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The Playwrights Forum > The Art & Craft of Writing > Poet's Corner : Critique my Poem > Eurydice and Hades

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Eurydice and Hades  Rate Topic 
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 Posted: Thu Apr 18th, 2013 01:26 am
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Drewmundim
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Mana: 
We meet in a polygon
of pomegranate trees
as our feet crush deep red,
dried seeds. A bedlam of weeds
you call the trees, barren
and thin, leaves like papier-maché
spectres that boo and stagnate
the wind. O you,
embers to driftwood, kerosene to a flame,
does your forked tongue crack
the gravel when you drag it along?
Does the cleft in your foot
trick the dog as it fox-prints the soil?
The crab walk you do confuses me
into silence. Silly silence,
silence so loud my head aches,
silence so loud my eardrums
pop popping.

I stare at the fruit in your hand.
From the garden's apex you pluck away
at the one pomegranate tree worth
any thing.
I stare into your eyes,
a pair of murky seas, an omen
to a sailor like pink skies at dawn,
and Vesuvius erupts.

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 Posted: Sun Apr 21st, 2013 01:28 am
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katoagogo
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Joined: Fri Jun 16th, 2006
Location: New London, Connecticut USA
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Mana: 

Last edited on Tue Apr 30th, 2013 10:45 pm by katoagogo

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 Posted: Thu Jun 27th, 2013 04:43 pm
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Allan_West
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Joined: Mon May 28th, 2012
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Mana: 
I really like your imagery here, and it feels deep and mysterious, perhaps like the world Hades is used to. I think you should keep writing and working and creating pieces like this.

The one thing I would say is to keep your formatting straight. What I mean is that sometimes I lost the flow in reading by some of your line breaks. This is, of course, personal preference but I would reformat is as such.

-

We meet in a polygon of pomegranate trees
As our feet crush deep red dried seeds
A bedlam of weeds you call the trees
Barren and thin, leaves like papier-maché
Spectres that boo and stagnate the wind
O you, embers to driftwood, kerosene to a flame
Does your forked tongue crack the gravel when you drag it along?
Does the cleft in your foot trick the dog as it fox-prints the soil?
The crab walk you do confuses me into silence
Silly silence,
Silence so loud my head aches
silence so loud my eardrums pop
Popping.

I stare at the fruit in your hand
From the garden's apex you pluck away
At the one pomegranate tree worth anything
I stare into your eyes, a pair of murky seas
An omen to a sailor, like pink skies at dawn
And Vesuvius erupts.

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 Posted: Wed Aug 14th, 2013 10:41 am
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Wendy Onslow
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Joined: Wed Jun 5th, 2013
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Mana: 
You should read a poem by EE Cummings (which I think the first line is, "Next of course to god america i", it's quite specific, so I could have that wrong). What I'm trying to say is every poet has his/her own voice, and no one should change it. It's up to the reader to change how they understand things, not the writer. Personally, I'd make it even tougher for someone to read.

Wendy

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