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Young Writers Society



Quashquema on Nauvoo

by MeanMrMustard


To Kylan, for showing me content

have you heard the river;
cry as a babe for the pacifier
motherland, with a mossy
hand webbed in politics, in
dirty laundry on a colonial square
drying in spectacle at first
town's fair. there perched
on an old man's nose, the hearth
of the people, then cast
from the iron nostril,
a trail of sparks to wander
down bayou, waltz across plain,
samba in desert, the people
strewn from a hen's womb
and replanted in the fertile placenta
of Venus, foreign cuckoo to
this river motherland.

in the flats walked those shoes
of mud, between memories in
wood flotilla of father Atlantis,
beyond west wind city mother
loose and rich,
as a goose hunting gold rush.
this garden of Venus, a womb
of windows to a spirit's memoir
bottle bouncing, by side of a canoe
down the river, carrying produce
of a life's toils bunched
in the loins of infertile hardships,
with one chance to win
best steer at show, promptly redressed
and left home, renamed the city
Commerce,
to make the resume “pop”.

a substantial failure
these Romans, in modeling
lucid Greeks. Carthage came
by hand of midwife prairie
and gut of ghost-town cellar,
plucking nighttime laurel dreams
left overhead, through Commerce's
spirit catcher slave, now retired
in spiritual reservation genocide.

the river now cried lonesome;
a mother with no bearing,
surging back north as a heart
capitulating in identity a century
before the pacemaker was conceived,
leaving a son with no soul to drink,
no captain to guide his hand's harvest,
season lost to season with no vision of god.

yet came a shepherd to the lonely pasture,
fed the flock as a cuckoo takes
in all broods by borrowing
a log cabin free of rent, this
new world saint parted the river
like butter churned, a feat as the
first anniversary in a hundred years,
praising the next coming, Nauvoo.
so the city remains, but so a rake
plowed the young goslings,
skin from bone, not a feather
was used for a pillow or meat for supper,
but a symbol in moral acceptance
as a diaspora hung from a noose
like a Christ on a wall. so
the people of the river and Nauvoo
filtered down a drain, a lesson
in tears trailing the contours of a face.

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User avatar
562 Reviews

Points: 719
Reviews: 562

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Sat May 07, 2011 1:19 pm
Button wrote a review...



Okay, Bob. I've read this a couple of times now (it needed it, believe me) and I'll probably read it a couple of more before dragging you into a conversation about it. For now, I'll just give you a few thoughts.

Accessibility: We've talked before about being concise and taking out extra words, but in some cases I think that you edge towards an extreme, where all accessibility to the reader is lost. Don't drag us down with descriptions-- leave some breathing space, occasionally, whether it be to place emphasis or allow for rhythm, give us some room. Right now, the meaning seems to hang on every word, and while that can be a truly excellent thing, I think that it becomes extremely dense. Don't make us fight for it every single time. Yes, being forced to think is wonderful, but being able to enjoy words is as well.

Imageries: You have some lovely things in here. You really, really do. However, at times I have to wonder-- do you need it all? I'm quite infamous for fleeting images that need expanding, so maybe I shouldn't even touch this subject but I feel like at times you've passed things over with just the lightest of touches and other times have fallen into expansion while bringing up other just-barely-there things in those expansions. Be careful. This is where it gets dense, and people get lost.

Now, again, I love this. You emulate others' styles very well while keeping your own tone and language, which is a wonderful skill the have (still think you're like Kirby in that respect!) and I think that this piece itself was great. I was able to follow it (after the second reading or so xD) and I do think that it's understandable, but I would recommend anchoring yourself more in your poetry. Just a thought. I'll have a more coherent one in the future.




User avatar
270 Reviews

Points: 5081
Reviews: 270

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Fri May 06, 2011 5:12 pm
fireheartedkaratepup wrote a review...



...................unfair.

You're too good for me, and my brain cannot handle this right now. But I'll try anyway.

I don't really understand the fertilization imagery. Weird stuff goin' on, here. :P

in the flats walked those shoes

Why is the flats randomly italicized? You seem to like doing that.


as a goose hunting gold rush.

Took me a bit to grasp that one-- I like it.


with one chance to win

Sorry.... I really don't understand your use of italics. Why the emphasis?

a substantial failure
these Romans,

Shouldn't there be a comma on the end of the first line? Even though it's a poem....


Commerce's
spirit catcher slave, now retired
in spiritual reservation genocide

Businessman own spirit-catching slaves?! :shock:

Seriously though............... I'm trying to grasp this. I can't. Not right now. Maybe later.

.....I give up.

Overall, I couldn't find any real nitpicks. (Sorry.) The piece is just confusing to me.

....I'm sorry. I stayed up all night. I'll eventually be able to give you helpful reviews. One day.....





Every really new idea looks crazy at first.
— Alfred North Whitehead