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Literature Text
If there is a way of quenching bitterness I have not found it
Nor have I dreamt it
You may have seen me searching in the salt-seas of anguish
But if some cure belongs to the coral floor
Or in a silver scale flashed by
A watchful eye, hidden in the murky rocks
I do not know it.
What kind of watchfulness have I expended
Always searching and appeasing, never seeing?
Forgive me what I do not know, forgive me I
Forget sometimes
Whether red and yellow should be mixed to make
A poison-fish, or whether green and blue
Become the ocean better than the muck
Of sand and driftwood.
If there is a way of going that is my own way
Tell me
For I have not found it—I cannot see it
Between the coral blisters and the grainy waves of everything.
Nor have I dreamt it
You may have seen me searching in the salt-seas of anguish
But if some cure belongs to the coral floor
Or in a silver scale flashed by
A watchful eye, hidden in the murky rocks
I do not know it.
What kind of watchfulness have I expended
Always searching and appeasing, never seeing?
Forgive me what I do not know, forgive me I
Forget sometimes
Whether red and yellow should be mixed to make
A poison-fish, or whether green and blue
Become the ocean better than the muck
Of sand and driftwood.
If there is a way of going that is my own way
Tell me
For I have not found it—I cannot see it
Between the coral blisters and the grainy waves of everything.
Literature
A Sailor's Heart (The Ocean V)
I navigate the sea,
led by the twin stars
that are so like your eyes,
deep-blue and all-knowing,
d
r
o
w
n
i
n
g
me ,
more unyielding than the flood
that beats across the hull of
the ship that is my heart.
Literature
Cold Flowers
I looked back; the city stretched and
pulled me under. I’ve lost my mind
in its jewellery stores and rat-holes,
eyes rolled seasick across its floors.
Angels and murderers ride the trains
mutely and cough when they cover
their mouths, flash their knives,
bare their teeth.
I’ll still walk a broken tunnel
long after I am gone
when the place has been picked clean
and the sun has passed out in her party
dress, the fairs all rolled away and
electric lights dying –
when I’ve made it to the edges
crying and muddy on the banks of the river
where God and the water meet
she’ll still be spread there, the slee
Literature
SDF
on reste sur ce banc
regarder les pigeons voler
les heures
mais toi ma pauvre
tu t'ouvres les doigts
avec des capsules
de bière
trop nombreuses
tu t'éclates
la tête
heureusement
c'est que
du verre
si je t'attrape
ma femme s'est jetée d'un pont
si je t'attrape
mais je suis gay
si je t'attrape
gay comme un pinson
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I usually don't write free-verse poetry--as you can probably tell from this! So if anyone has any suggestions, they would be even more appreciated than usual.
Some questions:
Is the ending final enough? Does the poem feel complete?
I changed the line break between "Or in a silver scale flashed by / a watchful eye" a lot--do you like it where it is, or should I change it?
Do the images work well together?
Thank you!
(for twr: [link])
Some questions:
Is the ending final enough? Does the poem feel complete?
I changed the line break between "Or in a silver scale flashed by / a watchful eye" a lot--do you like it where it is, or should I change it?
Do the images work well together?
Thank you!
(for twr: [link])
© 2012 - 2024 williamszm
Comments24
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Overall
Vision Originality Technique
ImpactI liked it.
For the first question, the ending is enough. It was complete and it left me with a feeling of comprehension.
To answer your second question, i believe "Or in a silver scale flashed by a watchful eye,/hidden in the murky rocks," would have worked better. But either way, its good.
As for the third, yes, the images work pretty well together. I did not really get what "Whether red and yellow should be mixed to make a poison-fish" was supposed to mean. But, otherwise, it's a very nice piece.
Good job. Keep at it. Some comas in between the sentences wouldn't have hurt.