Post more comments
Want a gift card for being active Forum member? Post comments and win $25 gift card every week.
Rules: will be giving away gift cards (worth $75 in total) every week to first three members ($25 each) who participate most in our forum discussions. You just have to post comments on forum pages, poet pages or poem pages anywhere inside
Comments posted needs to be in different pages. Posting more than 1 comment on the same page will only be counted once.
Members can not post comments without being logged in. has the right to cancel or edit this contest. has a right to disqualify or ban member(s) without providing any type of reason, belief or proof in regards to any type of illegal activity or fraud.

Freeform Workshop

Post a message
  • Goldy Locks (6/19/2007 12:36:00 PM) Post reply

    In all of his writing, Glassco travels with his gaze in 'the rear-vision mirror, ...' For Glassco, who conversed with Catullus, Samuel Daniel, Berkely, Thomas Love Peacock, and Baudelaire, to name only a few of his venerable companions, the past is not a complete stranger. For Glassco, home is where the mind has been. And his had been to many places. He presently recalls in A Point of Sky (1964) :

    From here the only way is turning back
    To join the links of casual circles leading
    Home, or somewhere else I have been before.

    Like other travellers before him, he goes forward à reculons. He takes home with him wherever he goes.


    Memory provides reflections, not warm bodies. The past still lives, though now by similitude only, as names and images in the mind. Glassco addresses himself in The Deficit Made Flesh (1958) — it is all the poet can do. His work is to harrow up 'a new-made ghost, ' a moving image of the dead life. Past and present, image and object, expression and thought are but analogies of each other. Between them, there is a silence, a great distance, since similitude is not identity:

    And as what they are for me, here and now,
    As the translated pegs and props, characters
    In the fable of being — infinitely
    Remote: I mean, daffodils in a vase,
    Sail on the water, sunlight on the grass.

    ('Hail and Farewell')

    Such is the tension, 'the darkness and the distance, ' which all translators must experience — between speech and silence, signifier and signified. It is on this middle ground that Glassco's translation of his own vision and that of other poets come together. As a maker of elegiac word-analogies 'caught / Between silence and the failure of any words, ' Glassco was ideally suited to the invaluable, futile, and costly craft of literary translation. The following words, as justly as they can, will suggest that he practised that craft with courage and skill, with a success proportionate to the silence and distance he came to evoke and diminish.

    from Compass of the Catoptric Past: John Glassco, Translator
    by Camille R. La Bossière

  • the poet (6/13/2007 8:22:00 AM) Post reply

    hi everyone, i would like to thank those who have spent their valuable time reading my poems. i hope those who have not will stop by my page and read some of my poems. your comments are very much appreciated! ! ! Thanks everyone and have a beautiful, wonderful and nice day! ! !


  • Goldy Locks (6/6/2007 2:05:00 AM) Post reply

    footnote to Bernstein's 'Dysraphism'

    Dominion demands distraction-the circus
    ponies of the slaughter home. Braced
    by harmony, bludgeoned by decoration
    the dream surgeon hobbles three steps over, two
    steps beside. “In those days you didn't have to
    shout to come off as expressive.” One by one
    the clay feet are sanded, the sorrows remanded.
    A fleet of ferries, forever merry.*
    Show folks know that what the fighting man wants
    is to win the war and come home.

    *in italics

    Bernstein's 'Dysraphism' has a footnote teasing out etymological connections between this abstruse medical term meaning a kind of birth defect - literally a 'mis-seaming' - and the prosodic stringing (stitching) of words: 'disturbance of stress, pitch, and rhythm of speech.' The textual seaming and mis-seaming (seeming and mis-seeming?) concludes with these lines.


    A series of characteristically short, direct, discrete statements, unconnected by conjunctions of subordinate clauses, are stitched together less by discursive sense than by verbal repetition (seaming) and counterpoint (mis-seaming) .
    - English 88, Modern & Contemporary American Poetry

  • Ali Zengin (5/8/2007 2:23:00 AM) Post reply

    Those People are innocent

    Those people are black,
    And their hands, eyes, hair
    What they hold
    What they eat
    Either what they don’t eat

    Those people are slaves,
    And their tongues, lands, spouses
    Everything they own
    And their children too
    Even their future

    Those people are innocent
    Their laughs, looks, feelings
    Pearl-like teeth
    Their faces so pure as their hearts
    They are innocent, black slaves

    Ali Zengin

  • Michael Pacholski (4/28/2007 3:49:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    This is called 'Freeform Workshop'. What I figured I'd see was suggestions/assignments/challenges and poetic exercises. Not quite getting that so I'll start a challenge for anyone willing to pick up.

    1) Write down five incomplete phrases of between four to six words each. They don't have to be the first ones that come to mind, but you shouldn't take more than ten minutes. By 'incomplete' I mean that the phrase cannot form a complete idea or sentence.

    2) Once you've chosen the five phrases, you can begin writing the poem. All five phrases must be included in the poem.

    3) Once you have written a word, that word cannot be edited or deleted (exceptions are mistakes in punctuation and typos) . But you cannot go back and change a word, nor can you go back and add words.

    4) Same goes for individual lines. Once they have been written, they cannot be deleted, moved, or changed in any way. Once two consecutive lines have been written, you cannot go back to add anything between them.

    There's a peculiar form of Japanese fine art where, once the artist applies the brush to canvas, they cannot go back and change because the act of lifting and moving the brush back damages the canvas. I do this once in a while after I've edited a poem into oblivion. When Miles Davis Quintet was recording 'Kind Of Blue' Miles'd come in with these barely sketched out phrases and he'd ask the band to play and improvise, keep going and see what they could come up with.

    Replies for this message:
  • Courtney Hibbard (4/23/2007 10:17:00 PM) Post reply

    I WISH

    I wish could see your eyes and your smile everyday,

    I wish I could hear you laugh everyday,

    I wish I could feel your arms around mine everyday,

    I wish I could talk to you everyday,

    I wish I could smell your sweet smell everyday,

    I wish that that would happen everyday.

    I hope I’ll see you tomorrow,

    I hope I’ll see you next week,

    I hope I’ll see you next month,

    I hope I’ll see you next year,

    I hope I’ll see you in a decade,

    I hope I’ll see you in a century,

    I hope I’ll see you everyday.

    I’m afraid that my wishes won’t come true,

    I’m afraid I won’t see you,

    Or hear you,

    Or feel you,

    Or talk to you,

    Or smell you,

    I’m afraid I won’t ever see you again.

    Then I realize,

    It’s up to you,

    You can smile,

    You can laugh,

    You can put your arms around mine,

    You can walk up to me and talk,

    And it’s up to me to decide if I want to see you,

    I can come by tomorrow,

    Or come see you next week,

    Or come by next month,

    Or come by next year,

    Or see you in a decade,

    Or even see you in a century,

    It’s up to me and you,

    And I want to see you forever!

  • Dylan Barker (4/6/2007 5:07:00 PM) Post reply

    Would you read poems by me? i would greatly appreciate it.

  • Robert Sierra (4/5/2007 12:17:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    I'm in a canopy
    Of misery
    Repeating lines
    Of lonely rhymes
    But every word
    Seems so absurd
    So cliche
    In every way...

    This is the beginning to one of my poems, if you like it please contact me, I'm kinda new and I don't really know anyone

    Replies for this message:
    • Petra Creffield (4/22/2007 3:58:00 PM) Post reply

      i feel like i'n a walking cliche in every way.... hi welcome to poemhunter, it's kinda cool here P

  • Lucy Marskell (3/18/2007 9:40:00 AM) Post reply

    What if the sun were to die
    and all life withers?
    What if we somehow were
    still alive and all we
    do is shiver?

    ~~Check out my other poems if you like this one -
    if you don't have a nice day! ~~

  • A Zeitgeber (2/13/2007 6:19:00 PM) Post reply

    Ode to Kim

    Hot rod death poetry

    in the morning hour

    I seek to know you,

    It hurt down inside

    when I found out you lied

    you cant possibly know how I feel,

    So I'll shift into fourth

    release the clutch

    then let go of the wheel,

    Hot rod death poetry in the final hour, goodnight.....

[Hata Bildir]