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Literature Text
Mystery from the fathoms of blue,
He was born and will die
In, by, with the water.
Dragged from the sea
By the foamed tide,
Adorned with coral,
Glistening like so many waves.
He breathes the salty sunset sand
Of a beach of a town where
Nothing happens.
The villagers come to him,
Truss him in fine clothing,
Shedding tears and stories over his great body,
Their simple hearts glad to do something, anything,
Never having seen something so beautiful.
They name him Esteban.
He has never known any other name.
As the send him off, back to his ocean,
His majestic body sinking slowly, slowly,
Down and down.
He is a child of the waves,
Grand lofty lover of the deep.
He was born and will die
In, by, with the water.
Dragged from the sea
By the foamed tide,
Adorned with coral,
Glistening like so many waves.
He breathes the salty sunset sand
Of a beach of a town where
Nothing happens.
The villagers come to him,
Truss him in fine clothing,
Shedding tears and stories over his great body,
Their simple hearts glad to do something, anything,
Never having seen something so beautiful.
They name him Esteban.
He has never known any other name.
As the send him off, back to his ocean,
His majestic body sinking slowly, slowly,
Down and down.
He is a child of the waves,
Grand lofty lover of the deep.
Strawberry Gemstone
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Literature
Metro poems
I. "Art Museum"
modern persian miniature on white leaflets;
a maze for lab ants.
II. "Kaiser in Paris"
a deadbeat in front de Franche-Comté;
patents for toilet paper.
III. "in Dingle"
the earliest casualties drowned at night,
driftwood in wilted, Irish fields.
IV. "The Mistake"
August 27 2012, an elephant awoke;
in Tampa, Florida.
~MK
Literature
Fisher
I reached into the rivers of time
and found you waiting
with your lips curled into shining lures,
everglade eyes and fish hook fingertips
throw in the line and reel me back,
back,
back again
pull out the tape and measure your catch--
it's your greatest yet
but I can't breathe.
Literature
Dromomania
Every day I turn the key in the lock
Hoping to find you
tucked into the white folds
of an envelope,
of the bath towel I left on the sofa this morning.
But you and I, we haven't the breadth for that sort of thing.
I wish I could send you something of spring,
some distended meteor green with hope.
I'm watching the last of the oak leaves cling
stubborn
and I think
spring may not be coming this year.
There is no birdsong, there is
the furious sleeping of toads in the mud.
I came on the bench
where I slept in the warmth of your memory
this time last year.
Now the thought seems less mine and maybe it was
me you'd dreamt beside,
m
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Based upon the story, The Handsomest Drowned Man in the World. Read it here.
For #theWrittenRevolution:
Before reading the story from the link above, do you understand what's happening? How do you interpret it?
Is the imagery creative enough?
This is a little different from what I usually write. Does it seem awkward at any points? Does it flow well?
...anything else?
Lazy feedback questions ahoy.
Critique link: [link]
For #theWrittenRevolution:
Before reading the story from the link above, do you understand what's happening? How do you interpret it?
Is the imagery creative enough?
This is a little different from what I usually write. Does it seem awkward at any points? Does it flow well?
...anything else?
Lazy feedback questions ahoy.
Critique link: [link]
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Comments12
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I like this poem a lot. I think that you use great imagery. Although, I'd say about midway through you lose me. I think the start is very grand, but towards the end I feel like it's awkward. Especially, because of the name Esteban, and the town folks reactions seem odd. I know that this is based off of a story, but making this separate from the story and just going with the start would make it better. Also, the end seems chopped off. You should end with deep ocean or deep something. Overall, I think it's a great start and could turn into something really spectacular. Hope this all helps.