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#1 |
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Suggestion: read uttered under breath in NC Dark(skin)
I was only 15 years old when my father died. He was a charming guy, almond-eyed and full of light. The calm and kind and always honest type that lived a modest life. Kissed his wife. Farmed and liked to smoke his bong at night. Provided chai & appetizing bowls of rice. Our home was nice. My only gripes were over times he'd go for wine to soak his throat and sober mind (invoking ghosts he hoped to hide). "Zopa, I was only 5 when boats arrived on coastal lines" He'd close his eyes. "...and most of my..... whole family died, like toasted goats and roasted swine, enclosed inside a holy shrine. I moaned & whined then choked and cried - the open sky was cloaked in grime - as Chinese soldiers bolted by and catapulted boulders high like flying coals of molten death igniting homes and scalding flesh 'til only bones and skulls were left of noble folk from Old Tibet that etched the road to Okobek. Where local sects in togas met & buddhist monks with yogis slept upon the steps that cobras stretched." He'd slow his breath. then go in-depth. about the throne & strong protest and how it led to thousands dead or how he fled and found the land of Shangri-La. His anger stopped once he unlocked the ancient box of elevated train of thought. He'd train a lot. Reframe from drops of alcohol and break the pots. When days were hot. the shade was not. We made the pond our sacred spot. Then shaped a rock into a block to meditate and say our 'oms'. My father passed, but did not die. Instead he managed to survive beyond the tantric hands of time, chronologically devised & romantically inclined to turn the mantis into flies. Cause transcendent elevation comes from stations that you climb and the greatness you can find in trading places if you're wise. The enlightenment he reached at his psychedelic peak was like an atrophy to grief and a practice I believe that I can master gradually, once I'm actually in sync with the natural tapestry. ![]() ...and so I sit here. beneath a canopy of trees. As peaceful as a lotus. floating in a stream. I close my eyes to focus. Control my inner ch'i. By soaking in the moment. and solar energy. The leaves begin to rustle. from blowing in the breeze. It's lovely and it's subtle. The poetry of Spring. I'm humble as a bubble. that flows into the Sea. Untroubled like the puddle. along the empty street. My ego has been muffled. (Emotional relief). Unmuddled and unpuzzled. I'm totally at ease. ...topical battle verse written to the picture...
Last edited by ACTIVATE SELF; 03-16-2018 at 12:35 AM. |
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#2 |
rhyme capsule.
Join Date: Sep 2018
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this read, rather unfortunately, like rhythmic prose. i tend to view art as the attempts to articulate an idea, whatever your medium, to which point i find writing to pictures counter-intuitive because netcees tend to reverse-engineer a verse from the source material. i was guilty of it myself, although only rarely, because i'm too stubborn to do what's asked me. on a purely mechanical level you are an adept rhymer, but do i want to read stilted moments like 'kissed his wife' and 'provided chai' because you're compelled to adhere to a scheme? do you, even? i didn't dislike the content, or the vibe of the content at least, but my above gripes combined with some uninspired similes (in your defence, i believe similes are hard to do well) stifled my potential enjoyment of this verse.
you can write - this wasn't a verse i would read again. oh and dead that formatting shit. or don't, lol. |
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#3 |
Senior Member
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You know, the thing is, when I'm in battle mode I try to attack from a new angle each week. Not just conceptually, but mechanically as well. Sometimes there are guys that have mastered a single style. They're great at what they do. But, when you're participating in a league or tournament style competition it can become daunting, monotonous and ultimately too predictable reading the same style or similar content week end and week out. I find that I'm usually successful at winning such competitions because I mix up the formula accordingly. With that said, I feel you and will take your words into thoughtful consideration. I understand your point. Thanks for the feed. I'll ... well you'll see. Good looks.
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#4 |
rhyme capsule.
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i've never been a league cat. dabbled in the occasional tourney.
i'm also going to suggest you don't weigh the external validation (success in tourneys and leagues) too heavily when writing is this inherently internal pursuit - at least i think it is. so take what i say with a pinch of salt if those are your ends, i'm atypical. i could have guessed this was for something like that. i also haven't read you too tough to give an overview of your entire style, i was commenting on this verse, of course. Last edited by Eŋg; 03-04-2018 at 09:38 PM. |
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#5 | |
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#6 |
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Any finally thoughts before this sinks into the bottomless well of oblivion (aka page 2)? Also, leave links to your work so that I may rtf.
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#7 |
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Can something be good and bad at the same time?
This is technically impressive but it's just not grabbing me. ...Provided chai & appetizing bowls of rice. Our home was nice. My only gripes were over times he'd go for wine to soak his throat and sober mind (invoking ghosts he hoped to hide). "Zopa, I was only 5 when boats arrived on coastal lines" He'd close his eyes. "...and most of my..... whole family died, like toasted goats and roasted swine, enclosed inside a holy shrine. I moaned & whined then choked and cried - the open sky was cloaked in grime - as Chinese soldiers bolted by and catapulted boulders high... That's impressive rhyming but it just feels empty to me because of some of the stretches. Soak his throat? Does anyone ever say that? Your whole family died LIKE toasted goats and roasted swine? That seems like a comparison solely for the sake of the rhyme. The open sky was cloaked in grime? Strange description. You've got a lot of pieces here on the OM This one caught my eye because of the impressive rhyming, but as a whole it feels empty to me. Something's missing. I don't know. Hard to explain. |
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#8 |
Banned
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I'm not trying to hate.
There aren't too many people who can rhyme like this. There's just something missing. Edit* In fact, this is the most rhymey thing I've ever seen. Last edited by Pharaohs Army; 07-05-2018 at 07:04 PM. |
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