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ross's (rosco on UKA) UKArchive
77 Archived submissions found.
Title
Empty (posted on: 27-05-16)
(Another chestnut season)

Empty rooms, not accessible, not perceptible, The doors of perception closed. The hallways of parallel deception Flow continuously in time's unraveling, Objects scattered in narrowing space, Charging energy, galloping wraiths.
Archived comments for Empty
sweetwater on 29-05-2016
Empty
This is very deep, I am not sure how to decipher the message but even so I really enjoyed it. I know how I see it but doubt that it is the correct way.
The forth line is the one I connect with the most, I loved that line. Sue.

Author's Reply:
Thanks, Sue. It's a short and sweet, summative piece to end a collection. It points to the limitations of humanity despite the grand efforts made in generating meaning.

pdemitchell on 02-06-2016
Empty
A welcome nod in line 2 to Aldous Huxley's short book.. love the phrase 'galloping wraiths'... mitch

Author's Reply:
Thanks, Mitch. I like that phrase, too.


I Hear (posted on: 06-05-16)


I hear the fluttering footsteps of spring: Yellow torches, purple stairs, green fountains Occupy the dripping, mellowed plain. It's planet time where choruses count out, Eternal transformations perfectly dependent. Energy that balances a momentary cycle Locks into fear, incomplete assumptions, gears of reassurance; Machinery vaster than any redirected sources, Unflappable poise facing the death wish of nature. Pulled aside an errant thinker, Whispers then chants in seismic waves, Birth aggressed by death as becoming fades. Principles lined in skeletal formation Bare as the budded, Ice Age forsaken.
Archived comments for I Hear
Elfstone on 07-05-2016
I Hear
I read this through a couple of times and found it intriguing but difficult. The opening is lovely, but (and this may be just my aging brain) I found it becoming more ... dense perhaps? and although the words resonated, finding a way in to the meaning wasn't easy. I copied it into Pages and altered the layout and reread it that way which helped. I'm still not sure what the 'machinery' is to which you refer, but I can say that I enjoyed reading - and reading into - this poem. Elfstone

Author's Reply:
Hi Elfstone. Thanks for taking so much time with this. It's an abstract portrait of spring which signals human responses being self-serving and reflective of an incomplete and misunderstood interpretation of life. The machinery refers to the cosmic forces that shape all existence and extend far beyond human constructs. Nature is an awesome and restorative presence, but is also unreachable and misleading.

pdemitchell on 08-05-2016
I Hear
Hi Rosco - I does concur with Elfstone as the first read seems delightfully cryptic to the point of non sequiters. Loved the last two lines. Mitch

Author's Reply:
A poetic riddle of a kind. Thanks, Ross.


Dear Reader (posted on: 04-04-16)


When a window opens look through, Look through deep into the unmade world, Never miss the chance arranged for you, Consider what is impossible in the possible, Resist building a monument to happiness That looks in upon itself, Aglow with a nuclear structure all its own; Indifferent to the release from suffering, The shuttered mansion of death, Secured servants scuttling to and fro, Fragile moments, awaited breaks, sunlight on windows: Visible domains that multiply the self. Fear confounds the wholeness of time, Slows, constricts, burdens bliss Single moments of unchained arrest Take flight through transparency, Swept clear of received beliefs, Soaring beyond the discipline of peace, Engaged in the transaction of souls Stripped back to themselves: The burnt mansion of similitude Raised right to the earth, Membership unfastened from reason last; Shucking of armour of armies so vast. Windows spread in grass, in hope, in dust, in land, Blink and it's gone straight out to sea.
Archived comments for Dear Reader
Gothicman on 04-04-2016
Dear Reader
Brilliant write, Ross, a poem that rewards carefully studying each and every line. Yes, all inner composed thoughts should be regularly checked against outside reality, otherwise we risk creating a false interpretation of how the world really is, if it was at all possible to know! (Should the servants be "scuttering" to and fro?)
Always enjoyable to read a skilful write, a collection of tasty morsels, as usual from your pen.
Trevor

Author's Reply:
Hi Trevor. This is a prologue to a collection of 68 poems I have put together. I'm using 'scuttling' to evoke line 74 of Eliot's Prufrock. It's meant to convey the disconnected, obscure actions of uncommitted functionaries. Thanks, Ross.

sweetwater on 05-04-2016
Dear Reader
A real 'full meal' of a poem, once consumed you know you have eaten well. So sorry to use that analogy, I hope I don't offend but I really enjoyed reading it and that was what it made me think of. 🙂 Sue.
PS The line 3rd from bottom, should it be 'shucking off armour of armies' not 'of'?

Author's Reply:
Hi Sue. I was trying to say quite a bit here. I think I want the prepositional phrase in that line toward the end.
Thanks, Ross.


Man Be Not (posted on: 04-03-16)    
I would be tickled by the rub that is: Man be my metaphor. Dylan Thomas

Man be not my metaphor, Imprisoned in the twice-told skull. One impulse crowned; one a blackened space in air. Masked intents never quite revealed, Undemocratic pleas fall silent and wonderfully still; A black shadow cruises beneath a swaying phosphorescence, Blooming readily on the surface of human moods. Witness to what cannot speak its name, Clipped, armed, pulled up, wrapped around, Facing the grand, inanimate stars. Boundless dreams that do not address The naked needs of human flesh, Unaligned with visions of the spheres, They swiftly circle corporeal fears.
Archived comments for Man Be Not
Mikeverdi on 04-03-2016
Man Be Not
I like this, I'm not sure I get it all. That said, I still like it. Some great lines...the naked needs of human flesh. I'm less sure about 'Audience to what dare not speak it's name' just me I expect, didn't seem to flow.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks. You gave me a good idea for an edit. I'm trying to align with Hardy's vision of the universe as indifferent to human contingencies and the arbitrary nature of late Romantic poetry like Thomas's which situated man at the centre of perceived reality with all the relative experiences of 'light and darkness' that ensue.

pdemitchell on 05-03-2016
Man Be Not
It certainly has the dark energy of Dylan T indeed! I read it aloud several times and noted how the last four lines picked up the rhythm and rhyme scheme but the the last line clogged my tense-furred tongue a tad. Maybe "that circle swift (my) corporeal fears" cements the gravitas. As for Mike's comment maybe the alliterative 'witness' insteand of 'audience' might serve. Crack on, dude! Paul

Author's Reply:
Good edit. I used 'witness'. Using 'that circle swiftly...' in the last line creates an ambiguous reference to 'spheres' whereas this line is intended to modify 'boundless dreams'. I have tried putting a subject/verb combination in place instead. Even though it doesn't have the same sonic quality as the relative clause, it preserves the intended meaning more precisely. Thanks much, Paul.

Gothicman on 06-03-2016
Man Be Not
Yes, a brilliant write, the suggested alternative word has nailed this poem to perfection. Man's eternal problem of knowing real situations in the juxtaposition of what's presumed to be and what it might be, with no references one can really trust! We are imprisoned within our perceptual abilities even when other unknown factors might be influencing too, a postulation that's doomed to remain at that level, I'm afraid! Perception is never sufficient to explain all our experiences. Much enjoyed at publishing quality.

Author's Reply:
Thanks very much for the nomination. The suggested edits proved critical. Right you are in the summary. Cheers, Ross.


Tangles (posted on: 12-02-16)
(A brief response to S.T. Coleridge's 'Dejection: An Ode' in regard to the tyranny of reason and passion.)

Tangles of fancy chord through space, Centred passions hold life in their gravity, Clothed in flesh, housed in a dream, Nature's lost look arrays itself. Upon whom will fall its favours? Only in becoming is the spirit born free, Rising to the bliss of reflected splendor; A flooded moon radiates its light, One displaced from habits of the will, Flung forth to a perfection uncourted now. Stationary weight of unmistakable circumstance Holds Reason to its mount, Calculation its throne, Hovering in a supremacy for all to know, Ponder and accept, defer and respect.
Archived comments for Tangles
pdemitchell on 12-02-2016
Tangles
Hi Rosco. You'll have to take me through this clever ode a bit as I be a bit thick but I do liek the flooded Moon reference:

"For lo! the New-moon winter-bright!
And overspread with phantom light,
With swimming phantom light o'erspread
But rimmed and circled by a silver thread"

Coleridge was a genius! Paul

Author's Reply:
Coleridge's inspiration was pulverized by the force of his obsessions, addictions and desultory habits and routines. The passive and cyclical nature of the moon's reflected glory seems to me to simultaneously symbolize his intellectual grasp of the sublime and his emotional and imaginative destitution. Thanks, Ross.







Gothicman on 13-02-2016
Tangles
Yes, a rich plum pudding that's readily palatable Ross. One can either become an more involved esoteric by reading Coleridge's poem for reference (I think you as an English academic is revealed here!), or see how your poem stands on its own merits, whether it has universal connotations. Each and every line, though part of the whole poem concept ,are beautifully worded gems too. I particularly like "Only in becoming is the spirit born free" as we all know that anything static stagnates, progress and development always being in a free state of becoming, until of course, on reaching death, and it's at this point human philosophy diverts the most in formulating continuing existence,, depending on individual points of departure. Yes, the moon has excellent symbol value in the way you describe in understanding Coleridge himself, but "A flooded moon radiates its light" is indeed a phantom light source, because, of course, it can only emanate from the sun!
Brilliant workmanship, and much enjoyed.
Trevor

Author's Reply:
"...a free state of becoming, until of course, on reaching death, and it's at this point human philosophy diverts..." I love this statement. Breath-taking. I'm an academic in a very minor key, but I am aware of the vast, rich, underlying tradition. So kind of you. Thanks, Ross.

Mikeverdi on 17-02-2016
Tangles
This is excellent, well done.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Glad you enjoyed the poem. I tried to let it spiral down to a flat ending to suggest the ultimate banality of an exclusive focus on reason and passionate intensity.


Flutter (posted on: 08-01-16)


Flutter of self-worth singed in youth's maelstrom, One gradual gain followed by its reversal, Climb free only to pneumatically descend. Messages caught in the caged psyche, Buzz at different frequencies of a solar night, Some read, some heard, some cast a spell: Elastic footbridge strung out beyond; Whatever is bound on a tiny scale, Balancing aloft, timely suspension, Locating a miracle wafting in light.
Archived comments for Flutter
stormwolf on 13-01-2016
Flutter
Just beautiful Ross. I cannot think why nobody has commented. I think people are often scared to misinterpret a poem but some need to be read and read again. In many ways I think a good poem is like a cloth soaked in something rich that needs many squeezings to extract the fullness of the message.
To me, this speaks of the incredible long term effects of encouregment or negativity on the developing psyche.
In this instance the positive.

'Elastic footbridge strung out beyond;
Whatever is bound on a tiny scale,
Balancing aloft, timely suspension,
Locating a miracle wafting in light. '

Incredibly beautiful. Very esoteric and for that reason may escape many. (even me?) lol
Alison x


Author's Reply:
That's kind of you. I always have a focus on transcendence in the madness of life. How this experience that unifies our thoughts or releases us from pain comes about is the mystery. Your suggestion that encouragement and negativity are critical is probably right as if in life there are wounded foot soldiers who find their way to merciful medical stations. Once you read a dozen or so of my poems as you have, this dense symbolic import comes a little clearer. It's all part of a whole.
Thanks Alison. Hope all is well over that border that means so much to us both.

Bozzz on 14-01-2016
Flutter
Read three times and still do not get the story. Sorry... David.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for reading. It's a dense symbolic piece. It involves the search for redemption. I use the word 'miracle' advisedly as I am not sympathetic to deliberate rents in the cosmic fabric which serve individual interests.

sweetwater on 14-01-2016
Flutter
Have read several times, and I believe I have understood your meaning, but like particles dancing in sunlight it couldn't quite be caught, and floated on past my grasp. Will read several more times because understood or not, I really enjoy simply reading it. Sue.

Author's Reply:
Whatever you catch, it is. There should be a shift in perspective from the discouragement of early life experience to moments of transcendent awareness. It's a dense, symbolic piece and won't leave a complete meaning only a sense of mounting conscious events as it is read. Thanks, Ross.

sweetwater on 14-01-2016
Flutter
Yes! That is what I got 🙂

Author's Reply:
Cheers, Ross.


Evening's Shell (posted on: 28-12-15)


Evening's shell enamels the sky, Agile youth operate the body's instrumentation: To abandon the flesh would not be life However mankind perambulates to consecrated ground. The perfection contemplated in the soul Is a five-gun salute in the flesh, A liner cutting the open sea with galley lights ablaze, Yet the greatest ship rests down an eyeless league, Forgotten to all who dreamed her majesty, Masterminded her birth, master-worked her glory; Blind sea-worms toil at her parabolic hull, Dimly-lit eels grace wrought-iron rails, All that men favour harbours a fractured stride.
Archived comments for Evening's Shell

No comments archives found!
If All Counterpoints (posted on: 13-11-15)
(To strike a deal with life.)

If all counterpoints are revealed, What each antagonist has to tell: Understanding drawn tight across Intricately strung warp and woof, Imprisoned loom of the distinguishable. No love abandoned, love born free, Instigating of emotional strands Shuttled back and forth across the psyche, Set with the ratios of dependence To weave patterns of sustained resilience Inflamed in colours of deliverance. Raucous quarrel with the quotidian Settled in playing a hand in deepening shadow; Brute dealers divvy chance winnings, Carried forth to the light of living, Such calm harbours where seabirds nest.
Archived comments for If All Counterpoints

No comments archives found!
To Seek (posted on: 28-08-15)


To seek a mountain retreat Untouched by social bonds or wants Except in the building, the framing: Human form demands human ratios, Proportions that gratify an articulated frame. Set so defiantly above cedar stands like a gospel prophet Whose vision reveals the eternal land, Cupping textured water misted by contradictions; Crafted by Swiss ex-patriots possessed by childhood dreams, Salaried urbanites later sought their own secluded isle, Whoever is born apart will consider its demands: Straight up atop a twisted, unforgiving path, Its striking face raised to the starry heavens, Meditating on Ice Age lands, cedar-bearded Rockland relieved of expression, calculation and pain. Heat long banished from its core, Water drawn over its deep sleep; Sun and storm forever animate, Names will never hold or words identify: It's perfectly distinct like that so lost, so deep inside, Great shrouded battalions drift hourly by.
Archived comments for To Seek
Mikeverdi on 28-08-2015
To Seek
Great writing, although I'm not sure I understand it all, I can appreciate the work. If I was to offer some critique, I'm not sure you need a capital at the start of every line. It's only an opinion, just something I was told when I washed up here.
In friendship
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks for reading the work. The published poets I admire use capitals at the start of each line.

ifyouplease on 28-08-2015
To Seek
hi Ross, i don't like the two "apart" for some reason this little word is too emphatic. the two lines i found very interesting and very well written are

Meditating on Ice Age lands, cedar-bearded
Rockland relieved of expression, calculation and pain.

i think you're talking about the battalions of time in the end?! right? seconds.

i also don't like "utterly". how about "perfectly"

i think the problematic lines are

Salaried urbanites later sought their own secluded isle,
Whoever is born apart will consider its demands:

cheers

Author's Reply:
It concerns a cabin high up over a small lake on the Precambrian Shield. The battalions actually refers to the clouds constantly crossing overhead.
Ok. Perfectly might be better than utterly.
I originally had Lesbos rather than urbanites in that secluded isle line, but I thought it rather mean-spirited.
I can't think of another word for apart at the moment. Perhaps "clearly distinct" at the end. It's the theme of otherness which cuts through a lot of contemporary poetry in English. Thanks for your careful read, Ross.

Weefatfella on 29-08-2015
To Seek
 photo c673dadc-2d28-4407-9a21-a191bcf6d656_zpsp2y54f3y.jpg

For me, this is about the old trappers who lived on the mountains.
The old wild men. The restrictions for survival on the basic level are the log cabin.
(Except in the building, the framing:
Human form demands human ratios,
Proportions that gratify an articulated frame.)
Wherever we go Rosco, even into the wilds alone. We have to conform to the rules.

The thing is, Even when man seeks solitude from the human race. He still ends up chasing Beaver.

Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
Yes, that's it. I'm the old trapper here at the cabin over the Precambrian Shield. I did see a beaver swim by oddly enough. Even more ironically, the abundance of beavers was the reason the British wanted to trade and settle in this corner of the world almost 300 years ago i.e. eastern Canada.


No Age (posted on: 17-08-15)


No age of kings or authority transcendent: Shaky marriages inside uncertain frames, Displaced reasons and tainted waters, Images focused on the image maker, Nature one unparalleled extension, Collapsing inward with fear and anomie. A time-bound vortex that gives, draws into itself again, Compacted into a fragrant ball spinning beyond interrogation. No one upon whom to pay a timely visit, Life is shorn like an altar boy at communion, Expectant but defenseless, unfiltered innocence. Unshakable, unforgivable, unmentionable confusion, Looking toward the mirror of deep space, Another planet somewhere might yield its maidenhead.
Archived comments for No Age
chant_z on 18-08-2015
No Age
Great piece. I had to chew on it a couple of times (and that's not a bad thing really). Very emotional. Some lines jump right off the page for me, like "Shaky marriages inside uncertain frames" to "Life is shorn like an altar boy at communion". The peak really in my limited understanding. Please tell me if I got it wrong. Thanks!

Author's Reply:
The poem is essentially a derogatory response to Prufrock. 'This is where we ended up as you may have dreaded would happen.'

ifyouplease on 28-08-2015
No Age
quite deep

Author's Reply:
It's wild. Thanks, Ross.


Chilled (posted on: 20-07-15)
In the Canadian wilderness

Chilled in morning's birth, Flower-strewn prows rise; Pale air bathes dawn's flickering forehead, Pale-faced sleepers afloat aboriginal domains Lapped with the currents' enervated fan. Scrubland, evergreen faces eternally young, Clutter on the surface, song defines the air; Freight trains rumble in wrinkled crevices, Tracks to God's country advancing endlessly. Hollow-hearted granite, chamber of a deep-base timber Chords of wild flowers skilfully interpret. Might we retreat from our own society, Be freed of all that is patly understood, Simply dwell in the quietly understated, Unconstructed model of lake-front eloquence. http://www.canadianalodging.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/HighFalls_1600.jpg
Archived comments for Chilled
Mikeverdi on 20-07-2015
Chilled
I like this a lot, your descriptions speak to me. The last four lines are something I often ponder on in my old age. How much time have I wasted chasing the dream...instead of living it.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Amen, Ross.


Distant Memories (posted on: 06-07-15)


Distant memories clarify in the diminutive distance: The illness of the figure next door, Strangely decorated rooms passed through at will, Tangential worlds cross and recross every soul. Hormonal-driven selfies cross and recross the news In possession of the owners of the real, Secondary causes propel each new circumstance. Purposeful death, commitment to a larger cause: Culloden, Waterloo, Gettysburg, Passchendaele, Armies of skeletons bound in a causal chain. Primary purposes collide by chance, What is born again is without human ends. All the shipped in ideals and studied plans Secularized the colonies before the native land.
Archived comments for Distant Memories
Gothicman on 08-07-2015
Distant Memories
You're trying to express memory function in the developing mind again, Ross, all we absorb and know being the result of all that went before in history, at least as far as we were exposed to it while learning? Some even think that unconnected ganglia ends at birth are waiting pre-programmed to join up corresponding to the person's background history, via both genetical and National/racial historical inheritance! If you don't receive the information, they remain unconnected, and you miss out on a bit of kinship past in your personality! Get kids to read a lot of local history so that ancestors are not just isolated blobs of names and/or photographs, but have supporting contexts and causal chains! All new life extends from previous dead after all. We know the cortex modernises, but what of the reptile brain, and even the brain stem? Is our brain stem the caveman's cortex? Best not to know perhaps!
A clever poem.
Trevor

Author's Reply:
Thanks for your comment Trevor. Primary causes are extremely elusive, and the processes you describe make secondary and primary chains very difficult to distinguish. This poem is part of a chain: It Takes, Colour With Force, Position, Distant Memories, Retreat and Where. I think I'm getting somewhere with it. It actually ends a collection of 65 poems.


Retreat (posted on: 22-06-15)
These poets have as much of our ordinary working-day brains as the rest of us... they remark what we do and turn it into rhythm. But the faculty of compressing such meaning into a phrase is denied to them. We have to cover as much ground in their verse as in our own thoughts, and consequently we tire as soon. Charles Williams

Retreat to a humane island nation Rimmed with oceanic tides: Wild, prehistoric, ancestral life Guard these erected, shored beliefs; Commonly benevolent, flowering tides Lap the towering walls' bleached-out facades, Positioned to garner easeful shade, gather bounty, Breached by wily winds, time's indifferent circus wheel. Surrendered still like all cherished ancestral seats, Another's crest will brave a peerless turret's conceit. Busily raging from a vortex unrelenting, Childless Ophelia craters a prince's rage, Fixated witches direct hexes at the patriarchy, Mercy swirls in cauldrons of birthing hate.
Archived comments for Retreat
ifyouplease on 22-06-2015
Retreat
okay i will read more than ten times to start getting it. it has power that's for sure.

Author's Reply:
I sucked out the quotidian. It's purely symbolic, but rotating very quickly. Sorry for the effort in reading.

chant_z on 22-06-2015
Retreat
I agree. Very expressive. And just a bit difficult ... 🙂

Author's Reply:
Thanks. It's the third in my gnostic series. All hermetic. Unmoored from circumstance.

deadpoet on 22-06-2015
Retreat
What i got from this may be very very wrong- Is this Hamlet's castle you write about and Denmark? Sorry if I am completely off track!

How to win a Golden Egg!


Author's Reply:
It is figuratively, yes. The implications shift slightly.

ifyouplease on 22-06-2015
Retreat
ah, gnostic, wanted to say this earlier but refrained from doing so,

we have a clue then,

childless Ophelia is probably any intellectually strong woman without children opposing the masculine "marry and reproduce", not necessarily directing hexes at patriarchy and without really wanting to bring any matriarchy, just stop inane procreation in general, but when she does, she's a bloody witch.


🙂

Author's Reply:
That's a strong interpretation. Thanks, Ross. Again, my apologies for the multiple reads. Witchcraft has many forms.

Gothicman on 23-06-2015
Retreat
I think the fine line from cryptic to esoteric may have been crossed here, One can make a case for inner psychical processes, retreating from a fast changing world to inner security of birthright identity to only find historical phantoms still demanding action and change; pounded by forces both eternally and internally. It is hard work though trying to cover enough ground to find sufficient logical explanations!

Author's Reply:
You've arrived at a perfect summation even if I made it hard going. The most important point for me would be if the piece grows in interest and reward after returning to it.

ifyouplease on 26-06-2015
Retreat
Life grows haunted,
Phantoms crowd in,
Deep-set relations invisible
Occupy the air indefensible,
Enter in on each breath;
Ring the child on the swing,
Toss about in a forlorn adolescent dream,
Track the innocent and cross-hair the carefree.
Extinction an unwritten tale
Inscribed, encoded, inborn, unread;
Hidden within an ivory-carved nunnery,
Immaculate garden of libidinal morality,
Well-tended birthplace of identity:
Surrounding voices, both living and dead.

Retreat to a humane island nation
Rimmed with oceanic tides:
Wild, prehistoric, ancestral life
Guard these erected, shored beliefs;
Commonly benevolent, flowering tides
Lap the towering walls’ bleached-out facades,
Positioned to garner easeful shade, gather bounty,
Breached by wily winds, time’s indifferent circus wheel.
Surrendered still like all cherished ancestral seats,
Another’s crest will brave a peerless turret’s conceit.
Busily raging from a vortex unrelenting,
Childless Ophelia craters a prince’s rage,
Fixated witches direct hexes at the patriarchy,
Mercy swirls in cauldrons of birthing hate.

let's have both poems together and let's see what you say here, which probably is coming from some sort of personal experience and personal estimation.

i mean it is not "just art" "just poetry" "just words" or even "just symbols"

you seem to try and tell us something from your perspective. hmm

Author's Reply:
It's a brush with the non-material, looking down the wrong end of the telescope at life, embracing death reluctantly.

ifyouplease on 26-06-2015
Retreat
Toss about in a forlorn adolescent dream,
Track the innocent and cross-hair the carefree

these lines are quite revealing about the phantoms.

phantoms sound like astral parasites here.

Author's Reply:
Spectral messengers from the other side informing the subconscious influences of death.

ifyouplease on 26-06-2015
Retreat
so either you are probably examining the possibility of becoming a gnostic, believing in Christos (in a gnostic way) as the only nature that saves anyone from "phantoms", or siding with the archons in order to not lose another reincarnating chance to be around and learn about art again or anything you really admired in this incarnation, it seems as if you are on a very difficult crossroad where you have to decide whether you will proceed with knowing a lot more than the average people or learning the absolute truth and put an end.



perhaps i'm reading too much in this. i don't know. you referred to gnostics however, *not me*.-

Author's Reply:
I'm not the Gautama Buddha and I doubt we can be spared. We can try to integrate experience. Crossroads for sure where the gnostic poets make a deal with the serpent like Marlowe, Milton and Blake did.

ifyouplease on 26-06-2015
Retreat
top question:

i have to ask,

Toss about in a forlorn adolescent dream,
Track the innocent and cross-hair the carefree


is it about you we're reading here, yes or no?

Author's Reply:
No.

ifyouplease on 27-06-2015
Retreat
I'm not the Gautama Buddha and I doubt we can be spared. We can try to integrate experience. Crossroads for sure where the gnostic poets make a deal with the serpent like Marlowe, Milton and Blake did.



===



they have taken you for granted, is this your reply to them? lift up your sword man and fight. you can pick up your pen later.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for your recognition of this poem. You can write now.

ifyouplease on 27-06-2015
Retreat
what do you mean? who can write now?

Author's Reply:
You.

ifyouplease on 28-06-2015
Retreat
it's difficult to write something as good as To Crossed Fingers or The Chosen Dummies. i may edit old stuff who knows, like i did with None. unfortunately i cannot use my old poems and stories the way i want, windows 8.1 doesn't let me open the documents and it sucks. i have no hard copies either. lol



Author's Reply:


Life Grows (posted on: 15-06-15)


Life grows haunted, Phantoms crowd in, Deep-set relations invisible Occupy the air indefensible, Enter in on each breath; Ring the child on the swing, Toss about in a forlorn adolescent dream, Track the innocent and cross-hair the carefree. Extinction an unwritten tale Inscribed, encoded, inborn, unread; Hidden within an ivory-carved nunnery, Immaculate garden of libidinal morality, Well-tended birthplace of identity: Surrounding voices, both living and dead.
Archived comments for Life Grows
sweetwater on 15-06-2015
Life Grows
I am not quite sure about the meaning behind this poem, a bit too deep for me, however I loved the phrasing and rhythm especially the ' cross-hair the carefree'. Sue

Author's Reply:
Thanks Sue. Essentially it concerns the past and the present being elusively co-existent in all matters, including psychic and spiritual orientations.

sweetwater on 15-06-2015
Life Grows
Ah, now I 'see' it. Cannot understand why I did not pick up on it sooner, have just re-read and it all makes perfect sense. No idea why it escaped me at first as it is the way I perceive time it's all intertwined, like liquid flowing back and forth. Thank you for the explanation Sue.

Author's Reply:
"An ivory-carved nunnery" is an unusual depiction of 'defensive innocence' containing more than it presumes or acknowledges.

chant_z on 17-06-2015
Life Grows
Enigmatic in a way and so it's hard to understand but understanding is not always the thing. Strikes me like one I could have written. Thanks!

Author's Reply:
I see your point. What is odd is that rereading it seems to significantly enhance the experience of this poem.

Gothicman on 17-06-2015
Life Grows
Yes, an intriguing poem which becomes more lucid on repeated reading. The idea that we're not born a subjective person, but appropriate elements of other people and experiences that we perceive as being the same as us, a conglomeration of memory elements we call the self; like Jacques Lacan's "mirror stage" of developing "a subjective objectivity", which he later went on to extend to a lifelong process of adjustment. Makes one wonder what type of impressions and experience, early, disguised, preconscious, etc., steer our thoughts, our values and judgements. Not sure how much the genetic inheritance contra living style affects the extinction codes though! Beautifully written and developed poem, a favourite for me, and nomination.

Author's Reply:
I really appreciate your comments and nomination. It's a very strange poem.
"Not sure how much the genetic inheritance contra living style affects the extinction codes though!"
I was hoping to suggest the other way round i.e. knowledge of death shapes identity.
I was tickled by your reference to Lacan. When my wife was a very young woman, she boarded with a surrealist poetry scholar in Paris. For several years, Lacan came over for dinner most Sundays. The conversation between them was a little too highfalutin for a shy undergraduate, but she remembers that he was very interested in the nature of surrealist poetry and talked at length about it. I think that might bolster what you are saying in reference to his view of human nature and poetry of a certain type. The "libidinal morality" is of course Freudian as well. Cheers, Ross.

Gothicman on 17-06-2015
Life Grows
Yes, you're right of course, a glaring omission, the spatial dimension of time includes knowledge of death, and where constant reminders and adjustments with each important departure, is a prime factor in identity-formation. All of these lines of yours are pure genius! Wow! What an interesting experience, listening to Lacan's early inquiring mind! It can't be denied, all roads to understanding the psyche lead to Vienna somehow! Trevor

Changed, as expressed badly first time due to trying to do two things at once!

Author's Reply:
You have a better grasp of the poem than I do in some way. I was reading about Blake using very simple language to drive home unusual insights, particularly in the realm of Gnostic notions of divinity. I thought it was worth a try in the realm of contemporary psychology.

Gothicman on 18-06-2015
Life Grows
I think you've succeeded well, with all good poets even the intuitive spiritual appears to contain sound logic in its presentation, in presenting unusual insights, which is why it still remains relevant to contemporary psychology, and not too esoteric, allowing readers to still understand and connect with the direct or suggested messaging. Whether presented in religious, spiritual, parable and myth, personally esoteric, or psychological terms, the basic messaging is often very similar, being about common experiences that are often hard to verbalise, where only true poets really have the ability to define these things fairly accurately?

Author's Reply:
Just so. I'm inspired to do more. Thanks for your most kind observations.

ifyouplease on 19-06-2015
Life Grows
the only thing Gnostics were right about was this is an evil world and we should not procreate. but what kind of an evil world, who is responsible, who is forgivable, are we even allowed to be furious with benevolent gods etc trying to restore goodness and harmony, well i'm afraid only the Greek Mythology is full of such notions and full of Gods that can be judged no matter how powerful they are. poor Greeks were destroyed by false teachings of Christ and those who took control of the roman church. life doesn't grow since then. Hercules has fallen.

Author's Reply:
Phantoms do, especially where energy is subverted.

ifyouplease on 19-06-2015
Life Grows
Phantoms do what? and what are they? ghosts? of the dead? we're all dead. phantoms of dummies they are, pathetic losers of the universe that is. nothing good about them if they don't mind their own business.

Author's Reply:
"Phantoms do what?" Grow.
"nothing good about them if they don't mind their own business." That's funny. If only they would.

ifyouplease on 19-06-2015
Life Grows
you either leave or come back. i say leave if you can, or if you come back, then come back for the right reason, not to be reincarnated but stop what is going on here and spoil the dream of all dummies.come back to wake up everybody. phantoms? servants of the saturnian computer. nothing good about them, they rarely mind their own business.

Author's Reply:
"they rarely mind their own business." Another hilarious line. Deliciously visual. Just great. I'm going to try to write more if it's possible. Thanks for the hot story.

ifyouplease on 21-06-2015
Life Grows
i can see why you say it's a hilarious line, the whole world is a joke after all, its creator the biggest bluffer ever.

Author's Reply:
It's one of a series I'm working on while I still have time this month. They are just little pieces of machinery that will fit into a particular type of commentary that looks to be attracting some interest. I hope and am encouraged they might be opening up into a larger arena.

ifyouplease on 22-06-2015
Life Grows
hurry up then. this arena will be permanently shut down soon.

Author's Reply:
Shut down soon? Ok. One for tomorrow.


Position (posted on: 08-06-15)


Position in an empire may be defining, Quite that tempered, forcefully imposed; Unity of freedom not easily derived, Strategies of the imagination so confining. Ranked priorities enforced by survival, Perceived for what they are, then justified. Their demands left unexamined, Each privileged perch occupied, Tail feathers brightly-fangled; The world utterly transcribed, Layered like the origins of love. Overcrowded notions overload the many, Decisions as obvious as collared frowns. Assembled lives identified, Eulogized in a graph: Such is the world defined.
Archived comments for Position
ifyouplease on 26-06-2015
Position
i'd change a word

instead of hope, i'd use freedom.

interesting.

Author's Reply:
It's dead in my heart now so I'm not sure. Possibly although I like to cleave close to the trinity of faith, hope, and charity. I'll try to remember. Freedom may be too optimistic in its broader societal implications.

On balance, your choice is better. Freedom, it is.

ifyouplease on 27-06-2015
Position
i see

Author's Reply:
Dark times have come to me.

ifyouplease on 02-07-2015
Position
egalite fraternite liberte

instead of charity, fraternity
instead of hope, freedom
instead of faith, equality

when you have charity you surely don't have fraternity and you're trying to balance this social injustice
when you are left to hope, there is surely not enough freedom for you and those around you to breathe!
and in the human society manipulated by TPTB you end up having faith in art gods mysteries whatever, instead of equality, equality means everybody has faith in one another equally, this is a great sign of social harmony, and when you have harmony then your freedom is never over-tread.

(i have no idea if my english word choice is correct here, especially over-tread.. but i'm in a big hurry! i blog for Greece now so if you'll excuse me.. lol)


Author's Reply:
I think these ideals are interrelated and perhaps hierarchical in ways that are debatable. Equality is one evasive if essential concept. I'm not given to faith except in basic human terms.


Unencumbered (posted on: 27-03-15)
The passage from youth to age is marked by a interlude of security before the final stage is set.

An unencumbered view no less, no more, Keeping the cross-hairs from the nuclear nest, A well-prepared station in space Untied to all distant events, One's past a coat that shed, Now worn by one unluckier, Or eaten through by creatures shy of light. St. Augustine's fervor so intensified: Boyhood's charms dangled with sweet languor Without a place-marker in any lady's favour Till all wanton joys are overthrown; Who knows how many prophets form A shadow for the throne. Children still race through long, tall grass, And time wills another generation to pass.
Archived comments for Unencumbered
ifyouplease on 28-03-2015
Unencumbered
hi, i have no idea what can be the subject of this poem and i tried four or five times to understand your language here. googled this, googled that, i give up. can you tell me what it's all about?

however, there are some words i would not use, such as "little space station", everything is little in space, i think little is sarcastic but it's not the right word,i don't think you need any adjective there

so although i wouldn't claim i know what it's all about i will *gulp!* try to offer some suggestions

An unencumbered view no less, no more,
Keeping the cross-hairs from the nuclear nest,
A well-prepared station in space
Untied to all distant events,
One’s past a coat that shed,
Now worn by one unluckier,
Or eaten through by photophobic creatures.
St. Augustine’s fervor so intensified in age,
Boyhood’s charms dangled with languor
Without a place-marker in ladies’ favour
Till all wanton joys are overthrown;
Who knows how many prophets form
A shadow for the throne,
Children race through long, tall grass,
And time wills another generation to pass.

i'll have to cross my fingers with this edit... oh well.


Author's Reply:
Thanks for the edit and attention. It concerns the foundation of society in the precious and protected nuclear family which follows a brief period of youthful idealism and waywardness. End of life prophets seem to be a dime a dozen as they try to reconcile their lives with their youthful passions.

ifyouplease on 29-03-2015
Unencumbered
thanks for finding some of my edits useful epi tou prakteou tora. ask V.

it's amazing your reply is another proof we are part of a script! it's too spooky. i was reading about two things had two tabs open one about the theory there are no nukes (H and N bombed by something like napalm and they were talking about carpet bombing i don't know the terminology) and then the other tab was about a secret society called the Family. hmm

synchronicity perhaps.



cheers

Author's Reply:
The amusing part of the poem comes from the cross-hairs of a weapon aimed at something as ridiculous as a 'nesting family', and the symbolic notion that our past is shed and worn by someone else or eaten by moths like a wool garment. Your edit was helpful as usual.

ifyouplease on 29-03-2015
Unencumbered
just part though

ok? just a blue pill part.

Author's Reply:
I doubt you would have kept loyally reading and being intrigued by my work for 10 years if there had not been some compelling reason to do so. Thank you.

ifyouplease on 29-03-2015
Unencumbered
about the reconciliation you mention - have you met any prophets? how can you know?
prophet, προφήτης a greek word. προ φημί foresay

Author's Reply:
Essentially everyone, particularily males, over 65 with a conscience fits into this group.

ifyouplease on 31-03-2015
Unencumbered
you're cryptic and unwillingly prophetic that's why. you would be one of an AI's targets on the internet, scanning your words, trying to foresee the future of humanity, the future of its creator.

Author's Reply:
AI may be my true reader.


Pen Strokes (posted on: 20-03-15)
A postmodern response to Yeats.

Pen strokes that run in lines, Hope falls apart, blank walls tower, A presence closer each time it calls, Rungs of Purgatory dashing down. Language empties out the mind, Man-made constructs dismantled, undone. Though earth parts wide on its perfect gifts, Treatises, texts, narratives shed; An ahistoric beast dwells in witness, Its massive jaw set forward, Hindquarters muscled in upright perfection, Peering vacantly about the vacant plain, No illusions, elusive reasons, guided experience, Pure life, pure breath, as each taking dies.
Archived comments for Pen Strokes

No comments archives found!
Where (posted on: 13-03-15)


Where the big dial comes to rest, Mourning fails to register. Turned out and away from focus, A diffuse, conscious release from time, Particular's grasp of atomic expression. Hope streams away, blanches, Unbound from the density of DNA. The circular planes that bring our journey back, Apprehended in the space of happening; Soil laid fallow for a celestial spin, The gap of time filled in. Richer for the slackening of purpose, A soaring candle passing out of sight, Of light, of breath, of love.
Archived comments for Where
franciman on 13-03-2015
Where
I really enjoyed this, but only on my terms. I'm laughing, as I write this, at the arrogance of a reader who says if I get it right I enjoy it!
To me it's about the inevitability of death and the human ability to see in it something sacred and elemental; at odds with cosmic science.
If I'm wrong don't spoil it for me. In the final analysis, the poetry sings.
cheers,
Jim

Author's Reply:
That's a generous interpretation. Hopefully, not completely at odds. I felt like weeping when I wrote it.


The Face (posted on: 02-03-15)
Derived in part from the acrylic paintings of Kent Monkman: http://www.kentmonkman.com/

[Native]Indian society was not in itself worthy of integral conservation, nor was its dilution a suitable subject for great lamentation.'' Conrad Black The face that hovers behind the projection, More receptive than the muscular nervous system, Enamelled with textures past sight's dominion Without habits, routines, skeletal plans. Bellowing lips part terrestrial weather, Crowds instantly gather leaning out of their lives, And then as quickly tuck themselves back in. Natives electrified in woodless moods, Cubed in light, combusted gas, A deviant ceiling for the native stars. Estranged from the wild, unbidden lands, Engulfed in by-products of supply and command, New arrivals genuflect to enshrined capital, Offspring wandering into fool-proof, projected paths.
Archived comments for The Face
ifyouplease on 02-03-2015
The Face
the stark reality perhaps.

Author's Reply:
Very stark. Based on Kent Monkman's art. Thanks.

e-griff on 02-03-2015
The Face
A poem packed with meaning, requiring several rereads to begin to understand, a good thing. And a bold rhyme scheme for the last verse. I think that generally this works but I feel it might end more impressively if the rhymed words were more complex.

There's one small glitch in the rhythm for me. Throughout there's an underlying iambic metre. 'An imposed' doesn't quite fit as with two unstressed syllables it forces 'an IM posed', the normal pronunciation being 'im POSED' at least in England. Now, you may say it's a small thing, and I'd agree. But it niggled slightly and I'd rather it hadn't. 🙂

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the careful reading. Tried another edit. Cheers, Ross.

franciman on 02-03-2015
The Face
'Crowds instantly gather leaning out of their lives,'
If I take nothing else from your poem, the line above makes it worth the effort. It is poetry full of meaning, and where I get it, I really get it. Enough discerned to form a picture, so to speak.
Enjoyed this, especially after two or three passes.
cheers,
Jim

Author's Reply:
I took Larkin's sensibility into a ferocious expressionist mode. Glad you enjoyed it. It's derived from the wildly satirical and poignant native paintings of Kent Monkman.

Mikeverdi on 02-03-2015
The Face
Lots to enjoy in this, I agree one read is just not enough. I will be back for more.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks, Mikeverdi. I'm still trying to edit it. It's inspired by the weird landscapes of Kent Monkman. (http://www.kentmonkman.com/)


Drones Run (posted on: 02-01-15)


Drones run along feathery currents of air without eyes, Deadly grey metallic moles with sabre-tooth fangs: Precision killing, shredding of flesh, Evil's coordinates on a diagrammatic game; Blow out Moloch's furnace flame, Precise death the remedy of precise industry Birthed in its own brilliant Satanic Mill. The sternest interests hunker down, Living on Names afloat vast vampire wings. International Law razors indigenous, deep-set, local domains. Ozone-thinned atmosphere over fetish sink holes, Wedded to instincts unwavering in time, Crowd the digital world left behind: A psychic dream released from endlessly Extended, vacated, Renaissance space.
Archived comments for Drones Run
sweetwater on 04-01-2015
Drones Run
Very strong lines here, a powerful poem and a sharp warning of a scary future for us all I feel. Sue.

Author's Reply:
That's exactly it. This is a companion piece to a poem called 'Down The Barrel' which I wrote about 10 years ago.

ifyouplease on 06-01-2015
Drones Run
not only Down the Barrel, Dark days ahead also.
hmm why did you choose Renaissance? i'd like to know what made you select this particular timeline.

Author's Reply:
Oh, it's simply an intuition I have that awareness of space is becoming a biological inheritance which has been driven out of cultural constructs; it has essentially collapsed into the digital realm, a realm divorced from the gift of the Italians and Dutch in the Renaissance, and by association, its accompanying humanism which is now petering away. Marshall McLuhan would probably have more penetrating things to say in his books back in the 1960s when he saw this coming. In his book The Gutenberg Galaxy (1962), he describes the trend of electronic mass media collapsing space and time barriers in human communication to enable people to communicate on a global scale. In this sense, the globe had already turned into a 'village' through electronic mass media. The difference now is that we are actually entering that medium in a manner he didn't live to see.

ifyouplease on 07-01-2015
Drones Run
i'll be back. thanks for the reply.

Author's Reply:

ifyouplease on 07-01-2015
Drones Run
we'll be doomed when AI starts writing hermetic poetry, 60 % of internet traffic is bots already. they have twitter accounts facebook accounts fora accounts etc. it's scarier than drones what's happening.

Author's Reply:
Yes, AI is what the futurists predict will be difficult to contain once it enters the internet with intention. I think the world will be so different by then that it won't matter that much. Sometimes I wish I lived in a latin city like my good friend and wrote fine poems about my modest art collection: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wYVXCqLk5Ho&feature=youtu.be

If you happen to enjoy that, this is an American poet that Brian likes: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JuKouJu8-qU

By the way, I think you ran that literary site in Greece with real competence. You could manage a review if you wanted to. I realize the limitations of it all however.

ifyouplease on 07-01-2015
Drones Run
of course i was competent. the limitations for an english literary mag are many starting with my poor phrasal verbs.

create it i'll send work maybe you will accept it and then we'll see if i can help you.

in fact i think i may still have the script of "nova writing" remember? ehehe. yeah. i think i have it. remember? heheheh

Author's Reply:


It Takes (posted on: 24-10-14)
If there was nothing to regret, There was nothing to desire. Vera Pavlova

It takes a global village to sustain a life, Keep the child apart from the dark, Trapped inside a world that sustains, Defines an island inside the mind Turned toward energeia, a sudden torch, Deep in the deepest darkness, a feminine force, Illuminated from Eleusis to the Sacred Gate; An ornate basket upon her head, relentless human form, Cycles through each initiate frozen on an urn, Spellbound for the space allowed rebirth, Persephone unifies the worlds, inside and out, Erases the past, crippling wars of passion, Gasps and drops through time as sacred objects return, Things said, things done, things shown Fade in the chaos of the unknown, Each man's world propped against desolation. All fear these gates that exit paradise, Jagged illumination of the ashen land, Elysian Fields emerge through the infant's walls; Seven Hills elevate the forsaken scene, Damoclean Blade beneath the palatial floor: Laws of reason, legal bounds Fold inward to a faith securing heaven. Perfection of the polity struggles In every tribe banded by blood and arms, Unutterable words fail at the indistinguishable. Energy of the ages batters against itself, The Sphinx overhead beguiles as legions pass; A new garment for the earth, another birthday gift, Springs onto the year while what waits On Death's threshold where oblivion looms? Approached once to relinquish this world once due. The imagery is derived from the ancient Eleusinian Mysteries which celebrated the rebirth of the year and were accompanied by mystical rites concerning a reality beyond sensory awareness. These sacred rituals were mediated by a powerful psychoactive ingredient in the kykeon drink that was consumed.
Archived comments for It Takes
ifyouplease on 24-10-2014
It Takes
the second stanza/strophe is not focused enough



the first has some very good elements.



you know of course you're trying to describe something only the dead know what it was. no living person for thousands of years actually knows something about what was really going on there. mythology helps and excited by mythology, poets painters etc even historians of that particular era try to understand and reveal the most tremendous secret of the hellenic past.



im

po

ss

ib

le.



i would use the word feminine instead of female. i would start with that if i was (which i am definitely not going to -ever again) trying to comprehend THE biggest ancient mystery.



(edited)

Author's Reply:
I had 'female norm' originally, but 'feminine force' is a good edit. I couldn't find it. I might be able to sharpen the second stanza. Thanks.

ifyouplease on 25-10-2014
It Takes
great you used the word i suggested.

i think the first stanza is rather beautifully written now.

sharpen the second i'll be reading it again.



what about



On Death's threshold

instead of

Behind death’s door




in which case the last line is problematic now hmm. you must sharpen. i will have to wait.

Author's Reply:
Another good suggestion. I'm at the upper end of my abilities here, so I can't fix it too readily.
I appreciate your help. It's more your backyard. It really inspired me though. Regards, Ross

ifyouplease on 25-10-2014
It Takes
here's my little poem about Elefsinia Mysteria

They stood over against, confused
With numb members and half open mouths
Aghast at the sight of shooting stars
And bursting blue suns
Anticipating figures in the dark
Hearkening supreme beings
Glowing while
So many thoughts crop up
So many gates finally visualize...
Reading in blank diaries this materialized future
Present is just recalling
Eluding from routine’s anguish
Of evaporating hopes
And Fate with all the silly things that
Erased their dreamy astral realms...
Now by
Crossing the threshold
Of Levitated Vestal Virgin Athenian Souls
And Floating Eleusinian roads
They will find secure,
Familiar, and eternal
W o r l d s
Deep in the Galactic Ocean of Poseidon
Where
Gods and Goddesses
Dance around the bridal catafalque
Of Persephone

23/10/2002

Author's Reply:
That's great. English poets wouldn't touch something so ethereal and transcendent.

ifyouplease on 25-10-2014
It Takes
All fear these gates that exit paradise,
Jagged illumination of the ashen land,
Elysian Fields emerge through the infant’s walls;
Seven Hills elevate the forsaken scene,
Damoclean Blade beneath the palatial floor:
Laws of reason, legal bounds
Fold inward to a faith securing heaven.
Perfection of the polity struggles
In every tribe banded by blood and arms,
Unutterable words fail at the indistinguishable.
Energy of the ages batters against itself,
The Sphinx overhead beguiles as legions pass;
A new garment for the earth, another birthday gift,
Springs onto the year while what waits
On Death's threshold where oblivion looms?
Approached once to relinquish this world once due.


wow it's better now i think!

Author's Reply:
I changed collectivity to polity which is more concrete. Relinquish seems more accurate in the last line. The subject is oddly exciting as I actually sense the place in some strange way. I started it thinking of the secure dimension that is instilled in a proper childhood and how vulnerable that really is. Thanks, Ross.

ifyouplease on 25-10-2014
It Takes
you sharpened it beautifully well done! it's a very nice poem now.

Author's Reply:
Indirectly, you helped inspire it, and directly, you provided a good edit. It's one of my favorites, so I'm grateful that you responded to my request for help. I sort of sneaked in through the stage door. It helped that I buried my parents last week. Ross.

ifyouplease on 25-10-2014
It Takes
i checked my messages and found a couple of new ones one of them was yours, i had no idea you wanted some sort of help, i just happened to read submissions and wanted to comment because i had to like a good Greek. lol sorry to hear you buried your parents (i assume you mean your mother) my sincere condolences.

Author's Reply:
I was fortunate then. Appreciate the condolences. In Greece, someone called Propel and our mutual acquaintance Ector enjoyed this poem.

ifyouplease on 27-10-2014
It Takes
i'm glad for two things: a) people in Greece enjoyed your poem and b) i could care less who enjoys mine in Greece.

Author's Reply:
I'm not sure who they are unfortunately.

ifyouplease on 27-10-2014
It Takes
well done on the nib!

Author's Reply:
We probably talked it into existence. lol. Thanks, Ross.

ifyouplease on 30-12-2014
It Takes
well here is a song,

and here are the lyrics
probably not a good translation

the poem in greek rocks

There, where pennyroyal and wild mint grew
and earth sprouted her first cyclamen
now peasants bargain for cement
and birds drop dead in the furnace.

Sleep, Persephone
in earth's embrace
to this world's balcony
Come out no more.

There, where mystics joined hands
reverently on entering the sacrificial site
now tourists throw tab ends
and gaze at the new oil refinery.

Sleep, Persephone
in earth's embrace
to this world's balcony
Come out no more.

There, where sea was blessed
and bleating in the fields was a prayer
now trucks carry to the shipyards
empty bodies, children of scrap metal and plating.

Sleep, Persephone
in earth's embrace
to this world's balcony
Come out no more

it's by Nikos Gatsos.

and here is the video

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lImBKj9KV0k

Author's Reply:
Thank-you. It's beautiful.


If There Were (posted on: 06-10-14)
(In honour of Ted Hughes and Sylvia Plath)

If there were a way into an animal, A kingdom unlocked from the inside, Affiliated as a species, a rival, a spy, A dual identity reflecting the possessor and the possessed, Translated onto the human tongue; Not to be encumbered, restrained, inflamed, Concentrated into a single charge, Leaving four footprints in the snow. A lumbering, massive bull with cloven hoofs Tramples across worn-out desert parables, Resurrected in his own seismic image: The word runs in cycles of fabled creation Fused at terrible depths where time cannot dwell. Vision of ancient Albion billowing godless sails, Paired species load his northern ark, Entangled, ravished, chronicled in typographical encounters. Sun-baked blonde on the beaches of Moby Dick, Playing at all the roles an admired actress does: Nightly an unreflecting predator compulsively engulfs, Grasps you in its talons from deep inside. Find him, civilize him, marry him, procreate, Fidelity is not a virtue raptors understand; They gorge themselves, they withdraw, they're gone, Living inside the seconds of a blinding flash, a wondrous dive Right through the tiny skull where terror dwells. You spoke in the cryptic, ragged voice of a great Crow, A tribal cycle that fed his foundation myth, Permeating the atmosphere, atop a wind-stormed Yorkshire ridge, Spirit to a cruel sky, held down by a rock-laden grave, But nights there are a Bronte and a Plath Dance for love of possession, the sweet, dripping spell Jet-black plumage rouses, inking out the moon and sky.
Archived comments for If There Were
Gothicman on 07-10-2014
If There Were
Brilliant as one would expect from a professional literary man as yourself, Rosco! As usual in this series of your impressions of the different poets, their writing styles, philosophies, and subject preferences, but especially just how you interpret them from how they've influenced you, feel spot on, and I really enjoyed reading these two as well. Even while being only a dabbling amateur trying poetry as a creative art form, I am very interested in the personalities and inner-world psychology of these great and different expressionists, and your series have helped to recognize and better understand this coupling between poet and work. They've been very educational and informative, for which I for one, thank you. Plath must have been particularly difficult to nail down as she changed her style quite dramatically during her progression, battling with all that inner turmoil, especially during those last few years. But, these, of course, are not by any means facsimiles of the poet's work, but rather you alluding to their writing styles in the context of their lives, which is reassuring, because I don't think that former sort of presentation would work too well. They are heavy going, if not for the esoteric, but, nevertheless, rewarding if one takes the time to repeatedly read and really take in the specially chosen phrasing and messaging in the context of each of the poets, their work, and their lives. Thanks so much, Rosco, for these fine series, and especially these two, who were two of three, I was most interested in (T.S. Elliot being the other). Gothicman

Author's Reply:
Thanks for your careful and appreciative reading. I have you to thank for it as I wasn't going to push myself to do it until you mentioned you'd like to see it. Moreover, it's very kind of you to think of me as professional in some sense. I'm more of an applied linguist than a literary critic. I did rather boldly, in my view, suggest Eliot had some form of autism in the contemporary parlance. There is certainly something in that given the hyper-detailed framing of his acute observations in chaotic emotional states, and the obsessive need for stability and perfection that guided his later, stately work. I wasn't sure how much I would side with Plath until I got into it. Unlike prose, there are real surprises along the way. Cheers, Ross.

stormwolf on 07-10-2014
If There Were
Bloody powerful Ross!
Am I allowed to swear? Haha wonderfully rich imagery riding along in metaphor. Loved the line
Fidelity is not a virtue raptors understand.
Reckon I have tangled with a few raptors in my time.
The coming together of two very passionate poets was bound for disaster one could surmise.
Really enjoyed reading
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Hi Alison. I've been sick for a while, and it was a good mindset to do this. I couldn't resist that line. He was a hound dog alright. They had a mission to show the darkness in life, inside and out.
Brutal, direct, mythic and piercing. Thanks, Ross.

stormwolf on 09-10-2014
If There Were
Hi again Ross,
I am so sorry to hear you have not been well. I hope you are on the road back. I am taking myself away for a while too.
Too much going on to waste time on things not important.
Sadly my impetus to write is making me seem like some sad case I fear, so will have to write and stash away for now,for the writing will go on 😉
do take care
Alison xxx

Author's Reply:
Thanks. I have to go through a storm, but I feel privileged non the less. I still enjoy penning the odd piece. Take care, Ross.


Where Are We? (posted on: 29-08-14)
(In honour of Dylan Thomas, Robert Lowell and Philip Larkin)

The surge of ocean was the bliss of your raindrop worldview, Stir, rush and flow of morning tide that meets the world anew. You, a boy, by the shore, your hair entangled as seaweed adrift the sea, Such hunger as breeds in feline eyes down the jungle of ancestry, Smallest lad on the highest stilts no cunning cloud envelopes: Purity that cannot filter the folly of order and routine, Lips pursed for alcohol that once addressed a pubescent Beatrice; Beliefs hidden in the chapels of the pine-tree bowers, Kisses snatched from the faith of imagined love in a shoreline tower. Shambling gent atop his birthday hill encircled by a weaponless army, Unshakable faith a lily-masted sea rises and falls about his heavenly knoll. He need not ever leave, for London, for War, for a dramatizing of Creation. That black hole and its parallel, an endless outward blast unfolds, Neatly cribbed in briny stanzas counted out to mirror the perfect tides. Sunset on Wales and its flowery mountain, a wilderness drowned beneath its rainbow, Words might still slay and halt the sky. Boston is the hidden playground of stern mistresses and back-seat patrons, Kingdom of right and wrong illustrated in the courts and courtyards of kings, A star player who sings of corrupted majesty in leather-bound copy, Unmindful of the ragged minstrels who beg at the emerald gate beneath a golden bird; A full-bodied patriarch snoozes in his velvet seat as strident youth turn to hand-cut stone: His song so finely wrought it pierced the ear of a transcendent literature. He falters like the outcast fool on the stormy heath attendant upon an august master, Punished for his mischief, cruel wit, fits of unbidden lunacy, Sprawling across the upper chambers of gilded orders and wigged defenders; Buried with high-spoken ancestors huddled in an iron-fenced gap of New Hampshire wood. Hear demoniac birds preach their insanity in a blizzard engulfing those rugged crosses, Christ himself has bathed their bones in spirit, rushed them out of this white-faced existence; Immersed in the riches of the soul, blasted free of restraint and abeyance. Lines that wilt, shrivel into themselves, paralysed by the magnitude of damnation, History shrieks across Harvard Yard, rips its head into your heart, brings us to our knees: No one who has never completely broken down can know the race's passion. Provincial, post-war bachelor with imperial, off-putting, fouled-up disposition Knows exactly why the English rose is planted, pruned and fed When the clock tower chimes the quotidian hour signaling the homeward trek. Tenement homes on low-lying banks shelter a scattering of meagre wildflowers, Vast, sparsely arrayed meadows will approach the cresting sea no matter what our ends; Death's inexorable visage flies inland across close-cropped grass circling ancient stone, Stares at you directly through the face as the amplitude of space donates a star or two. Nature is best even if you have to live through a flat parade of narrated imagery, Much like the passage of a life from shorts to gown to collar to funeral suit: All the particulars lined up, exquisitely catalogued and arranged by a lyric sociologist, Keenly aware of the essence that wafts as perfume when you dare to dream; Sits lost in thought, deep in that cavernous, electrified mind each night. His ravishing bride of honesty steps to the heart of a gloomy, empty church, Not dedicated to saints, deep-felt organ tones, or ardent prayer carving wintry emptiness, But the measured step of an imperfect, tawdry army of misaligned inclinations That momentarily flower into the perfect gift of a moonfall meditation.
Archived comments for Where Are We?
Gothicman on 31-08-2014
Where Are We?
Hi Rosco,
it's difficult to write any comment on a poem of this magnitude and complexity, at least content wise, therefore I'm sure a lot of readers, especially members, just read this with great interest get a lot from it and then leave it at that. I wanted to say, the first and last worked for me with regard to recognition, in spite of only a little knowledge on the two poets, the second being unknown to me. I've kept your others to compare your impressions on the different styles, and look forward even more to reading those coming next on Hughes and Plath. Best Regards, Gothicman.

Author's Reply:
If I get a couple of people looking at the work of the these poets that would be great. It's a coming to terms with my influences. I've read these people for decades now, and I wanted to place them in my scheme of things. Sure, I can do Hughes and Plath if you like. I heard him read once and I spent some time on Plath's grave in Yorkshire. Hill and Auden are the other two that make up the weather system we've been in for quite a while now. Hill is too close, and is still in full flight. I read him with fascination and he is, in part, responsible for the peculiar density of what I'm doing now. Auden is a genius of form and language, but is often lightweight in content for me.


From Whence We Came (posted on: 15-08-14)
(In honour of W.B. Yeats, T.S. Eliot and Wallace Stevens)

The fractured wilderness ripples outward in Celtic stillness, Families tucked inside the weighted currents of death. Giants take shape and souls climb winding upward through a tower, Midway point of the world calling the sexes from paradise: Dialectic of gender orients the first target in time's frame, Numbered tongues recount the sagas bridging the race to its footing. What beast mounts the air and weighs on the desert sands? To look in the autumnal mirror of swan-sided waters Undivided from the silent centre of the unspoken herald. They have driven your ghost onto the road to Dunkirk and Kabul, Autistic shamans took up arms against the dialectic of the heart, Wrote formulas over Greek refutations and lanced the side of Christ. Cartesian children wait on the thunder of the inventive enterprise. It will not rain. Blemishes mark the leaves of grass. The fruits have dried. We hear but cannot speak before the fading of enchantment. Rats of spring dance about the fir-tree shore, Granite lines that form like school boys back from war. An argument a thin-lipped scholar fails to win, Overwhelmed by the misguided distractions of a desperate enterprise. What he shrewdly derives from laws and profits from within: Ages of prayer focused on the reign of spirit or its descent, Crafted thoughts that owe something to life and more to death, Harbinger whose black-edged wings mount the air over our dissent, Broken across the altar of Asperger's inlaid state; Inward lands that unfold toward a perfect light. Darkness fell, never yet lifted, resigned to fate: Deprivation, an urbane refrain, formidable faith and lucid doubt, We await the gifts delivered by a vast, interconnected state. The light is cruel. The land parched. Thought and will detach. War inevitable. We drift like nomads over an unclaimed expanse hosting a celestial dance. The relationship that extends, articulated in the wilderness, A manifest organized and displayed on a breathtaking, natural stage: A lamp-lit businessman turns his pen to the gathering in of a sensory brief, Laws obeying every man-made whim or fancy since the burst of consciousness; Management of the global order rounded in harmonies that weave through doubt, A glint on the wing, directed into space, suddenly alights to bewilder and delight. What extends from the self is arrayed in thought, marble or geometry, Imperishable orb framed by the portals of the immortal sun. Music, sequences of felt experience, planted through every region of the brain. Fools have profited from your science, cowards bent the sword of intellect, Made connections unguided by the synthesis of penetrating love, Unrefracted by the light of the fused self in all the world of literature. Straightjacketed notions and disembowelled delights wring the neck of leadership. Clouds gather in. The horizons dim. Imagination bows. The last emperor retreats. We thrill at the stymied pygmies lighting shadowy caverns of the night.
Archived comments for From Whence We Came
ifyouplease on 16-08-2014
From Whence We Came
well done on the nib! the poem really deserved it.

Author's Reply:
I'm glad you enjoyed it. You're still a faithful reader after all these years. Thank you. I was pleased someone behind this community also liked it. I was out in the wilderness, and in the early mornings I tried to respond to the three moderns who have occupied my literary thinking for years. I'll try to approach Lowell, Thomas and Auden if I get the space to do it in. Maybe Plath and Hughes after that. Another summer draws to a close.

Supratik on 16-08-2014
From Whence We Came
What a wonderful write this is! Multiple things happen in between 'It will not rain.', 'The light is cruel.', and 'Clouds gather in.' engaging the reader and the poem. It is so involving that you wouldn't want to miss out on the the layers hidden and not hidden in the lines. It has a determined and a quiet look!

Author's Reply:
Thanks much. I tried to address the work and legacy of the three moderns, Yeats, Eliot and Stevens, in a contemporary manner.

ifyouplease on 17-08-2014
From Whence We Came
i was thinking about this and for some reason it didn't sound accurate enough,

since the birth of consciousness

so if i wanted it spiritually vague maybe birth would be good enough, but if i wanted it spiritually accurate surge would be better.

of course i may be totally wrong regarding what you want to say, but the poem gives me the feeling that it is so intellectually focused that birth is not the best word no matter what you actually are hinting at.

anyway...


Author's Reply:
'Surge' is more original and dynamic, and less general and less of a cliché. Thanks.

Gothicman on 17-08-2014
From Whence We Came
I've been reading through this with great concentration, trying, and mostly succeeding, to extract relevance and meaning from each carefully composed and well-written line, and under the premise that each part reflects influences each of the poets mentioned have had on you i.e. irish/classical, English/humanistic, and American/philosophical, with your idea of how each would write about the title subject. Using that as my guide, I think you've created a very interesting and informative poem, in a richly worded composition, even though it is quite heavy going, so that repeated readings brings new rewards as the messaging becomes more comprehensible. I do appreciate it is your personal take on things, but it works for me.
Thanks for a very challenging and rewarding read.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for spending the time with it. It's highly accelerated and concentrated compared to an essay, but I hope it captures something that prose can't quite manage in regard to the meaning of modernism in the twenty-first century.


Alice And Her Stand-Ins (posted on: 30-05-14)
A follow-up.

Stand-ins guard the damage life has done, Negation shields the wounded acolyte Whether hair-shirted in a woodland cave Or illuminated by a glowing screen: No bottom, top, walls exist Unlike the world we enter and fear to leave. Authority shapes itself into the Devil, Manacles forged in the mind from birth. What is laid about is gathered into a means, A mechanism, a tool, a system born To address the needs of the larger world. Yet Alice sits alone and ponders herself, Crosses out life and is left with much, Much that loosens authority's grip, Eases the pain branded in youth, Lands on a conclusion deep in neglect. No magic, rabbit hole, nor pilgrimage, A peace encircled, a faith assured.
Archived comments for Alice And Her Stand-Ins
ifyouplease on 30-05-2014
Alice And Her Stand-Ins
very good poem uncle Ross. you're going to make me write again probably. you or the rest of you anyway.

Author's Reply:
That's the idea. You got me going with these two. Thanks, Ross.


A Single Afternoon (posted on: 26-05-14)
The palm at the end of the mind, Beyond the last thought, rises In the bronze decor Wallace Stevens

A single afternoon enlarges in the sun, Non-dimensional anteroom to the Milky Way. Shades of life appeal more and more, Shadow best suits the undergrowth of this estate. Methods of measurement obsess the young Who now gauge the future in calculable traits. However the species is aligned, The pulse of nature, the waves of time, Textures inscribed in the mind; Await the metaphors that clothe the spirit, Free love from a hunkering down, Bent-over figures that assign import, A giant tinkering with his crown.
Archived comments for A Single Afternoon
ifyouplease on 26-05-2014
A Single Afternoon
the sun is the giant?

Author's Reply:
Yes, and I didn't realize it. Bravo!

ifyouplease on 26-05-2014
A Single Afternoon
Raison d'être is quite unreasonable or very peculiar. Paradox after paradox it rarely coincides with reality. Your young will never be able to calculate Conscience, the rain, or the brain, humidity caused by the rain. The ape never thought of creating gods, the brain couldn't process such rain so humidity was godless. As soon as the brain evolved Conscience gave it one more thought. Only a fool would like to exist under such conditions among evolving and metabolizing cells of brains. And only a fool would create a fool of this kind. I'd be woefully disappointed by God if he/she/it existed and left any particles around for anyone who wants to foolishly gauge the future.

(referring to your anteroom - young - gauge lines.)

Author's Reply:
There is something laughable and horrifying alright. The making of gods is a distant memory. We're evolving backwards in this poem. Your last sentence about being woefully disappointed is delightful, like a very bright, precocious upper class child chiding a foolish old uncle, or something Alice might say to defend herself. I really enjoyed that. So pure. Your points are well-taken, philosophically rich and interesting to read if only the bottom hadn't fallen out of everything.
Actually, this might be seen as a hidden critique of Germanic peoples and their brutal use of reason which has infected the world generally. Surprise!

ifyouplease on 27-05-2014
A Single Afternoon
the bottom? which bottom? it failed? ehehe

Author's Reply:
Fair enough. Everything starts anew.

ifyouplease on 27-05-2014
A Single Afternoon
well you deserved to know why i don't post poems or write poetry, it's not laziness, i'm afraid it's not even the rabbit hole. sorry about the bottom. can we call it landing on a conclusion instead unkle Ross?

Author's Reply:
You're starting to write a poem just by talking to me. "Landing on a conclusion", "what bottom", "not even the rabbit hole", 'non-existence frees the mind' can polarize. I could write it since you won't.

ifyouplease on 27-05-2014
A Single Afternoon
if i don't write it, nobody will. go ahead and write a poem i cannot write because i am not Ross.

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 27-05-2014
A Single Afternoon
Watch me.

Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 27-05-2014
A Single Afternoon
Hi Ross
Almost fearful of commenting having read the exchange between you and Nic 😉
Nic, who has the most amazing mind (you too) but you share the wavelength that can be intimidating for lesser mortals. 😉
I will not profess to having understood it but here are my impressions...
I read a mellowness that has come with age and wisdom.
An awareness that life goes on relentless and the cosmic wheels cannot deviate from the precribed path...but the mellow soul knows these things and is at peace.

I may be well off course but I just resonated with these lines
Shades of life appeal more and more,
Shadow best suits the undergrowth of this estate.

Alison x

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 27-05-2014
A Single Afternoon
I hope what you say is true. I feel our generation is of an age when we can duck and take cover. I hate to think of the future.
She and I are just ordinary people who like to talk things out in strange ways. I don't think my ideas will inspire her at this time, so I'm disappointed, but life is complex. I hope you enjoyed it. Thanks for your support.

Author's Reply:

ifyouplease on 27-05-2014
A Single Afternoon
Uncle Ross, just read your new poem, hmm.

Author's Reply:
You wrote it. I twisted it to spur you into writing something better.

ifyouplease on 27-05-2014
A Single Afternoon
We are as ordinary as Alison! (I hope!) basically the replies were based on a long pm about a new little theory of mine for his (foreign) eyes only. in greek it makes more sense, however not even Greeks get it. people are afraid of inexistence especially the ones that their own language helps them understand exactly what it is.

Author's Reply:
It's very interesting if it's clear of all our weaknesses.

ifyouplease on 27-05-2014
A Single Afternoon
your new poem, now you should be officially horrified. welcome to the dark side.

Author's Reply:
It ain't difficult. What you do with it is where the challenge lies.

ifyouplease on 28-05-2014
A Single Afternoon
okay Uncle Ross. (edited)

Author's Reply:
I put it down to my sickness. Don't take it seriously.


Subtropical Suite (posted on: 03-03-14)
Mortalityascending emerald-bright Hart Crane

Sultry trade winds stir irregular parabolic tree tops, Laden with tropical freight at such height; Risen into Southern skies toward abandonment, Equatorial constellations run this radiant night. Life forces driven deep into the earth, Segmented fingers reach volcanic depths; Seek the stabilizing forces of the will, Geological strata oversee its dwelling. No image but manifested in the flesh, Hope opening the gifts of its body; Reflection of distant shores, streams, storms, Mythological inflection yielding a universal truth. No more need be written down nor spoken, Full-span of the Royal Palma haunting, asymmetric form.
Archived comments for Subtropical Suite
ifyouplease on 26-05-2014
Subtropical Suite
a funny thought, i kept thinking of Michelangelo here, i think the earth was flat back then for villagers, wasn't it? why did i see a hidden metaphor here? segmented fingers reach volcanic depths. Adam reaching for Deus.
let's drink to Asymmetry.

Author's Reply:
One can only imagine how people experienced things. That's a flattering comparison if only I were worthy. I do see natural processes as operating in deep time.

ifyouplease on 27-05-2014
Subtropical Suite
well your intros reveal a connection between your two poems here. would Alice ever reach for Deus?

Author's Reply:
Only if logic could work in such an effort. He was a professor of logic.

ifyouplease on 28-05-2014
Subtropical Suite
come on surely it was written on purpose! palm-volcano = adam-God??



what flattering comparison? just being an attentive reader.

(paying close attention to something)

Author's Reply:
I wish it were.

ifyouplease on 28-05-2014
Subtropical Suite
i always thought the leaves of palm trees looked like segmented fingers. (brrrr)

Author's Reply:
You would have seen them as a child. I was in my 30s before I saw a palm or turquoise waters, so there is a very different sensory awareness at play from my formative years. I do enjoy the semi-tropical sphere as an adult, but it's not in my deeper memory.

ifyouplease on 28-05-2014
Subtropical Suite
actually no. photos of palm trees yes. it was that horrible mayor Avramopoulos who decided Athens must have palm trees. changed the f-ing climate of Athens, and we got mosquitoes - Athens was full of Eucalyptuses NOT palm trees. and we all know mosquitoes HATE eucalyptus right?

Author's Reply:
I see. Non-indigenous. The lover of all things Turkish strikes again.

ifyouplease on 28-05-2014
Subtropical Suite
well they have palm trees in Crete. south Crete. what you saw when you and D came here is really not the real Athens. Athens was changed by that sicko.

Author's Reply:


The White Bird Near The Exit (posted on: 24-01-14)
(In a Nursing Home with an Elder)

When all has been said, what then? The clouds shape themselves Into their implications, consistent to obscure, No more, no less, leave no residue. The trails of relating decades long, Cut through the familiar wood, Now to stand outside the verbal march: A glance, a tilt, an open mouth, A tumbling of sounds clouds the lucid tone, Blue thoughts disguised by drought, Roiling in dizzy, helpless, dried-out metaphors. A caged bird, with silent, bead-hard eyes in layered plumes, White as eternity, looks straight through all doubt.
Archived comments for The White Bird Near The Exit
ifyouplease on 26-01-2014
The White Bird Near The Exit
hmm, not clear, but then again, silent birds are not clear at all.

Author's Reply:
The focus is the fog in the mind of the very old and seriously compromised who are directed to eternity in a manner parallel to the preternatural awareness of an extraordinary tropical bird.

ifyouplease on 29-01-2014
The White Bird Near The Exit
i think it's one of your best

Author's Reply:
That's very generous. The favourite selection is most encouraging. I'm trying to learn from Geoffrey Hill these last few months. I feel fortunate that Broken Hierarchies has come out in my lifetime.


Origin (posted on: 24-01-14)
You can never go home.

Origin is what rears its head, As memory and physique decline; A well-defined presence in every room, Coaches all new beginnings and ghostly inclinations. Born into a valley town of Anglo Saxon pioneers, Clutching the throat at the main artery to somewhere. The combustion engine makes it possible To cling to what is left of an earlier century. The world of handiwork and hand-crafted nature, Fashioned in stone, wood and beveled glass. The wars fought on foreign shores Left holes in the census of good cheer. One poised foot ahead of the next, then again Some lead, some sustain, some forget.
Archived comments for Origin
ifyouplease on 26-01-2014
Origin
well it has a really good line this one

Clutching the throat at the main artery to somewhere.



Author's Reply:
Towns with a past on the way to some place. Thanks, Ross


William, The Engraver (posted on: 15-11-13)
(For the visionary poet William Blake)

The mind and eye in regal partnership, An organic whole gathering against Inertia, Pledging to the massive oak laden in a trifling acorn. The ordering of Imagination, disciplined foot soldiers: Memory, senses, emotion marshalled by the mind; Meaning derived from such, gathered and bound, In need of illumination from the core. Substance of things hoped for, evidence of things not seen, The poet imagining the vivid outline with every flight. Passionate Enthusiasm beats its planetary drum, While aged Spectres stream in and through each one. The whole truth contained, freed into life, Round and round a flowing, infinite ball of light. The birth of the Epic framed by a Revolutionary Age, A Charter of rage and clarity of judgement, The certainty of finding in warring exploration Fiery characters who will never assume the public stage; They speak for the reflective, internal age To reconcile one soul in the universe Identities who never belonged to the earth Careful charting from the great Mental Forge Where life and death and eternity are wrought.
Archived comments for William, The Engraver
stormwolf on 17-11-2013
William, The Engraver
Hi Ross
I cannot understand why you have had no comments! apart from maybe some feel intimidated ;-(
Your work is always incredibly intellectual and that, I feel, puts some off. 🙁
There are so many styles of poetry and we need this input lest we become complacent with back-scratching and never expanding.
Congrats on the nom and keep posting.
Alison x


Author's Reply:
I'm trying to work on the Romantics. John Holmes said he loves that era. I feel tiny compared to Blake, but I tried to convey something of his project. You get a mind-altering feeling when you read his simple, popular lyrics and the same shift in awareness with the great, complex Prophetic Books. I think they understand our concept of the Self and its perspectives, and they lived during a time of Revolution and the emergence of liberalism and natural science. It was a dramatic time and perhaps the last period of unbridled idealism. I feel completely intimidated by what they did in their twenties. Thanks, Ross.

Andrea on 17-11-2013
William, The Engraver
Blake also self-published his work. His wife mixed the ink. The cistern fills, the fountain overflows, eh?

Very fond of Blake, and your pome ain't half bad, either 🙂

Author's Reply:
I suspect his wife was used a little bit. She learned so much from him, but I don't think he could have carried out his project without her slaving away on it. He had good skills as an engraver, but he didn't follow the fashion, so he made it really hard for himself to sell. He's endlessly fascinating, no doubt about it. John Holmes said he liked this period, so I tried to crystallize some things I'd been thinking about these fellows for 35 years. Thanks for your interest. Ross.

Dazza on 17-11-2013
William, The Engraver
Comments without comment. I will hold my hand up. This is beautifully written but have no clue as to what it means. There. I've said it. But at least I've said something....In inexplicable awe, Dazza.

Author's Reply:
It's not really an original poem from some personal experience. It's a commentary on William Blake's work, and as such it has many complexities. I would hope it could interest the reader in going back to Blake and reading some of his lyrics and reconsider his longer poems. It basically concerns a person who believed that the truth in life could only come through an imaginative engagement with the world. The way we see and understand things is directly related to how we engage with it as imaginative beings rather than as merely reasoning or emotional creatures. The great Revolutions in America and France made it possible to conceive of extraordinary thoughts and new realities being brought into this world. Hope that helps a little, Ross.

ifyouplease on 18-11-2013
William, The Engraver
romantics keep you busy

they can for infinity.

but you must be able to last through eternity.



*sniggers*
ps: adorable poem

Author's Reply:
Thanks for reading the series. I'm doing what I can. More to come.


John and Percy (posted on: 08-11-13)
For two English immortals interred in Italy.

To fatefully share the same Roman earth, An oasis from the Catholic universe: Gates, two plots, lines of Shakespeare Remedy the broken arc of broken mirth. Both consumed by the cruelty of the terrestrial. Never were celestial singers so matched to their subject, So interwoven into its very molecular dance. Every utterance, turn, leap an aspiration, Ancient myth a toolkit for engineering the lyric: A marriage of Olympic station and verdurous, mazy ways; Some young maiden borne out to sea wreathed In turbulent language we will never know or master. Consumed by the art of laying finely chiseled blocks, Shoring lofty latticed walls of abundant purpose, Thrusting upward in all unfettered, unrepentant weather. Brazen forms awing on chilly morns, Certain of virtue's residence in the human mind. Some glorious opening for mankind in the dark, winding wood, Two august spirits, forlorn human torches Driving a perfect swath through dire, blackened states Colours separating into feeling, sounds irrigating thought, Crowned eternally in an emerald dominion by the violet sea.
Archived comments for John and Percy
deadpoet on 09-11-2013
John and Percy
I have to guess who this is about -Percy and John. I liked the artie descriptions and have to look up a few words. On the whole I enjoyed it very much. Oh great masters- of course- how lovely- it's beautiful..



Pia

Author's Reply:
I'm glad you enjoyed it. It concerns Keats and Shelley. Thanks, Ross.


William and Samuel (posted on: 25-10-13)
A tribute to the young Wordsworth and Coleridge.

Massive, grassy worlds lunge in and out of light, Two Cambridge men transplant the English heart, And forfeit the courts and passing shades, Explore the side of a couple of ice age lakes; Shepherds brush their sleeves in the street, The French Revolution just starting to run. Reason unifies man and nature, Dreams of immeasurable profit not yet begun. A simple diction transcribed the sublime, Savage winds over rainbow ledges burn, Over the page what response is richly due. Tales in antique books churn in lucid reverie, Opium visions clamber to the distant sea; Childhood amusements expand the world, Flashing moments only love dare endure: Two contemplatives bearing gilded calling cards. Blinding wind breaks over each solitary master, Professing a language few would ever uphold Hilltops beckon where they roamed Two billowing figures still Who loved better than they knew.
Archived comments for William and Samuel
ifyouplease on 25-10-2013
William and Samuel
pleasant and easy to read, a very nice tribute i'm sure.

Author's Reply:
Thanks, I hope it's enjoyable however dense.

ifyouplease on 25-10-2013
William and Samuel
NOT dense. quite enjoyable, pleasant and easy, mildly intellectual, very informative.

Author's Reply:
Oh, that's nice to hear. There could be more exposition, a refrain and some consideration of the about-face and terrible disillusionment of the Terror as Corin suggests. I suppose I long for heady days in these dark times.

Corin on 26-10-2013
William and Samuel
Lyrical Ballads, a collection of poems by William Wordsworth and Samuel Taylor Coleridge, was first published in 1798.

The French Revolution began in 1789 and Wordsworth strongly supported it, visiting Revolutionary France in 1791
but it soon led to the Reign of Terror (5 September 1793 – 28 July 1794) and Wordsworth became totally disillusioned particularly when in 1799 Napoleon became
the First Consul in France and he made changes that surprised many of his supporters - the concordat with the Catholic Church and finally betraying the ideals of Revolution completely when in 1804 he made himself the Emperor.

Wordsworth, after the Reign of Terror, decided that violent revolutionary change was not the way forward to Liberty and Equality and developed his own theory of change and reform, worked by encouraging empathy and feeling in people, not just in the hearts of the Great and Good but those of the Common People too whom he thought were just as capable of fine feeling as the rich and educated. This led to his idea of writing a book of poems about the lives of ordinary people, ‘The Lyrical Ballads’

I know all this because I have just Interviewed, Pamela Woof the President of the Wordsworth Trust in Grasmere for GOLD DUST MAGAZINE. The interview will be in the December Issue so please help the magazine by buying a copy to read the Interview. Copies can be obtained from:-

http://www.golddustmagazine.co.uk/

Dave

Author's Reply:
Hi Dave. Thanks for the detailed clarification. I used the verb 'run' in the 6th line to try to suggest that ideals got left behind while not diminishing the gravity of the radical change. It was a very BRIEF window indeed like their poetic inspiration which fizzled in their 40s. His pregnant French mistress was another indicator of how those heady days of youth turned out differently in the end. Fortunately, his sister steered him there. Without the Enlightenment, the two Revolutions and the Terror, I wonder if the Romantic movement would have had a sufficient backdrop for their enterprise, especially at such a young age. This seems to be suggested in his poem of 1805, http://www.bartleby.com/145/ww285.html, which reminds me of the Moderns' direct relationship to the rise and fall of the Western spirit in and after WWI, albeit lacking the initial impetus of the Enlightenment.
I believe even Blake was involved in some serious 'street activity' as well, but in England if I'm not mistaken. The question remains as to what extent his visionary experiences of paradise and hell relate to his visionary life as opposed to the tumultuous social circumstances of the period. Later, a baffled Browning got caught up in some Parisian riots and sent indoors in a fallout long after Romanticism had burned out and any contemporary societal correlative had evaporated. Hence the Victorian poetic retreat into myth, legend and earlier historical circumstance. I look forward to reading your interview. Thanks, Ross.


Rivers Becoming (posted on: 12-08-13)


Rivers becoming celestial ocean. Freshwater catch transition to mid-Atlantic giants. Here Marx will never be resurrected. The surface has little to recommend it: Froth, white caps, oil-spotted skin. Complexity is a foreign condition. Evermorebreathes. Rivers becoming silvered streams. Vigorous sturgeon diet down to minnows, Skirt the vast, landlocked engine. Wind sweeps the water's edge, Omniscient red burgeons with judgement. Sputtering boats play bit parts. Nowis all there is.
Archived comments for Rivers Becoming
Savvi on 14-08-2013
Rivers Becoming
I enjoyed this very much the way the two stanzas oppose each other depicting the different rivers journey.

Froth, white caps, oil-spotted skin. is a great

Thanks for sharing. Savvi

Author's Reply:
Glad you enjoyed it. I tried to pack in what I could. It's inspired by the St. Lawrence River which opens into the Atlantic at one end and dwindles down at the other.

orangedream on 14-08-2013
Rivers Becoming
I am surprised that hasn't received more comments.

A well-penned poem I really enjoyed, culminating in the philosophical last line which I second, hands down;-)

Tina

Author's Reply:
Thanks. It's certainly a potent topic. Ted Hughs and Alice Oswald got whole books out of it.
Salute the mother ship.


Every Single Voice (posted on: 26-07-13)


Every single voice tuned to hope Burrows under cant and repetition. Studies start in earnest; Everything ignored gathers interest, Soldered fast in extended adolescence. Virtues cloaked and animated, Miracles erupt like sin, Latent in the Alpha and Omega. Every vacant space driven to cover, Such is the suffering insistence brings. Every and anything is said and done In the utter absence of genius: A black-eyed, snaggle-toothed scarecrow Sees further than a native eagle, Perched above third growth trees. Living now in the airport arrival zone, Things are as they appear, A fork can just reach its intended mouth, Violence breeds in every corner; Three kings await the enduring throne. A world of meticulous make-up artistry, More regal courts decked out each spring; Love baked in its own automated oven. Though every tread is worn thin as patience, Beauty still lands on the planet of greed.
Archived comments for Every Single Voice
Bozzz on 26-07-2013
Every Single Voice
Here is a torrent of bonmots hiding a barely concealed anger. As short line prosetry it is among the best I have seen recently, Bravo.... Bozzz

Author's Reply:
Thanks. Five lurid Polaroid shots, so to speak.

RustyBrother on 17-11-2013
Every Single Voice
Yes. This one really works. Economy of detail, leaving the image to speak for itself and the reader to interpret it as s/he feels fit. Thus the construction of meaning is is a shared task.

Author's Reply:
That's exactly what I hoped for. Thanks, Ross.


West of Vienna (posted on: 05-07-13)
The darkness must go Down the river of nights dreaming. RHS

Doors east of Vienna never open, Stationed in a legislated free-for-all, I scratch a vote against the marshal and his crew. The burners turned up in every outlet, Tears have never reset the manifest. Born inside an evolving paradigm, Senses daily scan for all the rhymes. Tick tock, tick tock, you must take stock. Decisions are infinitely divisible: Weigh them all on the anthill of your will. Untold thumbs pull wide the frame, The pharaoh sits dead centre on his throne. Freedom is locked inside the sleeping brain, Under satellites skinny dip a lucky few.
Archived comments for West of Vienna
RustyBrother on 17-11-2013
West of Vienna
Yes, those at the top of the pyramid work really hard at keeping the rest where they are and very few of that elite group can afford to relax occasionally. Oh how I pity them! 🙂 But yes. Some of us will recognise this and do something about it. I don't know if I am reading into the poem what is not there but it's there for me which, for me, is what counts! An excellent poem. I don't understand the lack of comments.

Author's Reply:
Indeed. I sometimes think we are slaves working for the great Pharaoh Google, pulling the screen open with our thumbs and tapping out messages that go into the void. You're reading it, not reading into it. I enjoy that final image about swimming naked under the blinking satellites above in some northern lake.
Thanks, Ross.


Flustered (posted on: 05-07-13)


Flustered time drives the world: Ineptitude wrangles in its hold, Birth breaks its course unseen, Tumbling past Pluto's gate. Human heads stir in fallow patches, Picked for lanterns in the night. We nest like fledging swallows, Waves breaking just so far below.
Archived comments for Flustered
ifyouplease on 05-07-2013
Flustered
very inspiring.

Author's Reply:
Thanks. It's a dark little poem.


The Splintering (posted on: 31-05-13)
Each of his men and women is at least several men and women, and his lovers learn we can never embrace any one person at a time, but only the whole of an incoherence, the cluster of voices and beings that jostle in any separate self. Harold Bloom on Robert Browning

The fragmented self was born of revolution, First without then within. Giant personages set free on the stage Articulated the fury of the age, Set free of divisibility. The whole never to be delivered again. A great cage was erected: Motion driven in all directions Till motive was impossible to read Except as a refractory prism, Interpreting and reinterpreting itself, Dancing through the darkened self; Projected onto shimmering screens, Distant lights flickering in infinite diversity.
Archived comments for The Splintering
ifyouplease on 31-05-2013
The Splintering
hmm why freedom? why not a great cage of independence (which is what got us into trouble in the first place)

Author's Reply:
Thanks. Maybe I'll scrap the noun.

ifyouplease on 01-06-2013
The Splintering
good idea

Author's Reply:


A Notion (posted on: 03-05-13)


A notion of progress, An arc that motions upward, Sends the best into another orbit, Concentric rings that elevate. Ongoing perfection from such gains, From phase to phase, Mean rewards alter gratification. Sterner attitudes manage pain, Forfeit the felt refrain, Circle the globe to secure effect, All manner of acknowledgement. Yet reason falters in every life, Works in ways that blindly abdicate, Befit a shattered coronation.
Archived comments for A Notion
freya on 03-05-2013
A Notion
Rosco, I had to work very hard to extract your message. This seems didactic in intent, even an elegy on changing values, perhaps, but given how difficult it was for me to 'get it' I don't know how effective. Though you could put that down to my limited intellect!



I think you are talking about the way we start out with good and pure intentions, but then are all too often distracted by a worldly recognition of our success and so change the path of our personal 'orbit'. We start striving, doing whatever it takes, to elicit more and more praise, earlier progress/motives warped, or put aside. Though it occurs to me that your last two lines might be referencing a particular individual, possibly a royal individual? That the whole poem might be about this person?



I really admired your opening metaphor which I looked to be continued, cleverly, throughout. But I was disappointed in this because of your resolution.



Must say, your very intellectual approach brings to mind one of my own early poems. Its opening complaint:



'You diminish me with intellectual exactness...' (smile) Shelagh



Author's Reply:
Your reading is fine. The focus is on intellectual and emotional development which has the exercise of reason as its linchpin. When it releases, the 'royal' show collapses.

littleditty on 03-05-2013
A Notion
reminds me of that Mrs Simpson woman, this poem, which i really like - and of him, so I am at a tangent, because they were suspicious, and it is rumoured used to meet in the house across the road from me, where I used to live, top flat, and a tunnel in the garden I reckoned leads to the palace! - circles and straight lines in your poem - good read Ross

Author's Reply:
That's interesting that his retreat is still echoing. It wouldn't in North America any longer, but I suppose queer birds like me remember such relics. He even makes Charles look admirable because of his great nephew's steadfast support of organic gardening/farming and the traditional arts within his own little swamp land of a life. Are you not posting here any longer?

ifyouplease on 04-05-2013
A Notion
50 percent spiritual, and 50 percent philosophical.
good poem with intellectual nuances.

Author's Reply:
Without your loyalty, I'd be in a vacumn. Looking at some of your older work, inspired me to do the same. It's important to do that. It's revealing when there is that much distance from the time of composition.

littleditty on 04-05-2013
A Notion
mean rewards alter gratification times posting anything anywhere -so I'm going to live in a shed, taking up gardening on the ground -there's much more joy anyway asking my butterfly sister to read my efforts out loud - it is the funniest thing! So funny I think I should post audios of her somewhere, and leave it at that - isn't there a new movie re them coming out? Mayb that happened already. I imagine Charlie sneaking into a few festivals...I do like to imagine him at Woodstock, Glastonbury, and later in middle age selling green tea at a few Womad festivals somewhere near the slam poetry tent, esp after I've watched certain documentaries re 'history' -who knows?:) liked your poem! I'll go now -as the above ramble proves I haven't had coffee yet..good to read you, there's been a gap, philosophical, to the emotional spiritual mindscape without you! I'm going back to your last one over there -->

Author's Reply:
I would like to hear your sister reading. I hope you do that. Alice Oswald is a gardener. I think you could make good documentaries of a kind if you were so inclined. Slam poetry. Wow! I can't quite get to that orientation. Americans put music under rage and we get things like rap and blues which rescue language in some ways. I certainly can see Charles making a midnight creep before Camilla.

Jolen on 04-05-2013
A Notion
Wow, just when you thought it was safe. I'll be back.

Author's Reply:
That's good. I will enjoy that.


Not (posted on: 22-04-13)


Not to support the future is the hope, Starting at the radiant point of entrance, Wheedling a dogged inheritance. Enormous groves of flourishing giants, Outsize the actions of flesh-bound circumstance, Holding hostage the new-born seeds of spring. Shadows fold in every hollow of experience, Meaning flows from its ambient light. At this juncture the invitation to the dance Informs the only world of its only stance. Invaded armies of the past Camp in the vantages of a life; Measured responses forged in love Till effect is no longer considered, hardly observed. Each day born anew with its orchestrated ranks, Plumes of every legion fill the battlefield, Human laws mirror apparent circumstance. The pale knight, with his tempered lance, Kneels beneath a galvanized throne, Filled with purpose not his own. There is not a path that opens twice, Fractured light conforms to itself alone. A solid rainbow falls from the sky. We hold what is lit in recurrent dreams, Lines of shadow form from every plight. Leaping forth into driven winds, Scattered bodies lie about the field, Dragged mercy winces in narrowed circumstance, Wavers, a candle's shadow, at the end. Stubborn flames neither transform nor defend.
Archived comments for Not
ifyouplease on 22-04-2013
Not
poem sent to your email - yours is a good one and with lots of inspiring images.


Author's Reply:
Thanks. I'll read it. Imagery connected more to modern philosophy now.


A Fly (posted on: 08-04-13)


A fly might be itself, perfectly balanced, Not once distinguished even by a mother. This symmetrical saint a royal blessing to itself; An almost religious zeal prompts its will To dodge all that is ill-intentioned Right up the intricate, incarnate chain. Thoroughly true to what it means To be oneself above all else; Not enhanced by any ploy or dance Learns to live, find nourishment, multiply And die in circumstance such as it is. No premeditated whim alters its equilibrium, No contingent world controlled by shadowy prophets: Just the perpetual, unmitigated sense of being wholly free.
Archived comments for A Fly
ifyouplease on 08-04-2013
A Fly
yes but it will always be a bad idea to let a fly ...fly into a transporter device; it would ruin any happy family that has a daily human life to resume without worrying about being trapped in spiderwebs. you can't be carefree when you know the dangers.

Author's Reply:
Most true. I tried to play with homophones rather than polarities here.

ifyouplease on 08-04-2013
A Fly
did i play with homophones too or is it my idea?

re: a bad idea to let a fly ...fly into a transporter device.....

homophones - ομόφωνα

hi to Di as always.

Author's Reply:


Wheels of Empire (posted on: 26-11-12)
(for James Gunther, a Windsor*, Ontario native with yellow fever**)

Ford's Palladian estate stretched to the handcrafted entrance gate, Not much was spared to impress the loyal mass and heads of state. The robust assembly line just grew and intensified Till land yachts were fitted as every local winner's prize. Across the river, cramped, wartime bungalows abounded, Yet the open road ran from every clockwork colonial town. What might the common man aspire to? Engineers rotated in their dreams proletariat flying machines. One noble vehicle assumed distinguished airs in its very title, Grand Marquis . World of Presidents, global news, chamber comedy: Space was the commodity bought and sold, The moon more real to most than solid gold. Asia held no mystery to the Man in the Shadows, What blossomed in the orchid fields of Taiwan and Laos Graced the seat of his splendid, chrome-plated crown. *Windsor, Ontario is across the river from Detroit, Michigan, the automobile capitol of the world. **yellow fever: A term usually applied to Caucasian males who have a clear preference for women of Asian descent.
Archived comments for Wheels of Empire
ifyouplease on 05-04-2013
Wheels of Empire
no comments, well this is rich and good work as always.

eyes open Ross. eyes open.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for reading me. I'm still trying to find something to write about in this flagging world.

ifyouplease on 08-04-2013
Wheels of Empire
i think it would be lovely if you wrote something like Dark Days Ahead, but leave some room for hope this time. in fact it would be awesome if you wrote the opposite version of Dark Days Ahead. are you mad enough to do it? ignore all the prophetic signs? i'm curious. if you can't leave any room for hope at least leave some room for macabre humour.

Author's Reply:
I like challenges. You gave me many in the past and this is another good one.

ifyouplease on 08-04-2013
Wheels of Empire
my challenges contain nuts by the way

looking forward to Nutty Days Ahead

Author's Reply:


Time's Feather (posted on: 24-08-12)


Time's feather across the cheek, Caresses more subvertible than even violent strife. If only what is unnecessary fell away, And left in view an open flame. Points on a map no one commands Reveal the world of uncharted lands, Everything familiar under a distant spell. One more revised continent, one more revisited countenance. Veterans turn back to the open sky, Returning bombers release their inborn dread, Yet happiness has all but forever fled.
Archived comments for Time's Feather
Texasgreg on 26-08-2012
Times Feather
Kinda tall order fer my ten-gallon hat to fill. Are you speaking of man's quest for more and the fact that it leaves behind misery rather than fulfilling the aforementioned?

Thought-provoking...
Photobucket.
Greg 🙂

Author's Reply:
Yes, that's right, and the difficulty of understanding what is at hand. Thanks, Ross.

Andrea on 26-08-2012
Times Feather
This put me in mind of my father, who was an RAF tail-gunner in WW11. Kind of wistful and poignant I thought, and enjoyed muchly.

Author's Reply:
That was dangerous work your father did. I drew that final image in to add poignancy to the mystery, whether it works or not is another matter.

ifyouplease on 20-01-2014
Times Feather
very dark poem, i think, depressed and depressing. Shangri La was burned to the ground. the bombers did it perhaps, wanted to see Time's open flame. Time flirts dangerously now with the end.

Author's Reply:
The power of metaphor draws me deep within.


The Monument (posted on: 24-08-12)


The monument unnamed, Events unhitched from thought, Blank stares do not impede The slow retreat from time, Responsibility hung out to dry. Abandoned fields of uncommitted weeds Flower every wanton spring, A vacant gaze filled with purple dreams. The same frequencies Newton claimed Register on the broken lute: All that rapturous, intricate spell remains Caught in the net some fool might use. Or flames that catch in a madman's gaze, Notes of peace, words released like rain; Fragrant blossoms burn in seamless beams.
Archived comments for The Monument
ifyouplease on 24-08-2012
The Monument
very good

Author's Reply:
I'm very pleased you read it and enjoyed the work. It harks back to those transcendental days.

ifyouplease on 20-01-2014
The Monument
flames again. let's listen to it, as we approach the open flame.
very intriguing poet you are Ross.



Author's Reply:
I've always been intrigued by Scriabin. The music eludes and embraces as it flows. Kind and generous comparison.

ifyouplease on 20-01-2014
The Monument
title Monument, ancient town of thousand years burned. wow! poetry is so prophetic.

Author's Reply:
Fire has many meanings. Thanks for revisiting my work.


Clouds Filled (posted on: 24-08-12)


Clouds filled with an empire's tears, Every robin has its set of skills, A workman's nest fills a branch; Commitments based on forked circumstance, Advantages taken, blessings dropped, bewildered hopes Fail to tally more than Darwin knew. Rain falls in the cycle of solar winds, A single star holds all the clues. Gestation orbited by all nature of prelude, Climbing through the sweeping pass of days. Winds roar past the mountain's gaze, Unnamed since those magic, fire-lit caves. All truth running down a splendid watercolour: A four-masted ship obeys its lunar maid.
Archived comments for Clouds Filled
Andrea on 25-08-2012
Clouds Filled
Very nice Rosco, flows beautifully. Lovely to see you posting again. Welcome back!

Author's Reply:
Thanks for your greeting. I was very productive when I wrote here. A number of people I knew seem to have left however. I'm glad it flows well.

Texasgreg on 26-08-2012
Clouds Filled
blessings dropped...Aye, know yer meanin', but makes me flinch a bit. -joke-
Yes, I agree much with Andrea. Would add that it was visual for me as well.

Good job!
Photobucket.
Greg 🙂

Author's Reply:
It's a poem about our relation to the sun. I'm glad you enjoyed its visual aspect.


A SINGLE I (posted on: 09-12-11)
To mark Jolen Whitworths half century on the planet.

I caught the darkness baby, from your little ruby cup. Leonard Cohen A single I atop the pyramid far above the sand, One point blazed into itself at the fleshless start. Time folds into the quenched flames of possession: Four surnames like foundation markers raised, Squared as if to complete the golden mean, First defence against the quadrants of the Cross. That central self starts to manipulate the empty walls, Shifting like a stage design into a child's dream As if you were hit by the tail of the dragon, And woke inside a vast, star-filled pentagram. Each side a receding, glowing, shifting decade, Rippling with scenes, fading and intensifying, Waving figures in a circular, bleeding world. No form intact, no shade indelible, the stage darkening, The spotlight held on an amorphic mask. That seraphim dance through multiplying stances, Forbidden rest, the flame burning down in the ruby glass Blown by those who adore your flooding energy at its core; Firing the desert pyramid of five thousand years; Five simple decades stitched together, polished, cut. That wild raven spies your gingerbread heart, That ravenous wolf sniffs the staunching of the blood.
Archived comments for A SINGLE I
Kat on 09-12-2011
A SINGLE I
Wow - there is some good stuff on UKA today - what standards!

And I love this, and how fantastic to have such a perfect poem written for you, and what I know of Jolen through her excellent poetry, is that she is more than deserving of such an honour.

Fantastic writing.

Have a super big 50th, Jolen!

Kat x

Author's Reply:
Nice to see your name and comment Kat. I have sharp, inspiring memories of your autobiographical writing as well as poetry from a few years back. I started this from shapes, fundamental geometrical ones, and tried to centre the pentagram as it's key to Wicca practitioners. It helped that dream and fairy tales belong to the sensibility of the subject, especially if the 'lights' are turned down low.

stormwolf on 09-12-2011
A SINGLE I
Hi Rosco
I will not say I understand it, in fact it's a bit beyond me 😉 but I know Jolen and know she will love it. She sure is a remarkable lady and a very accomplished poet.
Alison x

Happy birthday J xxx

Author's Reply:
It's a little bit out there. More my fault than yours. If you read it as a symbolic, abstract piece with reference to her life, i.e. Wicca, multiple marriages hence the four surnames, ambivalence to Christianity, survival strategies, middle age female challenges etc. it stands up better than as narrative exposition.
By the way, John Burnside is a smashing Scotch poet!

Ionicus on 10-12-2011
A SINGLE I
A lovely poem full of symbolism. Isn't it a bit premature? The Jolen I know was born on 3rd of January.

Author's Reply:
Thanks. It is. You`re right. I don`t know what got into me. lol

Leila on 10-12-2011
A SINGLE I
Happy Birthday Jolen. The symbolism expertly woven into the telling of a life along with hopes dreams loss and pain touching on vulnerability and yet perhaps still tiumphant. Anyway I'm getting that and hope I have somewhere connected with the poem.
Rosco I hope you are well, regards Leila

Author's Reply:
Yes, that's it along with a little mystique for her particular presence here. I`m afraid I jumped the gun a little. Although it`s not a bad idea to get ready for that big page to turn. Must tell her.


Forty-Eight Shots (posted on: 03-01-11)
(On the occasion of Ms. Whitworth's birthday to commemorate the winter solstice)

The peacock roosts alone on a Scots pine At the garden end, in blustery twilight His fulgent cloak stark as a warlock's cape, The maharajah-bird that scavenges Close by the stone-troughed, stone-terraced, stone-ensurfed Suffolk shoreline; at times displays his scream. Geoffrey Hill One day we walk out of the machinery Watched by empty silhouettes of glacial reminders On Salisbury Plain, from Wiltshire to Prescelly's peaks The Bluestone a starry messenger that levitates, Dolerite that will outlast all white lines of banality, And other phantoms of heaven along a knife's edge, Where soul-numbing decades submit to a wild deer, The palest rose bears thorns and morning tears. Cold floor of ancient Briton, Foundation for steam and turbine, Hunting ground for the Baronial, Dancing myriads in succession. The written language so lately formed Between determination and desire. Singers at each corner of the Anglo-Saxon Isle: Four numinous scribes continuously grip its surface. Could language ever be superfluous? The winter light convenes at Stonehenge, Ten squared in every century since inception. Voyaging to it once a Witch's Hajj, a Bronze Age Mecca; Illiteracy never an obstacle, obfuscation, nor defence. The drama of being alive here torches angelism, Rends the quotidian in its corporal dimension, Three score and ten divides at this occasion: Footholds of birth, death, love in recession. Most strange addition to the human sphere, Two times revisited, three times renewed, Equal to the Creator this once and once only, Aligned like the cleaving of hydrogen and oxygen, Subatomic worlds no more specific, no more precise; Clearly demarcated human approximations Lathed into a meaning they scarcely contain. Nameless creatures gather without a tongue, Dew-strung moments before frost has begun, Sweeping outward in grey hills to other configurations, Shielding the poor from this astral outcome: Dismal stars blanch crinkling folds of night, Shrugging off two millennium of belief, Thought and being suddenly ignite; Moulding a fully warranted assembly in the night Where language does not greet, nor any human speech, A vanquished pallor, the piercing light you forever meet.
Archived comments for Forty-Eight Shots
Corin on 03-01-2011
Forty-Eight Shots
Ross,
A wonderful evocation of the magical atmosphere that exists as such an ancient site.
The Picts and Scots might be a bit upset at you giving Scotland to the Anglo Saxons though at the time of the building of Stonehenge I think that the people who lived here were not Celtic, or Germanic or Norse but the Euskarian race who are closely related to the Basques. Of course Stonehenge pre-dates the Bronze Age by about a 1000 years thogh there is some overlap I think.

Anyway Jolen will love it:-)

David

Author's Reply:
I was playing with the use of language in English Poetry as well as the early history of England before it. I hope I haven't hopelessly entangled the two threads in attempting to examine the use and limits of language in the face of the deeply mysterious. That history is interesting to hear. I haven't actually been to the site. I tried to weave her account and poetry into the narrative. Glad to hear from you, David.

Zoya on 03-01-2011
Forty-Eight Shots
Rosco, this is beautifully done, in your own inimitable style!
i love the lines:
"The palest rose bears thorns and morning tears."
&
"Dew-strung moments before frost has begun"
Love,
Zoya

Author's Reply:
Thanks Zoya. I tried to use Jolen's account and poetry from the last year to convey the impressions. I'm glad you enjoyed it.

pdemitchell on 04-01-2011
Forty-Eight Shots
lovely stuff Rosco - not too sure about crinkling folds of night as crinkling carries audio overtones as well as crinkling paint. Lovely lines in there but I would add a few gaps at key points to give the read a visual breather. Mitch 🙂

Author's Reply:
Yes, Paul, you're right. It's denser than I'd like. I fought it, but it won. I think my writing is turning into a Black Hole. I might try to approach it again. Nice to hear from Wales, land of poets, Ross.

Jolen on 16-01-2011
Forty-Eight Shots
Hiya Ross,
I'm sorry to be so late to this. I had no idea you'd posted it, but sure do thank you for the poem and I'm thrilled to see it nibbed. It might be a bit 'dense' as you say, but I still think it's damn fine work and as always makes me appreciate both your 'eye' and skills.

Happy New Year,
jolen

Author's Reply:
Hi Jolen:

I thought I'd post it since people here would appreciate work related directly to you. The word "Shots" in the title indicates I'm using an automatic weapon of sorts which fires repeatedly and somewhat disconcertingly for a couple of minutes. Jarring and thick, but I hope to convey a little of the staggering nature of the superhuman. The birthday thing is also an opportunity and excuse to be a little baroque.

anth2011ed on 30-04-2011
Forty-Eight Shots
Rosco, sorry to intrude, but can you send your permission and bio for the 2011/2012 Anth pse?

- Details Here

Author's Reply:
No problem. I sent you at e-mail with permission and the title. It looked to me like it was the other poem, Afoot the Sea, that was nominated rather than this one. I hope you can use my name i.e. Ross McCague rather than my pen name.


Afoot The Sea (Edit thanks to e-griff) (posted on: 22-02-10)
(In memory of Captain James Cook)

Afoot the sea bound by duties, Focusing the role of open water In precise mappings of coastal shorelines, The rim of Empire ever-expanding Beneath the feet of indigenous peoples Wherever minerals glint and fragrant roots descend. Captain Cook sought such forces Along society's ladder of command: He chose the freedom of the sea, The last vestiges of hope Circled by stars and a quadrant's ranking. The heavens differentiated themselves As readily as minute, English class gradations. Reason alone will not satisfy The original awe of First Cause. Its embodiments guide this species, Not one outside the supernatural tides That brought you in And sent you out: A god without a crown, Disemboweled, skinless, heartless now-- His dutiful wife awaits, And to a land-locked gentry bows-- Your onboard naturalist steadfastly recommends Unchained convicts fan out, descend Across the crystal, coral shores, And all the lands of all your unsuspecting kin. Captain James Cook FRS RN (27 October 1728 14 February 1779) was an English explorer, navigator and cartographer. Cook made three voyages to the Pacific Ocean during which he achieved the first European contact with the eastern coastline of Australia and the Hawaiian Islands as well as the first recorded circumnavigation of New Zealand. Some scholars suggest that Cook's return to Hawaii outside the season of worship for Lono, which was synonymous with 'peace', and thus in the season of 'war' (being dedicated to Kū, god of war) may have upset the equilibrium and fostered an atmosphere of resentment and aggression from the local population. The esteem in which he was nevertheless held by the Hawaiians resulted in his body being retained by their chiefs and elders. Following the practice of the time, Cook's body underwent funerary rituals similar to those reserved for the chiefs and highest elders of the society. The body was disemboweled, baked to facilitate removal of the flesh, and the bones were carefully cleaned for preservation as religious icons in a fashion somewhat reminiscent of the treatment of European saints in the Middle Ages.
Archived comments for Afoot The Sea (Edit thanks to e-griff)
Jolen on 22-02-2010
Afoot The Sea
Ross:

How fantastic to see you posting here again! This piece is so impressive that I don't even know where to begin. But I love how you draw the parallels between his world and the class distinction and you've certainly brought his story to life with each well chosen word. I could imagine this man, his life on the sea and his death and funeral rites very well thanks to your succinct and visual writing.

I sure hope that the nib fairies are on the job today because this is soooooo deserving of one.

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
Your unyielding enthusiasm is as close as I'll ever get to playing for the Cowboys. Although I only have a single cheerleader, you've got amazing pom poms. Little Americana. Thanks for following me so closely over the years and bucking me up. The Cowboys generally don't win despite the squad.

e-griff on 22-02-2010
Afoot The Sea
This has some very fine lines, and powerful themes.

For me, it fell into four sections (Afoot ..., Captain ..., Reason ... , His dutiful ...)

sections 2 (the meanings) and 4 (the rhythm of the last lines) stood out for me particularly.

a few small questions:

I didn't resonate to the use of 'Afoot'. Of course, poetically, you can stretch or assume meaning, but perhaps because I am quite precise, it jibed for me.

I found the repeat of water/waters distracting.

While I appreciated the image of the empire extending UNDER the native's feet (like the expanding disc of an exploding star), which would be appropriate for an undermining, undercover approach (before they know it, they are absorbed), I'm not sure it fitted with the image of empire, with is up-front dominating and overwhelming, rather a tidal wave, and over them, not underfoot.

I'm sorry, but I felt the line with the English class gradations completely out of context (unless I'm missing some reference about Cook).

In section 3, I had a small glitch with the punctuation - the two items in the semi-c separated list didn't seem equivalent to me, so they and the colon puzzled me.

As I've said, the last three lines were absolutely resonant and memorable. But the line 'Your resident ...' didn't seem to fit at all grammatically, or in meaning ...

despite my small picks, a fine poem overall.

best, JohnG

Author's Reply:
You've made good point. Thanks for the careful read. Here's a somewhat clumsy reply:

Afoot is a stretch. I was hoping it would have a remote echo of Christ walking on water in the sense that Cook had a tremendous spirit that far outstripped his mission. It may not be the best word.

Water/waters is distracting. Coast is the obvious replacement for waters if it works otherwise.

Under their feet doesn't convey the meaning as exactly as a tidal image, but it fits the aspect of precious minerals and crops/plants flourishing beneath the surface and the map's new colour figuratively spreading across the continent. I'm not sure I can find words to reshape this. I'll think about it.

The class reference is related to his personal story as a working class fellow with a grade 4 education who admired Royal Naval officers and upper class scientists to such a degree that he was willing to give up everything in the merchant navy and climb the ranks in the elitist British Naval system. He was good enough to do it because of his instincts and a phenomenal ability to study astronomy and navigation on his own.

The semi-colon is probably wrong. I was trying to show that his wife was waiting without news while he was butchered and his crew went on without him. I could try a hyphen perhaps.

The resident naturalists refers to Banks and his team of scientists who were on board, and after Cook's death persuaded the British government to send the convicts to Australia. (America was no longer accepting British 'goods' of that kind. lol.

papaed on 22-02-2010
Afoot The Sea
A wonderful dedication to a a brave, venturesome explorer and leader. As a life-long dreamer experiencing the open sea, Captain Cook embodies my fantasy. From Newfoundland and New Zealand, around the Cape, Australia, and Hawaii, he reveled in the open sea and discovery in his three famous voyages. The references to the heaven’s importance to him and his mastery of the navigation tools is simple and clear. But I imagine he didn’t get the traditional swallow tats on his chest each time rounding the Cape... as he was quite proper. Encountering indigenous peoples and expanding the realm was considered a noble cause at the time and he was among the noblest, as you so eloquently show us in this piece.

While his end and honor in Hawaii seems gory by today’s standards, your portrayal brings the truth to us. He was honored as a God there and, on after three trips circumnavigating the planet, I’m sure he’s honored on a plaque in East London, Australia, New Zealand, along the St. Lawrence River, Tahiti, Africa, and now in your wonderful piece.

Thanks for sharing.
Peace brother,
papaed

Author's Reply:
I'm pleased you liked the tribute. I think he was truly remarkable as well. His men generally didn't die of scurvy and he flooged far fewer than anyone else. Thanks for reading, papaed.

Jolen on 16-01-2011
Afoot The Sea (Edit thanks to e-griff)
What happened to the piece on Goya?

Author's Reply:
I sent it to a journal, so I can't have it posted for now. Fingers crossed.


Bows Forged (posted on: 13-03-09)
Thanks to Nicoletta and Nicky for the edit.

Bows forged in the mind, Lance hearts within hearts: One who lives and One who is . Arrows to the string attached in the sender's thought fly straight. The twisted tip rips through the heart At an invisible distance from the start. I suppose the centre never really moves: It is solely you and you and you. The target is keenly wrapped, carefully cued; The patient archer waits before he shoots. The oddest thing of all is the sum, The killer and the kill are one.
Archived comments for Bows Forged

No comments archives found!
Pure (posted on: 25-08-08)
The perspective pulls back further and further into the past. The first stanza is a portrait of Jim Morrison, the second J.S. Bach, and the third is a take on Homer. It finishes with a glimpse of the world of pre-history.

Pure drama at the microphone, Intelligence set against the masses. A youth released freehold dreams. Conditions are never quite what they seem. Within an order balanced within the state, A youth laboured at the structure of the fugue. The world of sound thread across a wound, Animated most soothing, seamless, healing parts. Chanted over a rhythmic, ancient instrument, Language that shaped a vivid dream. A youth tuned it so to conquer time, Ushered in the blossoming of belief. Back, back to the original fire on an arid plain, Gaze into the heart of a fleeting, flickering, life-giving flame.
Archived comments for Pure
artisus on 25-08-2008
Pure
I really really like this one Ross. Great read in my opinion.
cheers

Author's Reply:
10. I'm rather surprised. It's a little ditty on art. If you think it's good, I'm very pleased however. It folds out quite a bit. Ross.

sirat on 26-08-2008
Pure
I like that phrase 'It folds out quite a bit'. I must use it myself some time. That's exactly what I aim at in my short stories. True in this case also. Works for people who don't do poetry.

Author's Reply:
That's an important aspect of what is not said but implied I suppose. Short stories. Always liked the way Salinger deftly created characters in 'Nine Stories'. He was just a kid, but he had that gift to reveal an inner world in dramatic form. Ross.

Sunken on 26-08-2008
Pure
Good to see you posting again, Mr. Rosco. That Homer Simpson has a lot to answer for (someone had to say it). Well done on the nib.

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somewhere beyond the failed horizon

Author's Reply:
Thanks, Sunken. I'm very fond of Homer Simpson. That show is one of the high water marks in contemporary American culture such as it is. You can actually meet these characters if you ever have the inclination to travel across 50 states on a Greyhound bus. I should try to write something regarding them. Hope you are well and tanned inside and out.

Jolen on 28-08-2008
Pure
Woooooo hooooooooo look at you go! Great to see this one nibbed, Ross. Certainly it is deserving. The last verse and couplet are my favorite parts.

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
Thanks Jolen. I was pleasantly surprised.

sybarite on 05-01-2011
Pure
Language that shaped a vivid dream. -- wonderful line.
Your first line captures Mr. Morrison quite perfectly. A most enjoyable read backwards through time.

Author's Reply:
Thanks. Abstraction often gets the better of me.


I Wanted (posted on: 13-06-08)
I'll be marching through the morning, Marching through the night, Moving cross the borders Of my secret life. Leonard Cohen

I wanted to say what words I may To elucidate the placid doldrums of my ways. The territory that I have to till Is untouched by human hand or will. So much crystallized in a heart exposed, What I could preserve I garner for a role. The space we have to be, with or without a name Orbits in a planetary system of blame. I identify with one or another in its course. Many are trained, groomed and fed, pick a thoroughbred. I never nourished a single seed from inception, Held it to the sun in its head-turning days. My secret life never manifold, glimpsed not ever told. I know one radiant song, how its peerless melody unfolds. Might I merge with the heedless world, Love a woman till our twinning takes flight. Separated from the core, set free somehow, I could float toward an acrobatic hand no doubt: It is not the miss I fear, no not a perpetual freefall. The fear is in the true success of the enterprise, A world with permanent boundaries to legitimize Who I am, how I live, the tenets of the limitless. I perpetuated a guise framed by my own thoughts, Inclinations, predispositions and dreams. The first act shapes the last it seems. I am assured the world fathomless is mapped in love, A river runs below a treacherous governance. Such rules I learned flow to an ever-approaching abyss. The deathbed and birthing room appear in my dreams. I know expectations are not what they seem. Daily messages passed from a secret inner room. I turn back in dread, look ahead in fear. Childhood is on fire, who can locate the negative? A one dimensional reel with a worn-out soundtrack. Let it run once more, observe the burning play. It will disprove the claims of the Roman calendar As just another mode of the infinitely tabular. I feel my throat scorched from the conflagration. If only I could run out, escape a foul-smelling tale, Enter the field where the impulse to live takes root, Where ancestors dance above their pitiful graves, A life force erupts from a few flowering days.
Archived comments for I Wanted
Munster on 13-06-2008
I Wanted
Really enjoyed the poem.
Tony

Author's Reply:
Thanks, Tony. This is a cumulative work. It pulls together quite a bit of what I've been thinking about for a long time.

Sunken on 14-06-2008
I Wanted
One comment, Mr. Rosco? )-: A very involved and richly worded piece too. I blame... I don't know what to blame. Enjoyed the read. Again, it's one of those that needs time to sink in (especially for a sunk). I shall doubtless return to it. Good to see you posting again.

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coco pops 4 - frosties 4

Author's Reply:
Thanks again for the interview, Sunken. Yes, this is rich and freighted. Really freighted. It's an important piece for me. Thanks, Ross.

littleditty on 23-06-2008
I Wanted
really interesting to read and beautifully written , middle verse especially, the opening two lines nice invitation to listen, and closing line - now there's a line to start a poem from too! Liked to read this one Ross, its needed a few reads, now each line wants a conversation -how far from New York are you?! I'm going to pop this in my favourites like an organised person, a big poem to come back to xx

Author's Reply:
This is an explanation to myself which accounts for its length and turgid quality. It's getting into new waters and for that I'm grateful. Toronto is 8hours from N.Y.C by car. Thanks, Ross.


Cancer (posted on: 31-03-08)
Unendowed with wealth or pity, Little birds with scarlet legs, Sitting on their speckled eggs, Eye each flu-infected city. W.H. Auden

The river bed is dry, the channel seasonal, Along the banks the buzzing of flies. The dryness of the season bodes no portent, Nor the hum of machinery within lofty spires. Torrential rains have come, tornados spun Destruction in the seeded, fertile lands. The high priestess who administers Will allow the strictly appointed to pass. Rivers overflow, sweeping markers; Boundaries lost in the breaking of levies, While winds roar down the skulls of hatchlings. The remainder flee the scene, lacking documentation: Their passports show tiny, uncomprehending faces. Tarot series
Archived comments for Cancer
artisus on 31-03-2008
Cancer
magnificently vindictive. well done! and congratulations Mr April! 😀

Author's Reply:
And April is poetry month over here! Quite lovely. I had a couple of living voodoo dolls who are swift, smooth and near for this one. Thanks to art is us.

Sunken on 01-04-2008
Cancer
Another tip top piece, in my sunken opinion. You flow like cough syrup... I could have phrased that better. I blame the moon.

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Author's Reply:
I think the communist beagle was attracted by the questionable documentation issue toward the end. Thanks Sunken, Ross.


Simply This (posted on: 24-03-08)


I Will Have To Circumstances being what they are, she said, I will have to discover how to be discovered. Fruition in a distant orchard Will come if the time is right. But to disappear without a trace, Meaning so little to the world, And yet so much to me, is hard to bear. Even the ideal apple conceived, Satisfying Dorian thought, Can come to naught but for the one Loved by some other power from afar. Simple majesty, hidden grief and latent faith Erect the ladder to the meeting with Adam's fate. Blindfolded Blindfolded maiden under a blackening sky, Swords unused, uncertainty climbs The tower above warring factions: Inner and outer realms, ideals and fractions, Her true nature visible in the distance. Held hostage in a windowless structure Unfit to house a matching love. Tiniest seeds take root, evolve Outside the magic circle of the father; Lovers entwined in Solomon's ancient house Whose silent fruit blooms secretly inside the self. No cherubs dot this landscape, no bespectacled patriarchs; Her love contains all she seeks, Cutting loose the blindfold of a lucid dream.
Archived comments for Simply This
littleditty on 24-03-2008
Simply This
That blindfolded one, hang about -i reckon...hm...i'm coming back here to this page Rosco -straight after a cuppa - now...what's that other one doing?.....will read when i get my head together, or perhaps just before.... - 2nd one is brilliant .

Author's Reply:
I'm really pleased you like the second one. It's the portrait I said I'd try. I'm having fun. It fits? I hope so.

Jolen on 24-03-2008
Simply This
I enjoyed the clever wording of each poem. The first is highly suggestive of someone who needs to be seen but remains hidden.
The second seems to be more about someone hiding from what they see. Clever work at any rate and a complete joy to read this early morning.

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
Yes, that interpretation is very good. The second is a tarot reading/Judaic take on a female Gemini. Kind of you to read such dense material so early. Ross.

artisus on 25-03-2008
Simply This
nice edit as i said, the meaning is almost weirder now! amazing..

avoid T-reading, it's the work of the D-creature.

Author's Reply:
The edit was most helpful. I have one more to do. I tend not to think about where I'm going, I just go. For some reason, I'm into the 18th cnetury right now. It's something about the rationalism and the burial of 'I'.

littleditty on 26-03-2008
Simply This
These are both brilliant - have you seen the pic of the 3 of swords?

Author's Reply:
Yes, it's a beautiful one certainly. In the second poem, I was working with the 8,9 and 10 of swords in additon to the knight.

Sunken on 27-03-2008
Simply This
'cutting loose the blindfold of a lucid dream' - Now that's a climactic line! Tidy and no mistake. Well done on the nom.

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over my shoulder goes frank

Author's Reply:
I guess that must be the most sublimated line ever. Thanks for your support.

littleditty on 28-03-2008
Simply This
Moon, 2,5,7 - warning of betrayal - 'three daggers in a heart', poem is at littledittyabc, with Shakespeare -weird xx add Othello quote on Moon...

Author's Reply:
I see. I'm going to check. Thanks, Ross.


The Reading (posted on: 10-03-08)
This poem is based on an idiosyncratic reading of the Waite-Rider Tarot deck for the astrological signs of Libra, Virgo, Pisces, and Capricorn respectively.

The Empress Speaks Vital energies pool in you, Dammed in the borderlands: What you know and what you knew, Just beneath the guiding hand. The waistline of the Empress Draws the magic, irresistible. She stands alone, invisible in the distance, Birds speak, clouds trail her magnificence. Dream-like clarity is a gift, Dragging perception and conjecture; What is still unknown in a persistent mist. Two keen swords cross her stature, Uncross them, no longer resist: Released into a still-eyed rapture. The Hermit Stumbles Upon Searching with a lantern for an honest man, Under every rock, between blades of grass, The missing key is buried in this land; Time passes slowly on the uphill grade. Keep the falcon hooded, very well-trained, It answers your call, rounding back again To an elegant lady in a flowing robe. At your feet, the three-headed dog yelps For what was, is, and will be. Even our faults fertilize the fields, Labour alone cannot grant the yield. A single cubic centimetre of chance Unfolds from the crystal Cabinet A lightening rod and death's starry dance. The Moon Living in a world of lunar light, Navigating the X-ray terrain alone, Everything in relief, fragmented, in flight. Coming and going, driven, barely contained. Matched to anguish in all its height, You cleanly drew out the pain. Who knows what it cost you here, Denied, defied, abused, without compare. A Cartesian framework rested below, In the shadow of all your fears. When dawn broke, the never-ending mystery flowed Beyond even the art of the Aztec's gold. A majesty of purpose, imaginative grace, Ownership of all here can know. The Devil Past every warning sign she goes Down in the dungeon of the mind, The entrance is concealed with rhyme. Those hidden things never told; Fiery gates circled by hell's fold. Yet shafts of light kill a vampire cold: Warmth and radiance give a chance, An orphan child gains form and colour. She spins in a figure eight like a dance, Two wands suggest all counterparts: At the centre of the world she awaited The Wedding of want and need to start. Only a bloodied queen can sit atop a throne Assured of a rose in a desert of broken stone.
Archived comments for The Reading
Sunken on 10-03-2008
The Reading
Blimey. You make me wish I had a brain, Mr. Rosco. You could easily have posted these as four separate subs. 'The hermit stumbles upon' and 'The moon' are my faves. Crap comment I know. I blame various vitamin deficiencies. I am working on replenishing said vits and hope to include words with more than four syllables in future comments. Nice one Rosco, or should I say 'Nice four.'

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he sleeps diagonally

Author's Reply:
Nicoletta suggested they could be broken into four as well. The Hermit is mine, and the Moon is my partner's. The decks are cool. Thanks for this. Ross.

Jolen on 12-03-2008
The Reading
Even without knowing who the cards represent, each one stands on it's own legs very well. You have beautiful lines in each and the whole is delicious. Very fine work.

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
I really appreciate your loyalty as a reader these last years. It's meant alot. I was very pleased you were so adept in the tarot. I'm quite excited about it. Thanks for being there and so supportive. Ross.

Gee on 15-03-2008
The Reading
As a Libran, I had to come and read this and I'm very glad I did.
As already said, you have some wonderful lines in this work and each one has a particular atmosphere. Of all of them, I would have to say my favourite is The Moon.
Very nicely done indeed.

Author's Reply:
Thank you, very much. It was an experiment and it's helped me get more involved with the imagery. Glad it works alright.

artisus on 22-03-2008
The Reading
all poems are good and carefully written, which makes them equally powerful.


Author's Reply:
I need a system now my imagination begins to fail. I put in the nails and cut the wood. I like the pictures and let the cards speak. Glad you like it. It keeps my interest. I'll post my Gemini one for you and someone else we met in this carnation.


Attend (posted on: 04-01-08)
To Jolen Casper on her birthday. This is the generation of that great Leviathan, or rather, to speak more reverently, of that mortal god to which we owe, under the immortal God, our peace and defense. Thomas Hobbes

Attend for architecture of sound, A structure with no frame except in thought, Encompassing more than we can hear, see or feel, Subsuming who we are and ever have been. Let not heavy lust nor strict pleasure nor fairy sweetness Round the theatre of ordered sound and symmetrical music; Neither a model of fair reason across an arid plain, Nor the dictatorship of ear and eye: Addiction to the lengthening willowy words of Latin-flavoured Saxon, Sworn sovereignty to the Protestant gaze: A plunging neckline, a flea magnified, the constellations of the stars. But what heart can resurrect this life, this death? Might it be for you to draw on all inclinations, And flood a majestic acoustics with unifying light: A Leviathan in ermine is now England's possession.
Archived comments for Attend
Jolen on 04-01-2008
Attend
Dear Ross:
Once again, you've rendered me speechless! This is amazing and I thank you so much for it. You're a talent of gigantic persuasion.

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
Dominique thinks it's too sombre and lacking in life-affiirming sentiment to be a birthday poem. However, I know you enjoy a little admonishment, shall we say, once in a while, as long as it's delivered by the right company with the appropriate courtesy to end.

Jolen on 05-01-2008
Attend
Yes, you're quite right. With a bit of proper admonishment and a crop, I'm wet...er, I mean, set! lol.
Thanks, Ross!

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the favourite, Jolen. It's a quintet now if you include 'Locale'.

Sunken on 05-01-2008
Attend
Nice one Mr. Rosco. Happy birthday to Ms. Jolen, wherever she may be. Am I belated?

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powered by oxtail soup

Author's Reply:
It's January 3rd I believe. Thanks for dropping in, sir.


I Must Protest (posted on: 02-11-07)
Ding dong the witch is dead. The Wizard of Oz

I must protest beloved friend Though all my worldly goods are wearing thin; Much of what you think and beatifically envision Is not in keeping with the season. These times are rich and full of witty guile For a very small percentage of a very self-appointed few. Only atheism has any real vigour left, Admirable flexibility in its outer extremities. The rest has taken a depreciating turn For garter belt-loving priests, market-savvy rabbis, And other growths that cataract the inner eye. Not much more need be said: Art and Science will always clothe this year's man, Robes and shawls encased in storm-proof mothballs.
Archived comments for I Must Protest
Jolen on 02-11-2007
I Must Protest
Hi Ross:

I think that you're right, the beauty of simple faith has long been on the decline and corrupted by many. Some of the lines here are powerful as all get out.
The last 5 especially.

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
Writing something funny is hard. It's got a big spin alright, but you know, storm-proof mothballs and growths cataracting the inner eye is just outrageous. Kind of you to say there is power as well. Perhaps len might like this. Cheers, Ross.

artisus on 03-11-2007
I Must Protest
that cataract the inner eye

yes, one of the first symptoms is losing one's sense of humour and trying to become satirical in an unsuccessful way attracting only those who also lost their sense of humour (perhaps not for the same reason) and are desperate to find something to laugh about or at or to laugh down others whose inner eye may or may not suffer from the same symptom.

well this poem is good news for you, because your inner eye is okay. i didn't laugh - taste, not cataract.

Author's Reply:
Thanks, Ross.

e-griff on 03-11-2007
I Must Protest
A smooth and expressive piece. I particularly liked 'cataract the inner eye' with cataract as a verb. JohnG

Author's Reply:
I like that line too. I'm pleased you enjoyed it. Thanks, Ross.


TO DOROTHY (posted on: 09-06-06)
Wiki.The Wizard of Oz

I We Met in Oz It was as if you held everything in your words No man could be expected to pursue The unholy enterprise of integrating and renaming What has been known only scantily and in moments Beyond the still fragments Littering this life. Whether your industrious world Backs up right to your heart country Or you laze in the dreams of impulse: Dorothy it is you we court. We met in Oz or was it earlier: Paradise is not discovered. It resides in birth and before Where pools form after the emptying rain. Our eyes open in it As if in memory. II Straw Man A boyish eager grin and eyes Cleansed of sin. I can't imagine you lacked the faith Necessary to believe. It was part of your unhindered nature Except you lacked a brain Which disqualified you from life, That is, what passes for it. Where it might get you is anybody's guess. You already hold pride of place For Dorothy on the golden path. You come apart so easily In the heat of battle or a fiery threat. Such glibness, utterly disarming Would launch easily into a marching song Or a matinee satire of what's right and wrong. III Tin Man You are second on the road. Not so kind to the touch of man or dog. I suppose brandishing a weapon Meant more to you than your admirers. We finally oiled you into speech To learn your heart was just not in it. It would be harder as flesh and blood, To survive as organic matter Except the light of the world Can't shine within without a heart. The beating of all we are in time, Bearing with all that does not rhyme. It is just an opportunity to realize The fences of a garden hold a gate. It works that way on the earth However circular our dogged fate. IV The Lion Rage all inward to him, The outside a mere reflection. What can measure unhappiness? It is not bound except by sin. You cannot imagine a body of remorse --more hideous than what consumes it Burn down the narrow gates of fear, Let the larger world embrace you: Not love of man or woman, Not the sanctified peace of heaven, Rather the meeting of self with hope unbound So fears burn with time to past. Performance mattered so With the pestilence of critical reflection In prison yards and the empty theatres The brazen heart is gradually invested. V The Wizard You who held the keys to it all, What buffoonery for the many. Slide your fingers along the levers, The mechanical world is so very clever. Men of high degree and moral turpitude, Lovers in their various positions, Trace the path of the mortal compass. All of that is mere reflection. You know as well as I It's not a matter of hand or eye. What courses in the heart and loins May by chance be randomly conjoined. Such mathematical puzzles with awkward pieces Confuse the mind and waste the spirit. Not all is known, not all regret. The Mighty Oz has spoken.
Archived comments for TO DOROTHY
Jolen on 09-06-2006
TO DOROTHY
Dearest Ross;
As you know, I think you have a masterpiece of work here, where one can be swept away in the twister of thoughts and images as well as follow that yellow brick road to outer space. I love this introspective, and intelligent work. I think this has just moved you to superstar staus among poets. In my opinion anyway.

Blessings,
Jolen *clicking her heels together, muttering "there's no place like home" *

Author's Reply:
I hope a few people know this thing. It's a kind of Brodsky treatment. You don't match the witches in this one, do you, Dorothy? It's a masterpiece for me i.e. my best work. Thanks, J.C.

Abel on 09-06-2006
TO DOROTHY
Brilliant piece of work, Ross. Many layered, flowing, it keeps one reading right to the end. Well done!!!

Ward

Author's Reply:
It's weird how it came about. I heard the German Durs Grunbein read at the Griffen Prize. He and his translator Michael Hoffmann were on about the genius of Brodsky. I went back to A Part of Speech and reread Lullaby of Cape Cod which they both admire. I took a run at it and got a little way up that hill. I figured some of those born north of the Mexican border between Eisenhower and Nixon might enjoy it. Thanks, Ross.

Jolen on 09-06-2006
TO DOROTHY
My congrats on the nib Ross,if there's ever been a piece worthy, this is it!!! Way to go Wiz!

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
I'm very happy about it. Thanks very much, Jolen.

len on 10-06-2006
TO DOROTHY
This is truly an impressive piece of literature, Ross. So well thought out and executed..Great stuff, pal...len

Author's Reply:
Thanks for finding it here, len. It's maybe a little Russian for an American fantasy, but heh, all's fair. Salmon Rushdie has written on it amongst others so it bears scrutiny. I'm glad the Americans are seeing this since we had to watch it every year. Cheers, Ross.

karenuk on 01-07-2006
TO DOROTHY
Unusual and clever poem. Interesting use of The Wizard of Oz characters too.

Author's Reply:
It's postmodern in a way. I'm glad you liked it. A child and adult have such different ways of responding to odd people in technicolour.

reckless on 04-11-2006
TO DOROTHY
I'm very impressed with this, and I like it very much. i find it thoughtful and intelligently written. I need to re-read a few more times, and I will. I've got arounf to reading a few of your poems, and it seems I've found a treasure trove. Looked at a few on your blogsite too, different to what is here, or so I thought. Hope to lerave a more considered comment in due course. Am enjoying your stuff.

Author's Reply:
That's kind of you. I've been working elsewhere on the net so I'm not here much. Enjoy the work.


I Love to Watch (posted on: 22-05-06)


I love to watch from off the side; In profile others' lives are lived. You can observe much of what happens next: It's obvious who does what to whom. The details have a kind of aesthetic whole. You can't really bind them up; It somehow doesn't matter all that much. Even tragedy has a distant shape we necessarily know. What happens to others than ourselves we come to neatly understand and carelessly believe as Jack the Ripper's run or the fulfilment of the latest genocide. You know how it is from your designated corner. I have a life that is much like that; Few are better suited to peering through the microscope than glancing at an intercontinental guide.
Archived comments for I Love to Watch
Jolen on 26-05-2006
I Love to Watch
I cannot believe this has no comments. What is wrong with people? Are we the only voyeurs?? LOL. You know this is a well constructed bit of realism; your work always moves me. I wish I could step away this way.

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
They're all voyeurs. I like to be alone in my room and I love a wind swept coast:

My dreams are made of iron and steel
With a big bouquet
Of roses hanging down
From the heavens to the ground.

The crashing waves roll over me
As I stand upon the sand
Wait for you to come
And grab hold of my hand.

Dylan

Jolen on 26-05-2006
I Love to Watch
I'll be right there, with bells on.. of course,that's all I'm wearing.;o)

Author's Reply:
I'm glad you're here or I might start masturbating in this forlorn place. Maybe Sunken will see that line.

eddiesolo on 26-05-2006
I Love to Watch
Jolen's right, this should have had far more comments.

Nice piece.

I think your spot on with this that we all tend to watch from the edge.

Take care.

Si:-)

Author's Reply:

Sunken on 26-05-2006
I Love to Watch
...did someone mention wanking?

I blame the lack of response on the following -

The uk's lamentable 19th position in the eurovision song contest.

A summer that resembles concrete.

and...

a dodgy lock on my toilet door that has seen me trapped for almost two whole days with only water and toothpaste for sustenance.

I hope this helps. Please accept a ten.

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in charge of tipex



Author's Reply:
I'm glad you showed up. I was about to get down to it. I heard some extras from Lord of the Rings won that Eurovision thing. Perhaps they mutilated some of the other contestants. If you're out of the toilet, I hope you can rent Rear Window by Hitchcock if you haven't already seen it. Enjoy the spring and the new born scenery. Thanks, Ross.

Jolen on 26-05-2006
I Love to Watch
Congrats on the Nib!! Your work always deserves one. I'm pleased to see the nib faeries agreed!!!

Author's Reply:
Thanks Ms. Jolen. I think your poem Aftershock is far more courageous and telling though. There is a price for writing like that as well as the emotional experience itself. It takes on a greater reality in case that hasn't crystalized as yet. Fly by in my dreams sometime. Ross.

Lare on 29-05-2006
I Love to Watch
Hi Rosco...this is such a good write...I'm afraid I, too, find myself on the sidelines at times...observing...judging...you have captured the mood perfectly with this one...and most well deserving of the nib...this deserves 2 nibs...

I wrote a piece a while back and have posted it here "Her Eyes Told Me"...this was my lesson in observing life that I will never forget...I hope you will take a moment to read/comment on it...

Lare

Author's Reply:
I tend to make philosophical statements, but I like to do portraits as well. I love the feeling of time slowing down and thought expanding. I'll go to your poem. Thanks, Ross.


I Fell In Love (Suggestions by e-griff) (posted on: 05-05-06)
You were so fine, Clark Gable would have fell at your feet And laid his life on the line. Robert Zimmerman

You can fall in love with something you cannot see if attention has no bodily intervention, Completely doting on mutual needs. There is nothing coming between: Brilliant figments in an esoteric vision. Yet chastened, cooled, and drawn slowing out, Mainlining the sudden birth of expectations. Hallways empty of distractions ever after. One man, one woman refracted in time; Colors play and mingle in the awakened mind. Perhaps we need not even be alive. This world will certainly collapse around us, Each searching out our non-existent shade.
Archived comments for I Fell In Love (Suggestions by e-griff)
Sunken on 05-05-2006
I Fell In Love
Young Rossco, please sit in that chair properly! I fear for your spine in later life. You could also fall and bang your head. I'm only thinking of you. Nice poem - crap comment. Well done.

s
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n
k
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looking up love in the dictionary

Author's Reply:
My spine is a significant problem. It wobbles and I am brain damaged. I'm off to read you now. Nice to see you.

Jolen on 05-05-2006
I Fell In Love
Dearest Ross:
Thank you for sharing this piece.. As you know, I enjoyed it a great deal. I think you have made some very interesting observations within this piece. I loved the last line...But there are others that touch me deeply.. Here is the bit that totally yanked my head back:
"There is just not anything coming between:
Brilliant figments in an erotic dream.
Yet chastened, cooled, and drawn slowing out,
Mainlining the sudden birth of expectations.
Hallways empty of distractions ever after.
One man, one woman refracted in time;
Colors play and mingle in the corridors of the mind."

Brilliant.IMO.
blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
You were bathing in the adoration over there at CP, so I felt I needed to jerk your chain. Time to put on your sackcloth and commence the flagellation. Pour the ice tea, will you? Thank you for mopping my brow.

Jolen on 05-05-2006
I Fell In Love
LMAO.. And this Ross, is why I love you..One of the reasons, anyway. Yes, I get enough ass kissing.. Thanks for not being one of the kissers. I will be happy to pour the tea, and you are always welcome for me mopping your brow. Now, about that flagellation thing.. ;o)

Author's Reply:
I hope Corin hasn't caught me. You and flagellation.... It's always too late when I've written those things and I suffer a kind of heated innocence in consequence.

Apolloneia on 06-05-2006
I Fell In Love
As I told you already, I think you should say "Brilliant figments of an erotic esoterism." I liked your poem very much. Will read it again. Cheers!

Author's Reply:

e-griff on 09-05-2006
I Fell In Love (Edit thanks to Nicoletta)
Hmmm, for me 'erotic esoterism' doesn't read that well - try saying it out loud. The sentiment may be deeper, but the sound of the word doesn't flow particularly well with the ero/eso/eri close together, and the different sound of the 'e' in each and the short and long 'o' jars a bit. The change does avoid the (presumably accidental) rhyme of dream and between, which is noticeable in a non-rhyming poem, (although you have an internal one in attention/intervention) but I think a different word selection for either would improve it (you could always reverse it and use 'esoteric xxxxxxxx'

I found the line 'There is just not anything coming between:' to be overwordy, it could be reduced, even to 'there is nothing in between' as a minimalist option.

'in the corridors of the mind.' I found a bit clicheed.
and :
Forever searching our non-existent shadow - this is the big punch line of the poem. who (or what) is searching ? if its 'us' why is shadow singular?, if its both, maybe it should be 'each searching ... but I'm not sure the concept of searching for a non-existent shadow bangs home any meaning to me above being a nice individual concept - but then,maybe I'm missing it anyaway.

Those are smll picks, I enjoyed the poem overall, nice thoughts and sounds. I'm just in an analytical mood, forgive me! 🙂 best JohnG



Author's Reply:
Thanks John. I tried to do something with it. Ross

Abel on 11-05-2006
I Fell In Love (Suggestions by e-griff)
Very fine work, Ross. Well done!

Ward

Author's Reply:
Hi Ward. I'm glad you like it. I've been trying to reword it. It seems to work better. thanks

e-griff on 11-05-2006
I Fell In Love (Suggestions by e-griff)
well, its very nice of you to take up my comments. (10 poets will tell you ten different stories! 🙂 )

I vow to keep my mouth shut after this BUT I MUST say. ... I think you need something after 'searching' in the last line, such as 'for' or 'out'.....

end! good poem.....................

Author's Reply:
Thanks very much. You've helped me out. They're often blueprints anway. I don't hold them close to my heart like a young person sometimes does. I think it's quite improved. You're obviously an exprienced editor. I think you can take some of the credit for that Nib. Cheers, Ross.

littleditty on 12-05-2006
I Fell In Love (Suggestions by e-griff)
really like this one - ive been re reading some of yours - glad this one finally got its nib because i have run out of mosquitoes to squash against the screen. (i just read it backwards, last line first, i do such things with poems that have great stand alone lines...interesting little difference) And this is why i dont comment as much as i would like to - mosquitoes and reading backwards -i mean, what kind of a comment is this? Sorry. I liked it - and that other one, Kafka one -superb - thought it a shame that the person who will burn mine, won't be able to delete my comments too - oh well...this comment was brought to you by jet lag and the sound of the sea - i expect my non existent shade to catch up with me soon and all will be as well as can be expected...i did think:
Yet chastened, cooled, and drawn out slowly,
Mainlining the sudden birth of expectations....but i guess you thought about that already! More poetry your way. 'Mainlining' is injecting drug into the vein, innit?.....Love asks something of the Future, not that it matters much, the Future replies. (anyway and etc) - is a glum poem i started somewhere, to become more optimistic - and now i must stop making little sense, feel free to Tipex over this comment as, before i do, i shall press the button. Very good new poems Ross xxxlittledotty x

Author's Reply:
I'm glad you're reading as well as adventuring. I hope those are the waters of the Aegean. I'm glad you like my mind because my life is played out. I'd like to write something delicate and exotic. I must say you have been writing very well yourself. Maybe we're mainlining a mutual fix known to us both. Thanks for reading, Ross.


Glass-Blowing(Edit) (posted on: 07-04-06)


Spin the glass in air. From hearty lungs blow out your cheeks, And fashion something fine from toil and precision. Some form well-defined, Clearly shaped by love, And finished by a lingering mind. When old, blow out your cares having followed the trail of work, Harder and harder to find in a world of automatic days. What remains of us, But something hard to define, Clearly shaped by love, And finished by a lingering in time.
Archived comments for Glass-Blowing(Edit)
Apolloneia on 07-04-2006
Glass-Blowing
I like the idea behind this poem, but I think it needs a lot of editing. Perhaps it shouldn't be so laconic, and perhaps you should let it 'expand' somehow.

Author's Reply:
I'll think about it. I wrote it a long time ago. It's not fresh.
Thanks for the prod. I was able to do something. Best of luck with your plans.


An Idle Mind (posted on: 17-03-06)
(for Leila)

Do men even have a face? Humanity retreats to its biological nest victimized by the breadth of hormonal drives. A woman in England still stitching the web of dreams started by Rossetti. Each word awakened in a formation has taken its true direction home. If only we could locate ourselves out from the walls of cellular division, The consequences imposed by time. It should be simple enough, The cobwebs of mythology torn aside. Would a master thief crack the Crown Jewels, Adorn some deserving woman for a day.
Archived comments for An Idle Mind
Apolloneia on 17-03-2006
An Idle Mind
A very strong poem Ross, wouldn't change a thing. Well done.

Author's Reply:
I'd been thinking about the crown being worn by different woman in a mall where only the wind visits. I wonder how it would sit and if they could bear it with dignity. Leila's latest work made me think it might be so. I was able to garb it with her working methods and my own doomsday predilections. I'm glad you liked it. I think it's a bit of a bull's-eye if I do say so. She reminded me of what a poetic sensibility really is. 9. Wow! Thanks. This better be criterion-referenced rather than norm-referenced or I'll shoot myself.

Rosco on 17-03-2006
An Idle Mind
I'd been thinking about the crown being worn by different woman in a mall where only the wind visits. I wonder how it would sit and if they could bear it with dignity. Leila's latest work made me think it might be so. I was able to garb it with her working methods and my own doomsday predilections. I'm glad you liked it. I think it's a bit of a bull's-eye if I do say so. She reminded me of what a poetic sensibility really is. 9. Wow! Thanks. This better be criterion-referenced rather than norm-referenced or I'll shoot myself.

Author's Reply:

Leila on 17-03-2006
An Idle Mind
Ross I am deeply honoured by your dedication of this poem, so beautifully crafted and rich in meaning, Nic is quite right...
...still stitching
the web of dreams started by Rossetti.
Each word awakened in a formation
has taken its true direction home...
perfect. Heartfelt thanks, I am truly moved...Leila

Author's Reply:
Oh great, I'm glad it's fine for you. It just seemed to be right. We all need to be reminded about what is essential in poetry; it's rather like the relation of metaphysics to philosophy. I just wish you were a little bit more prolific. Is that asking too much?

Leila on 19-03-2006
An Idle Mind
Ross I wish I was more prolific too but I am writing though I think I'm under 20 for this year so far. Soon as I finish a little batch I'm happy with they go out to either magazines or comps with fingers crossed. This can however tie them up for months! I just don't seem to be able to get as much time on here as I'd like, there are so many fine poems on here that I've not had time to comment on and I feel both sad and guilty...anyway thanks again, Leila.

Author's Reply:
I'm glad to hear you are sending work out. It's hard to keep track of more than 3 or4 voices at any one time. Don't feel guilty. Twenty is very good!

Sunken on 19-03-2006
An Idle Mind
Well done young Rosco on giving young Leila a 'big up nuff respec in a area'. She thoroughly deserves it, for she is quietly brilliant. A beautiful tribute for a beautiful lady. Well bloody done, from an horrible munky (-;

s
u
n
k
e
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surrendering to twix

Author's Reply:
Always pleased to see you come by. I would agree. I got this right and for the right reasons. I couldn't get time to start again for quite a spell after reading her latest work.

Jolen on 19-03-2006
An Idle Mind
Ross,
I loved this over in the USA and I still do, you still have an uncanny ability to give beautiful voice to someone with the smallest of clues. An impressive piece that I am pleased wasn't edited by anyone else.
Blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
It's a kind of defense. Poetry has wandered too far. Leila is doing something important as far as I'm concerned. Purity. What more need be said? I see you have some pronoun references here which haven't been allocated. As the Irish say, 'There hangs the tale.' Thanks, Ms. Casper for you continued support and in anticipation of the gold medal from the bountiful fairies.

littleditty on 21-03-2006
An Idle Mind
Fantastico Mr Rosco - i notice this doesn't have a great read tag and so i have attempted to squash a mosquito on this screen -i think this is a fine poem, whether i am delirious or not - but i shall check later - back to the hammock and pen and paper, inspired xxxlittledizzy x

Author's Reply:
It pays to have the right friends. That badge just appeared. I thought Jolen was the witch. You're in a hammock over there. Curious. Nice to hear from you.

Abel on 29-03-2006
An Idle Mind
Fascinating piece, Ross, one which I had missed. You are a very, very fine writer. The form and flow are great here.

Ward

Author's Reply:
That`s kind of you Abel. I`ve got to tell you that I've just discovered there are two Americans, alive, I can`t believe it, who are blowing me away. The first, Eric Ormsby(Southern) whose For A Modest God I`m reading and Jack Gilbert(Northern), whose Refuse Heaven has just come out. If you don`t know of these guys check out your library. I`m so relieved there are two people one can mention alongside Frost and Stevens without embarassment. In additon, Goeffrey Hill teaches in Boston and writes like Eliot. He`s equally grand, but I`m not smart enough to appreciate him as much. Sorry, I'm as giddy as a school boy with this discovery. Cheers, Ross.


The Gift (edit by Nicoletta) (posted on: 13-03-06)
Astonishing, for such things should be deep, Rarely exhumable: not in a sleep So light they can awake and occupy An absent mind Philip Larkin

Since the Enlightenment the gift of nationality has been one of the illusions, Reason's mistress, Under the knife as I speak. It's difficult to banish the judge and jury from the hoary artifice of the mind. Notions are laboured on and conclusions refined against setting sail in the spirit to new found land the ownership of which is never in dispute: The majesty of passage can open in a moment, Utterly personal, utterly new, utterly right. There is much to be done, much to strive toward. The bells are tolling at the evening angelus, The spirit longs to rest beneath the setting sun enraptured by the newborn lamb of spring.
Archived comments for The Gift (edit by Nicoletta)
Jolen on 13-03-2006
The Gift
"The universal order and the personal order are nothing but different expressions and manifestations of a common underlying principle."

Grab a clean toga, and lets roast marshmallows while Rome burns..

Jolen

Author's Reply:
Yes, I would, except it was the Romans doing the burning. I'm trying to get at something at the personal level which is accessible alright. I would like to roast marshmellows with you under the Dipper.

Transitions on 13-03-2006
The Gift
I like "The majesty of passage can open in a moment," but overall it reads like Tony Blair got even more religious in trying to spin reality his way.

Author's Reply:
I would think you need to be vaguely sympathetic with the desert religions for this come on to work. I like that line too. I do admire Blair's use of language I must say. Fortunately, we're no longer required to support the British war effort.

Apolloneia on 16-03-2006
The Gift
This is powerful and has a very interesting meaning, I don't like the first two lines. I especially like the last two. Do something about it or I will.

Author's Reply:

Apolloneia on 17-03-2006
The Gift
You're probably busy trying to find an exit, so how about:

Since the Enlightenment the gift of nationality
is one of the illusions; one of Reason’s mistresses
which is itself under the knife as I speak.

Keep up the good work!

Author's Reply:
Ok. I'll work on that. I'm taking that 'lazy', colloquial tact of Hardy/Larkin where you start with something slightly crude and try to refine it down. Thanks for the suggestion. I'll see what I can do.


Listen Darkly(thanks to Nicoletta for the edit) (posted on: 03-03-06)
This world cant stand too long, Be ready dont wait too late. You should know it cant stand long For it is too full of hate. Jim Anglin

Listen darkly from among the dead For the spirits that surround you: When everything that crawls no longer preys, And time is stilled in the courtyards of abandoned days. Every living virgin wisely waits, Darkened armies flood the darkling plains. The termination is finally derived, The world established on a new scale, Imploding and perfectly resized. What do the evolutionists say: 'Not more than a million or so of the species today.' What would be necessary to preserve: Nothing comes to mind my love, Except Kafka giving instructions to burn his works.
Archived comments for Listen Darkly(thanks to Nicoletta for the edit)
Jolen on 03-03-2006
Listen Darkly
I am pleased to read this, but I'm in shock that it doesn't have a nib, it sure deserved one, imo. Beautiful work! You have captured so much here. Darkly, and precise. Once again, you show us amateurs how it's done.
blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:

Apolloneia on 06-03-2006
Listen Darkly
hi Ross, i have a problem mainly with the following lines:
The termination is finally derived,
The world implodes and is perfectly resized.
and the one about outgrown bipeds.

wouldn't "the termination is finally achieved" be better?
or
When termination is finally achieved,
The world implodes and is perfectly resized

or
The termination is finally achieved
The world established on a perfect scale,
Imploding and resized again.

I would like to say that you don't need the first AND the last name of Kafka. This is a rather radical edit but maybe you can find something useful:

Listen darkly, from among the dead,
There are spirits that surround you;
When everything that crawls no longer preys,
And time is stilled in the courtyards of abandoned days.
Every living virgin wisely waits,
Darkened armies flood the darkling plains.
The termination is finally achieved,
The world established on a new scale,
Imploding and perfectly resized again.
‘Not more than a million or so of the species today.’
The evolutionists say.
[All the other outgrown bipeds have died out, (which bipeds? I suggest cutting these two lines)
Why shouldn’t we? ]
What would be necessary to preserve?
Nothing comes to mind my love,
Except Franz giving instructions to burn his works.

Cheers,
Nicoletta

Author's Reply:

Apolloneia on 06-03-2006
Listen Darkly
Listen darkly, from among the dead,
There are spirits that surround you;
When everything that crawls no longer preys,
And time is stilled in the courtyards of abandoned days.
Every living virgin wisely waits,
Darkened armies flood the darkling plains.
The termination is finally achieved,
The world established on a new scale,
Imploding and perfectly resized again.
‘Not more than a million or so of the species today.’
The evolutionists say.
What would be necessary to preserve?
Nothing comes to mind my love,
Except Franz giving instructions to burn his works.


Author's Reply:

Apolloneia on 06-03-2006
Listen Darkly
sorry I like rating. and I'm pretty sick of meaningless tens. I hope my friends understand me. if you dislike my rating sorry! but if I am to add a valid comment i have to say the truth. otherwise tell to get the hell out of here.

Author's Reply:
That's fine. I think an 8 is rather generous. I have to listen to the music of what you've suggested. It's doesn't send a shiver down my spine the way I would like it too. Perhaps I lost that in both versions. By biped, I mean the other versions of the higher end of the evolutionary process who were either killed by us or died out through more natural processes. I used the word derived because of the mathematical basis of sigificant socail decisions, generally speaking. I thought about just using Kafka which might be better. I just thought it lacked the formality I was after. Thanks for all your suggestions. I'll try to synthesize when I have time. We're striking tomorrow.

Jolen on 07-03-2006
Listen Darkly
I have always maintained that only the artist knows that which they try to convey in any meaningful way. No one else is able to judge what or how a piece will effect another, so to me, if someone believes for them it is a certain 'number' then it is for THEM, a certain number. I loved this piece each time I come back to it, I get more from it. And if that makes me biased, then I can live with that. For as our friend above me states. I too have to tell the truth of what I feel, or get the hell out.. But that doesn't mean that my truth is more true than hers, or visa versa, but it does mean that it's MY truth.
Another one bites the dust,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
Taxi!

Apolloneia on 07-03-2006
Listen Darkly
Hi,
To Jolen: we are quite biased. I've seen it on my work your work and other people's work, of course as you already know I hope, my comment about the meaningless tens has nothing to do with you, you don't give only tens. Generally speaking, is a ten what a friend needs? Or that any member needs? I have asked my friends to rate most of my work with eights or sevens or whatever, just to spoil all four tens, who am I to deserve a ten? What I want is non-anonymous ratings. I'm more oversensitive than you can imagine with anonymous ratings, but it's a risk I'm willing to take because I like ratings. I don't mind if every now and then I get a ten, but not most of the time and I feel the same way about other people's work here. I prefer being as objective as possible. I'm getting less biased, first I see Poetry then my dear friends and my fellow members. Nevertheless I do see that the oversensitve have won, so I dare to be objective with my friends only since like Ross they won't misunderstand me.
To Ross: Good luck with the strike.
Nicoletta

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 07-03-2006
Listen Darkly
It's always a matter of whether it's criterion-based or norm- referenced evaluation. If it's criterion-based then what is the standard upon which you are evaluating, and if it's norm-referenced that what sample of writers on this site does it refer to under what conditions? I would assume the best writers on this site on their best days would account for a full mark. Serious criterion-based evaluation in reference to the highest standards would be too cruel to bear, believe me. In a group setting, it is socially more successful to think of the group and its demonstrated potential and stick to that i.e. norm-referenced grading. It's even gentler to compare one work to other works the one individual has done and avoid referencing within the group. The wider the range of comparison the more stringent the rating. It depends how long you want relationships to last.

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 07-03-2006
Listen Darkly
To me it's just a matter of power. I'm quite satisfied if there is even an echo of power. It seems harder and harder to find works of art that exhibit real power. I like having tea with ladies and doing fingerwork most of the time.

Author's Reply:

Jolen on 11-03-2006
Listen Darkly(thanks to Nicoletta for the edit)
Image hosting by Photobucket

Author's Reply:
Yeah, they're still all asleep. Let's do a Bonnie and Clyde on them. What do you mean by that, me man? Bang, bang, bang. Their hair is gone, their boots are missing, and their imaginative house is trashed by that little yellow guy.

Jolen on 11-03-2006
Listen Darkly(thanks to Nicoletta for the edit)
Isn't that pretty? I do so love the shades of blue. They remind me of your eyes. What? Your eyes aren't blue? Well can't you fix that? I mean really, we do have standards to maintain.
Meaner than snakepiss,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
My piss froze mid air and I'm leaving it here on this site. They're actually green, as in green with envy. Bang, bang, bang. The higher moral order. Bang, bang, bang. I'm doing it for Queen and country you little rag weed. Out of my way. It must be done by morning. It won't be my first restraining order. Bang, bang, bang.

Jolen on 11-03-2006
Listen Darkly(thanks to Nicoletta for the edit)
oh the mighty winds of woe do blow.
Now, where's that damn wolf who thought to battle this witch?
I'm feeling low down and mean and my trigger finger is starting to twitch.

Author's Reply:
Bang, bang, bang. He's done.

Jolen on 11-03-2006
Listen Darkly(thanks to Nicoletta for the edit)
Don't leave, give me two shakes, I have something special for you

Author's Reply:
I have to say goodbye to this veil of tears or bring it down on some sleeping heads before dawn breaks, Juliet.

Jolen on 11-03-2006
Listen Darkly(thanks to Nicoletta for the edit)
You asked for it, I gave it. Tell me I don't have magick?
Image hosting by Photobucket

Author's Reply:

Jolen on 11-03-2006
Listen Darkly(thanks to Nicoletta for the edit)
By the way, the icon in no way reflects my thoughts on this lovely piece. It's only window dressing and I love to go dressed in drag.

Author's Reply:
I was doing fine, Miss, until she fingered me. Now, it's ruined. I'll clean it up and try to do better next time. When I'm all ingrown with hate like I'll wipe the ass of every crapper with that roll.

Jolen on 11-03-2006
Listen Darkly(thanks to Nicoletta for the edit)
And the day was ours alone.
Just he and I and that great big sky.
His hands burned like fire,
my skin reveled in its burning.
A day in pleasure spent,
A night with our hearts yearning.
I touched those muted lips,
two fingers gently pressed.
Please speak no more my love,
I see it in your eyes.
Perhaps I should have run,
But I was not so wise. I held
His body close, my heart was
Beating so, and before he said
a word, I knew he now must go.
Farewell my beautiful prince,
let angels guide your way.
And if good fortune should
come someday.
Come back
to this poor maid, who burns
still with this fire..
Speak softly to me again,
we'll share our every desire.

Author's Reply:

Jolen on 12-03-2006
Listen Darkly(thanks to Nicoletta for the edit)
Anything in any way beautiful derives its beauty from itself and asks nothing beyond itself. Praise is no part of it, for nothing is made worse or better by praise.

Author's Reply:
This is a lovely statement. My guy meter tells me I'd better get out of here. It's way too subtle for us, but something is in the woods and I'm not sure what it is. If I were 16, it would be, 'Heh, I've got these babes following me for writing poetry. Can you believe it?' Now, it's 'what the hell is going to happen next and is there an fire exit secured?'


The Broken Chrysalis (For Jolen Casper on her Birthday) (posted on: 27-01-06)


The mills of Chicago are quiet now. Neighborhoods racially segregated still. Blues howl the back streets to the gated walls of Roman forces. Your chrysalis is finally broken open. Jagged fragments strew the ground. Walk through my queen between worlds, The dead dare not follow you down. Orpheus must not look back for love. There is only one direction in this journey. The great doors are swinging open, Sorrow crawls on the haunted floor. The heart of balance is beating still. The corn waves its stalks in your loneliness. A river god knifes the land under winter skies. Brown rules this continent in a way few understand. Life in death was a pagan notion. January is for daughters of this persuasion. Bountiful of sense and spirit, Brushed in fire on the wintry world. The little dogs bark at feminine heels. The vagrant trees are roaming still. Some things understand better than men the final passing of the dead.
Archived comments for The Broken Chrysalis (For Jolen Casper on her Birthday)
littleditty on 28-01-2006
The Broken Chrysalis (For Jolen Casper on her Birthday)
Hi Rosco -Yup -it's a beautiful poem - a really beautiful poem. Lyrical. A strong, warm poem - very visual, rich run of images - so much about friendship is empathy and i feel this is rich in understanding and good wishes - lovely poem Ross xxxlittleditty x

Author's Reply:
Thanks for visiting me here again. Chicago is a special place. It's not known outside America, but it has quite a history. Jolen is a product of this state. Glad you like'd it.

Jolen on 03-03-2006
The Broken Chrysalis (For Jolen Casper on her Birthday)
Oh Ross,
I didn't know that you posted this here, I am so very touched. Thank you. Gosh, this is beautiful, and I am beyond thrilled by both of the amazing pieces you have done for me. I can't believe this wasn't nibbed as well. Such Incredible work!
blessings and so much respect and gratitude to you.
Jolen

Author's Reply:


Down The Barrel (posted on: 18-11-05)
Audio courtesy of Nicoletta & Dimitris But nothing really matters much, it's doom alone that counts And the one-eyed undertaker, he blows a futile horn. "Come in," she said, "I'll give you shelter from the storm." Robert Zimmerman

Down the barrel of a hunting gun, The birds and the young fell out of the setting sun. That was the Edwardian end of the nineteenth century, We'll simply thin them out differently. I would go out with all that is rare with no allegiance that I cannot spare. The aerodynamics of the birds that always came found their way to the human brain. First it was flight and the boundless terrain, Then disease and a massive human stain. War came before the last time round, Pandemic then war are now mounted on the merry-go-round. The ratios are such that zeros must be added, Depopulation is what the flat-headed know really matters. Whatever type of instruments are used, The record books will be most graphically imbued. Certainty can resume its jagged throne for a triumphant rebirth in the Eastern zone.
Archived comments for Down The Barrel
littleditty on 18-11-2005
Down The Barrel
Very interesting Mr Rosco -i will come back to it and your other one -i am on the hop and dash so i will sneak a print of each to read on my wanderings -always searching for the next internet connection -so until next time, don't catch cold - is it all icy up there already? xxxlittleditty x

Author's Reply:
It's 0 degrees Celsius or 32 Fahrenheit whichever system you're on. The flurries are starting for minutes at a time. That sort of reminds me of this poem and the job Dimitris did on it. He certainly does good work, and did some nice versions of your poems and Nicoletta's as well, this latter day Count Dracula. I heard him talking about Centaurs, so I know. Just kidding. There aren't any castles in Athens. That internet connection is like a fix, no question. By the way, Canadians often go to Mexico to hang out. I have to say I do like your British quality whatever seas you're sailing.

Apolloneia on 20-11-2005
Down The Barrel
Down the barrel of a hunting gun,
The birds and the young fell out of the setting sun.

That was the Edwardian end of the nineteenth century,
We’ll simply thin them out differently.

Amazing opening lines... It's a very rich poem, I felt it was ominous as well and that's how we ended up with this kind of audio. Will read again.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Nicoletta. I don't know what your brother understood, but he certainly raised me up for a fire and brimstone sermon. I appreciate the favourite. It's another rip like 'These Are The Final Days'. You can't read Eliot for 30 years and not let one go once in a while.

Jolen on 20-11-2005
Down The Barrel
Ross,

I think this is one of your strongest writes, your couplets are well rhymed, lending a very powerful and ominous tone throughout. Yes, we are seriously heading toward storms of unequaled proportion..
This verse really speaks true..
"Whatever type of instruments are used,
The record books will be most graphically imbued. "
For no matter what the outcome, the truth will not be well known. The spin doctors have a job, and you can be sure they are doing it, as they have been for so long now.

I loved this and would love to see more work like this. I salute you for this piece. Thank you.

Blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
It's certainly one of my strongest grouses. I really like that puffed up performance it's been given. Unfortunately, pretty well any Dorothy could rip the curtain off me. There's no stage anymore. "Tell him to sit down, will ya?". I should have been a spin doctor. I wasted my talents and my dreams of Malibu. A local kid from Toronto, my generation, made up the term 'Axis of Evil' for Bush and wades in the waters of California as a result. What's wrong with me. I'm at the wrong end of the Empire. I'll accept your salute in lieu of the military one. Very kind of you. I'm glad to see you back.

Apolloneia on 21-11-2005
Down The Barrel
-- I don't know what your brother understood --

My brother insisted on making it industrial, but I chose the effects, I let him do what he wanted with my audio Silver Flash instead. I think I understood very well what you want to say here. This is the line that is responsible for the second sound effect: " That was the Edwardian end of the nineteenth century, " ... I'm sure he is going to create his own version of Down the Barrel. I'll send it to you, industrial or not. It may be more interesting!

Thank you too.

Author's Reply:
Let the boy has some freedom or he's going to get bored and we can't have that. He's too talented. I'm very pleased by what you did here. It's great. This cross-pollination between countries at no cost is really quite unbelievable. It's a testament to the power and use of computers for ordinary people. It's a democratic manifesto from the motherland of democracy. I love what you're doing with performance and technology.

Lare on 01-12-2005
Down The Barrel
Hi Rosco...wow...if this doesn't grab your attention...I don't know what will...very well formed...masterfully written (I really mean that)...nicely woven to present a well thought out piece..."War came before the last time round,
Pandemic then war are now mounted on the merry-go-round." This, for me anyway, was a real grabber...good choice of language. Oh, and don't worry about wasting your talents and dreams of Malibu. We live right around the corner from Malibu...Malibu isn't all it's cracked up to be. I remember when I left my home town of Monterey...man was I hearbroken. But now it's in my rear view mirror...and there are many more Montereys to discover and explore. Anyway...nice job on this one, Rosco...I look forward to reading more of your writings...

Just me, Lare


Author's Reply:
Thanks Lare. That Malibu statement was really just for effect. I know there are far more beautiful and unspoiled spots along that gorgeous coast. I'm glad you are interested in my work.

e-griff on 01-12-2005
Down The Barrel
Audio is almost impossible to decipher. Cut effects and keep it simple. Audio balance is also out of kilter. Less is more, mate.

G

Author's Reply:

Apolloneia on 09-01-2006
Down The Barrel
John, Ross has nothing to do with it. He just liked it.

Audio balance is perfect unless you think that Cubase SL is not reliable.

This is not about reading. This is clearly artistic.

We had to do something and make it uploadable... it was 15 GB.

But I will listen to it one more time to see what exactly is impossible to decipher, okay I have just listened to it.. John, you are wrong.

🙂

Author's Reply:

e-griff on 10-01-2006
Down The Barrel
NO, that was when I was having trouble, until of course I found it was me , sorry, I shouold have come back and said.Imagine after all that build-up, not being able to listen to it.......

Author's Reply:

e-griff on 10-01-2006
Down The Barrel
OK sounded basically good, dramatic, liked the reading and portentous music at back. Didn't like the sybillants. They got in the way of the voice, IMO and made listening, for me, uncomfortable. Sorry G

Author's Reply:
It`s basically a hissing piece. My finest hour was on`Skirt`. I hope you caught it before it was torn down. Glad your system is working. Keep your eye on Turkey.

Apolloneia on 10-01-2006
Down The Barrel
Thanks for listening to it again John. Don't know exactly what 'sybillants' is. They got in the way you say hmm, I believe you're talking about my idea to use some melodramatic singing etc.

You know, this "IMO" people use, most of the time gets in the way for me, and makes my reading, now I won't say uncomfortable, I will say less comfortable than "in my opinion".

thank you again. :-))

Author's Reply:

e-griff on 10-01-2006
Down The Barrel
it's a misspelling of 'sibilants' prob due to haste, and a classical education/imagination ... 🙂

I LIKED the melodromatic singing... it was just the audio balancing on the sibilants that bugged me.

Author's Reply:
The inspiration for this poem is Larkin's MCMXIV. There's no coming back.


The Fall (posted on: 21-10-05)
You owned me

You owned me like I could not. I would masturbate before an image, Such Catholic tendencies. My father mocked me with a crude imitation demanded by my mother as a kind of fun house mirror for innocent sexual exploration disfigured by a misshapen take on sex, Rendered more hideous by aged delinquent appropriation. My spirit merely estranged from the acting out of joy, of passion. Two decades with and two without the pen, I have not spoken once of this, And rarely even remembered let alone rendered the scene, Lest I charged myself with gross indecency.
Archived comments for The Fall
Apolloneia on 21-10-2005
The Fall
Well I liked it very much, it is strong, full of pent-up emotions or how do you call it, it certainly released some kind of energy, some kind of despair I dare say some kind of phobia and anxiety.
The lines:
Two decades with and two without the pen,
I have not spoken once of this,
and
You owned me like I could not.
and
Lest I charged myself with gross indecency
Are Very interesting, Rosco.
"for innocent sexual exploration
disfigured by a misshapen take on sex"
Great stuff.
Cheers.

Author's Reply:
They seem to like daring here, so there it is. The gross indecency charge is the one they trumped up against Oscar Wilde for his homosexuality. He died after hard labour. That's why that resonates for me. Thanks for your support as always. I'm pleased you made this a favourite. It's rather stark. I'm even more pleased that you're back on the site.

Rosco on 21-10-2005
The Fall
They seem to like daring here, so there it is. The gross indecency charge is the one they trumped up against Oscar Wilde for his homosexuality. He died after hard labour. That's why that resonates for me. Thanks for your support as always. I'm pleased you made this a favourite. It's rather stark. I'm even more pleased that you're back on the site.

Author's Reply:

tai on 21-10-2005
The Fall
When did she leave then Rosco? Sorry just being nosey!...I loved this too. You are coming out with some beauties!

Keep em coming

10 from me

Religion has a lot to answer for imo

Grinning

Tai

Author's Reply:
She didn't. It's my mother. I'm glad you like the work. You've helped me with your candor.
Let's hope dogmatism doesn't smother the Enlightenment. Thanks.

Jolen on 21-10-2005
The Fall
I remember this one as well and you sure have posted some burners, this speaks out on many things in which we are taught is 'indecent' or morally wrong, and I for one think this should be nibbed. I didn't know your 'love' left but I am glad she's back for you and for me.... I am choosing this as a fave as well.

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
Unfortunately, the love that left wasn't in a bodily form. I wish it had been. Thanks for making it a fav. It wasn't easy to write or post. It speaks to a number of things including what you've mentioned. I thought you would understand so I sent it to you first. I've got all these voices inside as you know. I'm starting to give them names. You can chasten them that way. Back to the kitchen.

Apolloneia on 21-10-2005
The Fall
I forgot to mention that this reminds me of Fellini's films too.
And if dear Tai refers to me and not to your mother then I'm practically computerless right now and have not left ukauthors of course. But if she refers to your mother then I wonder if there is something in the poem that indicates ' she left ' or something which Tai saw and understood... Hmm.

Author's Reply:
You know, whatever it means to be a mother just wasn't present. Maybe it can be recovered. I sure hope so, and everything you're missing with your computer too. Refers to you? God, you're funny.
Wow! Fellini. Yeah, that scene in Amacord has stayed with me all these years. Thanks for the compliment. Although when we were in Italy, my brother thought we would be more likely to be mistaken for negroes than Italians. lol.

Kat on 22-10-2005
The Fall
Hi Rosco

All I can say is that I have to make this a favourite, and that I was very moved and impressed by your poetic skill and honesty in this poem.

All the best.

Kat x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Kat. I wouldn't post this sort of thing if you and tai weren't opening the house for inspection. Heidegger said once a poet opens up a field anyone can play in it and the future moves toward it. I blink in life, but I try not to in verse. Very kind of you to make it a favourite.

littleditty on 22-10-2005
The Fall
This suits a nib and i'm glad to return and find it has one. I liked this - especially the last four lines. Strong poem - good read. xxx littleditty x

Author's Reply:
Thanks. I tried to piggyback those last lines onto the tragedy of Oscar Wilde. I hope that memory hasn't died in the place where they ruined him for the love that dare not speak its name. Sometimes the personal can be amplified with critical precedent of that kind.

AnthonyEvans on 22-10-2005
The Fall
rosco, i really feel that this is one of your best, at least of what i have read.

i really like that opening line:

You owned me like I could not.

best wishes, anthony.

Author's Reply:
It's a vignette of honest observation. I'm very glad you like it. Your standards are high and I hold your opinion in high esteem.


Arthur(Edited) (posted on: 21-10-05)


Look at life exactly as it is. The monsters that hide might never be vanquished. His men ride tonight the unsettled world where everything clings to itself a shield of illusion. They have to wield the sword against the hoary knotted beliefs of the ancestral forest of memory, So the dense branches spring free, And demons flee the departing shadows.
Archived comments for Arthur(Edited)
karenuk on 21-10-2005
Arthur
Intriguing and interesting.
Karen x

Author's Reply:
Thanks for reading and commenting, Karen. It has a certain atmosphere I like.

tai on 21-10-2005
Arthur
Yes..yes yes Rosco, cut that deadwood out. I love it.

10 from me.

Grinning

Tai

Author's Reply:
Let's have a bonfire. Don't let it deepen like a coastal shelf. Thanks.

Jolen on 21-10-2005
Arthur
I think you have in very few words summed up how we are to live. I loved this piece when I first read it and my feelings haven't changed a bit. Great short lines. clever, precise and clean..... A great poem.

blessings,
Jolen *waiting in the dining room for dinner*

Author's Reply:
It really is strange how short it is. It is just one image coiled up like an ingrown emotional knot. Nasty image that. I'm serving it up but I don't like my uniform. It's missing something but I'm not sure what. Oh I get it. I don't need to undo my belt. Cheers.

Sunken on 21-10-2005
Arthur
What fond memories the sight of a Mini Metro evokes for me young Ros of co fame. None of this is important of course, I only bring it up because I saw one earlier outside a MacDonald's drive thru. They say that smells can evoke memories, for me it's really crap cars of the 80's (especially British cars - god we made some crap) Anyway, none of that is important either. I've never really rated MacDonald's, that Ronald fellas is quite ghoulish looking. Anyway, that's not important. Your poem is like a nice pair of pants, very supportive and a joy to behold. Thanks.

s
u
n
k
e
n

possibly the wankest commenter on planet Uka

Author's Reply:
I met Colonel Saunders once. That's the fellow who started KFC. He really looked and dressed like he's pictured on the chicken boxes. He went around to every franchise. The clown is off an employment line. He looked like an older Arthur and this does look presentable since I'm only relying on one image. Not nearly as good as those faceless riders in Lord of the Rings which haunt my imagination. Thanks.

Apolloneia on 22-10-2005
Arthur
Very evocative with just the right amound of mystery. Good word choice, and effective flow.

Author's Reply:
The pursuit of the Grail is the central myth for the Celts. It comes out in various ways. Thanks for the kind words. I didn't risk much with a single image and shorty like this. This is the basic story: http://dandalf.com/dandalf/kingarthur.html It's basically all I have to say in poetry.

red-dragon on 22-10-2005
Arthur
I certainly enjoyed this poem of the demons fleeing the departing shadows. A very apt title too, if I may say! Ann

Author's Reply:
I know this still has currency on the UK side of the Atlantic. He's the real hero in my opinion, rather than that sea serpent, Nelson. Thanks for reading and commenting.

Elfstone on 22-10-2005
Arthur
This is thought provoking. I'm drawn to it and I'm not sure why - interesting. One word's meaning eludes me - "His" at the beginning of the third line - who is "he"?

A small point - may I suggest that you split the second line after "hide"? It would simply look better.
Elfstone.

Author's Reply:
Well, this sort of mythological reasoning is in your work, but more developed than I'm able to do. I'm just a single image mythologizer. His refers to Arthur i.e his knights. I'll split the second line. Thanks for you help.

littleditty on 24-10-2005
Arthur(Edited)
I liked this one. 'the unsettled world
where everything clings to itself' - i liked that shiny shield. Ancestral memory, liked the forest idea and reminded me of happy hippy ideas of the collective memory (oooh - re Tell Ol'Bill -sometimes called the collective unconscious) - stick the word ancestral in there and it suits the twisted images and the demons better... Neat write sir Rosco xxxlittleditty x

Author's Reply:
It's drawn from childhood memories of story books. The Ring films came out since I wrote this. He did a nice job on those riders in the first film. Something about that uninimpeded pursuit. Thanks for coming by. I'm likely to surface nearby soon.

littleditty on 24-10-2005
Arthur(Edited)
yes he did. when did the ring films come out? i need to check now. here's mine! http://www.ukauthors.com/article12278.html

Author's Reply:
I think the last one came out a couple of years ago. It was probably 2001/2002/2003.
Lord of the Rings Part 1 had the fabulous horsemen scene as I recall.


I See The Shapely(Edited) (posted on: 30-09-05)
When I was a kid...

I.

I see the shapely obey our day;
But whether a hypnotist or Adonis
roving the falling hills,
Tired of begone strangers and their kin,
Girls with him, he acts in collusion with the night.
How did I come amongst love?
Flesh gels on stones headed by lust;
Blood seals the young tomb in two.
Who would have them bite through the apple
every scene of life?
This garden wakes the sky in us
by the seedless straining of round tissues,
Preserving a new friend in syrup-bottom pouts.

II.

These squawk and jab to mark their place,
Then yank away and jab without intent.
Knowing what it would not be,
Something of discerning eye
felt who is to fall
in the lands near and remote.
Languorous servitude, senile love, fatal blows,
I hear a siren in the lily's woe:
This our shared time, shared endlessly,
Under the tree of the human navel.
Beginning a beginning, and always a beginning
disclosed, unraveling, unfurling
by labour through the sun.

III.

I cherish the verbal spring,
Your careening navy of rushes
against your cheeks, in your palms,
Draining my waters.
Build gates and plot a garden
inside out of old influence,
For a stranger is passing inside of me
and saying, I must not leave.
He cannot leave here,
The archaic man speaking in antique ways;
It is his steps sinking in my heart,
It might open, split to the core;
His eyes as the heady sparkle of beastly urine.
Archived comments for I See The Shapely(Edited)
Jolen on 2005-10-01 22:46:47
Re: I See The Shapely
Ross,

I think this is a wonderful ode to triumph over adversity and genetic's....... I am sure that many could relate to it as well and the person you wrote it for of course is honored as she should be.

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-10-02 04:42:32
Re: I See The Shapely
I was a kid. I knew all of this in the abstract. Now, I've lived through the nature of "adversity and genetics" I haven't anything to say about it nor am I any longer spurred into song by 'her'. I'm opening another field with another set of unlived abstractions. Thanks for reading and seeing my intent.

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-10-03 13:50:49
Re: I See The Shapely
I try not to write until the pressure has built up sufficiently to tear through me. These are thoughts when I was young. I still enjoy the last stanza with that notion of the breathless, world-altering feeling one has at the sight of beauty. You're kind.

Author's Reply:

littleditty on 2005-10-05 15:24:19
Re: I See The Shapely
Dear Rosco -i don't understand it but enjoy reading it -this is probably a useless piece of info - sorry about that, but i have made you a favourite author anyway as i am fed up of not being able to find your poems easily - i will read this again another day - the language is beautiful - powerful flow, even if your meanings escape me for now. xxxlittleditty x

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-10-05 18:56:26
Re: I See The Shapely
The only thing I can suggest is start with the last stanza and work backwards. It's related to the triumph of beauty and the determinism of nature. I was young and intoxicated by the sound of language. That's 25 years ago. I still think that our environment is the arbiter of experience both majestic and degrading. Thanks for the favourite author if only to locate me which is fine by me. I love you reading. Let me know if it comes clear at all or remains totally opaque. I still like to read it if though I don't know exactly what it means.

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-10-05 19:00:17
Re: I See The Shapely
I'm doing the same to you. Now we're even. I'm reading your work I just haven't been commenting because I say abstruse things that don't always make any real sense.

Author's Reply:

littleditty on 2005-10-05 20:54:07
Re: I See The Shapely
i like your 'abtruse things that don't make any sense' - see? i came back to this one didn't i? (sorry -bit cheeky me) Will start from the end and work backwards - seeya Rosco xxxlittleditty x

Author's Reply:

Apolloneia on 2005-10-07 04:07:22
Re: I See The Shapely
I had trouble understanding this. Totally cryptic and I think not for its own good. I do see that there is something profound hidden here, but where the heck is it? No clues. I even translated it into Greek. First time I did this but it didn't work in Greek, but at least I can comment now on a couple of things. Provokingly cryptic. A real poetic Sphinx. I hate feeling like all those before Oedipous. Now that I think of it not even he could have managed to answer correctly what is this all about. That would be good for him: he wouldn't end up blind and with daughters for sisters and sisters for daughters or a mother for a wife. But the father would be dead.

Fifth line first stanza: translator's objection= he acts in collusion with the night not he is.

Are there any safe gardens that wake the sky in us that have no bloody apple trees? Yes they say it all began right there but what if all ended right there too and we don't know it? What if nobody told them to leave on the contrary what if they were asked to stay and eat more apples?

Desperation and guilt, and anyway, as you said

"Build gates and plot a garden
inside out of old influence,
For a stranger is passing inside of me
and saying, I must not leave."

I saw the shapely but it took so many shapes I hope none of them opens and splits to the core. As for beastly urine nothing can match Medussa's unshapely heady sparkle of gorgon lily woes. Thanks

Author's Reply:

Apolloneia on 2005-10-07 04:57:02
Re: I See The Shapely
correction: it's Medusa.


Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-10-07 05:07:59
Re: I See The Shapely
Such a clever comment. By the time I got through it I was in agreement. I used to, and still do to a lesser extent, enjoy work that is based on language. I don't want a steady diet of it, but there is something to be said for a decent display once in a while. In fact, what you suggest about the myths is just about what I was after. I took you through the back alleys to get to it. My heart still stops when I read the first half of the last stanza.
"I do see that there is something profound hidden here, but where the heck is it?" Marvelous. Thanks again for helping me to salvage the carcass. I was impressed that you wanted me to.

Author's Reply:

Apolloneia on 2005-10-07 05:22:50
Re: I See The Shapely
Now I wonder what you are doing and you make it look like that. I am trying to help you save this, would you mind stop doing what you are doing? Anyway, you're going to have a decent display right here dear Ross whether his eyes like it or not.


I see the shapely obey our day;
But whether a hypnotist or Adonis
roving the falling hills,
Tired of begone strangers and their kin,
Girls with him, he acts in collusion with the night.
How did I come amongst love?
Flesh gels on stones headed by lust;
Blood seals the young tomb in two.
Who would have them bite through the apple
every scene of life?
This garden wakes the sky in us
by the seedless straining of round tissues,
Preserving a new friend in syrup-bottom pouts.

II.
These squawk and jab to mark their place,
Then yank away and jab without intent.
Knowing what it would not be,
Something of discerning eye
felt who is to fall
in the lands near and remote.
Languorous servitude, senile love, fatal blows,
I hear a siren in the lily's woe:
This our shared time, shared endlessly,
Under the tree of the human navel.
Beginning a beginning, and always a beginning
disclosed, unraveling, unfurling
by labour through the sun.

III.
I cherish the verbal spring,
Your careening navy of rushes
against your cheeks, in your palms,
Draining my waters.
Build gates and plot a garden
inside out of old influence,
For a stranger is passing inside of me
and saying, I must not leave.
He cannot leave here,
The archaic man speaking in antique ways;
It is his steps sinking in my heart,
It might open, split to the core;
His eyes as the heady sparkle of beastly urine.

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-10-07 05:37:06
Re: I See The Shapely
I think everything is as it should be, but it's nice to have it there just in case. Cheers. I'll stop doing what I'm doing. I feel like I'm in that poem of yours in the schoolyard.

Author's Reply:

Apolloneia on 08-10-2005
I See The Shapely(Edited)
I was talking about the archaic man's eyes, there were no archaic men or women in schoolyards, at least not where I used to live. Those were the days...

Author's Reply:
Thanks, εσώτερη υπόσταση. I had to show off my Oxford education there. I hope you're impressed, εσώτερη υπόσταση. I love that.


Friendship(Edited by Nicoletta) (posted on: 16-09-05)
You got some big dreams, baby, but in order to dream you gotta still be asleep.

I never understood that I slept;
Archived comments for Friendship(Edited by Nicoletta)
Apolloneia on 2005-09-16 20:20:37
Re: Friendship
I was about to add a comment to this one when I saw you added a comment to Nicky's poem.

"I never understood that I slept" great

Would I never woke=do you mean would I never wake?

How one need supported another in a boarded edifice. = how about if need is the subject to say Need?

"So little I knew of what I blindly had,
The presence that might suddenly be no more.
Was it a mirage as Miller thought;
Relations that won’t last the pitiless road?" great

"The barren understanding of kind strangers
who now inspect the charred ruin of a most charmed resolve." great.


Great!

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-09-16 20:40:27
Re: Friendship
Hi Apolloneia:

Would I never woke: I used woke to suggest the past tense meaning i.e. unfortunately I did wake to see the reality. Would I never wake would suggest the narrator is asleep and wishes to remain so. Is that what you were thinking? I'm afraid he awoke, poor bastard.
Can you clarify where 'need' would go in your suggestion or write the line for me?
Thanks for your help and the favourite. I loved the syntax you used to create the dual nature of friendship in your poem a while back. I was looking for it. I must be blind or did you remove it?


Author's Reply:

Jolen on 2005-09-17 13:52:05
Re: Friendship
Hi Ross,

I enjoyed this ode to not only friendships, but enlightenment. Sometimes we do fall asleep, to have others wake us with dreams we too share. Yes, I know that is a contrdiciton, but you understand I am sure. Dream on and wake to find all your dreams within reach. Until then .........Good night sweet prince.

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-09-17 14:32:21
Re: Friendship
Yes, Jolen it is a metaphor for enlightenment you're very right. Perhaps that is the merciful lining in this otherwise bleak affair. Such native optimism. Thank you.

Author's Reply:

littleditty on 2005-09-19 01:54:12
Re: Friendship
liked this a lot Rosco.
The barren understanding of kind strangers
who now inspect the charred ruin of a most charmed resolve.

tough lines -not soft at all, not melodramatic and i think they are brilliant!

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-09-19 03:17:44
Re: Friendship
Hope your friends hold up better than mine. "I always depended on the kindness of strangers" if you remember Streetcar Named Desire set in the ever so unfortunate New Orleans. Thanks for the compliment. Those lines hurt me so much to write.

Author's Reply:

Apolloneia on 2005-09-26 05:47:27
Re: Friendship
Excuse me Ross for the belated clarification.

What I mean in regard to Would I never woke is that it's not correct according to my knowledge, grammatically speaking to use WOULD + PAST TENSE.

Isn't "would" used with infinitives ONLY?

would wake
would have woken
would have been waking
would be waking

So normally shouldn't you say: Would I have never woken, since the perfect infinitive of wake is "have woken"?

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-09-27 01:29:27
Re: Friendship
Hi Nicoletta:

Right you are. In this case it's past perfect. I was trying to sound like old English which is a bit artificial. Thanks for the correction.

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-09-27 01:30:24
Re: Friendship
The equivalent would be:

I wish I had never woken

Author's Reply:


Perfection (Edited by Nicoletta) (posted on: 09-09-05)
I've been drifting in and out of dreamless sleep.

There is a beach at the end of an endless crooked lane --Unmarked like anything sublime. The open sunny sea that meets the serpentine appeals to any Adam or Eve. Hold it in memory as they held an apple; Bite into it and never lose its taste, No matter what your eyes remember or what was and wasn't said.
Archived comments for Perfection (Edited by Nicoletta)
Jolen on 2005-09-09 06:26:30
Re: Perfection
Ross,
I almost hate to disturb you.. I've read this a few times and like mists in the moonlight it conveys different shadows of thought each time. I like the open line a great deal...

I guess for me it seems like an expansive view of what is out there and how we need to embrace it, come what may. Whatever your intent, I enjoyed this and as all of your work it's (notice that apostrophe belongs there?) very well done, and makes me want to continue reading it.. And I shall.

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:

Warhorse on 2005-09-09 08:06:19
Re: Perfection
Hi Rosco,

a very atmospheric piece, full of the nostalgia i love in poetry, a very very welcome on this foggy morning in UK.

Full of warmth of your vision

congrats

mike.


Author's Reply:

Apolloneia on 2005-09-09 15:09:16
Re: Perfection
what was and wasn’t said.

Perfection reminded me of my (Places and Hours)
There are timely things
Which remain unsaid,
There are untimely things
Which are said,


And the strange thing is that Places and Hours "took place" at seaside, on a boardwalk. Well at least in my head.
I liked this.

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-09-09 22:56:11
Re: Perfection
I tried to combine the senses and the mind. It seems to say something about a state of grace. We all should experience nature in its untouched form at least once every week or so. It used to be so easy in North America. You've got the Mississippi, and we've got the Great Lakes. We'll have fresh water when it comes. Thanks.

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-09-09 22:57:15
Re: Perfection
I'm full of nostalgia. Glad it picked you up. I appreciate your readership mike.

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-09-09 23:00:25
Re: Perfection
Sure. It's involving the same kind of dilemma. I wrote this on the Atlantic about four years ago.
I made the change you suggested. Thanks. I hope to see a sequel to that Places and Hours sequence.

Author's Reply:

Sunken on 2005-09-11 17:02:21
Re: Perfection (Edited, thanks Nicoletta)
Hello young Rosco of... where are you of? Anyway, that's not important right now. Isn't it warm? I like this more that coffee cake. It's amazing how many people dislike coffee cake ya know? I don't see what's not to like. It's lovely. It's like coffee, but it's edible. I hope this comment has helped somehow? Well done to that young Appleipod too for helping out. Contemplate the way the average hoover loses suction as the bag fills with dust and then realise with a joyous heart that this problem has, in recent years, been overcome by that Mr. Dyson bloke. Thanks.

s
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troubling nuns for change

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-09-11 18:34:19
Re: Perfection (Edited, thanks Nicoletta)
I kept it short like you requested. I'm from a place where the fresh water overfloweth. I'm on the side of one of the Great Lakes, Ontario to be specific. It's a Indian place, aboriginal to be politically correct. I've never owned a Hoover so I wouldn't know but I know what spells relief normally in such situations. I think coffee cake with coffee is a good comparison as I would have shot myself long ago without such libation and such scenery that accompanies this whirligig. Loved your take on that paper gaze photo. Brilliant.


Author's Reply:


The Constant Footfall (posted on: 02-09-05)
To Dylan Thomas

The constant footfall on steps which did not shelter or ascend,
Archived comments for The Constant Footfall
Apolloneia on 2005-09-02 23:17:36
Re: The Constant Footfall
While reading this I thought that you were writing very personal thoughts quite spontaneously. The second stanza is extremely interesting. The title is absolutely great. Here is what I liked most:

The constant footfall on steps which did not shelter or ascend,
But span the ashen floor.
Waiting in the quiet, I thought was some way of preservation
florid with activity in the mind;

Clouds blow in the glass.

the arctic breezes playing through rooftop thoughts.

Age present no trek into deathliness,
But reveal the radiance that clears my leafy pane in winter's season,
And assembles the stained choirs of empty alleys.

Allow the edges of woven stitches in the long dress of waking,
And keep the wistful locket of the world,
Even as you remove the make-up of dreams

SURRENDERING TO THE FATE OF THIS BONY ISLAND!!!!!

There will always be shadows, the shadow we cannot see,
And some doubt furrowed in every brow.


I will print it and read it as many times as possible. I think it's one of your best.

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-09-03 04:11:34
Re: The Constant Footfall
I compressed the imagery from a number of poems I'd written in my 20's as a kind of farewell to a certain overblown style I had. I hoped to control the theme without letting the imagery take control as was my habit at the time. "Long dress of waking" came from a line I wrote in the condolences book to Yoko Ono when John died and the rest flowed from that. "The shadow we cannot see". I think that notion is part of our condition. I've heard it said many times. Thanks for spending the time with this dense piece. I hope there is a feeling of condolence in the ending. You made another one a favourite?!!! Apolloneia, you're so kind to me.

Author's Reply:


Castaway (posted on: 02-09-05)
Desiring this mans art, and that mans scope,

The hills of Acadian Cape Breton dappled in light;
Archived comments for Castaway
Apolloneia on 2005-09-02 23:08:12
Re: Castaway
Naturally I had to google, I can see why this place inspired you to write "Castaway".
Loved the following lines:

Look out to sea and fear
as those widows did.
Not waiting on the return of a man,
But your own soul.

and

Their fierce independence and odd delicacy remains:
Colourful intricate interwoven wildflower heads
leaning out to catch the coastal rain,
Or what Mary might have said.

Yes some places have a lot of power and beauty.

Well done. Cheers!

Author's Reply:

Jolen on 2005-09-03 00:10:54
Re: Castaway
Ross,

Firstly, I love that sonnet, as I do most of his... I agree that places hold much of our past. And you can hear those that came before if you listen closely. I like the images here and the longing of lost ages, people and times. A very beautiful piece of writing. But, then you always write beautifully.

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-09-03 02:03:19
Re: Castaway
I've been listening to Rufus Wainright singing that sonnet the last few days. What lovely melancholy. The French Acadians were thrown out of Nova Scotia and forced to resettle in Louisiana. That certainly enriched that state, but there's a tragic tale there. Longfellow wrote a great long poem about the expulsion. I diverge.
I love Celtic places as I'm sure you do. The sea is cruel. Longing, yes, longing... "I made a final stand beside the railway track. She said, "The art of longing's over and it's never coming back." I kind of like the way I snuck that little bit of Catholicism in there. Wrenched it like Brodsky did. I'm thinking about you and Louisiana.

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-09-03 04:26:41
Re: Castaway
This is one of the Celtic places in Canada. The French and Scotch settled it. The French were forced out and resettled in the New Orleans area, hence the French flavour to what once was a great city. Sadly, not now. I believe in sacred places. I wrote a number, including 'Ashore' there several years ago. If you simply image google, 'Cabot Trail' you will see its beauty. I thought you might like that Christian reference.

Author's Reply:

Jolen on 2005-09-03 04:39:32
Re: Castaway
I noted the Catholicism thing, and thank you for your thoughts, they are always appreciated. I am glad you joined in our sillyness in the chat. Thank you. hope to see you there again.......

Author's Reply:

littleditty on 2005-09-03 21:51:51
Re: Castaway
oh rosco -i am now even sadder that i didn't go - what i saw of Nova Scotia is beautiful - not at all rugged and wild though - and far too clean and spickandspan for a Londoner to get comfortable, in just 4 weeks. Is that the same place that is inhabited by particularly rowdy and usually drunken fishermen? I heard talk is all...and your 'fierce independence' line made me think of the stories i heard on the longest train journey from Montreal? or was that Quebec? Je ne c'est pas anymore...

Clouds make footprints on the waves
and shadows on our hearts that pass.

your poems are always a pleasure - thank you for this one xxxlittleditty x




Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-09-04 02:07:06
Re: Castaway
Hi little ditty. The Cabot trail is a long way up, about 5 hours from Halifax. It's French and Scotch and musical. They are rowdy. Here is a link for pictures: http://images.google.ca/images?q=cabot+trail&hl=en

You might have been in quebec, it's further east and then montreal is central. You do a lot of travelling and not just in your head. lol. I guess it's back to school for us both. See you.

Author's Reply:

littleditty on 2005-09-04 13:41:24
Re: Castaway
(im not going back! school of life for me for now - rosco? are you a schoolteacher too? xnoseyditty xxx)

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-09-04 17:30:19
Re: Castaway
College teacher. I teacher English for Academic Purposes for Visa students and in a teacher training program for TESL. Lucky you.

Author's Reply:

Sunken on 2005-09-04 18:43:04
Re: Castaway
I was drawn to this young Rosco because the word count said 8? I suffer terribly with my attention spa... See what I mean? 8 words is like a flame to a moth - me being the moth... where was I going with this... I may just take it to the kitchen and make myself a nice crisp sandwich. Does anyone else make crisp sandwiches? Of course they have to be Walkers crisps, they really are the freshest most tastiest of all the crisps currently available on the market. I favour Cheese and onion myself - they are a big favourite of Tina Turners apparently - Though I obviously couldn't corroborate that as we haven't spoke since I inferred that she looked like an over-made up transvestite with a coke habit. Anyway, none of that is important. What is important is the state of the earths Eco system and munkys. Oh yes, and the fact that you are still writing intriguingly beautiful verse. Thanks. Consider the relationship between electricity and light.

s
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persuading Cher to put the mic down

Author's Reply:

littleditty on 2005-09-04 19:33:28
Re: Castaway
really? i did TESL type stuff for 10+ years and inner city teens (English+Lit) for the last few - good luck with your studies - i will probably be teaching a bit of language in brasil (while working on producing environmentally friendly fuel from mangos for my rainbow coloured airplane;) Soon to be flying over a continent near you...thanks for the photo link xxxlittleditty x

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-09-05 06:12:08
Re: Castaway
I don't know how that word count manages that. It must be sentences or something. I've never had a crisp sandwich although it does sound good. Cher and Tina were such favourites at one time. Everything slides in one storm or another with or without electricity. I hope you've got over that experience with the Dell operaters in Bangalore and are about to post again. I'm getting bored with all the dames. Just kiddng. Ha Ha. They're lovely and nurturing. Hurry up.

Author's Reply:


A Castrato Sings(resubmission) (posted on: 26-08-05)
(The King James Bible was commissioned at the beginning of 1604)

A castrato sings to please the language he encounters

Archived comments for A Castrato Sings(resubmission)
Apolloneia on 2005-08-26 22:52:05
Re: A Castrato Sings(resubmission)
Very well done my friend! I had added a much more interesting comment in the past, sorry for this short one, the poem nevertheless is back 'on uka' and that's what matters. If I remember correctly it had a nib. Cheers!


Author's Reply:

Elfstone on 2005-08-28 13:11:44
Re: A Castrato Sings(resubmission)
This was an interesting read Rosco. I was going to comment on individual lines, but this comment post page is behaving oddly - most of you poem is missing?!?? Any way I enjoyed reading it. I was puzzled by the opening - couldn't see the connection between the castrato and the King James Bible? Maybe I'm just a bit thick today! Elfstone.

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-08-28 20:53:36
Re: A Castrato Sings(resubmission)
Thanks.

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-08-28 21:00:59
Re: A Castrato Sings(resubmission)
Hi Elfstone:

I'm not sure if you saw the whole poem as yet. The idea is simply that artist scholars were paid lackeys doing the bidding of the state and their own volition is subjugated to the power of the interests that be. If that power is reigned to great purposes the product can be immortal even if the creators are less than represented in the work. I suppose you might argue that people believed and trusted in authority in a more unconditional manner. Nonetheless, human nature being what it is, there would be misgivings and personal concerns that would never surface or have the air time that our complaints do. Thanks for reading and commenting. I like the idea of a beautiful singer compromised for his art as in traditional choir work.

Author's Reply:


Curvaceous Blue(resubmission) (posted on: 22-08-05)
There was an unusual configuration in the winter skies above Illinois the year before Camelot fell. The Mississippi goes that far, so does the blues, and someone who is rumoured to raise the dead and the nearly dead. Huck, let's get down to that old river again 'n head out to them territories under them stars. I swear to you some of 'em spell J C.

Dreaming in the Midwest where the Snow Queen reigns,
Archived comments for Curvaceous Blue(resubmission)
Jolen on 2005-08-22 15:08:23
Re: Curvaceous Blue(resubmission)
Once again Ross, your perceptions are amazing... Didn't this one have a nib too? It sure deserves one. I hope these all make the anthology. I couldn't have written anything better to sum up what you have so succenctly.....Which is sort of scary! lol.... Glad to have these gems back and the new addition... She will be pleased beyond belief, as I was.. And if you can do all of that with a photograph, remind me not to send you any of me nude...... Hell you did this without one.. lol.....
Thanks again and yes it's a fave.

Blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:

steadyeddy on 2005-08-22 15:31:11
Re: Curvaceous Blue(resubmission)
brilliant write again , I love your style,,,once again hats off

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-08-22 16:37:49
Re: Curvaceous Blue(resubmission)
It's those American girls. You're powerless. I'm pleased you like the style. It almost killed me to get here.

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-08-22 16:41:24
Re: Curvaceous Blue(resubmission)
"Even the President of the United States has to stand naked." I wish it was the body I'm concerned with, but it ain't. I'm happy it holds up for you. It's hard to live with initials, J C; the comeptition is ridiculous. Back to those nude photos....just kidding.

Author's Reply:

Jolen on 2005-08-22 17:53:37
Re: Curvaceous Blue(resubmission)
Dammit that's the second typo...* Succinctly...... And *Vermeer on LGL:

Oh tooooooooo early and no sleep. I was only joshing about the pic's dear.... Yes thos initials are difficult to live up too, or with, whichever... You have mail.....I would like to post LGL for ya. Let me know.

Jolen

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-08-31 05:44:44
Re: Curvaceous Blue(resubmission)
Hi Shywolf:

Thanks so much for affirming its fidelity to subject. She may have just given it to me one night. You never know with this lady. It seems to me you had some impressive flares going up on opposite shores a while back there. I'm especially pleased you felt the use of the land and the aboriginal comparison worked out. I feel that sort of thing when I look long enough at something here. This comment of yours is my favourite.

Author's Reply:

Warhorse on 2005-09-05 11:58:41
Re: Curvaceous Blue(resubmission)
Hi Rosco,

Didn't Know you had reposted this again. JC told me. It is such an accurate a portrayal of the character of her , uncanny.

Brilliant write sir about an inspiring girl.

Regards

Mike.

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-09-05 17:03:15
Re: Curvaceous Blue(resubmission)
Thanks Mike. I think I did capture something of her, and went on to do her friend with Little Girl Lost. It's just like doing a portrait. I did it online while exchanging e-mails with her like one of those guys who sketches in public places. I'm amazed that when I looked at it afterward or even now it holds up.

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-09-05 17:07:22
Re: Curvaceous Blue(resubmission)
Where are my manners? So kind of you to make it a favourite for a favourite person. It makes me think a explanatory note on poems might be helpful for people who don't know about the subject.

Author's Reply:

Abel on 2005-09-08 17:40:00
Re: Curvaceous Blue(resubmission)
Wonderfully read and written...thoroughly enjoyed.

Ward

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-09-08 18:02:52
Re: Curvaceous Blue(resubmission)
Thanks Ward. I've got to get a better audio download so it's not so scratchy. I'm glad you liked it. It's about Jolen.

Author's Reply:

Jolen on 2005-09-08 22:23:30
Re: Curvaceous Blue(resubmission)
Hi Ross, I had to come listen to this again. Amazing, the write and the read. So very well done. Yes, you nailed me..... In a beautiful way.

Thanks again.
blessings,
Curvaceous blue

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-09-08 22:34:49
Re: Curvaceous Blue(resubmission)
That particular verb is making me shiver. I'm glad I evoked something of your mystery.

Author's Reply:

Jolen on 2005-09-08 22:37:20
Re: Curvaceous Blue(resubmission)
Shivers are good, I was only having some fun at your expense. Sorry. I'll be good. So deserving of the nib. Congrats.

Author's Reply:


Little Girl Lost (a sketch from memory) (posted on: 22-08-05)
Where it starts it never ends.

Sheaves of corn under an infinite sky:
Archived comments for Little Girl Lost (a sketch from memory)
Jolen on 2005-08-22 07:32:19
Re: Little Girl Lost (a sketch from memory)
Ross,

I was impressed before, and now I am simply blinded by your gifts.. This is it for sure. yes, it's the same person and when you told me that you would maybe do a portrait from memory, I had no clue your memory was this good.. You are amazing. This is wonderful word smithing and the comparsions to that Vemeer is truly well done.. You have captured our own "Little Girl Lost" beautifully.

Thanks for sharing your vision..... It is much appreciated..

with much respect,
Jolen

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-08-22 14:30:14
Re: Little Girl Lost (a sketch from memory)
I wanted to see what I could do with a photograph. I was surprised what details were available. You're my greatest admirer in the known universe. Thanks for your generosity of spirit and I hope it does some good. I appreciate the fav. I did my best.

Author's Reply:

Jolen on 2005-08-22 15:03:58
Re: Little Girl Lost (a sketch from memory)
Well now, it's nice to see that I am right. I see you have a well deserved nib for this piece... I told you! It seems that I'm getting good at picking nib winners out...... I am happy for you. Well done and I am happy to be your biggest fan.... it's a worthy position.

Blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:

steadyeddy on 2005-08-22 15:15:18
Re: Little Girl Lost (a sketch from memory)
wow what a fantastic discriptive write I loved it ,,my hats off to you,,,,

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-08-22 16:27:42
Re: Little Girl Lost (a sketch from memory)
Hi Eddy. Thanks. I had a big target. It's like that for about 2000 miles. I wrote it in a blinding rage. I always thought writing and emotional experience weren't equivalent.

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-08-22 16:36:03
Re: Little Girl Lost (a sketch from memory)
Your are good. Let's got to Saratoga and blow it all in white with diamond-headed canes. Is there any funny business going on? I didn't see your feet walk by themselves did I? lol. I'm inspired that you are in my corner.

Author's Reply:

Apolloneia on 2005-08-23 14:22:52
Re: Little Girl Lost (a sketch from memory)
What reminder there is of love is found in spring
then birth and rebirth runs the farm as much as men.

We still need to swing, lie out under those unfenced skies
to know what is, what isn’t, and what just might be.


An excellent piece written in the most excellent way by a most excellent poet.
Nicoletta

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-08-23 15:54:38
Re: Little Girl Lost (a sketch from memory)
Thanks N. That double adjective is swelling my head. I'm interested in portraits in ink. I didn't think I could do it from a photograph and a few biographical details. Thanks for the favourite. Always an honour from you.

Author's Reply:

Apolloneia on 2005-08-24 15:03:11
Re: Little Girl Lost (a sketch from memory)
oh, I don't worry about your head R., it has a safety valve that will keep any swelling under control.

Author's Reply:

teifii on 2005-08-24 17:19:07
Re: Little Girl Lost (a sketch from memory)
Wonderful. I thought at first it was a sketch of the girl but after reading your answers, am I right in seeing the starting point as a photo of wide open spaces?
Anyway I think it is brilliant.
Daff

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-08-24 21:22:32
Re: Little Girl Lost (a sketch from memory)
Yes, it's about a girl, but the spaces are so big it's hard to see human beings as foreground; they're in the background before you know it. I like your comment. It was based on a photo of a friend of Jolen's at her CP site: http://www.creative-poems.com/member.php?id=6044
Iowa is the first of the western states. Thanks.

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-08-24 21:23:50
Re: Little Girl Lost (a sketch from memory)
There's always somebody monkeying with that valve whether I like it or not. Cheers.

Author's Reply:

Corin on 30-04-2006
Little Girl Lost (a sketch from memory)
THis is a beautiful piece Rosco. There are so brilliant images that is hard to pick out a single one, but I especially liked the earing theme and the Eastern Kings. I really enjoyed reading this - I came across this on Creative Poems and it was o good that I was suspiciaous and did a google search to see if it had been plagiarised and Google pointed me here!-)
I tried to nominate it but they have closed nominations - pity it really deserves to be anthologised - this is probably the best poem I have seen on either site - truly memorable - appropriate really since that is what it is about. It does what poetry is supposed to do and carries you away on the wings of fancy.

I think you should submit it elsewhere, in a competition or to a publisher.

Warm Wishes

David

Warm Wishes

David

Author's Reply:
It's those girls from the Midwest. Your car can go out of control. That's an incredible compliment David. I think I've been inspired by the internet community which is as invisble as that other world. I hope I wrote it, but I am not exactly sure. You've really broken the clouds for me. Thanks.

Jolen on 30-04-2006
Little Girl Lost (a sketch from memory)
And now, Mr. Marlboro Man:
You see that I was right all along and that others now find the amazing talent you have. I loved David's comment....... It's fitting for your talent. But I am still your biggest fan with great joy.
*now post curvaceous blue for a hubcap* lol
blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
My six gun has been drooping badly of late. I know you are my biggest fan and much of the energy in little girl lost came straight through you, as did curvaceous blue, in a matter of minutes. That's why you appear with a sparkling crown in the States and have the institue plaque. Some people are thinking, 'yeah that crap he writes only takes a few seconds. That fits.' lol.


The Voice(resubmission) (posted on: 19-08-05)


What's left when the body fades,
Archived comments for The Voice(resubmission)
tai on 2005-08-19 14:48:59
Re: The Voice
Hi Ross, Love the suggestion in this floating out of body experience type of poem. That is how it felt for me anyway. The Voice being a defining imprint that never fades...I like that a lot.

9 from me

Smiling

Tai

Author's Reply:

Jolen on 2005-08-19 16:17:08
Re: The Voice
Hi Ross,

Yes sometimes our 'voice' lives on throughout time, as you know. This one brings a certain voice to mind for me now. I enjoyed this the first time and it is every bit as wonderful this time.
blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:

Apolloneia on 2005-08-19 16:27:27
Re: The Voice
You're right about the voice. Read Das Parfum by Patrick Süskind and you'll see I am right about the smell which also never fades. Cheers!

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-08-19 16:35:25
Re: The Voice
I've heard of pyschics using smells to evoke the dead or create the smell out of nothing related to flowers or fruit. These senses interrelate as well if Shelley was right, certainly metaphorically. Thanks for coming back.

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-08-19 16:37:02
Re: The Voice
When you start thinking about voice it brings to mind other things not contained in this simple poem. What a word it is. Thanks for coming back and seconding the piece.

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-08-19 16:39:50
Re: The Voice
Yes, it seemed a defining imprint to me at one time. There may be something even more so in signature movements. I don't know. I had an uncle who still blew his cheeks out 60 years after he quite glass blowing. Something out of body about all of this alright especially for us of the imagination. Thanks as always. The Teddy is on my dresser if I need him,,, or her.

Author's Reply:

Sunken on 2005-08-20 08:27:14
Re: The Voice(resubmission)
What will be left when your body fades young Rosco? Your poetry, that's what will be left. I on the other hand will be leaving stains, and most of them won't be shifted by that oxy vanish stuff either. I am currently working a stain in the shape of Britain. I have slightly messed up the east coast though and will have to masturbate furiously over the weekend to put it right. Wish me luck. Eat food that contains Zinc.

s
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wanking for Britain

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-08-20 15:46:01
Re: The Voice(resubmission)
Hi Sunken:

Masturbating in England would be a change. On the other hand, I'd love to hear your voice reciting some of those exquisite lines of yours. Glad to see you as always.

Author's Reply:

Emerald on 2005-08-21 09:59:55
Re: The Voice(resubmission)
The voice is such a powerful tool - the inflections and spirit of the person. I really liked this -

Emma:-)

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-08-21 15:11:48
Re: The Voice(resubmission)
Thanks Emerald. It is amazing considering it wasn't part of the evolutionary product initially. It means so much now.

Author's Reply:


The Hook is Dislodged (Edited resubmission) (posted on: 12-08-05)


The hook is dislodged:
Archived comments for The Hook is Dislodged (Edited resubmission)
Apolloneia on 2005-08-12 10:42:52
Re: The Hook is Dislodged (resubmission)
A very fine poem Ross.

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-08-12 14:11:05
Re: The Hook is Dislodged (resubmission)
Thanks Apolloneia. Emotionally gratifying as well.

Author's Reply:

Apolloneia on 2005-08-12 14:52:53
Re: The Hook is Dislodged (resubmission)
Ross there is something about any hook dislodged. Strong image. Strong thing. It has to do with fishing and its techniques. You know there is a little village in China, they have this totally weird and fascinating way to catch fish. They use birds, cormorants I think. "She’s gone fishing some other waters." Hmm. I hope she took her cormorants with her. What am I saying ..... she was fishing in a classic way, right?

this is what I liked most:
Everything I knew comes tumbling past me.
I want to touch the current’s frigid fingers,
Let it pass across my body, healing my broken lip.



Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-08-12 16:01:17
Re: The Hook is Dislodged (resubmission)
We have cormorants here too. I like to watch them fish. Loons are the most enchanting water bird. Theyr'e on our dollar rather than an American demi-god for now. I used to read a story as a child of birds that fished in China for a fisherman. They had a ring around their neck so they wouldn't swallow the fish. Classic way. This is a metaphor of course as those lines you highlight suggest. The Kingfisher is one of the birds associated with rejuvination. Thanks for coming back to this and still enjoying it.

Author's Reply:

Jolen on 2005-08-13 02:37:19
Re: The Hook is Dislodged (resubmission)
Ross,
I loved this from the first reading and it only gathers strength now. What a fantastic journey you take us all on... Yes, to free oneself of the constraints or burdens of another.. Beautiful.... To be true to one's own self and begin the healing.

Beautiful work.
blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-08-13 07:13:56
Re: The Hook is Dislodged (resubmission)
Yeah, you've reminded me of the effect of it. The fish is a curious image in that respect. The lip, the going upstream, and underwater world of light and shadow. Thanks for reading as always my faithful one.

Author's Reply:

Sunken on 2005-08-14 13:36:33
Re: The Hook is Dislodged (resubmission)
Hello young Ross. Isn't it mild? I have never gone fishing, though I did once catch a sexually transmitted disease on a riverbank from a girl who was permanently connected to the internet via a satellite dish that she had fashioned from a dulux paint can. Anyway, this is not important right now. Have you considered the undersides of tables? If only we could find a way of cheating gravity, the surface area of aforementioned tables could quite literally be doubled. It troubles me to think of such wasted areas. I hope this helps, though judging by your writing, help is not required. Enjoy the the time 12.56 - it is often overlooked and still remains one of my favorite times of the day. Thanks.

s
u
n
k
e
n

making do with fruit

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-08-14 16:31:00
Re: The Hook is Dislodged (resubmission)
It's true there are many neglected surfaces. There are others that are obsessed over too much when there are other possibilites. I'm glad to see you up at such an early hour for a Sunday. I always liked letting fish go free when I was child. You can do it as an adult too. Enjoy the day and avoid makeshift solutions. We missed you getting you in the chatroom last night.

Author's Reply:


Hidden (resubmission) (posted on: 12-08-05)
(for N.P.)

Something is hidden so deep inside, Yet it seems to radiate your entire being. It was nothing once or was disguised as such: The soulful lust for oblivion. Defines us in a place, observed as stoic, sea-hemmed, antique Greece. Who holds the secret: God, the Devil, the Holy Ghost? It draws us down the subtle dark energy of space. It populates a town, even contours the presence of love. Detaching us from our avaricious appetites, You live through as in a dream to reveal to men your harrowing theme: What we have but can never truly be. Homer knew, Tennyson replied: A forlorn Siren haunts with her undulating cry.
Archived comments for Hidden (resubmission)
Apolloneia on 2005-08-12 15:14:56
Re: Hidden (resubmission)
There is an echo of this poem of yours in Portraiture, the hermetically unidentifiable determined to implode thing? Just letting you know.

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-08-12 16:04:12
Re: Hidden (resubmission)
That's a huge compliment for me. I've occassionally seen lines or stanzas that seem to echo. This one might. I wonder why. Thanks for the fav.

Author's Reply:

littleditty on 2005-08-12 17:11:09
Re: Hidden (resubmission)
this is great so i am going to press a button - ok? xxxxlittleditty x

Author's Reply:

littleditty on 2005-08-12 17:16:45
Re: Hidden (resubmission)
i pressed - then it asks if i'm sure - of course i'm sure - so surely pressed again. I got a message saying "i don't like you" :0( i now feel sad and dejected and leave this message so that you know i couldn't nominate this for the anthology...sniff...am i not allowed to? xxxbeliitleddittyglum x

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-08-12 18:34:13
Re: Hidden (resubmission)
I didn't leave that message I can assure you. How kind of you. Actually, I'm just reinstating the poems that were generously nominated before I had my hissy fit and ripped everything done. They will be forwarded once they're up. I'm sorry about the message. I never wrote those words so I don't know where they're coming from.

Author's Reply:

Jolen on 2005-08-13 02:52:53
Re: Hidden (resubmission)
Ross:
A beautiful tribute and truly worthy piece of nomination.... Sure hope it is selected. Thank you for reposting your wonderful work.

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-08-13 07:11:28
Re: Hidden (resubmission)
Thank you for supporting me and encouraging me to do so. Beautiful subject.

Author's Reply:

Leila on 2005-08-13 13:15:55
Re: Hidden (resubmission)
Your work stays with me long after I've read it and I'm sorry I have not commented on yours more, I have struggled for time on here lately, but am pleased you are re-posting. You write beautifully...L

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-08-13 13:58:30
Re: Hidden (resubmission)
Thanks, Leila. Please don't apologize. It's just too time-consuming to comment all over the place. I like reading your poems and you like reading mine. We could comment once every couple of months. There are so many voices and some are acquaintances I feel the need to exchange with while most of the time I prefer silence. Nice to see you and see the interview and one of the glories of this site is the delicacy of you and Emerald.

Author's Reply:

Leila on 2005-08-13 14:06:21
Re: Hidden (resubmission)
You understand and are most kind...L

Author's Reply:

Jolen on 2005-08-20 14:04:44
Re: Hidden (resubmission)
Hi Ross,

I tried to renominate this for anthology and I too get the "I don't like you" message, on this one and another of yours. How odd.

Author's Reply:

Rosco on 2005-08-20 15:48:52
Re: Hidden (resubmission)
I'm afraid I have to resubmit them manually myself. It's part of my well-deserved punishment.

Author's Reply:

ifyouplease on 20-01-2014
Hidden (resubmission)
came back to this after a long time, it's a very nice poem indeed, but never was a Siren type, or that bloody thing Apolloneia said. heheden..hehe

Author's Reply:
I've been posting here for 10 years. Hard to believe. I certainly wasn't thinking of a physical call with that image. I'll post again if you're reading. Thanks, Ross.

ifyouplease on 20-01-2014
Hidden (resubmission)
I'll be posting too. Check on and off. You're most welcome Ross.

Author's Reply: