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Pre Tense

Death came to visit again, took stay in my room...she was not my was not my was not...

The world outside sewed its' curtains closed...she took me in her not lover arms...cold as Earth's ice covered belly...empty as a wind blown grocery bag...she was not my was not my was not...

Am I that flat as to lie here like a sheet on a bed...a parachute packed and ready to be released...unnoticed except for its patterns and middle wet in a puddle of morning green apology shivering up against her frozen womb...And she was not my she was not my she was not...and I was not...


Scott, I really thought the imagery and the metaphor together with the personification of death work great to create a distinguished dark awesome scene.

It might surprise some to know that I have lately started to tend more to dark poetry. It could be the overall surrounding mood.

I thought if you could put these thoughts in verse with your great rhythm and rhyme, you'd get a profound masterpiece!


Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words ........Robert Frost☺

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Not certain I am or ever will be capable of a masterpiece, but thank you for stopping by and the vote of confidence. I have been reading again lately mostly about Anne Sexton. They say she put all her early work into strict form and late, if a poem didn't work, she would hammer it into form and then it usually would work. I have been thinking of doing this albeit it would stifle my creativity or so I think.

Please don't stay dark for long, I look forward to your work to give me a break from mine.



author comment

This is poetry pure and simple.

W. H. Snow

A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley

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Again, thank you for the kind words.

I have been posting some works as blogs because I am not certain of their worth. Haven't felt like much of a poet lately.



author comment

hated water so the idea of the navy never got to me...
but i loved the mermaids..still do..
they said it was lust crazed men going for the seals
and there is this mist and madness at the end of the
voyage or rounding dangerous places
and you never know..
the whole love hate thing
of life....stuck in this individualist place
as one...

death on board....they used the sails
probably old or new..
they were superstitious
they were up against the great forces..

a few shot in the bottom and overboard
you go..

as once trying to gamble with life
the concept of death was something
this is pure neitzche
or whatever that fellows name is
and im not sure if sexton read of him
but probably knew of him

how she was able to focus and
write like she did was amazing
a mental prowess like some
have the physical abilities
to perform feats of magic...

but everyone has their show
their own style

a good write
as a blog i find people can
construct upon it perhaps
better then the mainline
commentary field

hard describing darkness
so many parameters
already gone over

shakespeare did his limbo land
and poe of course..

i studied escher and munch
for a time too
their physical sketches
have a density to them
and handling light
via the graphic

there are a lot of good graphic
comix..novels that deal with all
the out there niche off the mainstream

im certian if i lived in new york of
california there would be much
this is an old crown run country
by systems based on the old
catholic traditions
the town is pretty sanitized
which is good...

the internet is wonderful
but does not replace
the human contact which sexton
thrived on
and others..

darkness is like the river
that does not flow on the surface
like our glacial creeks
stones atop in giant runs
through trees growing up
it looks non living
a once was..
but far below
where the refinement of
its alive beating
singing under all the

thank you

I can't remember if Sexton said it or it was stated about her, but the saying goes

she could turn old furniture into trees.

She is a the only, much like you, sir
molds broken

I used to think about writing poetry
then write it
Now I try to let the poetry write me


author comment

the world of the now in our little realm
as the sunset....the elder and the mid elder
she was fascinated with the new genome a man barely through high
school could discovery something that
the greats searched for...the elusive if..
kipling wrote of it

she took an asbergers test like i had taken
the ocd test...found out i score high on a
lot of things....but dont want to be just not be a poet
with the laurels on my head...i can walk
where the poetry smells.. pure and pretty
gnashing and dangerous

i never took voyages
keeping close to the home
and family
always a companion
to work the crowd

a fantastic statement that i'm most certian
Ms Sexton would have been
charmed to know

but we all are in our storms
and out charts are coursing
through us
in dreams
and drives
and discipline
and abandon

trickster inspector jester
and fool how many
faces we weave in our
way to mould into what
we must to move amongst
the be a friend to none
and all

fitzgerald wrote well
i thought
and others

your last line is a classic!
it says much
and all...

thank you sir!

Wesley has commented before me exactly what I wanted too. I too find this more a poetry than prose. I liked the repetitive lines "she was not my was not my was not..." which I believe gives it the poetic effect..


raj (sublime_ocean)

Appreciate you dropping by and having a read. Glad you liked it.


author comment
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