joonthespoon's profile
AGE:
26
LOC: LA, CA
GEN: Male
LAST LOGIN: August 21
LOC: LA, CA
GEN: Male
LAST LOGIN: August 21
after much thinking, i have concluded that poems cannot stand alone, because the author’s experiences do not stand alone. our experiences are not that simple. each experience is a complex web of past, present, and future, of dynamic yet reoccuring themes, of people who populate our every day lives.
in this way, a poem is never finished. a poem constantly changes in meaning because the poet himself changes, and consequently, because the filter through which we respond emotionally to experiences and memories much change as well.
i want to present a body of work that does not consist of independent pieces, poetry that is interlocked with each other. and the body of work should be large enough so that adding or subtracting a piece …
(more)
Items
Version 1
0 Reviews
0 Comments
I was chosen to be the bearer of incredible amounts of sadness, of fruit swelling with the bittersweet. In the backyard garden my father tends to his trees— lemon, orange, apple, peach, persimmon. “Feed the trees sugar, and they will bear sweet fruit,” he says. All I remember from childhood are those Sunday afternoons resting my head on my mother’s lap after church, her hands cool like autumn; those days on the beach, worrying whether I could build the moat in time to save my dream castle fro...
Ratings & Rankings
Version 3
0 Reviews
0 Comments
Prometheus I gave you the ability to burn bridges completely aware of the consequences, but, under the calculated assumption that remaining still was effortless. I mean, after all, it was supposed to be a fundamental law of physics: all things remain still unless otherwise beckoned. I had imagined the weight of time to be as light as the weight of your head leaning against my shoulder, but instead it turned out heavier than Sisyphus’ burden. I just wanted to stop the bleeding. Pushing time fo...
Ratings & Rankings
Version 1
0 Reviews
0 Comments
We are caught in between acts, we tightrope walkers trembling on the fine line between night and day, unable to finish, the world ceasing to care Somewhere along the line the spotlight had slipped off unnoticed, had faded into the fog as all Berkeley solstices do I was so sure fall had arrived It was unmistakable. My hands were raw from the burn of the chilled coastal mist and from pounding out a carnal cadence on your door at some godforsaken hour But you rose and touched me as if it was sti...
Ratings & Rankings
Version 1
0 Reviews
0 Comments
After reading Li Young Lee’s “Persimmons”, the professor turned to me as if I had something interesting to say. But this was all I knew: I once asked my father if persimmons originated in China. Those Chinese don’t see persimmons the way we Koreans do. I mean, what can I say of precision? What can I say of persimmons? Precision was what my father demanded, even when cutting persimmons, his words sharper than the knife in my hand. But the knife always trembled into the fruit, the resulting zig...
Ratings & Rankings
Version 1
2 Reviews
1 Comment
I was chosen to be the bearer of incredible amounts of sadness, of fruit swelling with the bittersweet. In the backyard garden my father tends to his trees— lemon, orange, apple, peach, persimmon. “Feed the trees sugar, and they will bear sweet fruit,” he says. All I remember from childhood are those Sunday afternoons resting my head on my mother’s lap after church, her hands cool like autumn; those days on the beach, worrying whether I could build the moat in time to save my dream castle fro...
Ratings & Rankings
[ View all items ]
Reviews
geez. that's amazing. probably one of the best i've read on urbis. i just fell in the trance, and the images were so vivid in my mind, even though i'm allergic to mangoes. just lovely. the only thing i could even possibly think of for you to consider is to make clearer the "you" in the poem-- although it works just fine here. there's just so many directions you can take this piece. also, when i think of dying stars, i think of explosions/or lights going out. but i'm just being a nerd.
I really like the way you're using your imagery to frame your narrative. The whole scene seemed like a speaker's sigh. I was especially fond of stanzas 5 and 6. those two stanzas, i think, tell the entire story in a very compact, but subtle way. I said "entire" because it seemed stanzas 2 and 3 were largely unneeded. it seemed the image of the siblings were there to exaggerate the ostracism the speaker felt at that age. but the speaker can't really feel any worse than he did when forgotten at...
[ View all reviews ]
Favorites
People
