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message 1: by Nicky (new)

Nicky (soundgirl) | 1145 comments I'm putting some of my old writing in here. Some of it has been published in a college publication and others I find in various sketch books and on scraps of paper, so I thought I'd gather it all together here. As always, I would welcome constructive criticism and any comments about my writing - hope you enjoy it.


message 2: by Nicky (last edited Feb 13, 2014 02:39PM) (new)

Nicky (soundgirl) | 1145 comments A Postcard Home


I saw my reflection in a room
With no mirror.
Thinking back
I hadn't been there for a while
But something stuck me as
Strange.
Then I realised:
Someone had stolen the hill.
In my room I felt her,
Standing
Just inside the door, in the shadows
Of my vision.
Turning to speak, I knew she was gone.
Stolen the hill?
Surely the sound would escape.

I saw my reflection in a room
With no mirror.
Later on the heath
Two finches flew, screeching
From the gorse.
What muffled industry lay
Behind the baffle
Steeped in controversy.
Suddenly I remembered:
The machines must be long gone.
Looking away I heard her thinking,
Felt her talking, but couldn't
Own what she was saying.
The sound cloaked
In a wall of clay

So much laid to rest
Beneath the surprised earth
Yet still remains unburied.
Felt her talking?
Realising I was mistaken
I switched off the light,
Stuffed a tape in the machine,
Saw nothing but pictures,
Felt nothing
But music.
As I looked down on me I saw
My reflection in a room
With no mirror
And wondered briefly
What I was doing there.


message 3: by Nicky (last edited Feb 13, 2014 02:39PM) (new)

Nicky (soundgirl) | 1145 comments After the Riot


On the ferry, crossing
Over the water, I watch the polystyrene cup
Serenely passing,
Tossed against the murky tide,
Seeing echoes of scenes
Dark shutters can't hide.
Glaring from the burnt out carcass.
Sun on buildings, offices, towers;
The glinting rooftops; childhood markers.
Out of a misty night
Ghostly white bird
Caught in a beam of light.

Dark dunes' spiky grasses
Loom against thick grey skies,
And on the heap as each day passes,
Each chunk of traceless steel
Rusts to uniform anonymity.
Many voices make excuses real.

It's not just bridges burnt
Behind the glass I watch the cup
Remembering lessons learned
From dying angel flowers
Upon proud pinnacles,
Of crystal towers.

Handing my ticket to the smiling man,
Stepping back on to dry land,
I gather my thoughts as best I can,
Glad of your hand in mine,
Safe and assured by your
Undying irreverence for time.


message 4: by Nicky (last edited Feb 13, 2014 02:39PM) (new)

Nicky (soundgirl) | 1145 comments Misunderstanding


There's a cobweb in the corner
Hanging from the coving.
I wish the light bulb would
Stop glaring in my eyes
But the switch is far to far away.
The phone is ringing
But it's not for me.
The cobweb's dancing
In the heat from the fire
And every lyric seems to know me.


message 5: by Nicky (last edited Feb 13, 2014 02:40PM) (new)

Nicky (soundgirl) | 1145 comments Stumped


Entombed
And left to steep
Like socks in the sink,
Befriended by the blank sheet,
The loud tick of time
And the gaunt face
On the wall.

Dreaming
Of the winding track
With a cup of Casey Jones's tea
A-steaming and a-rollin'
On the trembling table
And sheep on the hillside
As white as the page.

Knowing
While the sharp light
Beats down on the cooling toast
And stagnant brush,
The white knight in shining glory
Won't appear with a sharpened thought
To fill the gaping holes.


message 6: by Nicky (last edited Feb 13, 2014 02:40PM) (new)

Nicky (soundgirl) | 1145 comments A Drive in the Country


And there, caught in
The afternoon shadow
Of a green neon palm tree
At the Club Carib
In the back street of a small village
A few miles past nowhere
Was a lonely yellow
Robin Reliant
Rain-splashed and a little rusty
Proudly displaying it's window sticker
Declaring it's love of pigeons.


message 7: by Nicky (last edited Feb 13, 2014 02:40PM) (new)

Nicky (soundgirl) | 1145 comments Aground


Are they the sad shades of swordfish
Above those monumental gates?
Cross-legged I sat
Before the magic box
As the shimmering shapes floated
To the surface.

Awestruck by the screaming flames
Familiar places estranged.
Calm men with speeches;
Sad people with stories;
Neighbours who saw it,
And those, of course who knew it.

But I couldn't hear
The singing steel or
Roaring torches; hoarse laughter;
Footsteps on pavements;
Only the wind
Through the railings.

Pushing my arm through the bars
I tried to touch the shinning scales,
Feel the silvery cold
But with flashing tails
They were gone. Beyond the reach
Of an outstretched hand.


message 8: by Lauri (new)

Lauri | 17 comments Nicky wrote: "A Postcard Home


I saw my reflection in a room
With no mirror.
Thinking back
I hadn't been there for a while
But something stuck me as
Strange.
Then I realised:
Someone had stolen the hill.
In my..."



I like this one Nicky! It was as though I was reading the whispers of a ghost :)


message 9: by Nicky (new)

Nicky (soundgirl) | 1145 comments Thank You, glad you enjoyed it!


message 10: by Ryan (new)

Ryan | 5334 comments Nicky! I really enjoyed reading through this collection. The topics you've chosen are so different and work very well together. The standout for me is 'Misunderstanding'. The imagery is beautiful and the final line is stunning.

I think your writing is very strong and you have a clear voice that shines through nicely. I love the way you've captured something simple and turned it into a splash of brilliant color in 'A Drive in the Country'. This is my favorite sort of poetry - everyday things shown in a new way. I think the way you started the poem is particularly effective, it really grabbed my attention.

I like the way that your writing is consistently free from clichés and your thoughts are presented in your own way. You imagery is fresh and colorful and the scenes you paint are strong and full of life. 'After the Riot' is a perfect example of this.

I can't really offer much critique on the poems themselves, I think each is very well written and thoroughly enjoyable to read. The only area I think needs a little bit more work is your titles. I think they give the story away before you start reading by offering a summary of the entire poem. Personally, I think this detracts a little bit - I like to discover what a poem is about as I'm reading and have it revealed sparingly rather than handed to me on a plate. That is just me though, poetry is totally subjective as you well know.

Anyway, I think these poems are beautiful and I look forward to reading more :)


message 11: by Nicky (new)

Nicky (soundgirl) | 1145 comments Thanks Ryan,

That's a really thoughtful critique. Funny, I always struggle with titles - for everything really, sometimes I wish I could leave them title-less!I will give some thought to what you said I think it might help.
N


message 12: by Nicky (new)

Nicky (soundgirl) | 1145 comments This is a poem I'm still working on at the moment.

Surprising Joy

April like a budding flower,
Whose graceful fragility belies
The power and the beauty of her thoughts
Which twirl and dance like blossom caught
In spring’s brisk breeze.
Whose gentle assured smile
Radiates the calm and caring nature of her heart
It’s true and honest strength guards
All beneath it’s light.

Hazel like a mighty tree
Who yet small yearns to grow.
Quick tears precede infectious laughter
That draw all she meets to her warmth
And generosity of deeds and thought.
Whose bravery and passion,
Fuel the fierce and wonderful tempests
Of her heart, that roar and crash like
Waves against the shore.

And I gaze again in wonder
At these small but precious things.
Fluttering lids, sleep soaked, so peaceful
Small hearts to keep, safe from harm.
To fill, with magical things,
An inquiring mind and open heart.
And I will be forever, astonished
At the surprising gift of joy
Of little hands in mine.


-------

I still keep fiddling with some of the vocabulary I'm not entirely happy with and the rhythm in places isn't perhaps as smooth as I'd like.


message 13: by [deleted user] (new)

Nicky wrote: "This is a poem I'm still working on at the moment.

Surprising Joy

April like a budding flower,
Whose graceful fragility belies
The power and the beauty of her thoughts
Which twirl and dance like..."


That is so gorgeous! I think that the words fit together beautifully, and it just sounds lovely :) You are so talented!


message 14: by Nicky (new)

Nicky (soundgirl) | 1145 comments Thank you GEG, that's really kind of you.


message 15: by Nicky (new)

Nicky (soundgirl) | 1145 comments I've spent the afternoon unpacking boxes and found an old note book of poem's I must have written in my late teens or early twenties, I'd forgotten most of them but her are a few....




Full Circle


And so, at last,
The wheel has come around again.
Spoke the picture
From the dusty frame.

With unsure foot
I test the ground
And test the ground
Then slowly trust my weight

Unto the polished floor.
The eternal circle
And you the hero once more.
But where are your damsels now?

Where your loyal and true?
Against the screaming legions
By your side I have stood
In your guided picture book.

One fine day
Your glittering winged world
Will plummet
From the sky.

You chart your course
In circles, circles
Ever smaller, ever darker
‘Till only you’ll remain.
You’ll call the names
But none will face the pain
And hear you;
Their unsure foot upon the wood.

Before the floorboards
Dropped away.
You’ll walk into
The empty house.

And stand before the frame
You’ll hear the voice
And so, at last,
The wheel has come around, again.

----------
Nicky


message 16: by Nicky (last edited Feb 20, 2014 08:30AM) (new)

Nicky (soundgirl) | 1145 comments Garden Within


The old wooden gate creaked open
At my touch, I stepped into it’s shadow
Who are you? You seem familiar,
But, no, no.
I rested my hand on the stone rail
And slowly, carefully descended the stairs
Old slabs of stone calm and quiet,
Down into the garden.

Do you know who I am?
I know that you’re a stranger.
The trees echo a voice,
A familiar tone, so familiar:
Gentle, low and yet, no.
Past the ivy that yearly creeps
Along each aged crack,
Down into the garden.

My shadow on each step,
Medusa haired,
My foot- falls on the gravel path.
On the marble fountain I sat
Dangling my hand in the cool, cool water.
Is that my reflection, so solemn and still?
Here in the garden.
Do you see me? Have you ever?


message 17: by Nicky (last edited Feb 20, 2014 08:31AM) (new)

Nicky (soundgirl) | 1145 comments Not Thinking



Day glow clouds glide
Over rooftops and behind
The curtains. And me
In the box inside out.
Distorted. As peach rose petals
Stand defiant against
Autumnal aggression.
Reminders of the summer
That never was.
Inside I am sky, Clouds,
Sun through my veins
And I can’t help but smile.


message 18: by Nicky (last edited Apr 28, 2014 11:27AM) (new)

Nicky (soundgirl) | 1145 comments What shall I call this poem?


Are these my hands?
Who is that girl and where
Is she going in such a rush,
That her coat doesn’t match
Her shoes?

I look into her eyes and ask,
Is this real? Is this what you
Really think?
What you really feel?
But there’s no one in the mirror,

Except me.
Still the casserole was nice;
It was good to put my feet up
And watch T.V,
Even if it was subtitles.

But there’s no time to count
Before the thunder
Before the lightening once again
And to dash for that safety of a
Rack walled cave.

And what to eat?
What to wear?
What to watch next on T.V?
And why am I waiting for you?
And do I wish you were here?
------------


I chuckled when I saw this one, after the discussion I had with Ryan about titles!


message 19: by Nicky (last edited Feb 20, 2014 08:31AM) (new)

Nicky (soundgirl) | 1145 comments Lost Socks



Do you ever feel like
You’re wearing someone else’s
Life?

Like you've left yours
At the laundrette
And picked up someone else’s
Bag instead?

And although
It’s quite comfortable
While you’re wearing it

When you catch a glimpse
Of yourself in a mirror
You realise that’s it’s a colour
That doesn't quite suit you,

And it’s just a little bit
Too big.


message 20: by Nicky (last edited Mar 15, 2014 04:00PM) (new)

Nicky (soundgirl) | 1145 comments I found these two poems about my grandmothers, written at different times, that I’d completely forgotten about. I don’t seem to have written about my grandfathers though – perhaps I will.

Tomorrow Will Come and Go

Most of all
I remember
Laughing;
And humbugs
In the kitchen jar;
The incessant scream
Of the kettle
On it’s ancient perch.
Fallen apples and
Favourite teacups
And the pantry’s
Tardis-like potential
To yield yellow marzipan
With pink chequered
Batten-burgh.

----------------------

Bill Quay

I gazed at your view
Across the river;
Cranes arched over
Sun gilded waters.
A man crossed himself
As we pulled away;
A sad agreement
Of lost histories.
Rainbow winged butterflies
Cast by the sun,
Rest in it’s warmth
On old grey stone.
My posy was beside you,
Which was good:
You’d have liked the pale
White tulips, the purple Freesia
And the delicate fronds
That draped the polished wood.


---------------
Nicky


message 21: by Nicky (new)

Nicky (soundgirl) | 1145 comments A couple more from my old sketch book.


A Hap’th of Tar

Red carnations
And a single red rose
That hang their heads
Solemnly; I hope it’s their
Memory that makes me
Keep them, brittle and old.

If I knew what day it was
Maybe time wouldn’t slip down
Behind my memory
Like coins behind the cushions;
Freeze framed like old film.

On stage I am invisible;
It’s not me they’re here to see.
And even though the lights are in
My eyes and the music’s quiet now,
I know they’re there,
Yet it doesn’t seem to matter.

I know I’m here somewhere
If I could just remember where
And not feel the sweep of space
Between Me and these crowds
That hardly let me breathe.

Then you ask me if I’m sleeping
I shake my head so you’ll
Tell me more about the ocean
And wooden hulled ships
Of how it feels to hit the rocks
The icy sea and the nights depth.

Somehow I know,
Because I’ve sensed the rocks
Are nearer but it’s the silence
That gets me most, reminding me
That it’s my thoughts I hear.

How can you say you miss me
When I’m not gone?


message 22: by Nicky (new)

Nicky (soundgirl) | 1145 comments This poem, as I read it back now, seems very self-indulgent but I really like the part about the pebble towards the end. I thought I might deconstruct it and re-write it but I’ve found it really difficult – like defacing a painting or a book, maybe I’ll pluck up the courage and give it a try.
Rock Pools

It’s twenty past ten
And I still haven’t worked out
What I’m trying to say.

It’s like when they scraped
The paint, so carefully, from the can
And pierced it with a pen knife

I realised what an illusion pleasure can be
“Just to relive the boredom” they said
I told them I wasn’t bored.

The thing is, I already know
The answers so why do I bother
With the questions?

It’s like finding a pebble
Washed up by the sea;
all shiny

That I put in my pocket and take home
And when I reach inside,
For my treasure

It looks like any other pebble
But I know, how
Only the sea can transform it.


message 23: by Nicky (new)

Nicky (soundgirl) | 1145 comments When we were kids we would dare each other to go into the old air raid shelter in the woods. I can’t remember why I chose to use it for a poem but here it is…

The Shelter

She paused, as she reached the door
Hand on the frame, peering through
The blackened timbers, highlighted
Against the sky; an icy glow
Sprinkled light around the edges
Of charcoal shapes

They say there’s a head inside,
A dead German’s head inside and rats.
And the head is still in it’s helmet too.
And the rats are as big as cats,
As big as great big cats.
And there’s blood, they say,
There’s still blood
On the dead head in it’s helmet.
In the dark, dank, smelly darkness.

Branches whipped at her face,
At her legs, dark sinewy arms of trees,
That whipped at her face,
At her legs.
Outpacing the floating head
That bobbed along behind her,
That bobbed along through the trees,
Just right behind her,
Until she stumbled into
The street lights protective skirts.


message 24: by Nicky (new)

Nicky (soundgirl) | 1145 comments Rainforest

The house was glass.
Sunbeams refracted into
Rainbows, over the lily ponds.
Like a ship in a bottle,
A genie in the lamp,
The magical terrarium
Held a rainforest.
Giant organic umbrellas
Clustered like commuters
On a rainy Monday.
Draped by a mist
Of opalescent chiffon.


message 25: by Nicky (new)

Nicky (soundgirl) | 1145 comments I managed to miss the deadline for this one so this is what I've been writing for smoke - I haven't settled on a name yet and I've been struggling to get it to do what I wanted it to - I was contemplating another verse in between verse 1 & 2 which may appear later.....any thoughts welcome.


Delicate tendrils swirl and sway
Drifting skyward to stars hung brightly in the velvet dark.
Branches silhouetted against the horizon dance
To a slow and melancholy rhythm
Leaves mutter harmonies as whispering winds
Dirge and drone ambient music.

Night as a warm blanket wrapped around.
Tiny luminescent flares, firey flakes,
Dart a brief existence into the air
To hang like blossom caught on the breeze
Then vanish as wraiths before the light.

Rich dark coals hide white hot embers,
New shoots burst forth their red and orange spears.
Tongues of flame and smoke; translucent grey
Plumes entwined, chase skyward again.
Heat radiates, turning back the creeping chill.

All seems possible as if dreams
And hopes can soar on feather soft wings,
Illuminated momentarily by the flame,
Clear passage through the darkness
Reaching upwards until they meet the coming dawn.


message 26: by Ryan (new)

Ryan | 5334 comments Nicky, it is beautiful! I love the rich vibrancy of your images - you have painted a lovely picture and feeling.

I'll write more once I'm back on my iPad, struggling on my phone! I just wanted to let you know how much I enjoyed reading this :)


message 27: by Nicky (new)

Nicky (soundgirl) | 1145 comments Thanks Ryan!


message 28: by Ryan (new)

Ryan | 5334 comments Just a thought, Nicky - I think this poem would flow a lot better if you punctuated correctly rather than having capitals at the start of each line. I really like the way you've broken the lines up and the capitals lessen the effect quite a lot for me. But that could just be me !


message 29: by Nicky (new)

Nicky (soundgirl) | 1145 comments Ah, well that's interesting - I often wonder about that, I was taught to put a capital at the start of each new line but in poetry books sometimes they do, sometimes they don't. For some reason I always feel like I've been naughty if I don't and I end up going back and changing it! Considering I'm not naturally drawn to convention I think I should examine my motivation for doing so....


message 30: by Ryan (new)

Ryan | 5334 comments My education was only to the end of High School, after which I joined the Army. So, I don't know that much about the technicalities of writing. Most of my understanding of language comes from reading. I've read a lot of poetry though and there are certainly many different forms. I can't tell you if that advice is 'right' or 'wrong' from an academic viewpoint, I'm only speaking as a reader. The only way I ever really judge poetry is by the effect it has on me as I read it.


message 31: by Ryan (new)

Ryan | 5334 comments Have a read of some of Jim's poetry that appears through the competition threads for an example of what I'm (poorly) trying to express. He is one of the best poets I've ever read and uses line breaks/capitalization to very good effect.


message 32: by Nicky (last edited Mar 16, 2014 01:29PM) (new)

Nicky (soundgirl) | 1145 comments Yes, thanks Ryan, you have a great knack of making me look more closely at myself! I really should write my poetry the way that suits the poem best and not just cling to the 'safe'option. As I say I'm not usually renowned for taking the safe option in anything else I do, so I think I should definitely give it a go!
Jim is very accomplished as a poet and I enjoy reading his entries.
And by the way if all your knowledge of literature is self taught, that's amazing! Thank you again for your thoughtful insights!


message 33: by Nicky (new)

Nicky (soundgirl) | 1145 comments Well I seem to have got out of sync with the deadlines. here's the poem I was working on for the self denial thread. It doesn't have a name yet and it may not be in it's finished shape. Trying to bite the bullet and write less like the way I was told to but not sure if I'm quite confident with that approach. Anyway.. see what you think.


They’re building up the flood defences;
large slabs of smooth grey concrete
resolute
in their immobility,
stretch along banks,
once lazily grassy,
carelessly strewn with wild flowers.
Walls that keep fear at bay.
Protection from the roaring, turbulent waters
lest they should, once again,
crash through the darkness
dashing all asunder,
rending all before,
changing everything.
Focusing on small things,
minutiae,
the mundane,
creates a special pain
not bright and sharp like a cut
but slow and dull like an ache.
Repeating again and again,
banal, insignificant details
calmly with a façade of cool, smooth strength,
polished like alabaster.
Stealing furtive glances at the sky beyond,
longing to look up,
to catch a glimpse
to see the all-encompassing darkness of a night
sprinkled with tiny white hot points of light.
Look up, to towering cliffs of weed clung rock.
Look up, to the swaying branches caught in a shaft of light.
Up, to the beauty of a building crafted with care
monument to the masons hand.
Up, to a bird that soars, singing,
over the rooftops
and away.
And so, although I know the wall is necessary;
that these sensible precautions
protect us from the dangers
that dwell beyond the horizon
unnamed,
in all their guises,
I can’t help but wonder if something
has been lost
and I understand the growing pressure
behind the wall;
the urge
to burst forth,
smashing all before,
revelling
in the reckless rush of freedom.


--------
Nicky


message 34: by Ryan (new)

Ryan | 5334 comments That's beautiful, Nicky! I think stepping away from rigid structure has loosened your writing up and allowed you more freedom to express yourself. I love the consistent language you've used throughout, it actually reminds me of a castle wall. The conclusion comes together in a really nice rush from 'I can't help but wonder...' It is a really satisfying ending. I really enjoyed this one, now you just need a name ;)


message 35: by Nicky (new)

Nicky (soundgirl) | 1145 comments Thanks Ryan, Glad you liked it, I enjoyed writing it, I think it slightly reflected the way I felt about writing it, if that makes sense! Title wise, I had contemplated 'Torrent' or 'Deluge' but hadn't really settled on them...


message 36: by Ryan (new)

Ryan | 5334 comments I like 'Torrent'. I thought 'Flood Tide', perhaps.


message 37: by M (new)

M | 11073 comments I’m just now beginning to read these, and I feel as if I’ve discovered a room full of treasure! The writing in “A Postcard Home” is surreal, intriguing, and beautiful. The rhyme is so well handled in “After the Riot” that it’s almost unnoticeable.

The writing makes me think of what a photograph might be like if film’s reaction to light could be words rather than a chemical change in silver halides. Some of the images are strikingly vivid! “Two finches flew, screeching / From the gorse.” “Dark dunes’ spiky grasses / Loom against thick grey skies . . .” “the sad shades of swordfish / Above those monumental gates . . .”

“A Drive in the Country” is a vibrant, complex image in a single sentence of eleven lines, and in some of these poems there are haunting passages, sometimes unexpected and almost unsettling: “Looking away I heard her thinking, / Felt her talking, but couldn’t / Own what she was saying.” “Who is that girl and where / Is she going in such as rush, / That her coat doesn’t match / Her shoes?”


message 38: by [deleted user] (new)

Nicky wrote: "Aground


Are they the sad shades of swordfish
Above those monumental gates?
Cross-legged I sat
Before the magic box
As the shimmering shapes floated
To the surface.

Awestruck by the screaming fla..."


Hi Nicky, I took M's advice and plunged into your basket of goodies. This poem intrigues me. What is "the magic box?" ~


message 39: by [deleted user] (new)

M wrote: "I’m just now beginning to read these, and I feel as if I’ve discovered a room full of treasure! The writing in “A Postcard Home” is surreal, intriguing, and beautiful. The rhyme is so well handled ..."

The opening line to "Aground" is majestic, and carries a tone I like to encounter.


message 40: by Nicky (new)

Nicky (soundgirl) | 1145 comments M wrote: "I’m just now beginning to read these, and I feel as if I’ve discovered a room full of treasure! The writing in “A Postcard Home” is surreal, intriguing, and beautiful. The rhyme is so well handled ..."

Thank you M, I'm so glad you enjoyed them!


message 41: by Nicky (new)

Nicky (soundgirl) | 1145 comments Cat Grimalkin wrote: "Nicky wrote: "Aground


Are they the sad shades of swordfish
Above those monumental gates?
Cross-legged I sat
Before the magic box
As the shimmering shapes floated
To the surface.

Awestruck by the..."


Hi Cat, Thank you!
The magic box was referring to the tv late at night in the dark!


message 42: by [deleted user] (last edited Apr 27, 2014 02:21PM) (new)

Nicky wrote: "Cat Grimalkin wrote: "Nicky wrote: "Aground


Are they the sad shades of swordfish
Above those monumental gates?
Cross-legged I sat
Before the magic box
As the shimmering shapes floated
To the surf..."

Nicky,
You are welcome~. I thought you might be referring to an aquarium. Were the monumental gates the railings? ~I looked to the title for direction, or an indication, or a perspective. I am going to call the word title a "stringer" from now on because in architecture (I have not ever seen a real stringer) the word means a long, heavy horizontal timber used for any of several connective or supportive purposes. Does the stringer, "Aground" embrace the persona's mood, or does the stringer point to - or embrace - the idea of a poem?


message 43: by [deleted user] (new)

Nicky wrote: "What shall I call this poem?

Something random like Persian Walnut; or Persistence; or, Persiflage Fossick; Persiflage Fortuna; The Fountainhead of Persiflage; The Crust of Reflections; Traits of Mind and Behavior; and one for the road: The Empire of Me. The Rind of Time. :)~ Enjoyed your work today. Have a good week~!

Are these my hands?
Who is that girl and where
Is she going in such as rush,
That her coat doesn’t match
Her shoes?

I look into her eyes and ask,
Is this real? Is t..."



message 44: by Nicky (new)

Nicky (soundgirl) | 1145 comments Cat Grimalkin wrote: "Nicky wrote: "Cat Grimalkin wrote: "Nicky wrote: "Aground


Are they the sad shades of swordfish
Above those monumental gates?
Cross-legged I sat
Before the magic box
As the shimmering shapes float..."


Hi Cat,
Thank you,

Yes, the title does have meaning, the whole poem is really about growing up in a community very much defined by the sea.


message 45: by Nicky (new)

Nicky (soundgirl) | 1145 comments Cat Grimalkin wrote: "Nicky wrote: "What shall I call this poem?

Something random like Persian Walnut; or Persistence; or, Persiflage Fossick; Persiflage Fortuna; The Fountainhead of Persiflage; The Crust of Reflection..."


Yeah, you may well have a point - I struggle with titles - Ryan has pointed out that I sometimes tend to make them too explanatory, I often worry they are too obscure but perhaps I should make them really majestically enigmatic!


message 46: by Nicky (new)

Nicky (soundgirl) | 1145 comments M wrote: "I’m just now beginning to read these, and I feel as if I’ve discovered a room full of treasure! The writing in “A Postcard Home” is surreal, intriguing, and beautiful. The rhyme is so well handled ..."

Hi M, I know I said thank you for your comments yesterday but I've thought about your kind word all day and they really meant a lot to me!


message 47: by M (new)

M | 11073 comments I’m thrilled! I wish I were better at keeping up with what gets posted. Whatever led me to “A Postcard Home,” as I read it I got that strange, electrifying feeling of having come across something beautiful.

From the poems you posted later, a passage I found particularly striking is “Until she stumbled into / The street lights protective skirts.” It delivers a graphic image that has depth because of the metaphorical aspect.


message 48: by [deleted user] (new)

Nicky wrote: "Cat Grimalkin wrote: "Nicky wrote: "What shall I call this poem?

Something random like Persian Walnut; or Persistence; or, Persiflage Fossick; Persiflage Fortuna; The Fountainhead of Persiflage; T..."


Your description made me look up Maestoso. I like your titles. :)


message 49: by Nicky (new)

Nicky (soundgirl) | 1145 comments Thank you - I've looked it up too now so I've learned a new word today..all is good.
I know you like your dictionary so I think you'll understand when I say that one of the best presents I've ever received is my Dictionary/Thesaurus which I love. My flat mate at Art School (who never read etc) bought it for me for my 21st birthday as she said she knew I loved words.


message 50: by [deleted user] (new)

That was around the time (early 20s) I started using a dictionary. What a coincidence. :)


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