I always have to remind people who dismiss prose poetry how very old a genre it is.. It isn’t as though it’s some new-fangled thing :)
Thanks for your review!
It’s four pm and the fan is clicking. I should be throwing up or running or
studying the internal lay of crayfish and mollusca. I pick at dry skin around my toenails and wait for some invasion.
He invited me over on a Sunday for throwback movies and casual sex, I faked an ear infection.
7 more cigarettes and I quit. I’ll smoke them all today. Instead of enjoying each one slowly, memorizing the pull in and head-tilt out, I will gobble them like tiny men, missions and things to prove.
I think I’ll move. Uproot to someplace where it snows and they only know mesquite as a flavor of sauce. I won’t tell them mesquite are poisonous, and it will take a while before they know I am.
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I think that prose poetry is poetry of the truest sense: confessional, linking the elements of earth, sky, water, soil, gravitation. It is sublime.
You have accomplished it here: earth: mollusca and crayfish. Sky: snow and smoke. soil: ear and toenail infection. gravitation: throwing and running.
I would suggest that this would be one paragraph, to look good on a printed page. And, for the reader, that wants things simple and concise.
7 should be wrote out as seven as four should be p.m.
I like your title but without the period, as Nutrional Value
I think this is publishable because of one line: I will gobble them like tiny men. It is unique.
Bravo
This piece is really interesting, full of restlessness and criticism. I like it. The line “He invited me over…ear infection” was particularly good. An interesting connection between movies, sex and ear infections. Basically, this piece is about the discontent of the narrator with his/her current life? That’s what I read from it. Nice work, a classic message with a modern and unique flavor.
I generally don’t like prose poetry but I understand your creative effort in this piece and I think you did a very good job.
You gave us a detailed and very original description of yourself, not what you look like, but what you think you are. You’re waiting for something to happen in your life ” I pick at dry skin around my toenails and wait for some invasion”, and when it does, you reject it “I faked an ear infection”, because you can’t enjoy anything in your life “I will gobble them like tiny men, missions and things to prove.”, as you’re poisoned with the fear of changing “I think I’ll move…”
I think each stanza could be better if after the first full stop you made a new paragraph: “7 more cigarettes and I quit.
I’ll smoke them all today. Instead…”
because in this way you attract more attention on the decisions you make, underlining the fact that in the end you can’t make these things happen.
All the images you use are so brilliant, that even if this is very far from my concept of poetry, you definitely have my kudos.
I love the dark light the speaker casts the world in. It’s a combination of apathy and hate for the world she/he lives in. Really the speaker has masculine tones that come out when they talk about the cigarettes.
The only thing I guess I could say that it lacks is a certain connection to the world. It could be high school or college that this speaker comes from. I feel how they’re feeling though not what they’re seeing. That might be your point though.
I think I’d like to see more from this same vein.
Great work. The structure is well thought out. The writing style is unique. Very insightful.
This was sort of confusing. Not any real concept except the boredum of some person with gives it a better meaning I suppose. Just elaborate alittle bit more
You have several key elements worked out well.
The dialogue, either inner or talking to someone, flows well from one image to the next. There is a natural rhythm. For example, from the fan, to crayfish, to fish, is seamless. The clicking of the fan reminds me also of the crayfish clicking it’s tail, and of toenails clicking.
I think a theme of “poison” runs throughout: maybe an infection of the nails, the harming by smoke, a “poisnous” relationship, mesquite, and one’s thought of themselves in relation to others.
The speech is natural without slang. Imagery is developed well.
As a reader to apply the meaning to myself, is to think basically of change, physical change. I believe outside forces and actions can motivate us to change, but the open-mind, willingness, and belief in either God and/or people will bring around acceptance.
We can take liberty with structure and form. I say just make it look presentable on the page. Keep lines basically the same length. Editors like neatness.
Blessings, Gbryan
hey! i really love the tone and style of this a lot, it is pretty distinctive and very captivating. there are a few enhancements i can suggest and comments to make but overall i just want to say that the piece is polished and lovely.
P1 – the tone you set in this introduction is absolutely perfect
P2 – first time i got confused about transitions. i really hope this isn’t a formatting issue since i’m not too familiar with prose poetry but i feel like although being disjointed isn’t a huge detriment to this piece it isn’t really a benefit either.
P3 – confused by “head-tilt out” but i completely love “gobble them…things to prove.”
P4 – the sense i get from this piece is that it’s a representation of the thoughts in the narrator’s head and i realize that these can be candid and disconnected but i feel like this bit would have a lot more meaning with some sort of a transition or sense of reasoning attached to it. also: i don’t like the repetition of “mesquite” here, it takes something away from the elegance and meticulousness of your word choice. maybe try “the thorns” or “the trees” in replacement for the 2nd “mesquite”? but the ending of this is lovely and brings together a lot about the rest of the piece, which i like.
thanks for posting this it’s very beautiful!
xo emily
Wow, I like it… 10/10. Maybe it’s the escapism at the end that makes me like it so much. I don’t have anything to criticize, which is rather rare.
Too many descriptors always seem vaguely like apologizing for the imapact of the content. This feels like something I might have found written on a paper coaster when I bused tables at the shittiest bar that ever fronted a drug-op in Pentown. The spareness of your style is like an eighty pound junkie daring the well-fed evangelist not to stare at her pusy trackmarks. I enjoy it immensely.
I would have faked a herpes outbreak and freed up the whole weekend for belly button lint.
Gobble/invasion/throw up? I taste the acid of purgation when I read this. To relocate rootlessly is to concretize displacement. Thank you for risking reconnection here and enduring my noisome unwords.
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