bertha_masons_mad has no favorites yet.
bertha_masons_mad's profile
AGE:
26
LOC: Great Barrington, MA
GEN: Female
LAST LOGIN: January 27
LOC: Great Barrington, MA
GEN: Female
LAST LOGIN: January 27
“It has recently been discovered that Bertha Mason Rochester, the dangerously insane secret spouse of Mr. Edward Rochester, is alive and well today in a small town in Western Massachusetts. Though Ms. Mason was presumed dead after the devastating fire at Thornfield Manor that she herself started, her remains were never found. Ms. Mason escaped the blaze by jumping from an attic window into a small ornamental pond.
“Bruised and badly burned, Ms. Mason made her way into a nearby town, where her injuries were treated. Promptly thereafter, she left England for good and began a new life in America.
“Being a fictional character, Ms. Mason is not effected by the normal process of aging, and so she appears today much as she did circa 1850. ...
Items
Version 1
0 Reviews
0 Comments
The heel is frayed, She says, dismayed. The toes are wearing thin. She sits alone on her armchair throne And darns and darns again. The sock is empty And the foot Has long ago gone roaming. She squints in insufficient light, Not smiling, but frowning. The stitches neat, The needle true, The thread is never slack. If she can mend all of his socks, Perhaps he will come back. Oh no no no, he'll never come: She knows without a doubt. She sits alone on her tattered throne And rips miles of stitc...
Ratings & Rankings
Version 1
0 Reviews
0 Comments
turn that damn thing off, she said. my sister is coming for dinner. fuck your sister, I said. I'll cut her tits off with a knife. I'll rape her and rape her good. I drank warm beer and watched the riots: cops stupid from idleness pushing against the tide and on the ground amongst the fallen angry colored boys yellow flowers, tulips, I think. I won't say it again, she said. turn off the damn TV and come sit at the table. Bitch, I said. if no one else will kill me, I damn well will. I t...
Ratings & Rankings
Version 1
0 Reviews
0 Comments
freely furspitclaws springs leaving notmuch eaten discarded in tight pats of smell me unmistakable amidst sand that paws (so little they offend notatall) will not touch again no til ...
Ratings & Rankings
Version 1
0 Reviews
0 Comments
Full to the Brim —a black Abyss Whose Depths I cannot plumb Yet Midnight creeps up — like a Ghost And I — exhausted — am And so I take the Cup in hand Its Warmth — and sweet Perfume Bring Clarity to addled Thoughts That fly about the Room. Tip back the cup — and drink— The liquid hot and good Yet Bitterness — is all I taste Like a forgotten — Dream.
Ratings & Rankings
Version 1
2 Reviews
0 Comments
I First Prometheus. Chained to the rock, his innards shiver each time the eagle comes and the sky is blue without a trace of lightning. II. How many of his children never feel his warm hands or know that in the darkness tinged with nightmare sweat that daddy's there? III. When he falls to earth at last he will be an animal: muscles rippling to carry Europa over oceans. The heroic sons destroyed, daughters forgotten by history, wives betrayed. He swats at them like flies. IV. In the end, the l...
Ratings & Rankings
[ View all items ]
Reviews
This is quite a feat. Not only have you kept up the alliteration throughout this piece, but you've also managed to preserve its sense: this isn't just a string of nonsense beginning with "b," it's a complete poem. I realize you are writing in substitutions and not pure iambs, but there are a few places in the writing that just don't sound quite right to me. The one that sticks out in particular is "Bra bursts; bronze breasts bounce" because all those single syllable words are stressed, so you...
I'm also trying to write noir pastiche right now, and it's a fun genre to write in. I think you've done a pretty good job of capturing many elements of the genre: the dirt of the city, the cigarette-smoking maverick narrator. A couple of things that you might want to work in, as well, though: noir fiction is rich in metaphor and hyperbole. It's not just hot outside, it's hotter than an egg frying on the devil's backside. The woman's voice isn't just loud and shrill, it's as abrasive as a Bril...
A very sweet and very honest piece. The twist on the classic "leaving before she wakes up" ending to a one-night-stand is funny and vivid. The whole situation with shelves and tables breaking is almost farcical, and I love the line about the "albino tortilla." What tasty filling, eh? And of course, the ending made me smile. I was ready to really hate this guy for sneaking out (it's a cowardly thing to do, after all), and then it turns out that not only are they falling in love, but they're be...
This is an ad, unless it's a poem cleverly crafted to look like an ad. It's a fine ad that gets its point across (although it does not make me want to buy the book). Part of the reason that the ad fails to motivate me to buy anything is, well, it's on here at urbis, which is, in my opinion, totally inappropriate. If you had posted an excerpt from the book instead, that would merit an actual review from me.
I enjoyed reading this poem. The rhythms are strong and driving without actually conforming to any specific meter that I can recognize. These powerful rhythms combined with the device of repetition (as in, "stole their names, their blood, their God/stole their language, stole their culture") make the poem feel almost like a chant, or perhaps an invocation. The simple diction is appropriate to the subject matter. I do feel that the beginning of the piece lacks some of the power that builds up ...
[ View all reviews ]
Favorites
People
