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Hello Lumi , Farz here !

Oh my god. This is a very touching poem. I love reading poems and this one is so simple and inspiring yet so perfect.
My favourite part of the poem is the part where it says

So say it’s the blush behind the powder, the blood behind the blush
that makes men hurt. It’s not in their hearts or their fingers,
not in their jaws or necks or backs. It’s not a pain of labor, but
a smoulder of misery beneath their eyelids
when they remember what her face looked like.

I love this! I thought the imagry was great and I really like the subject. You had a smart choice of language here and I especially loved the "mourning bird" reference. I look forward to seeing more of your work in the future

These are blue words, sad songs
that men write in the snow between sips of scotch
and the hum of a lady’s voice on the radio. Man, can she sing the blues;
like a mourning bird in the early dawn, like
a whisper between cracks of thunder. <<<<<Loved this
You see, this is how you write out your blues.

But no man can live by ink alone. <<<<And this!

So say it’s the blush behind the powder, the blood behind the blush
that makes men hurt. It’s not in their hearts or their fingers,
not in their jaws or necks or backs. It’s not a pain of labor, but
a smoulder of misery beneath their eyelids
when they remember what her face looked like.

Because they’re fair angels, those singers, like sirens on the rocks.

That was beautiful! Really, really emotive!
The descriptive language features you used were very effective.

this particular part flowed really well:

These are blue words, sad songs
that men write in the snow between sips of scotch
and the hum of a lady’s voice on the radio. Man, can she sing the blues;
like a mourning bird in the early dawn, like
a whisper between cracks of thunder.
You see, this is how you write out your blues.

But no man can live by ink alone.

I feel that former reviews ruined my opinion of this poem. I indeed enjoyed this poem, it's refreshing to read something that isn't cliche. I do agree with the reviewers above, I think that midway through was when the strenght showed in this poem. The last stanza brought tears to my eyes simply because it was so beatiful. I love how you connect with the reader, it's almost like you talking to us with pictures.

(Sighs) You have so much talent my friend, anyone would be lucky to be so blessed with your talent. I really did enjoy this and must stalk your writing now ^_^.

-Flow-

Lumilicious,

I dig it. Sort of. I really like the oh-so-subtle reference to Miles' All Blues. 6/8, blues, even the sirens motif. Cool. I think, however, that Snoink hit the nail on the head; it's as if you thought up a great little bit that turned into the third stanza, but struggled to make it stand up by itself. The first stanza has glimmers of your usual flair:

that men write in the snow between sips of scotch

like a mourning bird in the early dawn, like
a whisper between cracks of thunder.

But no man can live by ink alone.

Lumi, this was such a strong and emotional and descriptive and fantastic all around piece! I loved it so much! I loved how you used such powerful words and metaphors and everything! Just perfect in my opinion! I really liked this a lot!

Keep up the good work!!!! Happy Writing!


TuckEr EllsworTh

Hiya! Your poem is great, that's why I'm here!

So that's all. I liked how your words exemplified things so colorfully and imaginatively, but still staying in the emotional, frozen stage.

The only thing I noticed about this work is the length of each verse. It seems like I'm reading sentences instead of lines, see.

That's all! Good work! Keep on writing!

Luuuuuumi,

I love this piece. I think it's very blues-y, and I'm wondering if the 6/8 refers to a particular time signature (though I'm not all that adept at music, so I wouldn't know.)

I do agree that first stanza can't hold a candle to the third. Though I do love:

Because they’re fair angels, those singers, like sirens on the rocks.

like a mourning bird in the early dawn, like

not in their jaws or necks or backs. It’s not a pain of labor, but

This is so simple, yet so absoloutly perfect. I loved the line "No man can live by ink alone" I also loved how you isolated it by making it a stanza on it's own. I also liked the closing line "because they’re fair angels, those singers, like sirens on the rocks." because the references to angels and sirens made me think of old timey stories of tragedy and love, fitting perfectly with your theme. It had such an honest, melon-choly feel to it. Just beautiful.

Just returning the favor, dear

Now I was wondering when I would stumble across something along these lines from you. Not that the poem is melodramatic or anything of that general sort. Merely, you have this original flourish to every piece, and then this one was the first one to remind me of another. It connected to a prior thought, whether intentional or not, and that's kind of interesting.

You see, when I was reading this, all I could think of was lady sings the blues. Your tone, as of late, has been melancholy and directed towards love, which makes me wonder where all of this inspiration is coming (though I wouldn't necessarily put this towards a romantic form of love). It all seems to ache, and the ache sort of continues on into every piece. Its haunting.

Now, dear, there is something particular about this piece that I liked and that I didn't like. First and foremost, I liked the way you create that sort of ache without letting anything through. There is no problem, nor solution. The reason is not laid bare for us to see, and yet it clear enough to form an opinion, which is definitely interesting.

The quiet observation of this is beautiful in its simplicity.

But what I found is that, in reading that second stanza, I became unsure of whether we spoke of the woman or the man. His opinion of her, or her opinion of herself. It was all very.. cold, and sad. Which is reason enough to love the poem, but also reason enough to not know where my opinion lies as well.

In certainty, I will say that I think you are brilliant.

One nit-pick, though, I must add in would be this;

like a mourning bird in the early dawn, like
a whisper between cracks of thunder.

Hi Lumi!

Okay, this was the best stanza of the whole poem:

So say it’s the blush behind the powder, the blood behind the blush
that makes men hurt. It’s not in their hearts or their fingers,
not in their jaws or necks or backs. It’s not a pain of labor, but
a smoulder of misery beneath their eyelids
when they remember what her face looked like.