Today, Again. [Edit]

Today is for silence, though your eyes
speak volumes of verse - biblical, indelible
words that have no meaning
other than the slow dystrophy
of our sullen language.

we are the hand gestures
of our passing ages, generations,
creases of time in the same
broken eye our childhood lies

together we are my sword,
sluiced from the silver our mothers
flaked from crosses they bore
over what we never knew.

Silence rendered into our skin,
our fingers are broken, tongues cut
on the blade we drew together
so that we would speak again

- It needs some work still. Any comments welcome.

Ahhh! You are such a pretty poet and I love you completely and utterly. <3

Most of it was brilliant. Like, a lot. Just two things:

By what we always never knew.<-- for some reason, it really bugs me that always and never are coupled. I think this might just be me being weird, but it seems an utter contradiction. I'm torn whether to love it or to tweak out at it. I'm not even sure that I want you to change it at all. I just wanted to point it out.

Also, the stanzas three and four seem like there's something missing in between them. Not sure what.

But really, all criticism aside, this is really one of your better poems. You've gotten good.

That was really good. It's really played with my senses, and I found your vocabulary pretty interesting.
The only thing I didn't like was your first stanza. Just remove that entirely. It messed up to flow of your poem.
I really did like this poem.
Good work
~Wickedwonder

Hey Penguin -

A confession: it's been a while since I have read shorter poetry and liked it.

It begins smoothly, interestingly. 'Today is for silence' immediately gave it a hushed tone - but what I like was that it only got better from there into the second line; 'volumes of verse - bibilical, indelible' - this was pleasing on an entirely sense-related level. My tongue appreciated it. And actual meaning-wise? I wonder why today is for silence and why religion is an aspect of it. A religious day/time to not speak? Hmph. We shall see...

words that have no meaning
other than the slow dystrophy
of our sullen language.
We are the hand gestures
of our passing ages, generations,
creases of time and crooks in the same
broken crockery our childhood lies

Mmm. Delicate imagery, and I want to stop by and unravel it too, but the pull of the flow is too great - I also want to read on. However: let's see what I can undo - from a hint at religion in the first stanza, we come to linguistics and the futility of language, spoken language; in how we are an imitation of what's past. Something is not clicking nicely here, despite your marvellous flow. Perhaps, on a spiritual level, then, that words have little value? Therefore can be set aside for this day, religious or not? And that lies are inevitable with words (for we are neer able to harness the truth exactly with them)?

The innocence of tone avoids the obvious irony - that you are using words to convey their lack of worth.

Also - I didn't appreciate 'crooks' nor 'crockery' much. Cluttery words for a smooth poem. Some evening-out, please?

together we are my sword,
your lips my ink
sluiced from the silver our mothers

'The pen is mightier than the sword'? Really? This where it got a tad too cheesy - hence boring - for my liking. Surely there's a way to phrase this to avoid that connotation.

sewed into my dress this summer gone
by what we never knew.

Sing to me, ash black and smoking,
Bake my dreams, solidify me
so we are free
to live in this which is no longer ours.
which is mine.
and yours.
and ending

again.

And I was sorely disappointed that the poem lost it at this point. There was such a lovely focus that vanished into bitsy tangents like summer and ash and fire. There was something deeply contemplative about it before, something very indoorsy and intellectual...and all of a sudden, we veer back outside in a poem where to change this rapidly is something to make any reader wary.

Nevertheless, I would assume it had some kind of purpose...some plot detail that escapes me at this point; perhaps that there was a fire, the effect of which is too difficult to pinpoint - adequately - in words, which is what you suggest with the 'day of silence' idea (but no, that sounds too much like your other poem on fire...) I just get itchy when plot and theme don't tie tightly in something of this length, that's all.

Thanks for the read.


Navi

This was a beautiful piece- I didn't understand it completely, and it may have just been my inability to read further into poetry.
Anywho- you used gorgeous phrasing, and a great word choice. The imagery was beautiful- some of the most emotion-evoking I've read in a while. Love the tone.

In other words- great job. Loved this, even though I'm not sure I understood what lay behind it.

-Coral-