The Venom Lord contributes "Hominid Dawn." The piece, presented in the tone and vocaabulary of advanced academia, revisits our evolutionary environment and its inhabitants.
Don't read this piece without a good dictionary handy. It would also help if you have taken some anthropology and paleontolgy coursework for background. I find this piece turgid, almost to the point of unreadability.
That said, there seems to be plenty of information here about our evolutionary ancestors. The material here is beyond the common knowledge of, I would guess, at least 95% of the readership of this site. In other words, if the reader is willing to work a little, he can learn something here.
As a literary contribution the style, the vocabulary, and tone are too academic to have popular appeal. On that level, it fails. If this material were submitted as a class assignment to a learned faculty member I am sure it would be rated much higher.
It might be interesting to see this piece "dumbed down" for us less sophistocated readers.
"Third Eye Blind," by Longbow, expresses frustration, despair, and hopelessness. Those feelings, unfortunately, mirror my own feelings in trying to understand this poem. After four readings I cannot pick up a clue as to the source of the narrator's funk. The words are good. Sometimes they approach eloquence. Their message, however, is lost, mired in obscurity, in the absence of any hint of what these images illusstrate. The poem begs the question whether images in a vacuum are really images at all.
On the positive side, "Third Eye Blind" reflects the pain of frustration etc. in a clear and convincing manner. The poem sounds good. This is the sort of poem everyone raves about at a poetry slam I sometimes attend. When they are done praising the sound and intensity of feeling, the listeners admit that they have no idea what the poet is trying to say.
For some reason I get the feeling that this poet does have something to say here. I just wish he would say it or at least drop some clues.
Vere, new to the site, posts her first contribution, "Sadness Calls."
This piece is, I suppose, prose-poetry. It doesn't look like a poem. It has some rhyming words, but it does not rhyme. It has no metric pattern in any traditional sense of the word, but it does sound quite good when read aloud. I am personally ambivalent and confess to a bias against prose-poetry.
All that said, I like this piece. It resonates despair and futility, concentrating on the sense of sound.
The ending, preceded by all of that sadness, seems to culminate in death, probably self-inflicted.
Sadness is not my favorite subject and I reject suicide as a solution. As I said, prose-poetry does not usually impress me. This must be a pretty good piece, because I liked it anyway. Like a painting by Munch or Duhrer, it is artistic. Bleak, desolate, hopeless art.
As poetry this contribution is somewhere between fair and good. It lacks rhyme, which is the poet's choice and is fine. It lacks any recognizable meter or other artistic sound pattern. This is not so fine. I acknowledge that, with an able reader, it might sound alright in a slam. That would be more due to its rather compelling content than to its poetic craftsmanship.
As for the content, it is a superior piece of work. StealthMayhem catalogues a series of environmental insults and condemns them as attacks on Mother Earth. This is illuminating and persuasive. In the end the poem makes a plea for a return to simplicity. I hope StealthMayhem gets some people to listen.
"Farewell My Child," by BScholl, examines a form of separation anxiety. This affliction more commonly occurs in children who fear parental abandonment. In "Farewell" the tables are turned and it is the parents who experience the negatives associated with their child's leaving them. It could be for marriage, for work, for military service, etc., but here the departure is for college.
A cell phone message at the end of the story signals the beginning of a healthy adjustment process.
When parents have excessive reactions to the normal non-death departures of their children it is often helpful for the parents to ask themselves what would be a really acceptable alternative. Usually they will realize that their child's departure is normal and healthy and, most often, the best of a range of alternatives.
This story treats the phenomenon with sensitivity and grace. The author very nicely implies the strength of the bond between the parents. It touches on other persons in the mother's support system. The style is economical, with spare but revealing descriptions. There is little action, but the narration is crisp and direct. The dialogue both moves the story and describes the speakers. In short, the storytelling craftsmanship on display here is superior.
"Farewell" presents a good read for its content and as an example of a nicely contained little episode well told.
Anita's "In Reality...I Realize" poetically self-inventories the narrator's personal traits and identifies goals for improvements. This all takes lace in the context of comparing what she observes as reality against the changes she intends to complete. The poem is a good idea simply, economically, and well expressed.
"Suppost to" should be "supposed to." Suppost is not a word.
"To nice" should be "too nice" "Too" means also or more than enough. You nmean More than enough.
If this is about you, I wish you every success in your changes.
Clarified Chaos contributes two versions of "Making Love in April Rain" and solicits opinions on which version succeeds better.
The differences are: Version One has a reference to trying to grasp the car to keep the narrator steady. Version Two omits the car reference. Version One refers to the lovers "rigid" body crashing into the narrator but Version Two omits the word "rigid." In both versions the rain explodes on impact, but only in Version One does it explode "the same way you exploded inside me."
In my opinion the reference to holding onto the car adds little to the poem and is somewhat distracting. The references to "rigid" and "exploded inside me" are the only clues as to the narrator's gender. If it is important that we know the poem is from the feminine perspective, then one or both of those references need to be retained unless other clues are written in.
As a general comment, this is a nicely moderated erotica-lite poem. The April rain setting is a good backdrop and provides strong rain metaphors. The absence of rhyme, meter, or typical structural components is fine and the poem sounds fine when read aloud.
This poem has no story line, no moral, and no action except for the memory of a lovemaking episode. I see this as a "snapshot" poem that identifies a singular emotional moment in the context of an unusual erotic setting.
Breezy's "Confessions of the Daughter" presents Exhibit A for the case that, unless there is a good reason to the contrary, poets should use proper punctuation and capitalization. Breezy has no apparent reason, but she abandons capitalization and punctuation. Her poem suffers for it.
Punctuation and capitalization are tools to help the reader. They signal the sound and, often, the content of the presentation. Arbitrarily dropping their use is akin to not using any vowels or to writing the poem then deleting, let's say, every fifth word. Some poets, e e cummings and t s elliott to name two, have eschewed the use of punctuation and capitalization as a signal that they and their work does not recognize the boundaries of the rules of writing. They are rebels and their works are rebellious tracts. Alright, they had a reason. Breezy does not. At least I cannot detect any reason in "Confessions." Her refusal to punctuate distracts, confuses, and irritates.
Other than that, I would say that this poem would have been pretty good. It says what a lot of daughters (and sons, too) no doubt feel but do not articulate. It makes a powerful statement for fidelity in marriage and the lasting damage infidelity can cause. It expresses catharsis and emotional venting.
Breezy's affectation for non-punctuation infects her poem much as the infidelity, which she condemns, infects her and her family.
Cal posts "Love's Perfect Song." Well, maybe not quite perfect, but still a pleasing love poem.
Cal unabashedly expresses love in this seven stanza piece with a nice, steady A-B-C-B rhyme. The verse clips along alright,occassionally missing or adding an extra syllable. For the most part, it works. I couldn't exactly say this flows, but it doesn't clank and jerk either.
The content is nice and, well, loving. It seems a little odd to refer to the night as "so fair" -- most nights are rather on the dark side. Three times the poet uses the phrase "deep inside" referring to various things. The "deep inside" references begin to raise some questions about what he was really thinking.
But enough of that. This is a nice, apparently sincere, love poem that ought to make someone very happy. Not me, perhaps, but someone.
Luminaries posts "With Great Difficulty," a list of things the narrator does with great difficulty. The list is ostensibly a poem. There is no rhyme, meter, consistent syllable pattern, alliteration, or anything else, on and on and on, that one normally associates with the tools of poetry.
A mean-spirited comment might be that Luminaries could add "writing poetry" to his list of things he does with great difficulty.
But this effort does have redeeming characteristics. Some of the items on the list are brave, some insightful, and some go against conventional wisdom. I really find that Luminaries' list is quite revealing as to his character, and it is a pretty good character at that.
Ozhan's "Where the Nightmares are Cherished" provides a glimpse into the humanity of the much-demonized Iraqi opposition. Written from the point of view of the young daughter of a suicide bomber, this piece opens -- at least a little bit -- a window of empathy and understanding for the fighters and their families who resist United States' presence in this strife-ridden nation.
This piece provides neither ideology nor politics. It attempts no rationale for the sacrifice of the resistance. It merely reminds us that they, too, experience tragedy and loss.
There are a few technical errors -- typos and the like. The story is strong enough to overcome these minor flaws.
My assignment today is to compare and contrast two contributions, both by the same author, D. R. Smith.
The titles reviewed are "Blue Pork Chops" and "The Bard's Convention." Previously I reviewed "Convention" and I found it to be uproariously humorous but with an underlying insight into the art and craft of poetry. This is my first exposure to "Pork Chop."
Both pieces use tongue-in-cheek humor, clever irony, and good, old-fashioned wit. Both pieces present with a judicious spareness and economy of words. Both pieces allow the reader to fill in a few of the blanks. As such, they draw in the readers for a delightful interactive reading experience.
As for differences, the pieces illustrate primary differences between the short story ("Pork Chops") and the poem ("Convention"). The poem aptly employs tools of rhyme, meter, and a disciplined linear structure. The story uses dialogue as the primary mover. While the poem comedically presents as a series of "one-liners" the story is a classic joke with a single punch line. Both work. Both make us laugh.
I commend these two contributions for anyone exploring the difference between prose and poetry. I also recommend both pieces for anyone either studying humor or just wanting a good laugh.
This piece presents as a parable with Christine, the central character, as a type of Christ.
Christine's parents nurtured her in love and grace, teaching her a powerful song of peace and happiness.Christ, the son of God and the Virgin Mary, was conceived to bring the world His message of love and goodness.
References to followers and detractors, a veiled reference to the Sermon on the Mount (Christine's song from the highest point), her persistent grace and goodwill, all lead to her ultimate rejection and physical neutralization. Christ was crucified; Christine was laryngectomized. Both were silenced. But Christine lived on and Christ rose again.
This parable is relayed in a nice clinically objective tone, again reminescent of the Bible.
The contribution is artistic, thoughtful, and well-presented.
Jerry D. masterfully relates his "Mallory," a flash fiction contribution.
This piece could be Exhibit A in how to use comparison and contrast. First, contrast the descriptive qualities of the snake. he is "rather small," "resting quitely," with his "head nuzzled in my armpit." All of this suggests a benignly innocuous little creature who might even be cuddly. Against that mild description we have a more realistic view: "I am forced to assume that it's deadly."
There are more cotrasts: the dark of the room against the dim light filtering through, suggesting the passage of time. The bodily control of the narrator as contrasted with his sweat soaked body, demonstrating both his appreciation of his danger and his attempt to evade it by being quiet.
Mallory placed the snake in the bed and waited. Patiently. Now she loses her patience, exclaims, and kicks the bed. Mallory, by implication, like the snake, is a cuddly and benign person who shares a bed with Mark. Under fher innocuous overlay, like the snake, she is deadly. While Mark maintains his control to the end, Mallory loses her control to Mark's end.
The comparisons foreshadow, foretell, and draw to an inexorable conclusion.
"Mallory" represents the art of story telling at a level not seen nearly often enough.
I am working in a creativity workshop and thinking about committing to this Vigilante group, if I meet heir standards. This may be a variation of the old Groucho Marx line: I wouldn't belong to any club that would have me. Their spirit is so fine, their wit so keen, and, dammit, people like them. If this gets going, who knows? MaybeI won't have to write any more.
This is a fine idea well-executed. It is fun enough to be fun and serious enough to have some value beyond good times.
I have a number of thoughts about reviewing and maybe -- maybe -- I'll take those thoughts out of the closet. This may be just the support group to help me.
I can see it:
Hello. My name is Doug and I am a reviewer. I have been clean and sober for about ten minutes. Excuse me, please, I think I hear the plug page calling.
"November 2," by Kam, carries a nice message about the universality of youthful romantic attraction and frustration.
Generally, Kam presents this little tale quite competently. There are a few relatively minor flaws. Too often we see the passive voice. In the first paragraph, for example, we see "I was studying" instead of "I studied, "Tobe was throwing shoes" instead of "Tobe threw shoes," and "Osaru was running his mouth" instead of "Osaru ran his mouth." Use of more active verbs adds power and economy to writing. Also, dialogue is often handled correctly, but there are lapses when Kam forgets to give each piece of dialogue its own paragraph. It appears that he knows how to do this, but does not always follow through.
The plot is simple and very linear. There are no subtexts or layers of meaning. The end of the story is anticlimatc and mildly disappointing from an artistic point of view. There is no resolution or "comeuppance" for the "friends" who goaded John into pressing for a date with Anita. This was nicely set up and I expected the story to return to this by-play at the end.
Stephania posts "Steel Predators," a short anthropomorphic treatment of the ecological consequences of the logging industry as it relates to wildlife.
A bird grieves the loss of his mate and home as the oncoming loggers, the steel predators, fell the tree where they live. The bird launches a kamikaze-like attack, and he, too, dies.
This story is a tract with a point of view. It makes no pretense of being either fair or balanced. There is no apology for the economic necessity of logging for construction or paper. There is no explanation of modern logging practices of replacement planting and selective harvesting. I do not carry a brief for this industry, but I am pretty sure there are some colorable defenses.
Instead, Stephania equips a predatory bird with complex human emotions and nobility. This hyperbole makes for an arresting and persuasive story. It quite effectively raises conscience against the loggers.
If we are willing to set aside a careful consideration of true facts on both sides we might be persuaded that logging should be stopped in its tracks. If we buy into the emotional impact on birds of logging activity we might choose to ban "steel predators."
Stephania's point of view deserves respect and we all need to be reminded of the adverse effects on the planet of any environmental insults. At the same time we should reach our conclusions in a reasoned and reasonable way.
Keni, tongue planted firmly in cheek, contributes 'Coming Clean." In this crisp "how to" essay on laundering items in a commercial laundry mat, Keni gently reminds us of some of life's cleanest principles:
(1) The essential value of planning ahead;
(2) The necessity of ordered priorities;
(3) The rewards of attention to detail; and
(4) The elegance of proper execution.
Fault finders may try to denigrate this work of precision by citing some of its omissions. Keni's piece does not state how to apply the bleach. It is silent as to how to approach the dryer. Finally, it dodges the thorny question whether to do the folding right there at the facility, or rather to dump everything in a basket and take it home to fold. A moment's reflection, however, establishes that these so-called omissions are, in fact, deliberately withheld to enrich and intensify the reading experience. Will these subjects be explored in sequels? Only Keni knows for sure.
This piece should be required reading for serious visitors of this site.
Here is the dilemma: What do you say, and how do you rate, a story that you just don't understand? If I say it is a bad story because it makes no sense, then I risk exposing myself as a literary dunce without the intellectual horsepower to discern artistic meanings. If I say it is great for all of its subtexts, intertwining plot developments, and clever direction and misdirection, then I also expose myself. For what if the Emperor isn't wearing any clothes, after all?
Well, here goes: I don't get "The Baptist," by Keni. There are several scenes and I miss a tread of connection. I know the central character is deeply disturbed, and might be in prison for something he did. I know that he is haunted, and his sleep disturbed, by the religious rite of baptism and the repentence it implies. I think I am right so far. But I am reasonably sure there is a subtext, an unrecognized (by me) thread, or a moral lesson. I just have not been able to pull it out from these scenes.
The writing is too strong to ignore. The dialogue is spare and crisp. The style is quite economical. Based largely on the strong technical aspects of the writing, I must give this piece the benefit of a substantial doubt and place the lion's share of the blame for my lack of comprehension on myself.
Fans of dark poetry should like "Blue Fire," by Anulekha, very much. To say that this contribution is pessimistic would be an understatement. It is hopless, maybe even to the point of nihilistic. There is art here, though, and this effort has its full share of poetic merit.
The blue fire of the poem refers to the poet's writing (blue ink?) as it emanates from the flaming pen. What she writes leaves "scorch marks" and "alienation."
A perusal of Anulekha's other posted work reveals disappointments in life and, particularly, in love. Anulekha recognizes in "Blue Fire" that her frank and direct commentary is a further burning of bridges.
"Blue Fire" is at once direct, metaphoric, strident, and sensitive. It is not a "feel good" piece. As I said, fans of dark poetry will find considerable appeal here.
Nature poems shine brightest when they serve as a metaphor for something else going on in life. "The Irony of Trees," by Saphy, does just that -- and very well, thank you.
This poem, true to its title, captures the irony of trees, with their glorious colors and vibrancy, giving way to a barren kind of death.
This false promise signals another kind of deceit: the illusions of love, companionship, sharing and laughter sometimes give way to lonliness and despair. Perhaps the poem helps us put life's viscissitudes in perspective. Like the trees, it is all part of the natural order.
By the way, in a spare and deceptively simple style the poet shows great talent and creativity as a wordsmith of the highest order. The simplicity of expression, the naturalness of the rhyme, and the elegance of thought are superb.
Chelsea's "I Am" is a touching poem exploring the feelings of a mother for miscarried or stillborn daughter. The content and its emotional overtone is quite compelling.
As poetic art and craft, though, there are some serious flaws. The rhyme pattern is distractingly inconsistent. The second and fourth lines rhyme in the first stanza, the first and third lines rhyme in the second stanza, and nothing rhymes in the fourth. The meter is equally chaotic to the point wheere it does not appear that the poet paid any atttention at all to meter. this would not be so bad if the poem were straightforward unstructured. The three stanza, four lines per stanza, with some rhyme (albeit inconsistent, as noted) makes it appear that the poet is attempting some formality but not getting it.
The strong content is the redeeming value of this contribution and I would encourage the poet to spend just a little more time on the craft, as well as the content, for this and further efforts.
TomorrowsFootsteps presents "Tracks in the Rain," a very poetic series of prose vignettes with dual themes of rain and music loosely binding them.
Someone told me long ago/There's a calm before the storm.
The piece is peaceful and reflective in both senses of the word.
Why does the sun go on shining?/Why does the sea rush the shore?
I suppose, if one looks deeply enough, "Tracks in the Rain" might be viewed as an exploration of the various ways a person's environment (whether natural or his environment of choices) impacts his world view and his responses to stimulii.
After reading my review I elevated the rating from a 4 to a full 5.
Numbhearted21 contributtes "Imperfect Princess." This is a thoughtful poem about the transitory nature of teen relationships. It has an A-A-B-B rhyme pattern with several unusual rhymes that are quite a stretch. Let's call them creative.
Numbhearted, for the most part, writes without punctuation. She does use apostrophes and an exclamation point at the end. To each his own on no punctuation. I find it a distracting affectation. In other words, I don't like it. Numbhearted is pretty good, but E. E. Cummings she is not. Whether or not she sticks with the no punctuation notion, she should lose the exclamation point at the end. It almost never works in poetry, and certainly not here.
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