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Her.

When first I saw her and was caught
Head turning like a preying mantis
To follow her progress,
of her effect, she was conscious.
My friend laughed and said,
“Oh, aye, she’s hot.”
She was not.

Astounded beyond belief when she saw me
Some talk of all the air leaving the room,
All of me left for her.
Nothing remained.
The walk and work and talk for her
The fucking, and art and building for her,
Was me in her.

She held me gently by my penis
And drew me slowly onto the sword
That drove up through my guts into my heart
And left for another
Who might further her wants.

She never gave me back... me

Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Last few words: 
I was tempted to name this with her name, but "Her." is sufficient. I never thought it was love, didn't like her much but by all creation I have never been so enslaved by desire.
Editing stage: 

Comments

I attended a few marriage counseling groups or divorce groups and the saddest thing about them was exactly what your poem talks about. When people had given all of themselves to another some lost their own identity. They didn't know who they were anymore and desired so badly for that other one because there was themselves and they needed that back. This is where your poem brings me. It is a sad poem but excellently done, the way I see it.
Later,

~Mark~

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Thats got a combustive sizzle to it. I really like this theme of left emptied and desolate, a poor puddle of pain by the aftermath of unrequited love. I think all in all it would have more traction if it was paired down a bit, While I acknowledge the concept of prose poetry I tend not be a fan unless it is a ripping rant
My bias dictates that this piece wants to be more musical I always love chewing over others writing so hope you dont mind

When first I saw her and was caught
Head turning like a preying mantis
To follow her progress,
of her effect, she was conscious.

EX of what I'm thinking

seeing her
stopped dead
my head spun like a preying mantis
attending her every enticement
her eyes peeled like binocular lasers...instead of conscious; in other words to personify her state of mind and penetrating observation

…..
Am I making sense. I guess I wanted to see paired down language; incised and buoyed up a bit
Just my opinion
Best Z

but it is a blast coming back here every time to see what's new lol
It just gets better :~)

~Mark~

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My truth is somewhere between and askew of both of you. It was not just a sad, bad relationship, it was incredibly intense. Even in her near sociopathic manipulativeness she fucked like a wildcat in a thunderstorm. So I'm glad some of the sizzle came across. There was complexity to it as well, we made art together, hence a conflict with paring it down.
Did I mention she was married and told me from the outset she would not leave her husband? She drove him off instead. I think that poor bastard got it worse than me.

Like I said, I never thought it was love but I was as utterly powerless as a rock to defy gravity. Excruciating pain I would not have missed for quids. It happened over thirty years ago and this poem was prompted by an extraordinarily vivid, lucid dream of her the other night. And something I read yesterday-
"Symbolism was born out of this inward search as writers and artists portrayed the longings and nightmares which epitomized the preoccupations of the fin de siècle— death and frustration, union and conflict of the sexes, cruel or superfluous beauty, the fatal woman, the siren and the sphinx."
From 'Symbolists and Decadents' by John Milner

"cruel or superfluous beauty", yep, that was Lyndel, who was never mine.

cheers,
Jess
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There is no obligation to make any changes however please acknowledge critique and comments.

author comment

Its a amazing how there are some you never forget no matter how the years roll on
I was 28 she was 17 and omg so hot ...incredibly sexy cuddly and loveable Big cat blue eyes , skin like baby butter tan silk ...I was stupid for her....I always wonder what has become of her in her 60s now

On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous
Ocean Vuong

When freed of that penile dysfunctional poor guy she unleashed and banged until she was black and blue and bleeding. She so wanted to be an 18 year old and would lie about her age and weight to everyone. They found her dead, it was a mystery they reported. I miss that persona. A true free spirit.
A sort of female version of the Italian Stallion !

~Mark~

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This is to me the totality of this poem and as such needs to be really strong.Now it's OK as is but would "She never gave me back........me" be better?

I knew it was wrong but couldn't see how to right it.
Much appreciated.

cheers,
Jess
Neopoet is a workshop. Poets take the time to read and think about your work and offer suggestions.
There is no obligation to make any changes however please acknowledge critique and comments.

author comment

what we're here to do, help one another

she fucked like a wildcat in a thunderstorm,,,
Thats a line naturally intuitive to your poems intention it seems to me. It lets the reader know how deep the desire and passion and to my mind more than any line you wrote lets the reader into your obsession ...Why not integrate it into the poem and then rewrite around it with lines as poignant as that
It kicks ass

Z

it was said by Neil Gaiman of his partner Amanda Fucking Palmer. Although it was in a public address, not published.
But something of my own to highlight the 'combustive sizzle' I will ponder on. Twice you've suggested a rewrite rather than a revision... I'm gonna step back from it for a bit and see if my reluctance is substantial.

cheers,
Jess
Neopoet is a workshop. Poets take the time to read and think about your work and offer suggestions.
There is no obligation to make any changes however please acknowledge critique and comments.

author comment

Revision re write forgive I just mean chew over it a bit

the castration feeling in a that image is a bit awkward for me...ouch.

I just felt this line was awkward:

Who might further her wants.

just feels a bit flat. Also, I would consider using the last line as the first. It's a good come-on line.

Eumolpus
I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance
ee cummings

Glad I found this one. I know you won’t be back till Dec. but. . . I not only loved this, I felt it on a personal level as I have had the same experience. Many years ago. No one was married but it was a hit upside the head with a bus. A collision no one could have avoided.

You got me. Nothing more to comment about. Brilliant.

Rottie
Pegasus was a genius,
living within a suit of difference.
He liked what he was,
nodded in respect and
simply flew . . . away.

By: K. Mulroney

" I am who I am, say what I say, do what I do. With no apology."

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