Submitted by Edward nigma on Fri, 2022-01-14 19:12
The night we met
by hayden mccain
chapter 1
.
Her eyes like a sword pierced me
with an immense sense of purity .
She smiled timidly with her jaw subtly shaking.
She meekly murmured out the words “ h-h-hello you m-may call me Yolita“.
I smiled and softly sent back “ how do you do my name is Marlowe “.
she replied “I’m im d-doing ok-kay I’m j-j-just nervous
yes nervous ” .
I responded “ nervous about what? if you don’t mind me asking”.
She paused for a moment
On a poetry site which prides itself on being a workshop type site it should be taken for granted that everybody will get Some feedback to help us all become better writers. Many struggle with leaving such commentary. This is understandable since there are site where honest comments are often met with hostility. What is NOT understandable to me is to receive comment then not bothering to respond. A simple "thank you for the read" is not much effort.
Hi ya'll! Deer season is now over so you will all be seeing a bit more of me here. I use the months outside hunting to store up imagery to use in my chicken scratchings that some kind people call poetry lol. Why post this blog? Well for those who have known me for years I reckon I don't need it. But for all ya'll who have recently arrived it will likely be a good thing to know a bit about my methods of commenting. So, to start out I seldom comment on a poem which I see no redeeming quality in.
The world is called a moving inn and only a limited number of people who live a successful life in this moving inn are happy. This success requires becoming a parrot, not a merit. To become a parrot, one has to sacrifice the self-esteem of many generations, not of one's conscience, and trade one's conscience. With such great efforts one becomes a parrot. This group, which has all kinds of interests in every age, is called a successful group. For this everlasting success, this everlasting service requires only a certain kind of practice of speech and some kind of hard work.
This world is also a strange place, what is true here is not visible and what is false comes to the fore. What is happening is the complete opposite of what is being preached. Power has always been everything in the world and like a bloodthirsty wolf it has always killed and robbed the weak under false pretenses. There are many examples of this hypocrisy in the world, but the best slogans of the West are the best examples.
Submitted by Edward nigma on Sat, 2021-12-04 17:37
Now the difference is simple but complex.
For poetry your rhythm is syllables
and the pacing .
While in a song the syllables act like an
Acrobat trying to balance on a beam
of constant beat .
While still trying to morph into a
matching melody
Submitted by Edward nigma on Sat, 2021-09-04 19:47
Well why haven’t I wrote a poem or posted in a long time. Now that my friend is because I’ve been in chronic head pain and I’ve found out that that is because my shunt is over draining so in two or three I will have another brain surgery to get a new valve in my head.
