prometheousunbound's profile
AGE:
21
LOC: Harleysville, PA
GEN: Male
LAST LOGIN: November 06
LOC: Harleysville, PA
GEN: Male
LAST LOGIN: November 06
Suburban aspiring poet with the tendency to songwrite.
Friendly, if not overwhelming with useful information.
Published twice, once locally, once nationally.
Will check site daily.
www.editred.com/prometheous_unbound
www.xanga.com/prometheousunbound
Items
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I am a pup, lying under a table, waiting for supper to finish above. Begging a scrap to happen down my way, I pick up off the ground what I’m able. Love of a family, heart of a home, the only thing I have ever known me to be. Lucky spends his life looking for Mother, but Life’s a bitch, and Time is another. Hard, easy; somewhere there I am found, a man as my Master, I’ve no middle ground. I spend my days wandering hallways and grass, when I know all too well, I’ve just two decades to pass. Un...
Version 1
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Untitled Buddy Boy: “I used to be cool.” (Throws down hat, hat hair revealed.) “I used to be hot.” (Throws down glasses to reveal sweet and troubled eyes.) “Now I’m warming up,” (Walks over to window.) “to someone I’m not.” (Gazes at dusk sky.) “I try to stay cold," (slams window shut) "to old-fashioned feelings" (turns back to window) “That I. Still. Hate.” (Jumps up to sit on windowsill.) “But wait, she’s real, and isn’t she all I need?” (Gazes into space.) Jack (drunkenly): “You need sex!”...
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And still the blues fade… Written by A.J. Derro While sweet songs of an age are played, For who would listen when there are so many prettier collars that surround? Texture. Sound. Surrender, and next you’re found. By someone who’s been looking hard in everything they do. To the North; to the stars; To Southern beauties in crashing cars; To East; and West; no better nor best; Each a plane of grain; a coast; A toast to an auld letter in a new language; signed “yours ‘truly’” by you. …And still ...
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Thoughts on Fame Written by A. J. Derro My mind, as it would not have me extract what might find me peace this night among several spent in pieces, is quite out of control between two polar facts: That fame should come and go unplanned, to men Who spend their lives to some lesser height What be it possible to make of my might? What chance have I then? I know that foul bitter tongue in my mouth . . . To search, . to reach, . Childhood’s meager advances of strange magic have not left me without...
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Reviews
If you're aiming to get this published as a song, absolutely. There's a market for this emotion out there right now. You do this thing well. I think you could use what I could too; a little of the concrete as opposed to abstract. Your separation from the rest might be your unbalance. 'Tell me to leave/As I beg you to stay/Tell me to go/As I walk away'. The other does not sway. You are forced to by the situation. Beyond empathizing your position, I respect your ability to draw attention to its...
Seem slike this poem and it's writer are straining to recapture the olden days. I'm not completely sure though, perhaps with some length and focus therin you could make the meaning more clear...
I like the visual aspect, and I like the fact that the title hints at the meaning.
Good that you made the poem loop like that. It brings the reader to a feeling of conclusion and satisfaction.
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