Treasure Island

Poetics and Poetry Discussion


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  • Gulsher John Rookie - 1st Stage (8/16/2014 6:39:00 AM) Post reply

    For example what QUESTION, Sir?

  • Gajanan Mishra Silver Star - 5th Stage (8/15/2014 11:38:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    For what we are here that we do not know, but we know we are here, it is the poem that can give us some options to find the answers, come on my dear poets, and search all the questions that are here with us.

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  • Pranab K Chakraborty Freshman - 2nd Stage (8/15/2014 10:29:00 AM) Post reply

    Disaster never comes alone
    always it brings many tongues
    to taste and to torture
    disaster
    just see the deeper
    dipping with undestined deviation

  • Frank James Ryan Jr...fjr Rookie - 1st Stage (8/15/2014 2:11:00 AM) Post reply | Read 2 replies

    Sacred...As a reply...Have a great weekend all ye hunters of poem...FjR

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    • Frank Ovid Rookie - 1st Stage (8/15/2014 4:57:00 PM) Post reply

      I like this Frank! Perfect!

    • Frank James Ryan Jr...fjr Rookie - 1st Stage (8/15/2014 2:12:00 AM) Post reply

      Sacred Approaching the stone fountain on a flesh-toasting noon in Milan, there's allurement for one to turn palms to the sky, immerse them beneath the cool ripple of the iridescent, arc ... more

  • Gulsher John Rookie - 1st Stage (8/14/2014 6:52:00 AM) Post reply

    Ohhh, my ' independence day' post got deleted, Saddddd

  • Gulsher John Rookie - 1st Stage (8/13/2014 9:37:00 PM) Post reply | Read 2 replies

    what is poetry?
    to describe (things) you SEE, or
    narrating (things) you FANCY?

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    • Gulsher John Rookie - 1st Stage (8/14/2014 9:22:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

      Mike, how i see it... poetry is about sound and visual effects at least, (of course) besides meaning but must avoid sappiness and irrelevant Artfulness. And more focus on meaning rather than messa ... more

    • Mike Acker Rookie - 1st Stage (8/14/2014 1:14:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

      I would define poetry as an experience offered by the poet. It is as if the poet is a guide into and through that experience. The poet simply lays out the framework. Some poets prefer detail and concl ... more

  • Jefferson Carter Rookie - 1st Stage (8/12/2014 8:08:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    Whispers in the Wind
    Written by Adam M. Snow

    (Annotated by Jefferson Carter for usage errors)


    Those sway ardent winds of harmony, (makes no sense)



    I hear it among the wind. (among?No way, Jose)


    your whispers in the wind, (it refers to what?whispers?echoes?harmony, perhaps?pronoun reference confusion)
    echoes of sweet harmony,
    it guided me back to you.


    Let it get lost among the wind; (see above)

    and have it find the heart within my ear. (now THAT'S a kind of Lamontian bit of metaphorical silliness!)

    Let your words etch itself upon my beating heart, (pronoun reference error—itself is singular, words are plural)


    So, because of these basic mistakes, I'm almost convinced Adam Snow is one of our friendly ESL poets from Malaysia or Indonesia or Pakistan...

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  • Mike Acker Rookie - 1st Stage (8/11/2014 3:52:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    A Peculiar Truth as reply

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    • Mike Acker Rookie - 1st Stage (8/11/2014 3:53:00 PM) Post reply

      A Peculiar Truth To gain everything, I would have to lose all things. A peculiar truth. Mike Acker

  • Adam M. Snow Rookie - 1st Stage (8/11/2014 1:24:00 PM) Post reply | Read 2 replies

    Whispers in the Wind
    Written by Adam M. Snow

    Entrance me with your tune,
    that gentle voice of yours.
    Those sway ardent winds of harmony,
    an echoed symphony of your life;
    each word is wrapped in rhapsody,
    flowing with the wind.

    Your gentle voice, a breeze;
    your whisper - so angelically,
    echoes throughout the world.
    I hear it among the wind.
    I hear it over the thunder of my beating heart.
    I hear it calling to me.

    We travel separate roads of life,
    I got lost a time or two - perhaps more.
    Your voice helped me along the way;
    your whispers in the wind,
    echoes of sweet harmony,
    it guided me back to you.

    I want to hear it once more,
    the melody of your voice.
    Let it get lost among the wind;
    (that sway ardent winds of harmony)
    and have it find the heart within my ear.

    Let your words etch itself upon my beating heart,
    let them live forever upon my heart,
    its beats won't fade the memory,
    of what you've left in me.

    I hear it within a dream;
    it brings me peace;
    that caring voice of yours.
    A stage whisper in the wind;
    that soothing beat - an interval,
    an echoed symphony among the wind.

    Those treacherous words of love,
    " I do" and " love you"
    forever in my mind,
    forever in my heart.
    Forever lingering on - a song;
    your whisper in the wind,
    an echo - a sweet echo.

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    • Peter Stavropoulos Rookie - 1st Stage (8/12/2014 7:36:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

      For what it's worth, I like this, Adam. There is a genuineness in most of your work, and I particularly like the play between tune/voice/words in this poem. Peter

    • Jefferson Carter Rookie - 1st Stage (8/12/2014 9:44:00 AM) Post reply | Read 2 replies

      Adam, maybe I was wrong. You're not Lamont Palmer. Are you an ESL fellow? You write as if English is your not-very-well-mastered second language. Are you, perhaps, an Iranian? A Bolivian? If so, as ... more

  • Frank Ovid Rookie - 1st Stage (8/11/2014 12:44:00 PM) Post reply

    Here's my entry for Hogg's contest:


    Ina Garten and Her Husband Have a Spat


    He gulped.
    She stood there with a knife,
    and the blade was poised
    above the steaming bread.
    She guffawed.
    “You’re going to slice it like
    Texas Toast, aren’t you?”
    He smirked.
    “You always have to slice it thick, ”
    He complained.
    The knife began its journey.
    “It’s too hot as well. You’re
    going to ruin the loaf, ”
    He scolded.
    She laughed heartily as the knife
    gashed the tender bread.
    Crumbs were floating in the air
    as if tied to fishing line.
    He smelled
    yeast as it poured out
    of the pumpernickel.
    Sobbing, he thought of when they
    used to sop up their peppered
    gravy with biscuits. “Wait,
    I haven’t even cut the cheese yet! ”
    He blurted.
    They stopped, giggled, and looked at each other.
    She put the knife in the sink carefully,
    and he hugged her from behind.

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