Love Poems... of a sort

[christabelll]

Hi All
These were written about...
oh hell a long time ago...

Anyway I wanted to share. They were accepted for publication, but after reading the fine print I pulled them and they have languished since then. These were also written during a heavy duty reenactment phase in my life.

Honest opines would be appreciated.



Interlude with the Moon I

Was it only yesterday that I heard you whisper
an answer to the moons dark howlings?
It was a gentle word though filled with well deep hauntings.
I tried to fathom the depths of meaning from those silently uttered words,
but slippery, like spangled fish, they vanished beyond my reckoning.
At moonlit dark you wandered the groves of ever - sweet yet thorned blooming rose,
and falling softly like fulsome leaves,
the tender words you spoke to her bright embrace,
fluttered winging to her shell like ear.
Would that I would ever speak
to never hear the words you spoke that night to her,
that hung above, a lover whom would never be in reach.
I would listen forever to the whispering winds of your silent speech
forever soothing though meant for some other

Interlude with the Moon II

I walked with you the other eve' and it seemed you speaking again
to her, that smooth honey yellow globe of cold regard.
But then you turned and looked at me,
your eyes full of dark and treacherous secrets.
I saw the stars reflected there,
glittering and gleaming,
a sudden promise of a different tomorrow.
It was then, terrified, I heard with gladly chasing soul,
you spoke for me to hear those words you had spoken only to her.
She listened with baited breath,
as traced with feathers you told me of your heart,
and I felt her gentle touch approving....

Interlude with the Moon III

It was just the other day that you spoke again.
Shadow soft your words spilled into my ears, my mind, my heart.
I knew it then that dark though it were in that endless noir,
I would never walk the night like a wraith again.
Secure in the bosom of that sweet scented dark,
I found a path to dawn.
Towards day I roved, ever forward, ever back,
sensing her cold distant smile bless the rivers silver trail.
Onwards we went, until it would be death that came to pass.
Unto the light we did leap.
Unto the dance once more

 

[TheRainMan]

Hi All
These were written about...
oh hell a long time ago...

Anyway I wanted to share. They were accepted for publication, but after reading the fine print I pulled them and they have languished since then. These were also written during a heavy duty reenactment phase in my life.

Honest opines would be appreciated.




Interlude with the moon I

Was it only yesterday that I heard you whisper
an answer to the moons dark howlings?
It was a gentle word though filled with well deep hauntings.
I tried to fathom the depths of meaning from those silently uttered words,
but slippery, like spangled fish, they vanished beyond my reckoning.
At moonlit dark you wandered the groves of ever - sweet yet thorned blooming rose,
and falling softly like fulsome leaves,
the tender words you spoke to her bright embrace,
fluttered winging to her shell like ear.
Would that I would ever speak
to never hear the words you spoke that night to her,
that hung above, a lover whom would never be in reach.
I would listen forever to the whispering winds of your silent speech
forever soothing though meant for some other......

Interlude with the moon II

I walked with you the other eve' and it seemed you speaking again
to her, that smooth honey yellow globe of cold regard.
But then you turned and looked at me,
your eyes full of dark and treacherous secrets.
I saw the stars reflected there,
glittering and gleaming,
a sudden promise of a different tomorrow.
It was then, terrified, I heard with gladly chasing soul,
you spoke for me to hear those words you had spoken only to her.
She listened with baited breath,
as traced with feathers you told me of your heart,
and I felt her gentle touch approving.....

Interlude with the moon III

It was just the other day that you spoke again.
Shadow soft your words spilled into my ears, my mind, my heart.
I knew it then that dark though it were in that endless noir,
I would never walk the night like a wraith again.
Secure in the bosom of that sweet scented dark,
I found a path to dawn.
Towards day I roved, ever forward, ever back,
sensing her cold distant smile bless the rivers silver trail.
Onwards we went, until it would be death that came to pass.
Unto the light we did leap.
Unto the dance once more......

dear crista,

to start, you gotta put back up in black,

with no italics.

that way they'll look like poetry, not notebook love letters written in lip gloss.

they are not readable, to me, the way they are.

 

[WickedEve]

dear crista,
in black,
with no italics,
not notebook love letters written in lip gloss.

Hey, that could be a poem.

 

[christabelll]

There that better?

And yeah that was pretty prosy

 

[WickedEve]

I'm reading the first one, but the first few lines are bothering me.

Try something like:

Was it only yesterday
that I heard you whisper
an answer to the moon? A gentle word,
though filled with deep haunting.

 

[TheRainMan]

honest opinion, as you asked --

to me, they are a mix of some nice lines and some retreads, fresh thoughts and cliches.

they appear to try too hard to be elegant, and that gives them an overall feeling of artificiality. they are struggling to be poetic, rather than genuine and honest.

i think they have potential, but need to be rewritten in a purer way, to eliminate not only the tired lines but also the prevailing scent of cheap flowers, that in the end say nothing that's true.

 

[christabelll]

wow
sounds like my old english professor

ouch
I get what you are saying though

these were a stream of thought writing (its the only way I write poetry)
I broke them up into three pieces and yes I really did try to fix them into something a little less as you say tired.
artificial NO I do not agree
but there are "old lines" that I simply didn't know how to rewrite back then.

ten years ago I guess I was still a hopeless romantic that believed in romance hearts and faeries.

Still do to some extent but the deep rose glasses are gone, having been replaced with pale pink instead.

compliments stark and bare with bitter and true thrown in
what all aspiring writers need!

 

[TheRainMan]

. . . artificial NO I do not agree

when's the last time the word "unto" came out of your mouth?

. . . but there are "old lines" that I simply didn't know how to rewrite back then . . .

you can rewrite them now.

they're on a screen, not in the sidewalk.

 

[christabelll]

when's the last time the word "unto" came out of your mouth?



Actually I use a lot of words in my everyday speaking that most don't. Its those damn 20 dollar words again! And yes I used it yesterday with my sister after we watched the 300 together.
As an historical reenactor of medeval and renaissance time periods I actually do use hence, thus, unto, bid thee etc alot.
Years of invoking another time period spill over into my mundane life on a regular basis.
I think you would HATE another piece that I wrote that is all thou's thees wouldst goest etc etc.... hehehe at least I did rewrite it using modern you me etc.
Anyway
I really do like getting feedback even if I don't agree with some of it

 

[TheRainMan]

when's the last time the word "unto" came out of your mouth?



Actually I use a lot of words in my everyday speaking that most don't. Its those damn 20 dollar words again! And yes I used it yesterday with my sister after we watched the 300 together.
As an historical reenactor of medeval and renaissance time periods I actually do use hence, thus, unto, bid thee etc alot.
Years of invoking another time period spill over into my mundane life on a regular basis.
I think you would HATE another piece that I wrote that is all thou's thees wouldst goest etc etc.... hehehe at least I did rewrite it using modern you me etc.
Anyway
I really do like getting feedback even if I don't agree with some of it

if that's your answer, then that's your answer. and i respect it.

but it's not a very good one, i don't think . . . writers do not write for themselves, unless they keep their writing to themseves, in their drawers and under their pillow.

you chose to share yours, and i am giving you the reaction of a reader of your poems.

much of the language you use there is artificial to me. i do not speak that way, nor do i know anyone who does, unless they are play acting. hence, ( ), the poems do not feel genuine to me. they just seem written by someone who is trying to satisfy some notion of what she thinks poetry should be, instead of speaking to me, the reader.

i DO think there are many signs (especially if they were written long ago, as you say) of a writer who has skill and large potential as a poet.

so, that is my honest reaction . . . do whatever you wish with it.

 

[TheRainMan]

. . .
sounds like my old english professor

there was a good reason he was standing in front of the room, instead of sitting in one of the seats.

 

[christabelll]

too many damned ellipses LOL


Cool
Yes I was as I said writing in word streams... its how I write 99.99999% of the time. And yes I was annoyingly naive at the time. Still believed in easter bunnies and happily ever afters...
The poems do a tell a story even if its done with as you say tired old lines.

I still believe in happily ever afters but now I know there is sweat involved LOL

I will see what I can do to track down some of my new pieces... oh there are 2 in in 30 in 30... two in call for input and about 5 or so in 100 words...

with the exception of the two in 30 in 30 they were shift on the fly word streams that were written right then on the spot.... no editing... just letting the words come as they would.

I respect you opinion, and thanks for the back handed yeah you could be good

 

[ruminator]

Hey, that could be a poem.

(I sure have missed you.



Can you make edits to my entire life for me?)


Hiya christa, I'll opine a bit later on when I'm not rushed. Thanks for sharing your work with us.

 

[christabelll]

lol
he complained that a lot of my poetry at the time was TOO profound
to spiritual too etheric... what did he say? something along the lines of you write to profoundly for the average reader. Keep it simple... Then I took his erotic poetry course and he got to see a whole other side of me. LOLOL he umm changed his opinion a lot after that class. Cool Teacher though
He understood me as few others do in how I write and what I try to do with language...
I do tend twist things up to mean two three even four or five things at once depending on which definition you pull up in the dictionary. However I think I have curbed that annoying tendency these days.
Anywhooo
I will bring more of my stuff to the board because quite frankly I need a different eye on the stuff besides mine.

 

[christabelll]

Truth Lies

This was a word stream from last november. In the beginning it was simply one giant run on sentence where the words played off one another into another into another into another. I have tried here to isolate each thought/image as it goes to give a greater sense of breathing and pausing... Since no one has seen it I have no idea what to do with it now. Be nice but be honest. please.







Conversations half heard
In the ever ebbing roar
of deep southern rock
blaring inconsistently
through muddled speech.
Imbibed with countless ounces
of shimmering illusions packed
into bottles colorful.
Inviting loss of self
to discover truth lies
in the bottom of his shoes.
Where sole meets soul
pounding on the concrete curbs
of self imposed control.
Wondering why its so hard
to let go long enough
to crack a smile of regret
at the boiling night sky. Shearing
through walls that crack asunder
with the slightest hint of grace.
Longing to be heard
in the terrible silence
that engulfs
one who has nothing to say
except more, please more.
I cannot bear to be alone
tonight even though to speak
breaks the taboo of revealing
that the baggage is stained
and worn from too many miles
around the track.
It’s been rutted
and pocked with the eons
of time passing in relentless rhythms
that echo endlessly through
the corridors of the dust ridden hallway.
Leading to bed and supposed rest
where demons and angels
come out to play during
that humbling tumble into unconscious
acts of surrender and upheaval.
The plot has worn thin.
Thousand year old cotton
that lost its crispness along with her virginity
carelessly taken in an act
of senseless brutality that reenacts
itself every time she split seconds herself
open to receive the relentless pursuit of scents.
Unleashed in the fetid fields that lie verdant
just beyond the reach
of the tender shoots that spring
unbidden from eyes haunted
with sunny shadows scooting
across the heavy bowl of heavenly sweetness.
It threateningly undoes everything
he thought she knew about love
and passionate response
to a musing whisper murmured
into the salt rimed flesh of her aching throat.
Caught in a vise of painful joy
to feel such gentleness hovering
close enough to taste.
Her musky parched plains
have known the endless drought
and finds itself surprised
when the bounteous season unfolds
its wings and sweeps pretenses and pauses
to the buffeting wind stream
that carries them to meadows
unexplored and dangerous.
Senses reeling from too much wine
transmuted into so much more
than expectations ever lead
them to believe in themselves.
God looks on gape mouthed
with endless glee at the shock.
Lightning scorched them to attention
in the garden where leaves crumble
and crash under their intimate wrestling
with impulses older than tidal waves.

 

[christabelll]

words LOL

One thing that has always been said about my writing
I am too wordy
I use to many words
well I say better too many
than not enough
you can always take away
but its hard to add on


and on that note
Here is another



You'd struck me as someone who likes
to tear deep channels into the wetness
you knew you had caused
Dove hard into flesh parted to receive
the rampage of your deeds
Clamped tight, fingers of steel
against shoulders that strove
to meet the fire
It burned. Steamed.
Face wrinkled in pleasured pain
driving the edge of sanity
Cry Out! Let me hear your blood boil
panted in moist ears
the slide of hot tongue
to heavy breasts, sucked hard
drawing me taut
arrow shot straight to my crotch
What did you want
To split me apart
To climb inside like a second skin
You got screams as you rammed harder
all but gone beneath your knobby thighs
Bucked and heaved, ripped the seams of sheets
as you drove me over the ledge
You split the threads
of my shattered reserve
Snapped up to claw ribbons of your back
provoked by a hunger that has
reared its goreous head
You have unchained the animal
you
Beast
How could you start this unreasonable heat
only to leave me hollow
Now that its morning
and you have left me
only the bruise of your scent

 

[WickedEve]

This was a word stream from last november. In the beginning it was simply one giant run on sentence where the words played off one another into another into another into another. I have tried here to isolate each thought/image as it goes to give a greater sense of breathing and pausing... Since no one has seen it I have no idea what to do with it now. Be nice but be honest. please.

Honesty isn't always nice, but I'll do my best to present it in a nice way.

I'll make this one suggestion. Slow down, read some good poetry, lots of it, ponder what you've read, then start writing.

 

[christabelll]

I'll take that as a you really don't like it...
I have read poets over the years
and while I like naruda and plath, I love kahil gibran, omar khayam and rabindranath tagore.

 

[WickedEve]

I'll take that as a you really don't like it...
I have read poets over the years
and while I like naruda and plath, I love kahil gibran, omar khayam and rabindranath tagore.

I'm not saying that I do or don't like your poems. I would have to read them a few more times and really think about what I like and/or don't like about each poem.
The suggestion I made earlier came more from the impressions I got from your posts than your poetry.
I am glad you're reading. I'm often guilty of not reading enough poetry. I must find more time to do it. Maybe less commenting and more reading for me.

 

[christabelll]

DOH
Does having had only one cup off coffee make up for it?
I am in a funky space LOL found some more pieces... hmmmmm
I will wait till friday though.

 

[WickedEve]

DOH
Does having had only one cup off coffee make up for it?
I am in a funky space LOL found some more pieces... hmmmmm
I will wait till friday though.

I'm glad you're excited about poetry! Don't le me discourage you--unless you're into that sort of thing. Most of us around here are into something weird.

 

[Remec]

...as if on cue...

I'm glad you're excited about poetry! Don't le me discourage you--unless you're into that sort of thing. Most of us around here are into something weird.

You rang?

*blink*
Oh, sorry, force of habit...*g*

I'd have to agree with one thing that Eve mentioned, that I'll need to reread several of your pieces before really deciding how I feel about them. It's not that they're too 'profound' (as your professor put it), but that they have a feeling of too off the cuff--ie, overly stream of consciousness--that have been tinkered with after the fact to achieve some sense of poetic affectation.

But, as I said, that was just first impressions...

 

[christabelll]

It's not that they're too 'profound' (as your professor put it), but that they have a feeling of too off the cuff--ie, overly stream of consciousness--that have been tinkered with after the fact to achieve some sense of poetic affectation.

Is there such a thing as overly stream of consciousness?

I don't know. But I have been known to write 30 pages in one sitting and literally have not a clue as to what I just wrote.
Its a form of free association that I learned years ago. I found if I think too hard I lose the original thoughts and it fades into nothing. But If I just let it flow typing as fast as I can possibly go, not worrying about typos or grammer until the stream runs dry then I come up with very interesting things.

But as they say no one lives in my head but me and 22 other voices called me LOL...
I can't expect everyone to get it and I certainly don't.
I do read everything I write out loud after. It catches things that can't be caught on the written page. I actually have cringed and scribbled things out that offend my speech and mind.

That said, with my leanings (in reading) towards the flowery and spiritual pieces of Omar, Rabindranath and Kahil, that is where I tend to flow: where my style if you will wants to go. My starker pieces are a side I don't often tap. So its as if (in my mind) there are two writers inside

I really do have an interest in becoming a better "poet". It just took me longer than most to start sharing what rolls through my head.
Comments, suggestions, point to's are welcome.
SHowing is great!

 

[christabelll]

wits

I struggle with my demons
wrestling with self inflicted sabotage
Wondering if stepping out
of my spirits creative penury was really worth a try
If you take one lonely rider,
with absolutely no guarantees, thats me.
Involuntary self surprise?
That takes wits.
To break a demons hold?
Now that takes endurance.
Such bravery in others
makes me feel false.
But I see the truth in you and
must beleive I own a bit of the truth too.
Why else would the battle with my self
be so fierce when I try to pierce the veils
that would hide me from myself?
I long to stand febrile and revealed
Yet I loath the vulnerability that would
let it be just so
But voila! Another demon vanquished
and surprised, again
I stand amongst fellows of like mind
and am sweetly refreshed.

 

[darkerdreamer]

Is there such a thing as overly stream of consciousness?

That is a very relative question. Overly "stream of consciousness" in relation to...?

To readers, there is certainly a point of "SoC" going overboard. To the author, a stream of consciousness is just that, writing until the words run out.

A lot of poetry has to do with conveying a message or simile to others in a way that is widely relatable but still unique to your style. That's a hard fucking thing to do. You seem to fall victim to the same problem I (and thousands of other writers) hit, how to make your writing strike a chord with readers from all backgrounds without losing the original message and style.

The only thing that makes this problem any easier, is to read and uncover tactics other poets/authors have used.

Furthermore, on the "unto" debate a few posts up:

There is absolutely nothing wrong with using dated words or forms. What can be jarring to readers (and I think what TRM was trying to convey) is reading a poem that switches between hyper-modern stylistic to dated almost archaic poem/prose. Your readers here know little about how you personally speak, or how you do switch between older words and newer ones; they just see both in a poem and scrunch up their noses. But, as I said before, there is nothing wrong with using both types; you just may want to avoid using both in the same piece.

(P.S. I'd put more stock into what writers like TRM and WE say over what I say, if I were you. They are actually talented writers, not online hacks like me. )