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Post by mfwilkie on Apr 14, 2008 3:29:58 GMT -5
four thousand pieces
of abstract oragami
equal one bad cold
cold, and boxed—wondering
how to appreciate the word widow
in a numb-struck life
life that's cold at night
cold in the light—
cold towards this abstract melody
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Post by Jonathan Morey Weiss-Namaste47 on Apr 14, 2008 9:33:06 GMT -5
Repetition of "cold" ending S1, beginning S2, and "life" ending S2 and beginning S3 develops a pattern in this poem, which feels very sad. The origami beginning and the melodic ending, however, highlight boundaries for the sadness.
S2 is very tight, the alliteration and assonance blending nicely.
May the box open into a new beginning, without shape, necessarily, but with expanded form.
Nice, Maggie.
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Post by ramadevi on Apr 14, 2008 13:59:16 GMT -5
I find this a powerful poem....sad Adan honest. I really like how jon described it and wish i had come up with that myself as it is so apt...the poem itself "highlights boundaries for sadness"
Very fine write.
I think the repetition works splendidly.
No nits.
Warm regards,
rama devi
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Post by Ron Wallace (Scotshawk) on Apr 19, 2008 16:24:51 GMT -5
Strong voice, Mags, really like it. I kinda like Abstract Origami as a title, but I'm sometimes not so great in that department. Hope your bronchial woes are relenting; I blaming mine on the Yanks' crappy start. Ron
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Post by purplejacket on Apr 19, 2008 18:01:11 GMT -5
Abstract origami = wadded up tissues? I like that. Seems to me like not sure if you're blowing your schnoz due to crying or due to the mucous response to virus. I picture you walking around your house in a sloppily closed bathrobe, dragging a tissue box at your side. Abstract music = sneezes, coughs & sobs? I like that too. Being sick amplifies these feelings, but getting well doesn't make them better. I hope you get better, loved one.
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Post by LynnDoiron on Apr 19, 2008 18:31:24 GMT -5
four thousand pieces
of abstract oragami
equal one bad cold
Above stanza is all RED letters A+++++++ and Perfecto, all praise
Below is Blue RIBBON purrrrfection too.
cold, and boxed—wondering
how to appreciate the word widow
in a numb-struck life
[But last stanza goes clunk for me, not cold in the light, but without light pretty much. And you know what? It might not actually be that bad, it's just that it follows two stanzas so very outstandingly good --- know what I mean?]
life that's cold at night
cold in the light—
cold towards this abstract melody
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Post by mfwilkie on Apr 19, 2008 18:34:23 GMT -5
The third clunks for me, too, chicky.
Mugs
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