Critiques and Revision


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  • Alan Browne (4/23/2014 5:35:00 PM) Post reply

    Grandma said


    Grandma always said, 'This too shall pass.' I think of this at three am when the cat is kneading the spare pillow on my bed. If I was to die tonight I think I would like to come back as whiskey. Just as strong and just as necessary.

    Potent, yet oozes of strength and class, the way Grandma was. Though if I came back as a cat, that would be just as good, cute and cunning and limber, no matter how far they fall they always land on their feet, sounds ideal.

    Like Grandma always said, It will pass, we just have to ride the lightning, outlast It, but the woes just keep coming and coming, seems like that’s all there is sometimes, seems like the only time they will stop is when I will stop.

    As I stare at the ceiling, cat scraping the pillow, I think to myself, I want to come back as a dog, not a care in the world, lives from one meal to the next, and an occasional walk, that is the way life is supposed to be, nice and easy

    Whenever they are met with grief or despair, It’s like water off a ducks back, I want to be like that, not dwelling on the past or worrying about the future, contempt with chasing their tail. Maybe we humans are the real mutts, dealing with all this nonsense.

    I wish I had a hundred small problems, so it could take the focus off of the real on-going ones that torment on an hourly basis. It’s now 4.15 and I am still not asleep, I have got dry mouth and the cat keeps pacing on my bed.

    Grandma oh Grandma, call unto me, my tank for this life is running near empty. Grandma oh Grandma, call to me now, my hour is before me,
    call as you know how. Can you lend me your Aura, just for a while, to see me over this difficult time? I remember you bouncing me, up on your lap, sipping on oval tine; this takes me aback, to happier times, till we meet again.

    The sun is lighting the corner of my room, the cat is asleep. It’s now just me and my problems, oh what to do. Grandma’s voice was still in my head, saying, this too shall pass, this too shall pass, then I replied, THATs ALL THERE SEEMS TO BE, THATS ALL THERE SEEMS TO BE.

    Then fight your way through it, said a voice inside me, even if it keeps getting worse, keep fighting, and fighting, till you can’t fight anymore, don’t go quietly, just stand up and fight, scrape your way back till you find your way through, thank you Grandma, i know its you.

  • Alan Browne (4/23/2014 5:33:00 PM) Post reply

    Through the Colored Skies

    Through the skies that I glide,
    And to the left of my lay,
    Was the bird’s wing, and a colorful gaze.
    The oceans of sky were Curtained by clouds,
    To the right were a passenger thinking aloud.

    I sat in my seat with no thought come to mind,
    As comfort and solace flooded my eyes.
    I looked to the colored skies of blue white and beige,
    With past visions and specters away far away.

    Unknown to me, I arrived at a dream,
    Were glorious visions and fantastical scenes.
    While I wallowed in the heaven’s, there happy and free,
    Then suddenly wakened to the sound of reality.
    The colorful skies had all faded to black,
    With the trials of life came tumbling back.

    As the large metal rod lacerates the night skies,
    Readying for the journeys imminent demise.
    I sit in my seat listening to the turbulence roar,
    Now comfort and solace are with me no more.

  • Alan Browne (4/23/2014 5:32:00 PM) Post reply

    Broken bones, tormented souls,
    and everything in between.
    Bound to bed, or head filled with dread,
    One as bad as the other.

    Besotted with hate, or riddled with aches
    The black dog has many forms.
    Among us many beings, sometimes blind
    unto our seeing, the banes we come victim to.

    Anxiously calling for the decks reshuffle,
    praying for god to deal again.
    Out of the dark and into the light,
    a vision that might never be.

    While we live near par, unsure of who we are,
    there is only one expression that fits the picture.
    Your health is your wealth and nothing else,
    truer words can never be spoken.

  • Alan Browne (4/23/2014 5:30:00 PM) Post reply

    Sad Clown

    Laughing on the out
    Crying on the in.

    Smiling and, jocular.

    Running around in
    their size sixteens
    throwing cherry pies,
    jumping on the bouncy castle

    Everyones friend.

    Behind the painted mask,
    the Poker face reveals its hand
    eyes soaked in sorrow, joys
    blocked by stagnant woes,
    chiseled into the walls of their mind,
    Elusive demons at their door
    Relentless till there is no more

  • Alan Browne (4/23/2014 5:28:00 PM) Post reply

    The Garden

    The Nettles and Ivy lay hand in hand,
    Mingled with the garden flowers.
    Kindred and cosy in their patch,
    While luring prey to their web.

    The creatures with a thousand faces,
    Welcome all into their acre.
    Handpicking the ones that will serve them best,
    While discarding the eels from their rod.

    They lay in wait for their golden goose,
    Then contemplating when to slaughter.
    Brazen faced to no extent,
    A mere vacuum behind the eyes.

    Superlative to all, but to themselves,
    As they live to serve just one master,
    Morality and trust are merely tools,
    Cunningly used for a just occasion.

    The exception of which is commission based,
    Shortly before an evaluation,
    The question lays to you in wait,
    Is can you hear the sound of thunder

  • Alan Browne (4/23/2014 5:26:00 PM) Post reply

    I met a 22 year old magician today.
    He showed me a trick.
    He had done nothing but smile at me.

    22 year old Magician

    I looked into his eyes and saw two dead brothers,
    A dead father, dysfunctional mother
    And an ill son.

    I asked him how did he do this trick so perfectly?
    He replied 'I have had lots of practice,
    But he warned me that its not for the faint hearted.

  • Alan Browne (4/23/2014 5:23:00 PM) Post reply

    A Bed of Violets

    Graveled paths cutting through the wooden acres,
    Gales blowing through oceans of green.
    Surrounded by nature and all things pure,
    A truly harmonious scene.

    As I strolled through the gravel track,
    Content with my familiar path,
    The mother of all was guiding my trail.

    While paying no mind,
    A dirt path caught my eye,
    To a region unknown to me,

    Intrigued the more,
    To what I had never seen before,
    The path took me further a stray.

    The muddy trail then reached its end,
    Eagerly waiting to ascend,
    The conclusion that waited for me.

    Vales of violets,
    All over to see,
    As I gazed at its beauty.

    A vision to store,
    To mind for evermore,
    Decision made with no uncertainty.

    I wallowed in the evenings bliss,
    Gently blowing a goodbye
    Kiss, to the land i might never again see.

    So I’ll say so long,
    I am nearing my leap over the pond,
    Hope we can again share a sky,
    And reminisce about times gone by.

  • Alan Browne (4/23/2014 5:21:00 PM) Post reply

    Tea (A friend to all)

    As good and bad have come and gone,
    The humble plant continues on.
    Bore in the earth it made its way,
    From the orient to modern day.

    Out of the soil its cast to its hansom pack,
    Serving the best, and the ones who lack.
    Awaiting your grace at the early dawn,
    To serve the needs ye may set upon.

    The modest bag to the amber flow,
    No revered image it may know.
    Like a loyal steed at your side,
    Carrying you through the tides of life.

    Through the rough and the harsh or the blissful and calm,
    Taking all corners while warming your palm.
    So when we re all dead and gone,
    Be sure in the knowledge that our friend lives on.
    To help and serve whoever asks,
    Bestow unto you so many thanks.

  • Alan Browne (4/23/2014 5:19:00 PM) Post reply

    Fire Lay with me

    Absolute silence,
    I could hear a pin drop.
    A blaze surrounded by black,
    My only company.

    Laying kindred in the darkness,
    Flames are gleaming,
    Coal and logs are slowly charring,
    Quaking sounds haunt the room,
    Enriching the comfortable gloom.

    Lethargically set on the couch,
    Observing the blaze in motion.
    Door sealed to curious notions,
    The moon lurks from the window.

    The blaze is quietly fading,
    Fuels succumbed to exhaustion,
    My mind remains a vacuum,
    Barren to all invaders,
    An uninhabited sea.

    The dying flames accompany my dreary sight,
    Coal and logs breathe their final ember,
    Smoke gushes from the chimneys door,
    Quaking sounds consume the floor,
    Eyes are slowly rolling, lids are swiftly folding
    Quietly drifting away to darkness.

  • Jacob Matuszczak (4/9/2014 12:39:00 PM) Post reply

    This poem I entitled " Broken Pearl" This is the my first attempt writing in this manner. The story is that an old man's relative kills him to take the man's property (Gaining the hearth; to warm the creaking hall,) The story takes place on a ship at night, it is raining yet the moon is still bright.

    A smooth surface on many; lilac pale,
    But yet for a new place; to rest in the wind.
    Cause to seek the level; on which to wail,
    Determined to sight, to not a pin.
    Exquisite cloth of old quieting nightfall,
    Finding a new place in the cold sea's mind,
    Gaining the hearth; to warm the creaking hall,
    Hold fast to wisdom of an ancient bind.
    An icy way to put to dust the old way,
    Jeering at the wake of an old raining,
    King to the guilt, that the light must pay.
    Lining to right of keeping no caning,
    Murder in white, to keep no old moonlight,
    Not yet in the way of a holding flight.

    I look forward to hearing what you all think about it.

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