Published May 12, 2005
To The Sound Of Tuesday
The twilight forced itself on the surroundings,
and paper was the resistance.
Lighting a fire in flesh of caligraphy,
is winning back the lost ground,
from the dead months that left the calendar.
Here I am, back at last week with black hands,
burning the days as a concept.
Something flammable to pass the time,
something flowing to make it right,
euphoria dripping from my seat on the step.
Go find the box that was that prison of notes,
its next to my messed up bed.
Shame thats still in tact because,
leaking is still a contamination,
and one thought comes to mind...
Comtaminate this...
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139,539 Literary Works • 672,604 Reviews
Hey there again Ohio. I was looking through the other poems that you had to offer and found this other one that never received a proper second review. I have found that is the case with quite a few of your poems, so I will definitely be spending a lot of time in your portfolio archive.
The imagery in this poem is just as strong as in the first one I read but I prefer it for a few reasons. First of all, we have a higher degree of clarity, where the images are connecting more towards the ideas that you are presenting to the audience. Second of all, there's more of a conversation going on between the narrator and the audience. I think the first one I read was more focused on blaming the subject. And once I moved over here, it was more focused on the narrator coming to terms with their own thing.
Their own thing.
I think this poem is circling a lot around a sort of thought process by the narrator. It does maintain about the same moood as we journey through this piece of work but I can find a path in it all. The narrator is dark, they are feeling dark, and then they come to face the audience with:
"Contaminate this..."
I assume this line is speaking generally to the audience but based on the rest of the material, there's probably one more person involved. That seems to be an ongoing thing in your poems. There's always some sort of address going on.
Here I am, back at last week with black hands,
burning the days as a concept.
This set of lines stuck out to me more than almost all of the particular lines in this poem. The comment about hands stuck with me until I got down to the mention of letters and notes, making it so I could connect the pieces to be about writing. And the way that the narrator talks about the notes as some sort of prison and getting ink stained hands, makes me think of two things. One, they are probably writing new letters to a person in question. And two, they are probably destroying communication between themself and the person in question.
Just the two different vibes I'm getting from this.
That's all of the specific and overall commentary I have. There's a lot of things I'm thinking about in relation to your style and I think I'll save these bigger thoughts for once I've observed more.
Good job and good luck.
- Lizz
Hey there again Ohio. I was looking through the other poems that you had to offer and found this other one that never received a proper second review. I have found that is the case with quite a few of your poems, so I will definitely be spending a lot of time in your portfolio archive.
The imagery in this poem is just as strong as in the first one I read but I prefer it for a few reasons. First of all, we have a higher degree of clarity, where the images are connecting more towards the ideas that you are presenting to the audience. Second of all, there's more of a conversation going on between the narrator and the audience. I think the first one I read was more focused on blaming the subject. And once I moved over here, it was more focused on the narrator coming to terms with their own thing.
Their own thing.
I think this poem is circling a lot around a sort of thought process by the narrator. It does maintain about the same moood as we journey through this piece of work but I can find a path in it all. The narrator is dark, they are feeling dark, and then they come to face the audience with:
"Contaminate this..."
I assume this line is speaking generally to the audience but based on the rest of the material, there's probably one more person involved. That seems to be an ongoing thing in your poems. There's always some sort of address going on.
Here I am, back at last week with black hands,
burning the days as a concept.
This set of lines stuck out to me more than almost all of the particular lines in this poem. The comment about hands stuck with me until I got down to the mention of letters and notes, making it so I could connect the pieces to be about writing. And the way that the narrator talks about the notes as some sort of prison and getting ink stained hands, makes me think of two things. One, they are probably writing new letters to a person in question. And two, they are probably destroying communication between themself and the person in question.
Just the two different vibes I'm getting from this.
That's all of the specific and overall commentary I have. There's a lot of things I'm thinking about in relation to your style and I think I'll save these bigger thoughts for once I've observed more.
Good job and good luck.
- Lizz
Why thankyou.
There were a few spelling errors, but the poem itself was kind of... tranquil? It was a nice read.