significant other. I liked the theme of Time throughout, the changing of the seasons. I found this line particularly sad, the termination of youth and purity. You've got a gift for rhythm and rhyme. Some of the rhyming here was a bit awkward in the middle section, but that will improve with time. All in all, nice work.

I sense a epic story behind all of this. It sounds like something out of legend, like the poetic works preceding Tolkein's Lord of the Rings. Is this in any way religious? Because I'm recognizing the seven deadly sins and the seven levels of hell from Dante's Inferno. But I'm not familiar with the seven Wards. I like the rhyme scheme, especially how it changes at the end. I liked this idea: Bravo!

Lemme guess. Has school started for you too? As a high school senior taking 4 AP courses and 0 hour, I totally agree. This line perfectly, but simply, captures the monotony of each day. True friend. I'm of the opinion that students who want to be competitive are so swamped by school work that they lose in other categories. Sleep, for instance. But seriously, all this academic work is stifling the creative spirit in a very fragile time in our lives. As adolescents, our bodies and perception of ourselves and the world around us are constantly changing. This is the perfect time for creativity, but they take that away from us with all the academic work. Even music, art, theatre, and athletic programs don't give that much freedom. Bah, am rambling again. Lovely work, if tinged with bitterness. Keep it up!

Oi! Boaz, I have a weakness for short succint poems. I love how you made each line so short--gives the feeling of fragments of imagery. A disjointed but piercing feeling. And the message...I love it. The possibility of an idea leading somewhere. But the tragedy of having it slip away from you. Awesome.

Falcon, I'm not Christian nor am I very religious, but I was struck by your poem. It's refreshing to have a work that's more of a plea, a prayer than anything else. I like the idea of you being a warrior for God.

Parm, like a lot of the others, this poem evoked a sort of melancholy, misty quality to me. But I also interpreted this poem quite a bit differently than everyone else. Some of my fave lines: Seems like a shift in viewpoint and tone. And it really makes it seem as if the subject is addressing the reader. An attention-grabber. This stanza really made me think. The reference to mass put it into religious context for me. And it made me think as the poem went on that the speaker was God. But He spoke in a very cynical way...about not caring and laughing at one's fears. Call me sadistic but I really like that idea. A new persepctive of God. And the last line, "just call me Dad" really clinched it for me. I really thought you were referring to God because Christians think of him as the eternal Father of all. I have a weakness for pessimestic existential type works. And your wonderful work with the rhyming just established a rhythm for your message. It really brought out the phantom quality of the poem. I have no issues at all with your rhyming. I'm personally of the opinion that you are the poet and you have the final say. You know how to express yourself best.