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Literature Text
i bare my bones to the screeching moon.
twenty-nine days, and i claw again.
take my flesh, take it, dye me maroon.
ribcage and spine: shadows soften too soon.
light, light, as i crawl through the glen.
i bare my bones to the screeching moon.
i gouge myself open to find the rune,
hacking, peeling, like do all wise men.
take my flesh, take it, dye me maroon.
pooling skin-folds, i want them scattered, strewn.
this skin's all bark and oozing holes when
i bare my bones to the screeching moon.
bubble, swell; i can hear the snakes croon.
beauty of being lies beneath the vein.
take my flesh, take it, dye me maroon.
crazed lust for hungered grace at night's high noon:
haunt me til all the blue months turn sane.
i bare my bones to the screeching moon;
take my flesh, take it, dye me maroon.
Literature
on these innocent bones
i.
i am spineless. a silent symphony of agony on ribcaged ivored orchids. (hear the greensleeves of) gathering birches, songbirds sodden with periwinkled love forgetting the many ways to say i love you (too) on these waterlogged nights soused in elephant rain;
leaves me always breathless
ii.
such efflorescence: honey trees freckled in dandelion leaves bring tenderness to numb lips as i dance beneath pastel diamond skies as he'll put so many gingered lillies in isabelle white all to make me smile. so i'll never let these "love yous" slip through the emptying cracks into me
Literature
Aphasia and Bones
i.
Life is like a hymn, mint
candy tucked into a pocket.
The stairs are creatures I tame
With a spinning mind, palms coaxing
them to docility.
Life sounds like a hymn,
but I empty my pockets and
there are only mint sticks of gum.
Courage is a poet on my tongue;
I could fix this. I could fix this.
I cannot read the letters glowing
beneath my thumb.
There is a water wheel spinning
and spinning inside of me
like a dog gnawing off its tail,
and I beat it down the sink
headfirst.
Coffin system,
clay signature -
I changed my name,
I changed my name;
now I feel defined.
ii.
Call me Wernicke, and I'd answer
dutifully, ideally, but probably
I'
Literature
weak bones and sleep-starved eyes
he made wishes on gunshots
and sent out empty prayers to an empty sky
and sometimes, while he slept
[a vicious, taunting, halfway-sort-of-not-really-asleep-at-all sleep]
his fists would clutch at air,
and his swollen strawberry lips would twist and
turn
and his too-young, too-pale face would
grimace and scrunch
and when he cried out,
the babies in the next room would start crying too.
eventually the shadows under his eyes got
so big
that they swallowed him up
and his arms got scarred and broken from all the times
he'd checked to see if his heart was still beating
and he stopped having nightmares because he
stopped chasing sl
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villanelle.
EDIT: DLD featured here [link]
and here [link]
and here [link] .
thank you so much, everyone.
this poem. sucked so much out of me.
please give it a chance.
- what do you think it's about?
- do the images convey the ideas alright?
- flow between stanzas, and even lines? they don't jump around too much, right?
- is there too much of a jump between the first two lines of the second last stanza?
- how cohesive is it, overall?
- does it still manage to possess the "beauty" that poetry is supposed to have? supposed
critique: [link]
thanks. all comments are much appreciated
EDIT: DLD featured here [link]
and here [link]
and here [link] .
thank you so much, everyone.
this poem. sucked so much out of me.
please give it a chance.
- what do you think it's about?
- do the images convey the ideas alright?
- flow between stanzas, and even lines? they don't jump around too much, right?
- is there too much of a jump between the first two lines of the second last stanza?
- how cohesive is it, overall?
- does it still manage to possess the "beauty" that poetry is supposed to have? supposed
critique: [link]
thanks. all comments are much appreciated
© 2012 - 2024 520romeo
Comments35
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Opinion: Our best works demand so much of us and are the better for it. Speaking of, this villanelle seems to be about sacrifice. It's all the more haunting and desperate because of the speaker's willingness to give, almost begging for his or her audience to take and do what we will.
Images: The imagery is great, evoking feelings, scenes, and colors alike. I love the juxtaposition of the moon and the color maroon; I think that using the moon in a piece tends to ensnare us in opalescence because the celestial body is, well, colorless. However, by rhyming "moon" with "maroon" and capturing them in a dance through repetition (such is a villanelle, right?), you remind us to color in all the missing shades. Mentioning the color also subtly reminds us (or me, at least) of blood without the cliché "crimson" or plain old "red."
Flow: I just wrapped up the next three questions in one, since they're all related. I don't think that there's too much jumping around or anything. There's a nice flow, helped mostly by your even meter. Your meter also encouraged me to read the poem aloud, which is the way lyric poetry was meant to be read if you ask me, so that's nice. The images are also related to one another, which also keeps the stanzas united, which I know is difficult writing a villanelle (I tried, but not nearly as successfully, here: fav.me/d5mumph). Too often must we choose between repetition and meaning! But you've managed to balance it nicely
Beauty: I needn't tell you this, but beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Nonetheless, it does possess that beauty we so often strive for in lyric poetry, that eloquence and brevity and perfect evocation of the senses. Rest assured, I probably would not have spent this much time in the comments section if I did not think it was pretty (oh dear, is that pretentious of me? Mia culpa )
In conclusion... Good luck with all of your future endeavors. I look forward to reading more of your work. And don't be a stranger to my gallery