|09-05-2007, 02:43 PM||#1 (permalink)|
Join Date: Jan 2007
Words So Futile
I breathe out a verse into
the palm of my hand,
air curving my gnarled
fingers through its wearisome
grip, nostalgic for a time
and place I can't name;
But I can feel its wind
getting ready for winter,
And can see its wire trees
And I can hear this place laughing
when it finds out I'm trying to
convey it in a single breath.
Last edited by Ornette; 09-06-2007 at 05:51 AM.
|09-05-2007, 07:37 PM||#5 (permalink)|
Join Date: Nov 2004
Yeah I think its really really good too.
|09-05-2007, 08:41 PM||#6 (permalink)|
Join Date: Dec 2005
I saw that you made a comment in one of Cquill's lyrics that his attention to punctuation and the sort would be beneficial for his craft. I think that is an admirable observation on it's own, yet I see that your own use of these things might lead some readers to confusion. I would say pay attention to your capitalization at the beginning of your lines and the run on first sentence, which is grammatically incorrect but useful in some forms of prose and poetry. I did enjoy the poem, though. The imagery and the aches you feel for the narrator's futility in his nonification issues is really subtle and rich. This is not easy to accomplish in such a short piece. Nice~
|09-09-2007, 11:16 PM||#8 (permalink)|
Bright F*cking Red
Join Date: Jan 2005
Location: San Diego
I like it. Simple but very poetic. Do you have music for it?
How'd I end up here to begin with? I don't know.
Why do I start what I can't finish?
Oh please, don't barrage me with questions to all those ugly answers.
My ego's like my stomach- it keeps shitting what I feed it.
But maybe I don't want to finish anything anymore..
maybe I can wait in bed 'til she comes home. and whispers....
|09-11-2007, 03:36 AM||#10 (permalink)|
They call me Tundra Boy
Join Date: Sep 2005
Location: In your linen cupboard.
Good stuff. I think you can tell it's a poem and not a lyric because of the word "gnarled", which would sound stupid in a song.