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Aftermath

by Liz


Clouds whisper silkily after the
bruised ankles of morning.

The white ligaments of this salty sea
stroke the soft hair of this tuna flesh,
with paintbrush fingers they lather froth
like the world's sweat,
turning electrocuted sunrise into
smoothed chalk and cotton moth wings.

And like a lightened night,
a night of grey and white,
hours crawl by undisturbed,
gelled to the premature night like
oil through water.

Like pale marble above bleeding flesh,
this sky sinks to the torn ground like an
oyster-white security blanket.
Ocean lays motionless and I
let every red grain of salt slip from my palms,
my eyes, lips, hair take on the pure
milk tone of the sinless sky.


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351 Reviews


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Reviews: 351

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Sun May 01, 2011 11:35 pm
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ToritheMonster says...



JUST SO EVERYONE KNOWS:

THIS POEM HAS BEEN DEAD FOR YEARS. I bumped it from the last page. Anyway; carry on.




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11 Reviews


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Sun May 01, 2011 9:23 pm
JJxVoodo says...



I didn't get what you were saying really. I liked it in a strange way but I didn't understand half the words in there. Maybe you should have a bit about what happened before the aftermath

Keep writing- good luck
JJxVoodo




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517 Reviews


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Sun May 01, 2011 9:15 pm
Lavvie wrote a review...



Hi there Liz. I'm Lavvi in here to review.

So, your imagery was exceptional! I loved it, very descriptive and almost everything a poem should be.

However, your rhythm was off sometimes. You might want to fix that by re-reading your poem and you may easily see how the beat is missing in some parts. Usually, it's only due to the fact of lacking syllables or, in some cases, too many syllables.

Yours,
Lavvi




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351 Reviews


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Sun May 01, 2011 8:59 pm
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ToritheMonster wrote a review...



(Was it bad of me to go perusing the back pages? I loves this one.)


Hey there! So; I decided to look at page 237; and after the creepy year 1969 Guest comments, I found this lovely piece. I really like it!

Clouds whisper silkily after the
bruised ankles of morning. (I love this. Weird, to think of morning as having bruised ankles, but cool!)

The white ligaments of this salty sea
stroke the soft hair of this tuna flesh, (Ew. These gave me the impression of eating dried fish and skin. Nice!)
with paintbrush fingers they lather froth
like the world's sweat,
turning electrocuted sunrise into
smoothed chalk and cotton moth wings. (Lovely.)

And like a lightened night,
a night of grey and white, (Don't say 'night' twice.)
hours crawl by undisturbed,
gelled to the premature night like (Three times!?)
oil through water.

Like pale marble above bleeding flesh,
this sky sinks to the torn ground like an
oyster-white security blanket. (Love these three lines so much.)
Ocean lays motionless and I
let every red grain of salt slip from my palms,
my eyes, lips, hair take on the pure
milk tone of the sinless sky. (Awesome!)



So, I loved this. The imagery and language was crazy good! You have tons of talent; m'dear. Good job! I only disliked the use of the word "night" repeatedly.

Overall, amazing. Keep writing!

-Tori




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Sat Jan 29, 2005 11:32 pm
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MasterChief says...



I really don't like the whole sea and tuna fish thing.
To be brutally honest in the nicest possible way, it's fluff that needs a lot of reworking.




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Sat Jan 29, 2005 4:24 pm
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Chevy wrote a review...



Tuna flesh??? I'm...confused, which is nothing new, so don't take it personal.

Anyway, the poem had a nice flow, but I just kept getting lost...there was too much going on...perhaps you shouldn't use so much imagery...that'll make it a lot easier to read.




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Sat Jan 29, 2005 7:03 am
Incandescence wrote a review...



Get over your d*** imagery. Beautiful poetry isn't comprised of only beautiful images. This would be a lot better if you focused the point of it and dropped the goofy imagery. It looks like you randomally open a book and say..."ooooh, dog." And then write something like "His eyes were pixie-colored canine" and everyone says it's beautiful, and perhaps the line and image itself is, but the poem, in the end, collapses.





Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did. So throw off the bowlines, sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream.
— Mark Twain