rhaecates's profile
AGE:
32
LOC: Evansville, IN
GEN: Female
LAST LOGIN: October 23
LOC: Evansville, IN
GEN: Female
LAST LOGIN: October 23
when the grasps of memory are more than i can bear, or when emotions come flowing forth and i need some place to be heard, i write. i have been writing since i was old enough to fashion sentences to describe myself. i started writing vigorously when i was growing up in a tumultous teenage existence in kenya. that time in my life has given me a complete appreciation for the effectiveness writing has not only as therapy, but also in preserving life in true and naked form for generations to come. i have been able to prove growth and change as i look back on and revise things i thought were completely solid just how they were. i have had a compulsion to explore language and strive to be picked apart until i become, on paper exactly what …
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In the life of man, his time is but a moment, his being an incessant flux, his sense a dim rushlight, his body a prey of worms, his soul an unquiet eddy, his fortune dark, his fame doubtful. In short, all that is body is as coursing waters, all that is spirit is dreams and vapors. –Marcus Arelius I have thought for a long time about the right time to start writing my life story. I have sent myself between grips of patience and fury all the while holding in my aspirations a moment when the tim...
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after a funeral is it like sleeping? that soft place you fall once the body gets tired of living-- i've seen closed eyes before, closed my own eyes and seen the colorless place as it shift and bends with light's last memories. is it like blindness, or dreams? that place, the finish line before eternity sets in. is there a timelss place of nothingness like a cold dark bus terminal that sits until the next leg of the trip begins. i tried to imagine death by closing my eyes, by being silent for ...
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Getting through i blur myself by living. i can not distinguish between the commotion of my reality and those things that make me who i am. too many voices trying to get through, i am not heard--again. i try to become by living. it's all i know to do--to get through. speaking up. i try to speak my mind clearly with paint color words. the art of my heart--i really am good in there. i try to believe by living that there is some reason i'm not suceeding in telling you who i really am. i try to ge...
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Sonnet for the Dark Sky So called a dark and stormy night Where clouds, a silver moon did reveal; The thunder rolling instilled a fright And so far advanced fright did feel. Alone and silenced, the dark create A place no candle or light would shine. Birds and beasts anticipate The fruity sweet immortal wine. The windy gusts blew long and slow, And creation breathed to take a rest. The life long waters of ebb and flow Consumed more or less the worst and best. The moon reluctantly did stare And...
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The Argument You begin. The same incandescent words That seems to exist only in silence. This ironic conversation we recontinue. We begin. It is the consumption of something forbidden. Paranormal ideals of love—a craze. Nervous first impressions that stimulate, Cause words to stumble and sometimes trip and fall. The beginning. We step into language as tourists: Taking mental pictures, Dressing our sentences with stereotypical images Of what this conversation’s culture is. We try to get to kno...
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This is elevated language that was choppy at times. That choppy feel might be a meaningful addition to the feel of the poetry you desire. I think there are good images like "but she is the mother-hearth host from which man is cut, a lesser hearth,"..I will read the poem and few more times and really chew up the images. This seems to be one that needs to be slowly digested, slowly eroded by the brain to fully appreciate it's value.
I love that there is no puncutation and the line breaks and word choice causes one to pause and shift as if in a fast car. I loved this. Great Job!
This has a beat poet feel to me. There are some places that I get lost and the fluidity of the piece falters but perhaps that is the design, the message completed in this one. I liked the movement and rhythm of my sylables--good job.
I enjoyed the poem. I favor more ambiguity when it comes to stating the obvious, but of course that is a personal preference of mine. I can tell that music is something that propels you to emotion and that message is clear.
i am convinced that using profanity makes even the brightest writer sound ignorant. the diligence into which you use the word 'bastard' ,at no help to your point, makes this poem useless to me. i think there is hope, and that if you really clean this up, get rid of the tacky rhyme and place some value on your words by using appropiate diction then you might have something.
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