[Phonoho]

Stillborn

Where would convention suffice
to stand time still on its ear,
in words bent to shape the sorrow,
we speak in fear of birth,
in brittler terms than those
struck hot from wisdom’s fiery forge.

We stand attest of time,
who dare that truth be wrest from rhyme
to rue the ease of labor’s mournful child
and question the fertility of earth,
suckled on the dry teats of seduction,
morphed in the clinging mold of Flattery’s womb.

[xtremelady]

Excellent play of words. Trying to figure out if the duel meaning I am reading into; is intentional or not

[Phonoho]

Always. At meal time, they hover like flies, sometimes ending up in the broth. Thanks for the read, Claire.

[RENA HANDS]

I believe I’ve read this before, but didn’t comment/rate…so sorry for that it. I believe too that you asked me to read or review this…A wonderful write with marvelous sentiments and metaphors*. (Wow, I really need to expand on my vocabulary, so sorry for my simple words). For this spectacular creation I gladly give 5/5! Also, the deep blue really sets your words into the reading eyes. (Evil in a wickedly fabulous way).

[Lubesh]

That was epic...all merged and as claire says a lot other can be taken, (well I did) from it.
Your total comprehension blows me away sometimes from flow expression, let alone words and somany lol - just taughtness, its amazing.
Yours sincerely
A fan

[Phonoho]

Thank you, ladies. I always try to engage the reader on more than a superficial level. Poetry readers come in all shapes and sizes. Many simply enjoy the wordplay and rhythmic qualities, while others (the majority, I believe) yearn to be stimulated by something between the lines, something deeper than the mere literal definition of words. I feel I would be wasting the readers time (and my own) if I did not attempt to involve them both mentally and emotionally.

[Maud]

Where would convention suffice
to stand time still on its ear,
in words bent to shape the sorrow,
we speak in fear of birth,
in brittler terms than those
struck hot from wisdom’s fiery forge

We stand attest of time,
demand that truth be wrest from rhyme
to rue the ease of labor’s mournful child
and question the fertility of earth,
suckled on the dry teats of seduction,
morphed in the clinging mold of Flattery’s womb.

OK lets go at it...

Emotion is clear, always a positive. Your diction starts of being mediocre, it improves as I will outline later. Your syntax gets a little confusing. Is a little confusing. But before I jump around too much lets go over poetry crap.

I always am a stickler that just because poetry is all fancy does not mean that grammar somehow doesn't dissipate. If you haven't guessed I am taking punctuation. Because this has rhythm and flow it isn't free verse. Which mean its in grammar nazi jurisdiction. The first stanza's last sentence has no punctuation. It is a complete thought and needs some. It may affect your rhythm, and thats a shame because it is pretty solid, but to bad so sad jack I didn't make up the rules nor have a firm grasp of them, but I know this one . That being said my god I need it! You have three lines without punctuation and I need some space to breath. Besides providing and shaping flow and rhythm, they also can add to content. And I am not talking about adding exclamation points to make something important! They allow a reader to catch up, mentally review, and pause with your words. They don't even allow it, they force it. It can make a sentence nonsensical to being brilliant. When ever I talk about this I use the trite example:
A woman without her man is nothing.
A woman: without her, man is nothing.

Also syntax, as you of course know, can mean everything to meaning. Those two things being said I am still a little confused as to the meaning of this poem. There is not a word I don't understand in this poem. The diction is moderate in its intensity. The structure though confused me. So I have to apologize, but I just don' get it, (Where is where you congratulate on me being man enough to admit it).

But because I have no issues talking about what I don't understand (bwahaha) I can tell you why I don't understand it. And the only way I can do that is reword it, without worrying about poetry rules and you tell me where the hell I went wrong, and I can tell you how you can make the little people like myself understand.

When is the norm enough
to stop time
with words meant to shape the sorrow,
we speak in fear of birth < dont get that at all...
in brittle terms than those < actually get that, well way of saying weak words I guess, only way to say it is how you did,
that could best be said. So the first part is talking about how we can't stop time and the last half is about imperfect language? I thought I understood each line, but when I put the puzzle togther it doesn't look like the box.

We prove time,
demand the truth over rhetoric (Shaky about the meaning of this line)
another line I don't understand at all,
next line I understand and like,
get it just now how it relates to everything else, probably because of my mistakes interpreting the others,
ya by here I am lost.


So in the end, I can't complain about anything I understand, becasue of all that I don't. I know I might just be pretty stupid, after all even lubesh gets it (JOKE, JOKE, please don't hurt me), but the ultra skilled can communicate anything to anybody. I am not there, and maybe teaching me what the hell you meant here can help me get there.

[Rain]

Your use of vocabulary is terrifically executed, and the emotion inserted through these great choices of words is very captivating. I've read this multiple times, and each time it seems just as good. Lines like:

"in words bent to shape the sorrow,"

"to rue the ease of labor’s mournful child"

Epic, in every possible way.

[Phonoho]

"A prose writer gets tired of writing prose, and wants to be a poet. So he begins every line with a capital letter, and keeps on writing prose." Samuel McChord Crothers

I suppose I could give you a full frontal view of just what's going on in this piece, but that, in my view, would ruin its suggestive nature. There's so much of that going on in poetry today, it's almost pornographic. I cringe whenever I read verses which reveal, in primary colors alone, exactly what the author means. As poets, we must go beyond rote and verbatim to conceal the indignity of colloquial language in a more metaphoric garb. The art lies in its tasteful presentation, not in the blunt forensics of its nude form laid bare.
I appreciate the comments, guys.

[Venomous Vixen]

I think I have mentioned before how hard it is for me to critique your work. Your flow, your word selection and your form never come up lacking, and I never find myself wanting, and without those two things I lack the ability to point you in any direction but the one you have taken. The only gripe I have, and this is not solely with you but more so poetry itself, is some of it can be an uncrackable code and my little mind can't grasp the intent of the author. I am happy in my ignorance though, and happy to take from it what I do see and apply that to various experiences of my past. Regardless of whether or not I can decipher the entire piece, I walk away feeling like I got bits and pieces and in turn it made me feel something, which alone counts for a lot in my opinion.

I do admire your ability to focus on one image, on single metaphor, often highlighted in your title, and expand upon it without fluttering over to another metaphor in the process. In this you used 'stillborn' 'birth' 'labor' 'fertility' 'teats' and 'womb' all sort of weaving the image again and again, expanding upon it and allowing it to become more powerful, more clear. By studying the second set of words that pop out at me it almost feels as if you are speaking about poetry itself, in larger terms given the images brought forth but all the same, somehow it seems to be there.

I wish I could offer up some advice here, but honestly I would not change this piece. Even if it takes some unscrambling to see the picture crystal clear, that is poetry, and this is a beautiful piece of it.