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Mosaic Musings...interactive poetry reviews > Poetry Forums > Poetry Exhibition -> Plato's Pearls of Wisdom  |
| Guest_alice_* |
 Aug 4 09, 10:21
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#1
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this was written some time ago. I have changed the title a few times..
As she turns the sagging mattress moves Sherry bottles clink under the bed and a line of dirt, wall to wall fills her unchanging landscape Once she allowed the tug of hands in matted hair welcomed it now the throb of neglect rips and tears clinging to her neck like a warm artery Images buckle themselves to her heart And little secrets push shadows into her lungs until she can hardly breathe Red liquid runs from her mouth And as sleep takes shape She figures she’d rather look through a bottle Than be trapped on the outside Alice44 |
  
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Aug 18 09, 19:28
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#2
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 Mosaic Master  Posts: 18,892 Joined: 1-August 03 From: Massachusetts Member No.: 2 Real Name: Lori Kanter Writer of: Poetry & Prose Referred By:Imhotep |
Wow Alice44,
I really like the metaphors used here in this one. I can envision this sad woman, perhaps beautiful and in love at one point in her past, discarded like a used paper towel trashed. The clinking of the bottles hints at drowning sorrows, the matted hair, dirt and unchanging landscape - all seem to point to an unkempt disposition, perhaps caused by depression from being dumped or just unloved. Neglect is a great buzz word here. I really think this part sums it up: And little secrets push shadows into her lungs until she can hardly breathe Enjoyed the read, ~Cleo 
·······  ·······"It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step into the Road, and if you don't keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off to." ~ J.R.R Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings
Collaboration feeds innovation. In the spirit of workshopping, please revisit those threads you've critiqued to see if the author has incorporated your ideas, or requests further feedback from you. In addition, reciprocate with those who've responded to you in kind. "I believe it is the act of remembrance, long after our bones have turned to dust, to be the true essence of an afterlife." ~ Lorraine M. Kanter Nominate a poem for the InterBoard Poetry Competition by taking into careful consideration those poems you feel would best represent Mosaic Musings. For details, click into the IBPC nomination forum. Did that poem just captivate you? Nominate it for the Faery award today! If perfection of form allured your muse, propose the Crown Jewels award. For more information, click here!  "Worry looks around, Sorry looks back, Faith looks up." ~ Early detection can save your life.MM Award Winner           |
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| Guest_ohsteve_* |
Aug 18 09, 20:19
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#3
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Alice, I enjoyed this tremendously, I liked the metaphors too,
especially the shadowed lungs and breathing. I know this is not a place for critique so won't mention my pet peeve...lol. Steve |
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Aug 27 09, 15:33
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#4
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 Laureate Legionnaire  Posts: 783 Joined: 24-July 07 From: South Africa Member No.: 457 Real Name: Walter Schwim Writer of: Poetry & Prose Referred By:Mistral |
Alice,
This is one power poem!! The imagery so precisely describes the type it scares me. I had some nasty experience of this some years ago with what we termed "the wicked stepmother" . This poem really deserves some accolades, the best I've come across in some time! It's tragic, real and packed with emotion. One feels the depths of despair. Hugs, Wally ······· ······· |
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Nov 7 09, 18:43
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#5
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 Ornate Oracle Posts: 2,085 Joined: 24-May 04 From: Time, Immoral Member No.: 66 Writer of: Poetry |
Hello Alice44,
and I trust the other 43 are well too. The evils of addiction - we probably all know somebody down that road. Many's the time it's a one-way road. Merlin ······· ······· |
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Nov 8 09, 03:36
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#6
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 Greek Posts: 743 Joined: 3-February 09 From: Abingdon, Oxfordshire,UK Member No.: 754 Real Name: Leonora Wyatt Writer of: Poetry & Prose Referred By:No one at all |
Hello Alice - an evocative description of absolute degradation, and a chilling reminder of where drink can lead.
Yet, I worry about why you return, so often, to rename a poem written such a long time ago. It was well recieved as it stood. None of my businees, I know. I am hoping that it is simply that you are, rightly, proud of this excellent poem. Leo ······· ······· |
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