poetry critical

online poetry workshop

on moving away slowly.

there is a point
past which nothing
makes any sense
and you, you
and i have taken
that first step
into strangeness. we speak, now
with casual familiarity
with clipped tones, with words we meant to enunciate
with nothing but memories
yet without memory, gibberish
our own little language.
please. there is a line drawn here. stay
there is always the hope
of reconciliation
or reincarnation
of the beautiful undertones
that once characterized
how we used
to be.

28 Jun 08

Rated 10 (8.7) by 3 users.
Active (3): 7
Inactive (21): 1, 1, 3, 6, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10, 10, 10, 10, 10, 10, 10, 10, 10, 10, 10, 10, 10, 10

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(77 more poems by this author)

(13 users consider this poem a favorite)

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witness of the shift from linear to connected -- here you've gathered us to that perception of playful joyous being as contrasted by the linear clipped considerations of a separate reality -- this builds the cognitive awareness to the beauty of interfluidic dance that we are in Love -- well writ percept
 — AphroDite

this is beautiful, midaire. it hurts my throat. there are many refined details, including unusual and apt punctuation. I can capture the narrator's restrained desperation.
 — banditfemme

on a day like today, you passed the time away writing love letters to george sand. how we awed when we read, your seemly poet's thread, reading above the letters and remembering george sand.
 — joey

(Sigh...) Just beautiful.  :-)
 — starr

: )
 — fractalcore

thank you everyone. any suggestions on how i could make it better?

 — midare

strong poem

memories are not only linguistic based. every sense develops a grammar per interaction.

 — unknown

really nice job.. now THIS did something for me
 — iamswanson

there is layers and layers here - outside and inside the writing, it creates the thoughts extremely vivdly in my mind, the internalised images of the processes of the authors own reconciliations with this meeting, and then the collapse into hope in little familiarities between the two people... as though they mean something and will flare the past affection back into bright life...

... this is just so human, one of those complex interactions I personally feel is captured with a simplicity that belies the epic moment this truely is...

.. if you have never been in love, lost that love for whatever reason, and then met that love again while this unresolved longing still is passing through you, you won't get this poem...

added to faves, rated 10, a wonderful piece Midaire, there really is little that need to be polished on this ... perhaps the word enunciate dropped down one line so it may sit by itself..

... or you could create the decay into hope against hope by using a number decension in the verses from line 9 to 5 ... so they decend as 4 lines, 3 lines, 2 lines, one line, per verse. perhaps :)

but even so, a fine piece, one which I had no difficulty walking into, viewing the human scene, relating to the reality, and being spoken directly to as a member of the audience.
 — Mongrol

as a professional stalker and rebounder i plan to use this poem during the restraining order process
 — unknown

with clipped tones, with words we meant to enunciate
love that line
 — Magdala

Haven't many of us been here?  When the casual familiarity suddenly becomes as tongue-tied as the first dates.  I like that end with hope, either now or later.  
 — Isabelle5

consider 'makes' in the previous line in the first strophe.

how's about leaving out the first 'and' in l5?

i reckon you could do well without 'now' in l8. as well as the comma.

if not, then replace the 'with in l10 with 'and'.

then, the comma in l12 with a semi?

'little' seem out of place in l13.

would you consider breaking at 'line' in l14?

wonder if you need the 'then in l15...

i would move 'how' in l20 to the previous line.

and 'to' to the previous line as well.


good poem, as always, midare.
 — varun

Wow!  Another gem!  Author, you have taken my breath away.
 — PaulS

said so well, said so sadly.
 — crimsonkiss

thanks for sharing.
 — sparrow

u rite like nudelman
 — unknown

I'm not sure why you excluded capitalization and punctuation from some of this... fairly standard forget-me-not, I think, I can't find anything really concrete here.
 — technomancer

One suggestion:  This reads better without the opening line, "please." Try it out sans please.
 — unknown

please, point, past, are a family holding together the stanza. you, you, now, are the salesmen in the next one, trying to sell family values. familiarity in the third, and, then, memories on memories builds a house for the family to own their values in. in stanza four, the domesticities define the history and meaning for the last stanza, where the kids find a tree to build a fort in and watch their parents eating gum drops.

all the words in this have to be in here, in order for it to work as the author wanted it to work. suggesting that it should be edited for quick reading means that there's something in the basement which no one wants to talk about. i don't think that's the case here. it's a song you'd sing while hiking in meadows. it's not a poem, but it's still very thoughtful as poetry.
 — joey

 — themolly

god damn that's nice
 — Ananke

reading this is like a tear falling from one eye.

i love it. love it!
 — bohemian

I liked this quite a lot, however I did come slightly unstuck on line seventeen, with the introduction of reincarnation.
My understanding of reincarnation is the rebirth of a soul in a different body unconnected with the original, an avatar in fact.

 — unknown

'mor' always attacked any kind of poetry which didn't sound like robert burns. i think you not be mor, mr. sir. i think you be unknown still. i think, too, mor smart-smart enough to know that you read word of 'reincarnation' in poem, you think it like poet think -- poet make word in poem, not from you.

-- charlie chan's number 5 son
 — joey

Mm, I think i'm in love with this poem.
 — BrokenJoke2

If joey only had a thousand part of Robert Burns talent, he might and only then be able to call himself a poet.
Unfortunately Joey may never emerge from the gibberish he pretends is a recognisable language.

 — unknown

THAT was Mor.  The first one was not.  Mor has a sharp, arrogant and abusive style.  The first entry under his name was "too nice" to be Mor.  
 — unknown

O accolades o accolades how I love the sound
When hells fury does erupt, and accolades abound.

 — unknown

    in a very busy day at work, time stopped for a moment...
   it's like a cold bath in winter.

   i marvel at your use of words...
       intense.. i feel it.

   this one's a fave.
 — enkantada

Gosh. Top rated at the moment.  I won't rate this poem.
Critique, personal opinion:  The first strophe of L1 through L4 makes an abstract pronouncement, one without any "proof". As such, it is a form of nonsense.

Next strophe attempts to make me, the reader, a participant in the spiel.
I am not so-engaged.  I won't be told what to think.  It's patronizing and shallow, that tact.

L12 tells with a concrete word, what I've already deduced: "gibberish".

The remainder is just silly, self-absorbed, maudlin shallowness.
This poem, top rated, is just so much piffle.  My opinion.  I read poetry
and take out the garbage when the can begins to stink. Kind regards to =you=
but I have no good regards for this poem-thing.  
 — netskyIam

The staccato thoughts of the wounded. Brought into sharp focus by the pain of loss. Harsh but emotional. But what next
 — shaunsout

reid you fail to understand the sensitive ways humans construct themselves when both parties are deeply away of the way language can threaten and resuscitate a relationship

 — unknown

yes, standarten, but that's kind of why writing like this is just post-it on the fridge --- it's not poetry, nor meant to be; it's an exploratory probe into the language of some possible other. it's like what we do when we comment here in p.c., not knowing at all if anyone can read us on our own level. in fact, and as you know, you can write "marty loved a little lamb" on the bathroom mirror and have it work as communication.

poetry isn't the language of love, it's the language of word consciousness. a "rub and a tickle" is the the language of love.
 — joey

of reconciliation
or reincarnation

of the beautiful undertones
that once characterized
how we used
to be.

My opinion: this examples well the worst, most-wallowy, cliched, god-awful elements of what is palmed today as poetry.  It's a poem, sure, but just so bad.
I quote only the last lines because they are so shallow as to be exemplary of the poorest writing imaginable today.  Of reconciliation, or reincarnation: sheesh.  Powered milk without water is tastier than this tripe.  No hard feelings, just calling it as I see it.  This poem will never be "popular" or respected outside of the ooze-zone of PC.
 — netskyIam

typo correction: powdered milk
 — netskyIam

so insecure.
 — joey

humans are cliche

even you
and your cliched stories about
homeless people
 — unknown

Lay back and dream of a rainy day
 — unknown

i plan on bottling this and sending it from my lonely island into my former lover's hands.
 — unknown

Words we meant to enunciate. Lovely.
 — amy

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 — unknown