7-29-07

I've done this one awhile ago, yet as of right now, I'm just never in the right mood to put my mind to poetry. So hopefully the last few poems I actually did can receive some good crits to inspire me a bit more. This one is still untitled, but is stored just by the name 7-29-07 in my HG:P Journal.


Lay down the water’s edge,
its touch forgets thoroughly the sins.
Listen to the ripples reach for life
And how the reasons fade out
the beauty in these shapeless voids-
Still vulnerable to repented heat,
A disturbance on the surface
distorts the visions of pursuit
yet, I am soaked full in the motive of you.

Conspicuously, my lips move
to conceal the stillborn reveries
in my head.
Even allured by the sweet falling lotus leaf
to my hand; its touch is still
cold and dead.

Let the words that breathe no life
Slide in beside themselves as
the poison of saintly faults
In all that was not believed.

"I am soaked full in the motive of you"
well that is a pretty sweet poetic snip- ette if I ever read one!


I felt a little like I was watching Ophelia in the first verse, then a shy lover, and I did not understand the last verse. I think your 'conclusion' or end statement, your message, should be portrayed clearer and more throughout in the last verse. I usually like abrupt ending in poetry but I felt like I did not get my fill, you know?

Ina wrote:"I am soaked full in the motive of you"
well that is a pretty sweet poetic snip- ette if I ever read one!

I felt a little like I was watching Ophelia in the first verse, then a shy lover, and I did not understand the last verse. I think your 'conclusion' or end statement, your message, should be portrayed clearer and more throughout in the last verse. I usually like abrupt ending in poetry but I felt like I did not get my fill, you know?

I thought as much when I read it over again, but sometimes changing old things becomes disasterous for the rest, especially the ending. But I will try to re-work it soon enough. And like I say often- "Very rarely there's sometimes a good line of metaphor in a poem of mine."

The Artful Lost wrote:Let the words that breathe no life
Slide in beside themselves as
the poison of saintly faults
In all that was not believed.

There's something about this stanza that disturbs me. Not emotionally, but, when reading it. It's in these lines especially:

...as
the poison of saintly faults
In all that was not believed

I think it's just the order of things. What is supposed to be the fixation in this line? The faults, the poison, the paradox of 'saintly
fault'?
And then the "In all that was not believed."
Well, why would poison seep into this? I think I'm being too literal here, and it's not meant to be perceived as a logical pursuit. I can't help but wonder about this. There's a lot said here and how one relates to the other is sort of unclear.

Theres a strong sense of freedom at the start of this; you take such pleasure in the ripples of the water not hitting any obstruction. You are enjoying the freedom of movement and possibilities with this 'you'. But it ends with your frustration of not being listened to or understood and perhaps of your perceived lack of ability at expressing yourself ; the flower you produce is dead and your words are breathing 'no life'. Theres much regret and sadness in this and a sense of things being unresolved.

love it wrote:Theres a strong sense of freedom at the start of this; you take such pleasure in the ripples of the water not hitting any obstruction. You are enjoying the freedom of movement and possibilities with this 'you'. But it ends with your frustration of not being listened to or understood and perhaps of your perceived lack of ability at expressing yourself ; the flower you produce is dead and your words are breathing 'no life'. Theres much regret and sadness in this and a sense of things being unresolved.

Yes, I understand what you mean and that may possibly be the closest thing to the reason I may have started writing this poem. But since it was so long ago in my random lines file, the purpose isn't even so clear to me anymore. As I tried to rework the last stanza, it just never connected as well as the rest, but even if I omit it from the poem, it will no longer make sense. Maybe I should just write this one off as a dud and make something (maybe) new?

If the last stanza doesn't connect with you so well then maybe it was flawed to begin with. This is my problem with my own poems: do I have the right to be cryptic or does it just blatantly give too little information. I suggest that you look at the emotion the rest of the poem gives you and go from there. Then I hope it will make sense to you. Oddly enough, this is the way I tend to pass most of my multiple choice exams, through sheer associative skill. It's a great power.

LOve, Sel.