Sun set like an orange blancmange
among purple hills dark as octopus ink;
beyond lies the dead of night.
Where has he gone?
Where does he sleep?
Where the smouldering mattress,
Does he fret upon those lost hours,
leaves he turns deep green?
The life that he sustains,
a waste of energy?
In all this time,
he never changed his mind;
28 Mar 09
(define the words in this poem)
(809 more poems by this author)
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nice colours. i like the orange a purple (octopus!). i like the gentle weave of rhymie as well. one suggestion: i think you could leave off 'has' in L13, or make it a contraction.
Line 2's a little bit stretched, there, Marcel, and an authentic wording would probably have 'dark as black ink', which would make you tame down "beyond lies ( it molders, lordy... ) the dead of night" ) If this is just posted as a coffee cake you baked to join the chat circle then I apologize.
fuck off unknown.
colorful... i think that perhaps you could have ended it nicely at line 11 and kept the energy of the piece in stead of forcing it ... like i have done.. thanks... j.g. smiles
It would have looked too much like a collection of cliche's and he's working very hard to make this read like a poem. Most people over-write when they don't really have any direct vision of what they're writing about.
Dear last unknown
and of course you write like a guy who is only cosy taking whatever it is you take by yourself while scratching your bitch itch
Apology accepted unknown. Are those crumbs round your mouth are are you simply having a foam
Larry, why not act like a man about your own work and see it as a crafts project and that you've mis-glued and mismatched materials? It may be that you're blind from the pride of having made a little bookcase but should be put aside when you show it to master craftsmen at the showing.
You're obviously all bile and no sustance. If i thought for one moment you were anyone other than a wind up merchant trolling the board i would be more civil. Apart from the fact well documented here by myself that i don't give a fig for most of my stuff, i keep struggling on in the vain hope that something might materialise of some worth, simply because, as the late Samuel Beckett said "one must go on." So have no illusions that i put some precious value on my work, and have no illusions that i see you're motives for what they really are. I only have to look at the wreckage that is now this site to see what people like you strive to achieve.