JamesDominic's profile
AGE:
28
LOC: Gonzales, LA
GEN: Male
LAST LOGIN: January 28
LOC: Gonzales, LA
GEN: Male
LAST LOGIN: January 28
Displaced bostonian living in southern louisiana. college failure, construction worker, i dream of being an english professor and one day publishing a novel or a book of poems or short stories. i have few artistically inclined friends in this timewarp of a state so i rely on the internet to get decent feedback on my work. all my friends say is “that was cool” when i read them a piece. then they proceed to ogle women and say “hey, would you do her?” usually i would, but thats not the point. the point is im very happy to have found this site. no, the point is … i dont know.
www.jamestaglienti.com
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When you were younger, you used to walk around with that pocketful of dreams, all shiny and new, and you'd play with them as you walked. You held each one in your hand and felt it, felt all of it and held it until it was hot before you'd drop it back in your pocket and let it rest, nice and warm and alive. This was what you loved to do, until one day you reached in and they were gone, every last one, and you reached deeper and you found a hole, just big enough for them all to slip out, one by...
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Such and unfair trade, My bleary-eyed honey-bride, Our shotgun wedding has your father in fits. Red licorice lips between warm whiskey sips, Your prominent hips have twisted my wits. I couldn't escape if I wanted to, Mother of a thousand graces and nameless faces, What replaces this passion resigned? Holding the rind of years left behind, The ax that he grinds, the words underlined Searching and searching but never to find My sunshine baby, first lady of maybe- We walked on clouds and lived i...
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She is beautiful, like the way a glass breaks on ceramic tile, in a blossom of two hundred tiny crystal slivers. Like the way a boat lazily sinks, lilting to one end, giving up its last breath in a bubbling rush. Like the way a nest swarms with wasps, after you hit it with a rock, each one so purposeful yet aimless at the same time. Like the way a rotten log breaks underfoot, dry and dusty and soft, yielding so gently to a careless step. she is beautiful in ways you wouldnt imagine.
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I'm going to walk alone to the edge of the world. Ill write you a letter, I promise. I'll tell you all the things I've seen; none of it will matter any way. It will all be black and white without you. It will be an old time movie, on a grimy screen- fast and grainy, moving mouths making no sound. Silent footsteps on empty streets. Your face will slowly fade from my heart, leaving a little hole, for the wind to howl through. I'll wonder why I cry. So I'll come back, and you'll be gone, but it ...
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Well, if it doesn't feel like it used to, we can just bend the pieces unitl they fit again. That might work but it might not feel right and we might be cheating ourselves but at least we won't be alone. Even if we speak two different languages and we live on two different planets and we can't even see each other any more, we're so far apart. We can smash this puzzle together with clenched fists, like when we were little, and frustrated because what seemed fun at first demanded more than we we...
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i have always been a fan of the cosmic theme. i enjoyed your personificaiton of the planets, but you seemed to trivialize their personas in a way that didnt really jive with me. of course, ive always been more of a romantic.
The beginning sounds like it is a little underknowledged. when someone loses all of their money they can apply for welfare, and especially at that age, they can get it. maybe you should add something about how se was denied welfare because her parents still claim her as a dependant on their taxes or something. when telling a story in third person, i believe that the narrator should know more than the main character, or at least sound like it, though they dont have to necessarily disclose any...
interesting... i dont know, are you speaking to yourself, to alcohol, or to someone else? to the person alcohol makes you? i can really identify wiht this poem, i mean- almost all of my poems are about something that has happened in my life, some more straightforward than others. i am an alcoholic, among other things, so this spoke to me personally. i didnt quite get the bar scene, the part about vodka and tonic, but i do love that drink. anyway
I agree, words can be very strong things. I especially liked the part at the end, with the different feelings associated with different positive interactions. that was cool. otherwise, the first paragraph felt a bit forced, but otherwise the piece flowed quite well.
wow... reads with a dreamy feel, wonderful description of the seedy hotel, it seemed like it ended a little early, but i dont really have any suggestions otherwise- al in all a nice, haunting piece
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