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Poetry is Death

It's if things unseen call
to you across barren
landscapes of time
a heritage you can
only grasp by cusp,
it's if you can taste
their dying suns
in the ripening fruit
of your own mother,
it's if when you rest
and your bones lie
with earthloves and they sift
overthrough you and they
pull you
it's if then, only then,
you can feel what Pandion
inhabits your breast and
overbeat wings madder
your heart, a hermitage
it's if I can finally feel the cold,
cold hand of marrow to mother
who once gave up alive to me,
who once upon a time whispered
God into my bosom
as she brushes my hair
        and lays me lovingly down.

13 Jan 10

Rated 9.8 (9.3) by 6 users.
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Seems you've added some nice moves to this re-write.  This is much stronger overall but the beginning of each strophe reads a bit odd.  Do you need 'it's if' in each first line?  I read without and it reads smoother.  Hope I'm not knit-picking too much but overall, nice write.
 — JKWeb

I like this poem, it carries great feeling, but I agree with JK, it might read better without the "it's if's". Seems to impede the flow.
 — JohnW

Thanks JKWeb. You're right that it reads smoother without them. However it loses the intent that I have for the poem, kind of turns it into a collection of images. Hmm what to do, what to do?
 — Ananke

Thanks John. I'm going to leave it be for a little while and let the suggestion sit with me. But I will probably come back to remove them.

Thanks again.
 — Ananke

Very good poem. The only questionable thing I see in this poem is on line 13. Is it supposed to be overthrew or is it supposed to be over through?
 — JoeJahns

It's a habit I have of writing words that aren't words, particularly by combining two words that normally wouldn't.

It's supposed to be "over and through you" but it's more consuming than that? Hence, overthrough.

Does it work?

Thanks for stopping by.
 — Ananke

the poem has some nice-moves with surrealism dipped in honey -- the third to last strophe moved me with it's metaphor for bliss, the skip-a-beat kiss, the hermitage of peace in this -- such warmth then contrast'd by the next strophes cold, in your bones plaint, which then becomes a positive toward the last heart-rending strophe, made real in the simple-act of closeness that women can so lovingly give, brushing each others hair with love -- sweet-poem with a good-use of postmodernism and romanticism making it feel write -- that the goal of longing swells, that ancient-ache that tells us to yearn toward the goal, of love, ya know is the place we lament in sears of tears that we're sent by the particles dream to coalesce in a Sun again ... while you're post-modern humanism stays the course, in images made of sense, toward lips so sweet to kiss, the meaning of all of this -- nevertheless, when looking outside-in beyond the fatal-skin we're in, it's enough to just begin, to reach without an end
 — AlchemiA

I was ready to shut down and hit the sack, but when I read this beautiful poem it lit a fire in me and my eyes snapped wide open.  This is golden--makes me want to read more poetry, but I think I'll go to bed because I doubt I'll find anything better than this tonight.
 — PaulS

Thank you so much Paul.
 — Ananke

 — syrossoul

this poem deserves a better title
 — Caducus

A don't favourite much but this is bloody brilliant, read it 3 times now and I wish I wrote it.

don't you think 'Lay me lovingly down' yells to be the title?
 — Caducus

Thank you Caducus, I agree with you, but POETRY IS DEATH was so, brave? Haha.  I'll work on a better title.
 — Ananke