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Untitled
Posted: 02 March 2006 Word Count: 43
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The sea is on fire.
The night is bone-white
and you sing like a cemetery,
your voice stained with dirt and death.
The flames have thawed.
The day is blood-red
and you pray like an piano
your chants filled with dreams of death.
Comments by other Members
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Flora Gael at 17:34 on 02 March 2006
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I made an error, and it won't allow me to edit, as I am not a full member.
Anyway, the error, of course, is "an piano." Naturally it should be "a piano."
Constructive comments welcomed and eagerly desired!
Thanks.
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RS at 22:12 on 03 March 2006
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Hi Flora - Robert here - I am intrigued by this poem even as I don't completely understand it - it would work better I think as a surrealistic piece of work, as the odd juxtapositions and associations are dream-like in nature - I really like the lines "voice stained with dirt and death" and the paradoxical ideas of the sea on fire and the flames thawing are intriguing - also I enjoy the parallel structures (sing like cemetery/pray like piano, etc.) and I like the idea, again paradoxical, of the white night and red day - the only thing I might change is the last line because piano and dreams of death don't fit - but then that's probably the point and perhaps I'm missing something.
Otherwise, nice effort - it makes me see things in a new persepctive - in a way it was startling to read it - and again, I'm intrigued by the possibilities the naturalistic/surrealistic imagery offers.
Best, Robert
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Jekyll&Hyde at 09:06 on 07 March 2006
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Hi Flora Gael,
Love how you've used colours in this as the primary force.
Experimental? - I don't know, it seemed very assured for me. But maybe that's the point. I've not really read any experimental writing before, but if it's all as enjoyable as this; I'll have to read more.
Excellent piece.
S.M.
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Kara at 11:25 on 09 June 2008
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some lovely lines, I wish you'd given it a title! all the best Kara- just noticed the date. where are you now?
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