I am a poet. But any subject is fair game here.
Glass, Rob, and hands.Interesting what floats to the surface when we're writing, huh?Glass, hands, and war.
Rob,you see the bombs,you hear the crying,you write the poem,[you're not the true poet],
Rob,the last line should be read :[you're the true poet]Sorry for the error.
I like your poem.
Now that is impressive, making hotmail seem romantic. "my contact list lengthening like a shadow,".This is lovely, a real gut-puncher."there is a child. I know that soon there will be a handstretched out, and the camera will focus in, as if miseryis only misery when it squares up eye to eyewith an impassive lens."wow...Eloise
Hi Rob,This needs much clipping and some rebalancing to keep the tv calamities from seeming self-serving. There is a lot of rambling esp. in S3, the repeats sound melodramatic to me, and I'm not sure switching your location from indoors to out and back again is a good idea.Here's a stripped down version; check if you really find the circular rambling style effective to convey passive guilt or perhaps more important to give charge the pictures with more strength and unspoken rage.MuteIf you train a telescope on my house from the zoo’s high hillyou will find me through some window or other, placed likean exhibit in an IKEA showroomas bombs crash down like collapsing stars on some distantcity in the dark.There may have been children crying beneath the rubble.It’s hard to tell from this distance, with the soundturned down. The bombs floatlike balloons.
LarryYour edit is interesting. It certainly has impact and I guess - given its length - it would be easier to place in magazines. It gains something on my original. It also loses something too of course, particularly in terms of distinct voice. I'll probably do some work on the poem in a few weeks' time, when I've got a bit of distance from the draft. Thanks for the ideas.
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