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The Mere Tide Poems

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Old 11-03-2016, 09:19 AM
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Default The Mere Tide Poems


So there's also rhyming goes on in the novel but might as put it here. Obviously not a whole lot of context but Ill typically include a few lines ere the poem and maybe even a few lines after.

Whats ye sees?

The pilot poured her tumbler full and drank.

This is my garden. It is not so wide. It is not quite ready but it has a patient gardener and it forms slow and sure its rows of metal and barbed vines. But what insects dwell here? That are so many. That burrow from the sun. We must be rid of them. See how they make their nests? With wisdom and assurance? They will resist their going. But mine is a patient gardener and he sculpts just so. And it is April. And while many another garden blooms after the dance of bees roses marigolds bonnets tulip chamomile mine is a pyre made ripe by flies.


Last edited by bluewpc; 11-06-2016 at 04:18 PM..
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Old 11-03-2016, 02:29 PM
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The pilot hasn't made an appearance in this one yet. Should we be expecting her?

Oh, and can you please stop fucking off and write a little faster? I want to see what happens next.

Last edited by Elisa/win; 11-05-2016 at 10:36 AM..
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Old 11-03-2016, 04:11 PM
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Yeah you should be but not anytime soon. MT is divided into three different tones I guess you could say and the first radical shift is the reintroduction of the pilot. As for writing faster well... I take my time

Edit edit edit. Back when I first started writing, many years ago at this point, I would often take little sabbaticals but I would generally give little behind the scenes posts and while I haven't done that in years I suppose theres nothing wrong with doing it now.

So this poem was inspired by The Great War and Modern Memory by Paul Fussell and specifically his mention of a issue of The Wipers Times December 25, 1917:

It must be remembered that the planting of Toffee-apples on the border
of your neighbor's allotment will seriously interfere with the ripening of his gooseberries.


But I am glad you enjoy it.

Last edited by bluewpc; 11-04-2016 at 01:29 AM..
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Old 11-05-2016, 06:21 AM
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That's a nice little bit of writing.

Not sure what it's about. It seems kind of cynical or nihilistic or maybe it's about someone who is satisfied with or protective of a different view or aesthetic.

I'm tripping up a bit on "many another." That sounds a bit backward to me.

It has a nice rhythm. I'm a fan of alternating longer lines and ones that are short and punchy. (I also like very long sentences typically considered "run-on" punctuated by shot ones or fragments.)

You could easily format this as a more traditional poem and milk a bit more out of it, but it's fine as is.

Cheers.
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Old 11-06-2016, 05:43 AM
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Hey thanks Meyers.

Edited the poem a little bit. It might be a bit wordy towards the end but ill pare it down over the weeks to come. Actually its not quite to my liking but no worries. The problem lines are They are so many...far from the sun...

It gives a fuller picture but maybe should be done away with and I think I will do away with them but for now it can stay. Probably what needs to be done is the combination of those two sentences. I think sative is the word here.

Last edited by bluewpc; 11-06-2016 at 04:02 PM..
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Old 11-07-2016, 07:03 AM
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The imagery works very well. WWI is exactly what came to mind when I read it. The next question: is the garden a metaphor for war, or vice versa? I'm guessing the answer is in the novel, which we are supposed to want to read? Ah, but you are clever.
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Old 11-09-2016, 09:01 PM
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@Ink thanks for the kind comments. I will leave the interpretation up to you all but I do have the final version of the poem here:


This is my garden. It is not so wide. It is not quite ready but a patient gardener it has and slow and sure forms its rows of metal and barbed vines. But what insects dwell here? They are so many. That trench their ground, that burrow from the sun. We must be rid of them. See how they make their nests? They will resist their going. They will protest. But mine is a patient gardener and he sculpts just so. And it is April. And while many another garden blooms after the lackadaisical dance of bees roses marigolds bonnets tulips and chamomile an appetizing vision to delight any eye mine is a pyre made ripe by flies.

Last edited by bluewpc; 11-13-2016 at 06:50 PM..
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Old 11-25-2016, 09:06 PM
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So smack me down ive done it Shakespeare shall rise from his grave and skewer me epigonic proditor that I am. This is the skeleton of a new poem ill be working on for I think some many months but ill post up each iteration as I go along to give some idea of process. If it works to my mind itll be at the end about a half page long


All her talks is a trial ta keep on memory. An theys more she said then can hold to. She quoted this:

An all the worlds a stage an goes by ages. An it dont. Pukin is the right start but it lasts throughout an some soldier early an never git no maid nor school or git their butchering in infancy. An somes old young sans sense but to disease. An next reigns injustice no life no hope no peace no rest an on to plow through the failing years winning nothing to death an a sally to hell.

Last edited by bluewpc; 11-25-2016 at 09:09 PM..
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Old 03-16-2017, 09:26 PM
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A man does not enter the world sans purpose. He is born into a form and he is the essence in the form. Thus it is not to be thought that a man is as a statue waiting to be sculpted, indeed that is a man but he is the last man. The true man is as a light embedded in the stone struggling to be free and should he succeed then in that hatching he will be as a shining guide to the petitors, themselves like constant stars, but to the last men, the statues in the stone, to him they will be blind for even when they have been sculpted they still reside in the stone.
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Old 03-25-2017, 09:25 PM
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And so at last the dreamer having failed slept and woke of his dream and because no voice thundered out the tattered lighted chords nor whispered windwise through the whited gloom cried he forsake me evermore and in one thrust of his curved horn gored one third the world of them that were born.
*
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Old 07-11-2017, 01:47 AM
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all matters an unbroke tree
and all life its ephemeral leaves
but in August decline towards December death do not despair it finality
for even though leaves we be
leaves are rooted in eternity
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Old 07-15-2017, 11:40 PM
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i like the dance of bees. i normally put them landing on something like a sunflower. like an idea nestling, or a wasp atop the buttercups. well written. no commas when needed; is that on purpose?
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Old 07-23-2017, 02:26 PM
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Please get your eye fixed....
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Old 07-24-2017, 10:59 AM
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Just a mere Tide
adorned his NASCAR ride
No STP
No KFC
but he took it all in stricde
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Old 07-24-2017, 02:56 PM
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I like this, although … yeah I know …

The short sentences work best for drama or pace neither of which seem suitable here, here it gives the piece a stuttering effect, then there's the point that Chat Bot raised.


xDrew
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Old 11-20-2017, 07:55 PM
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They showered wordlessly. A wary deference maintained one to the other. The child tolerantly welcoming of the wash, her soaping up and shampooing of her hair with a strawberry formula, the long sufferance necessary to comb straight her panicky snarls.

Nature nevermore be your divan nor hairdresser. Adorning (as she does) tiewigs with last season's death
Or present's dying
Aye shes a petulant messer
Never giving whats new
And often foul breath
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Old 12-26-2017, 04:07 PM
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nice^, you should add that part. make it smoother. you're so smooth every once in a while.
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Old 12-27-2017, 10:23 PM
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I did add that part

Glad you like it, thank you for the compliment.
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Old 12-27-2017, 11:41 PM
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bluewpc, your writing is so interesting to me that I think it is getting into my head and coming out a little in my own writing. Or at least in the inner reading to myself I sound like your writing a little. (so please look at the last parts of Willoh and Wo on the Members Forum, ha)

I am curious about your picture. Is that a guy who is drinking a glass of something but has blood coming out of his eye?
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Old 12-28-2017, 03:14 PM
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That picture is of me

Heres a bigger picture of it

https://tangetialmenagerie.wordpress.com/author/

Ill take a look at your story over the weekend. Ive been slacking somewhat, my liver having weathered the first of its annual trials, the second and more arduous coming upon the eve of the new year. I expect to be quite useless
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Old 12-29-2017, 08:24 AM
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Originally Posted by bluewpc View Post
That picture is of me

Heres a bigger picture of it

https://tangetialmenagerie.wordpress.com/author/

Ill take a look at your story over the weekend. Ive been slacking somewhat, my liver having weathered the first of its annual trials, the second and more arduous coming upon the eve of the new year. I expect to be quite useless
Did you get in a fight with a left-handed person?
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Old 12-29-2017, 07:23 PM
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Im going to answer this in long form over some weeks

Il y a plus de choses dans le ciel et la terre, Horatio,
Que sont rêvés dans votre philosophie.


Now as I was a young lad having scarcely oped the third decade of my life I was temporarily, for some years prior and ensuing, and as you can imagine at that present, lapsed deep into a lethargy I believe afforded the intelligentsia too much and to their detriment.

At the time in question I maintained employment at L- but the monotony of physical labor, several years of which I believe is the proper foundation of higher learning, had lost its charm and I found myself yearning for something beyond the bawdy company of my fellow porters. As fate would have it a good friend of a mathematical bent whom I had acquainted in primaries suffered a sudden paroxsysm of the soul, the result of imbibing too freely the tale of Cervantes' ingenius gentlemen and so maddened bethought himself to see the world.

I confess now that though I have the aptitude of a brawler I have to my great shame something of the nature of an attendant when it comes to intellectual pursuits and the territories of the spirit and it would be my friend's invitation that would water the explorer in me. Perhaps mitigating this fault, or perhaps an overcompensation, is an impetuousness to leap into whatever novelty presents itself an option and so at the end of a long night of binging in the recesses of Madam Yorko's Tepid Tavern (tended even now I believe by the Iracsible Harry despite his stroke) I eagerly accepted his invitation to accompany him to the afar (and then barely settled region) of Ontario.

I never know how to prepare for a thing and so my preparations for almost anything I have never done before is to pack a bag of clothes and strap on my wrist a watch that does not work. Necessarily this barebones approach is totally insufficient but as the wise author of Ecclesiastes notes wisdom is a defense and money is a defense, and armed amply with the latter I prepared to learn painfully (for all lessons cost money) the necessities of such an undertaking.

In this particular case I did acquire one other item without which the whole attempt have been futile. A passport namely. I wont go into the details, the bribes, the fraud, the vials of ox blood decanted into squibs and set off outside the post-office for the statute of limitations has not yet expired. But suffice to say I acquired the means of international travel through no little difficulty and the help of several of my friends from L-.

The logistical respects of the voyage (For I had not the slightest inkling of the locality of this Ontario, and fortunate for me that it was not some Siberian hellscape at the nadir of winter or some crocodile prowled Sahara) I left totally to my journeymate. The purchasing of tickets, the selection of routes, the gathering of supplies, water, food etc.

Upon the day of our departure we met at the Amtrak station in C-. We were in good spirits. I felt myself greatly relieved to find that my friend had not taken on too much baggage more than myself and I counted myself prematurely wise in the realm of travel. Nevertheless we drank to the journey (to the unwarranted disconcertion of the conductor) and boarding the train and stowing our luggage awaited the jerk of iron couplings that would announce us on our way.
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Old 12-30-2017, 01:47 PM
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And then --- !
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Old 12-31-2017, 09:46 AM
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And then I made a thread in fiction because this is supposed to be for poems
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Old 04-11-2018, 10:19 PM
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I am not guilty of ingratitude
And no less than you do I belong
And no less truth exists in good
Than in evil
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Old 06-09-2018, 08:07 PM
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Oh, thou celestial carcasses infuming this orb with thy designs, thou balks us to unnatural ends, do make enemies alloy and affine. Your capricious circuits spinning round a minute is our time. As you inch our destines by a tether pull years and unwind. So go we to them. Shalt thou? Shalt I?
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Old 07-22-2018, 09:21 PM
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In works do good
In arts be moral
In life likewise exercise each part virtuously
For works and arts are the products of the hands
and life is action of mind and heart and hands
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Old 07-27-2018, 08:31 PM
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all fair gold do store
and tarnished silver keep in sleep
thy heavy draught, gods, I shalt drink
my soul having thoughts, I fear to think
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Old 08-03-2018, 08:20 PM
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Things may be held but a scanted while, the loss is forever. Ist terror any wonder then and despair at each granule of passed time? As when two roses seeded near entwine still cannot perish in kind or cherishing her or he dearer such that absence would gray the tome of days and make each page ash. Our conclusion is death, the haunting specter at all story's end, eternal loss eternally. The brave might endure that uncertainty, the dull by dumb hope of hereafter sure fret not the slow vampiring of death but kings are cowards and tremble at the prospect, quailing as doves upon the introduction of the fox into the cote and in desperation yearns to prolong the tale, preempting what or whom, by passion spurned to happily inhabit hell to seek the desirous object and forever never find, preferring that infinite straying abyss than the surety of the grave, never satisfied at the star's caprice, weeping at affection gone another's way. For in my jealousy I would share none of thee, rather have me your total dotage, for I am as an eagle imperatorial fearing to be cuckolded by a glance, hunting the smallest crumb of thy affection, each soft word, each caress and tenderness not placed in my direction.
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