SoaringIcarus

Crowgirl, I like what the title does for the tone, it's a good set-up. And never appologise for selfishness. "Tongue-tied and tear-eyed" Great rhyme, and ALLITERATION! (I hope Ms. Reakes reads this poem.) The last half of this poem is even more stupendous, it really has a beat to it, and a delayed-sting. Love it. Post more, please. -Icarus

Very nice, Rose Prince. I like the atmosphere of this. Pretty transcendental, and reminescent of through-the-looking-glass (only strictly in the looking-glass sense). Last stanza, was it perhaps "I now see the sky"? Good ending. I fail to recognise any lack of creativity, and look forward to reading more of your work. Write on! -Icarus Edited by: SoaringIcarus at: 12/10/02 7:20:16 pm

What a sad poem. "Another boy" perhaps instead of "boyl"? *chuckles to himself* A sad poem indeed. Keep writing. -Icarus

I want to see many more of them, please. Welcome. -Icarus

It feels real. -Icarus

What a lovely use of imagery, metaphor and all of the good stuff! This poem speaks, and unlike many poems, it does not limit itself. It leaves so much to be pondered, and so many roads to take. Perhaps one of the best poems I've read on The Pen yet. I mean that. Welcome to The Pen. -Icarus

Yeah I like the use of hyphens here, and the many tones of 'Anyway'. Original. -Icarus

Interesting addition/ sequal to the first poem. It's reminescent of air raids on Dresden, in 1914, at least that's what I imagine it would be similar to. In the 'War' Stanza, I yearn for more detail. Good technique. I wonder why blood comes before War? Is there a civil war before an attack from an outside force? What is the blue hope? The clear of the sky after the smoke has cleared? Lots of questions, lots images. Nice work. -Icarus

This is great, I can't believe it was left unacknowledged for so long! I wouldn't change a thing in this. Post more. -Icarus

When you said "a quarter's lapse" do you mean in a sports event, such as a football game? Otherwise, I was contemplating how $.25 passed during a silly song. I hope the reciever enjoyed the poem. Good. -Icarus

Where EZBoard's animated emoticons serve the best thinkable purpose. If I ever made a description of every emoticon and a poem to go with it, yours would go with Wink. -Icarus

(Conversion confusion, this is actually the second post in this thread) First off, great title. At times the metre can feel a bit cheated, ergo flow is interrupted. However, your usage of fluid description: "Forever is in the now at last" (nice) really enriches the poems. I feel as if the last two stanzas lost the momentum the rest of the poem was setting up. Although the last stanza is a good ending, judging by the previous writing, I'll bet you could write one three times better, if you perhaps thought a little bit more in terms of structure as a whole. This all of course, is only the humble say of some strange guy who decided to offer his input on this tastefully cosmic poem. -Icarus

I like it even though it feels as if I'm missing a lot of information. Someone mentioned EverQuest? Perhaps I would need to play that in order to get the full effect of this poem? As for the initial post in this thread, I like how it's organized visually, especially with the first line of each stanza; it caters to the whims of my particularl mode of thought. Although I felt a bit left out in the second poem (Neither of the poems in this thread are crap), I did like the somewhat cosmic finality in the ending.

(Conversion confusion, this is actually the second post in this thread) Very nostalgic, and I like how the initial stress is on how you need the words, but even they cannot distract you thoroughly enough from writing about your absent love. The ending is also good, it ties everything up neatly. -Icarus

The last two lines really get me. As if it's dually a description and apathetic advertisement. Great tone. I almost wish you would go into more descriptive detail, to see if what I'm getting from this is similar to what you intend. Post more poems. -Icarus

(Conversion confusion, this is actually the second post in this thread) I can really appreciate the metaphor of fog with writer's block. I like 'casual confusion' and wonder, why is 'Mind's' capitalized but not 'window'? If I considered "Mind" to be as important as, say, God, then perhaps... But if I were talking about God's Sandals, I think I would capitalize Sandals, as well. Or perhaps that's my taste for capitalized nouns. Nice, nonetheless.

Rad imagery. It really makes the poem. As a reader I want to learn more about how the title connects with the content. The ending is peculiarly interesting; red, in my mind, would be the very next color after black or white. Who is everlong? Very nice. -Icarus

Well done Kasmandre. Wyv' there could always consider pawning his 'Mr. T' reminescent gold medallions and rings? -Icarus

(Conversion confusion, this is actually the third post in this thread) And by the way...why havn't you applied for membership yet? You are most certainly qualified. -Perplexed Icarus

Like the title, but then I've always fancied the ethereal :-) I have read this poem from the perspective of one who has not known the joys of "The Exequy". It is now on my list. First stanza, a good setup. Eloquence AND rhyme scheme. What more could one ask for! Is this passing a passing in life, or in the relationship? “The halls of my mind” Wonderful imagery. “That thee slowly provide in me”? I don’t claim to be too crafty with my Olde Englishe grammar, but the usage of ‘thee’ feels a bit awkward. “That seem to the eye as before” What was it like before? I feel left out of that idea. Why is ‘Dim’ on a new line? (perhaps part of the parody of The Exequy?) “Stumbling blindly for perfection.” (Restrains himself from plagiarizing these phrases elsewhere.) All too familiar my friend. I’m really with you in that line. By the way, I’ve read this poem, and gone back and recited it, I like the metre. “Time contorts…lost touch, is sure” I do like this part of the stanza, especially the beginning, however I feel there could be more. The participles seem slightly bland, and it seems as if you didn’t enjoy writing this part as much, no? I do extricate a sense of waiting, which is appropriate, however something feels off. I can’t quite describe it myself. (Mindless banter, forgive me… just writing my thoughts.) Good ending to that stanza. “…to thee I swifly glide” Yes. Bending with time, Yes. Why is ‘the pain’ on another line? Less confusing though, as I could take meaning from that decision, however it feels ambiguous. Slight parallel structure, but not enough for my own taste. Nice quote at the end. As a curious reader, was everything in the poem before that your own words? Was it the only quote in the poem, or were other segments quoted? I’m sure I have no right responding to this, as I remain half in the dark, having not read The Exequy! Despite that, enjoyable. Nice sig. -Icarus

Familiar. I like it. Last stanza: "He's not [what] you wanted" ? -Icarus

How is it That words of glass and unblinking emptiness On glossy blue pages bent and dog eared Become bouncing marbles Between my fingers In an ocean Among gems They comb my stubborn hair Beat my drums With all the Right kind of rubbish, I’m not to hear. And the insolently static words Only wallow in their single dimension Obediently motionless so as not to Distract you from the marbles.

I suppose there are worse ways of becoming a man than rolling down a hill. Yes, plenty indeed. For instance, rolling down the AgroCrag. Oh, and what a man you would be! Welcome to the Pen, OujiSama. Icarus

I sit at my dominating black beauty, warmly looking down at her many fingers, and up at one of her many sets of directions. They show me in what way I could begin to fathom dancing our fingers against each other but they never give away the secret. The secret that whispers out in overtones and echos in the cold wide-open void when I tap her golden foot. An atmosphere I am free to fill to whatever extent she deems worthy. When I lift my numb foot to depress her own, while shunning her fingers, the wind blows throughout her body and mine and we are colder together. A subtle cry of a very young and less mature beauty penetrates the cold wind and I cannot bear to have taken this away from her. The ripping of music from her bowels because she could not stand to sustain nothingness. Carefully, I enter the enigma that are her directions. I trip and stutter and do her no justice at all except one subito piano soft touch on her cheek, and a look into her eyes before I slip and force myself back into slow motion. But she waits for me. It’s so sad and spectacular all at once because of all the people and all the great things they could tell her and do for her while I… I am just…an inquiring flea who wishes to be a speck in her universe, should she permit it. I am sad for her willingness to let someone like me woo her. Someone like me dancing with her until I cannot, and I fall asleep on my cross arms upon her own, and she says nothing. She would cradle me forever, it seems, while filled with such unearthly combinations of love and excitement bearly at her fingertips, and she says nothing. She gets rather lonely when no one speaks to her, and the pang of this familiarity is, in the very least, for me a need to sit by her night after night playing her neglected prodigious hands until warm. Her voice quavers with mine and we are warm.

How flavorfully bleak the Autumn may be. I myself just wrote a piece on Autumn. Although it is only dim in comparison to yours, (and I am wary of posting one piece of writing in more than one place) perhaps this thread would be an adequate place to put Autumn poetry. It's such a very neglected theme. Thank you for all of your pleasant comments peredhil31, you write beautifully. (Friendly hugs) They weren’t leaves. They had no such purpose at that point; they were jutting particles adhered flatly to every surface. It was as if, by color alone, they attempted to infuse the atmosphere with blotches of joy under a bruised sky. The streets were slick with too much glue, not enough paper and the only thing I could think of was how hideous orange is except within the context of great quantity. Muted wind-chimes were slicked against themselves like song birds stapled to a building side and nobody much cared. On another day, I had seen powerful trees lining a dusty path, and wished for nothing except to laugh or cry while shaking my bowed head that exerted emotions from my face, ricocheting off of my heart into god knows what. The sun had begun setting an hour before, with the sky still a rich blue glowing healthily, and yet foreign wigs atop bowed heads sat messily clumped in the finest gradation of color. It was like having the sunset all day long. Their individuality at it’s height of manifestation was awe-inspiring to simple me who passed below their hundreds of whispering complexities. Ages ago, it seemed, there was only this large wall of green blocking my path, regardless of how the road was set; a single listless face. But then, only in that late hour, did they morph into their own being before dissolving inevitably into twisted paralyzation. Such a sad thing, that only as they wilted could they achieve something great . Their prime was spent in bold greenery with little deviation from faceless brothers, never reaching the zenith of fulfillment. They stood tall and not discernable. They never knew. Edited by: SoaringIcarus at: 11/18/02 12:47:52 pm