A.rhubarb's comments (member since Aug 08, 2008)

A.rhubarb's comments from the ¡ POETRY ! group.

The perfume of your essence
engulfs my every follicle,
raising hairs on the nape of my neck
like that of a cats'.
Exploding in a firework display
of olfactory sensation.

Immediacy of sensory perception
implode the pleasure center of my brain.
Stroking at my amagydalea,
stimulating archetypal regions
to move grammatically,
in rhythms beyond the ability of audition.

I snap out of the lock,
and familiar memories grab ahold
I am coldly drawn back
to chorus with this reality.
You enter the room
But then I already knew.

Painful Wishes/Kryielle

I want wings like Gabriel,
to fly amongst the angels.
an ability of sure advantage-
and I am left with language

Idyllic word and stagnant mime,
a distant past on wings of mine.
To go in seach of the North-West Passage-
and I am left with language.

Of all the wishes ever granted,
by the light of day or by the lantern,
a chance to soar above my languish-
and I am left with language.

Wingless I am left to anguish-
and I am left with language.

Hi Stephen, quite the piece here. I can never get as earthy anymore. I may attempt to try to be grounded and personal and see what happens. Your poem however is this and more. As Bowie said "The water wall is calling it lingers and then you forget...". The window device is a clever gadget and works well to give the reader a panoramic view. Alex.

Marooned
held by weak forces
to circumnavigate the poles
of all possibility

Monuments
jut from sacred ground
ladder to the clouds
anchored by the souls

pilgrimage
to a hollowed ray
growing from the bone and root
of retreated remains

Inhaled
like lilac's dew
displayed in halo's hue
that grow upon this mound

Hi Ide.... Right off the top I would say that Ruth gives sound advice around here. She does like things to be grounded however, and rightfuly so.

I on the other hand am willing to trade off the groundedness for sentiment. A sort of content over form, there is a limit , but you are within the boundaries, for me in any case.

You have expressed a somewhat novel approach, or at least one not usually diverged upon. That is that the author is deceased and speaking to us from beyond.An interesting tact.

Perhaps you can find a way to eradicate some of the repitition of "no". As Ruth has indicated,it can use some dressing up and she has offered the perfect devices. It stands as it is, but in following the advice put forth in the comments you will have a much fuller piece. Good read.Alex

I know these feelings from both sides as he , and you. Thanks for the support from all of the hobbit holes in Canada, of which I read at only one many years ago, but for those preaching to the converted, on the front lines, baring their open breast for all to see Blessings and remain humble. Virtue to you all.

Hi. Thanks Ruth for showing a piece of his work. I find it a compelling piece and see how it is grounded in reality. It is 1968 and I am going to want to check out his newer works.Alex

Hi, I am new to the market and I am looking for a publisher.I have what I would consider good credentials, maybe you would agree. I have a couple of new poems and a couple of older ones on Goodreads, under A.Rhubarb. If you would appreciate a more extensive group of poems before discussions, I would be most pleased to reply.Alex

Hi Paul .A most interesting form blended with it's lexicon perfectly, and held the beat.
So you have been published. I never bothered, although lately I'm thinking it would be at least some kind of feed back, which for some reason I'm thirsting for lately, like a dog drooling at an empty water dish.
I have a blog with poems if your interested. Maybe you could give me details on publishing. Anyways I've rambled enough. Great visual read. Thanks Alex.

There! There he is
walking
sucking in life's breath
steely gray wisps of winter

In summer
they are blades
of lightning
inhaled
in all their brilliance

I will seek out an appropriate placement for docking.I like your thoughts, and conceitedly enough I like this piece as well.

sinking up to my ankles
coarse dry specks
swallow up my feet

glittery warm
to the touch
fallen stars
each by each

I've sunk to my knees
the most holy
on the holiest day
finds no seperation
in grains of sand or sky

Up to my armpits
cocooned
in the skin of the earth

over my head

I am, open to critique I love metaphor and am grounded in reality far too much in any case , thanks for the comment Ruth I do enjoy and consider all critique.Alex

I am epiphany
treasured bottled scents
contained
on the edge
of a blade

I am shards of colour
forced out of a prism;
the air rushing back
after the lightning

I am the vessel
that sacrificed
a crack
to let the light out

I am the light
and come
and go
with the day