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| Tweet Topic Started: Saturday, 25. December 2010, 08:52 (283 Views) | |
| Literacy Maniac | Saturday, 25. December 2010, 08:52 Post #1 |
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2 Stars
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Aamina I knew a girl who lived a while back She was my next door neighbour And she came from Saudi and Belonged to a faith - she was a Muslim A loose one, but Muslim still Aamina, Aamina, where did you go? Aamina, Aamina, who did you see? Aamina, Aamina, what did you do? Or was it your faith That made them hate you? We walked to school together Sometimes I had to convince her to move Though I wondered if it was a good idea Our school was chock-a-block with bigots And they all hated her Aamina, Aamina, where did you go? Aamina, Aamina, who did you see? Aamina, Aamina, what did you do? Or was it your faith That made them attack you? They took ‘initiative’ one day A group walked up to us and Started beating her for all they were worth You could hardly believe the frenzy She ended the day black and blue Aamina, Aamina, where did you go? Aamina, Aamina, who did you see? Aamina, Aamina, what did you do? Or was it your faith That made her murder you? We walked home, she was in tears I didn’t try to stop the flow, I would have cried too Our path took us across the road as usual A car drove at us, I saw one of the beater’s mothers in it, and it hit us She was killed, I was injured Aamina, Aamina, where did you go? Aamina, Aamina, who did you see? Aamina, Aamina, what did you do? Or was it your faith That made them ignore you? Police didn’t do anything Nobody was brought to justice Much to only my anger And sometimes I wonder if It was her faith that was the reason behind it all Aamina, Aamina, where are you now? Aamina, Aamina, who do you see? Aamina, Aamina, what do you do? Or are you reborn In the guise of a luckier person than you? The irony of it all was Her name was Aamina And that has a meaning It comes from amina Which means “feel safe”. Aamina, Aamina, where are you now? Aamina, Aamina, who do you see? Aamina, Aamina, what do you do? Or are you reborn In the guise of a luckier person than you? What Now? It’s all over now, and I’m trying to think on Where do I start this clean-up Do I get rid of the scars, do I cleanse my mind Do I just let it fade; maybe it’s a matter of Sticks and stones and broken bones, or should I just forget about everything that happened? Maybe I should say I never went there because After all, I bear proof of there not being a More horrible hellhole of a school Just my luck that I went there, I suppose… Undecided yet, but certain on what to do in years In the job or not, I’ll bring it to the eyes of the law Years old, perhaps, but revenge is sweet And they can whinge and whine all they want I’m going to be the death of them. But the question at the moment is - what now? The Broken Silent A silent cry, A violent night, A broken scream, A damned preen. One thing - one thing or another He was double trouble Lived down in the town by the place Where the crims all went around Came into school all alone Peace in class, hell in play Dodging ‘em all like they were playing tag Hiding, dodging, running away All went after him Uppity girls with their big, fat mouths Out o’ control boys with their dustbin-esque hands Nowhere to hide, nowhere to run Nowhere to find a source of fun Staff thought they were playing tag Nothing in his pocket, nowhere to go So he hit the park and played a little Big fir tree in a corner o’er there, looked shady Good cover from the air and the rain Was comfy too, he slept there Safer than down in the town where the crims all Came around, he thought One had seen him though, his face and tilak Murder hit his heart - he had to die, he was not white So, to save from the world from the purge of Indians The boy was stalked to the park In the night a cry People hear, but people think It’s just a shock They don’t save the boy Gruesome fate can be; gruesome was the boy’s Strangled, stabbed, chopped up, nearly cremated Drained of blood, hair torn out, throat cut, clothes ripped up Tilak smeared ‘cross him - and that was all Same people who ignored his cry screamed, world screamed Emetic to the many with weak stomachs When the picture appeared across the globe Buried days later, thousands of Indians came Drove other people ‘way, though Protests sparked, gun and flames all the way Violent excesses sent him away Like his own fate was sealed so violently Indian protests left and right Racists attacking oh so often The boy’s Facebook memorial page smeared with racism His killer convicted, the racism cracked down on Whiny, up themselves Aussie media accusing Indian media Of hysteria, the events described as a circus The ‘oh-we’re-so-perfect-and-you-don’t-exist’ Aussies were accused of denialism India was thought to have blown it all out of proportion, ignoring their country But the huge problem was in Aus Many of us though think we can do no wrong and it’s all everybody else’s fault Took a while to calm down, but things had changed Less Indians applying for visas, a drop in students going to study in Aus, No Bollywood films to be shot in Aus anymore, because of what happened But some still probably think it doesn’t matter, And that the Indians deserved it And on the boy, I’m sad to say That he saw his parents sitting Under a different tree, but knew Them not, he’d have lived otherwise. One-Way Fight Thought I’d seen enough of the worst things in the world Didn’t think I’d have to experience some myself I still think you’re guilty, no matter what you say You can’t deny what you did to me anymore, not now you see How I am today, pale, drawn, cold and emotionless Drowning in pain that everyone just shrugs off Not dead yet though, the world ain’t finished with me yet While you get it all handed to you on silver platters I slave just to survive, because what I do isn’t easy Your contact with me not broken, even if we don’t see one another Still in my head, still making me suffer Even if you’ve been out of my life a while It’s a one-way fight, don’t forget it It’s a one-way fight, don’t ignore it I come in and never come out Fighting you, trying to make you see sense Stop the pain, end this one-way fight Does anybody care? Does anybody see? Does anybody even know? Pass it off again, that’s the way to go I’m sure that’s what you say and think When I come to you once more The evidence surrounds you, but you don’t care I did everything wrong, it’s all my fault, isn’t it? They can’t do any wrong because they’re so perfect, aren’t they? While I’m a demon from the depths of Hell, brought to bring pain Is that what you think? Is that what you say? Is that why you treat me so badly? Still in my head, still making me suffer Even if you’ve been out of my life a while It’s a one-way fight, don’t forget it It’s a one-way fight, don’t ignore it I come in and never come out Fighting you, trying to make you see sense Stop the pain, end this one-way fight Well you never cared, you never showed sympathy I always left you angry and disappointed But as long as they kept bullying me As long as they made me want to die Everything was alright… alright… alright Because who would give a darn about me A hater of sports, a bookworm, a girl with a different opinion? No - nobody, nobody, all you cared for were the bullies And after I left, you always wondered Why I never came to visit Well, you thought you too were perfect, and that You’d never done anything wrong But now I tell you, face to face You did plenty wrong and that I left scarred for life Yet I see you just shrug your shoulders like It was my own fault I was tormented And that I never meant that much to you And to see that hurts me more than it should Because you’d given me the impression that I was valued too Still in my head, still making me suffer Even if you’ve been out of my life a while It’s a one-way fight, don’t forget it It’s a one-way fight, don’t ignore it I come in and never come out Fighting you, trying to make you see sense Stop the pain, end this one-way fight Making Pictures My easel, my canvas, my palette, and it all Ready for use, now what should I draw? The landscape, in all its breath-taking glory? Or something that tells to those who look deep a story? I think… a story… what should I tell… Then I decide… a mirror image of the Earth Yet changed: one side perfect, the other falling away Our actions irrevocable, the love of the planet we betray And the age of Dystopia dawning slowly upon us Eternal, aroused by humans: it causes more harm Killing us all and all the flora and fauna, it reigns above all Aeterna Abyssus, Earth after its fall I will call it that; to the work I set We must change before it happens - and I will help us change. I’m Not a Person My name is Jacob - that means supplanter A word with the same meaning would be replacer I think Jacob’s the best name for me Rather more than any name like Jack or Lee Why? I was born to replace my sister, Angela She had cystic fibrosis, and poor Ma and Pa Knew she only had so long, and she died at ten They mourned, but they still wanted someone else in the den So they had me, and every day I say pictures of my sister From when I was young I knew they very deeply missed her And they only seemed to ensure my basic needs were met Beyond that, I could have nothing, for that I was not set The walls tumbled down on me I hoped the time until I was 18 would go by fast, so I could be free Because in my heart of hearts I knew That Ma and Pa adored Angela; they scorned me - ptew! They only took care of me because I was the replacement Yet even today, I still think - I’m not a person. I’m just the surrogate. The Light You might remember me - I’m Jacob, the neglected boy My parents ignored me like I was some sort of childish toy Well, when I got to high school, things were just the same The name of my sister Angela, long dead, was tied to my name Everybody else paid me no attention - everybody else but one An orphan named Vanessa, who had all the bad things to her done And she seemed to understand better than anyone else around me Back then, I was depressed, and just about ready to throw myself into the sea She saved me though, and she got me help me the help I needed From this our friendship, which became as strong as steel, was seeded Long-suffering and stubborn, Vanessa convinced me I was someone That I had a place in the world and worth, and being ignored didn’t make me a no-one It worked; gradually, oh so gradually, I saw the light And I fought the emptiness that was me with all my might I let the light come into me, I let it fill me up and change me wholly And what happened? When we left high school, I was now someone No longer a thing, no longer nothing - thanks to Vanessa, I’d regained my humanity. Dear God ![]() Dear God, I ask for urgent help from you for a little boy His name’s Andrew, and he is not yet ten He’s blind, you see, and his schoolmates treat him like a toy I see him enter his house every day with cuts and bruises But it’s easy for him to lie when his parents ask; to say he fell Because he’s blind, but I know the truth because I teach him I’ve seen him being beaten up and well, I wish I could punish those who do it, but that’s a lot of kids To be punished - an injustice, poor Andrew knows He’s up the creek without a paddle, I hate to say Yet every chance to tell away he throws I’m worried God, I fear he might not live, he is so badly hurt Please God, help him! Amen. The Homecoming Queen Bring it on, bring it on Don’t you tell me I’m in the wrong It’s the latest trend and I have to keep up Got to stay popular with my Mercedes Benz You must be pretty senseless if you think I shouldn’t look good on the outside It’s not the inside that counts, no one Can see it after all, you’re so stupid Get away from me, you’re not worthy Just shut up and go, you little brat. I hate the Homecoming Queen Everyone knows she can’t stand me She wants to be a model and be on the tube Stupid double trouble, hater of all who hate her And those who are ugly Vain, proud, and all about the shell And this wasn’t the end of it all - how? Well, Allow me to explain. She had nice brown hair and a gorgeous complexion Her eyes were a lovely blue colour Belinda was gorgeous of course, and she knew it She wanted to be at the top of our school, and Despite not being smart, she was cunning She tricked and lied and used her way into power And popularity - I saw it all That’s why I hated her so much Rough to the mind, smooth to the touch But no one else saw so. Belinda loved celeb mags, she was always reading them Her favourite was The Star’s Way, it showed you how You could become a star, if you did it a certain way I didn’t object to it, because after all - hey, Maybe she’s a budding singer or something in the making But I had to wonder when she started avoiding the cafeteria She skipped Home Economics, had no food in her lunch box She was in my Textiles class though, and she really loved it Never skipping it, even if she was sick So I got to have a good spy at her What I saw was a horror film in the making. Throw Victoria Beckham and Nicole Richie in a mag Their emaciated bodies like walking skeletons Say “This is how you will snag a guy and become a star” I think that’s what The Star’s Way did Well, Belinda had low self esteem, so of weight she rid Herself, to be like these two, to be like the ‘role models’ As the weeks went by, she grew thinner and thinner Her ribs began to protrude from her shrinking breasts Her elbow and shoulder bones stuck out of her once smooth joints And she couldn’t exercise for ten minutes without needing a rest But nobody could convince her to stop the diet If they tried, she read them the riot act and paid them out For some reason, the teachers took no notice, right out But I had a feeling something would happen. And it did: some months after the diet began Belinda fell sick with fatigue, she was rushed to hospital In the thick of winter, though, she was so much more delicate Two days passed and she got no better, but she got her silver plate On the third day, she died, much to everybody else’s surprise Yet her absence seemed to do something Nobody at school visibly mourned her; they seemed to now realise She was a diva, vain and rude Whoever privately missed her, I do not know But I know I’m not one of them. In spite of that, I did her memory a favour years later When I became an advocate for eating disorders I spoke out against those who encouraged self starvation And used Belinda’s memory as an example Today my quest for acceptance of healthy weight continues But more fashion shows are not accepting super thin models It’s working, I think, and I say in my mind to Belinda, “Wherever you are, perhaps you see your errors, And perhaps you are grateful for my trying to save our young girls and boys.” NOTE: This next poem has lines in Latin, so a translator will come in handy if needed. DISSOLVE It is breakfast in the hall At the table, made of marble cold There sit twelve, five on one side Five to another, two at the head One chatting away, another quite pale Her food lies untouched as she looks Out the window, at Apollo’s burning domain Waiting for it to reach the point Her friends look at her, they are pale too She looks at them, and they ask of her, “Does it have to be this way?” She sighs, and moves an arm from underneath To show them, they recoil in disgust, and Now she chooses this moment to respond, “Yes, it does.” In her dejection deep doth most finally realise What drove her to act the way she chose And now they finally love her, as she had wished But long given up hope on, and now they Sympathise, and they forgive her for what she did Though she cannot forgive herself Misery and penitence do wound her deep, cutting her fast Hurt wounds her more, and cheating also She chose to let it take her life, or to call on Death And pass before it can do so Leave for a better place than the one she is in now In her head she chants Death come for me and take me with you Death inflict my revenge for me and so divide them Death give my hurt back to him and incite his mind Out the window she looks again The sun is at the point She sighs, whispers goodbye, and walks to the hall’s centre The chat dies down, the others watch curiously Death now enters the hall, black as a pit, not shining, like a robe It stops before her and they turn to his Master “The word,” she requests simply. Her husband shouts, “No!”, now understanding But Death’s Master holds up a hand and looks into her He sees why she wants to die, and visibly cringes in shock Then he looks at Death and her, and says, “Yes.” Her husband roars, but Death now speaks, “Nex has adveho pro Hera And is goes ut it Dissolve in aurum, Regina of totus of us Leave vestri vita insquequo vos animadverto opportunus.” And she says to him, “Ego sum promptus.” And then he fades, while she dissolves into gold dust with him It floats into the air, and then too fades away While an uproar stirs at the quiet table. All poems copyright © 2010-2011 Literacy Maniac. Edited by Literacy Maniac, Saturday, 29. January 2011, 08:19.
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| Harket | Saturday, 25. December 2010, 11:31 Post #2 |
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asian
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One way fight = awesome title font ;D Also, are you planning on posting the rest of your works here?
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| Literacy Maniac | Saturday, 25. December 2010, 12:52 Post #3 |
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2 Stars
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Thanks. That's all of them. Which other ones are you talking about? I'm surprised you didn't comment on Dear God's title. |
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| Harket | Saturday, 25. December 2010, 15:54 Post #4 |
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asian
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As in, the others that you will write in time to come. Braille, right? Yea, someone else will comment on that, so i don't really need to. Kinda cool, I guess, but also easy to put in. I comment on one way fight because you use a font hat fits the poem just so well, and that takes something, I guess. |
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| Warrior Poet | Saturday, 25. December 2010, 16:20 Post #5 |
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If you lead me, I will go.
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I'm doing something pretty similar to this with my blog, but it also includes my stories. You click on mine, I click on yours, hurrah. Just make sure to post when you add a new poem. |
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| Sfabulous | Sunday, 26. December 2010, 01:13 Post #6 |
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Sleepy Kat
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Ha. The Braille was clever. I'd never have thought of that. But on to the poetry. Your writing has a lot of focus on social issues, more so than other pieces on BW. It's a nice change, and you do it pretty well. But the thing with writing about society's problems is you usually end up including a moral or value somewhere. And that can feel very preachy, and cheap, if it comes across too obviously. You don't really have that problem at the moment, but you should be careful of it anyway. I'd like to read more. |
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| Literacy Maniac | Sunday, 26. December 2010, 07:31 Post #7 |
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2 Stars
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Yeah, of course. I'll post, definitely. I thought I should include it as a tribute of sorts to blind people... since the poem's about a blind boy... Thanks. |
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| Harket | Sunday, 26. December 2010, 07:59 Post #8 |
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asian
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Told ya so, LM. ![]() Was the yeah directed at me or WP? |
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| Literacy Maniac | Sunday, 26. December 2010, 08:01 Post #9 |
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2 Stars
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It was directed at you. |
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| Harket | Sunday, 26. December 2010, 08:07 Post #10 |
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asian
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O I C. Hmmkay thanks then. For answering.
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| Literacy Maniac | Sunday, 26. December 2010, 08:43 Post #11 |
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2 Stars
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I updated. |
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| Harket | Sunday, 26. December 2010, 09:08 Post #12 |
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asian
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Heyyy nice. SUPER CLICHE OPENING but it draws me in all the same haha so good work! Is this real? Also, i just got up so im not gonna give many comment cept that i quite love it. Only the ending. Threw me off a little. But other then that - its fine.
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| Literacy Maniac | Sunday, 26. December 2010, 09:10 Post #13 |
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2 Stars
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Thanks. No, it isn't. My poems are all fiction. |
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| Harket | Sunday, 26. December 2010, 09:48 Post #14 |
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asian
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I thought what now wasnt. Also alot are about matters that really happened. |
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| Literacy Maniac | Sunday, 26. December 2010, 11:18 Post #15 |
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2 Stars
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Er... explain that please. |
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| Harket | Sunday, 26. December 2010, 15:55 Post #16 |
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asian
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As in, you said they were all fiction. But isnt "What now" non fiction? Also most of your works are more of less non-fiction. The recent ones, anyway.
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| Literacy Maniac | Monday, 27. December 2010, 01:23 Post #17 |
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2 Stars
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Yeah, that one is. If you'd used italic I'd have understood. No, real social issues, fictional characters. |
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| Harket | Monday, 27. December 2010, 01:49 Post #18 |
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asian
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About the same thing, cause it prolly happened to someone but whatever. In your term, it non fiction, so.
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| Literacy Maniac | Monday, 27. December 2010, 02:52 Post #19 |
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2 Stars
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Yeah, but they might not have had the names I gave them. You only need to change one thing to make it fictional. |
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| Harket | Monday, 27. December 2010, 03:05 Post #20 |
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asian
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True, true. If i may ask - do you AVOID writing non-fictions or do you just find nothing worthy of writing in them? |
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| Literacy Maniac | Monday, 27. December 2010, 04:11 Post #21 |
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2 Stars
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I'm more geared towards fiction. |
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| Harket | Monday, 27. December 2010, 04:16 Post #22 |
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asian
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Hmmkay yea just wanted to know.
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| Literacy Maniac | Sunday, 16. January 2011, 08:43 Post #23 |
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2 Stars
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Edited. |
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| Warrior Poet | Monday, 17. January 2011, 02:35 Post #24 |
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If you lead me, I will go.
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Noice. Dissolved is better than your others, I think, and I actually know what it was about too thanks to my Anodyne Sea research. I'm far too tired to do one of my in depth review today, but it was good. No especially good rhythm but no problems. I do like the rest of it. Except "doth." Why was that there? Doth is pretty much the same as "does." It's fine to be period, but this is not England. There's only one old English type word in the whole poem, so I think it would be much better to replace with "does." |
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| Literacy Maniac | Monday, 17. January 2011, 04:47 Post #25 |
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2 Stars
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Yeah, I find that a bit weird too. I suppose it was for alliteration. |
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| hephzibah | Thursday, 20. January 2011, 03:37 Post #26 |
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1 Star
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you are very talented! like these!
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| "Perhaps you have to have a little bit of hope to believe that beauty can be found, to believe that life does come back, that something can surprise you. And maybe they're somehow related. Maybe wonder feeds hope and hope feeds wonder. You see something beautiful and it reminds you that it's possible to see something beautiful." | |
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| Literacy Maniac | Saturday, 29. January 2011, 08:32 Post #27 |
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2 Stars
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Haha, thanks!
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| Harket | Wednesday, 2. February 2011, 08:06 Post #28 |
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asian
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Its - its - ![]() Good. I think its my favourite of all your works.
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| Literacy Maniac | Wednesday, 2. February 2011, 10:07 Post #29 |
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2 Stars
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What makes it so good? |
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| Harket | Saturday, 5. February 2011, 06:00 Post #30 |
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asian
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Firstly, let me say the title itself made me very, very curious. Good titles generally do. A very, very nice touch with the latin. It makes the poem a lot more... forbidden, in a way. Memorable. Beautiful - but not in a pretty way. I really liked the use of the word "Dissolved". Also interesting was how Death's MASTER "sees why she wants to die, and visibly cringes in shock." Being death's master, wouldn't he have seen it all, heard it all, been through it all? Sweet ending. I can visualise the whole thing, from teh setting and lighting to the characters and even SOUND. And that's what makes a good poem.
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2:29 PM Jul 11