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| Reviewed by Sheila Roy |
9/15/2009 |
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Thought-provoking, Jude. I read this several times, and many things come to mind. It gets me thinking that maybe man/woman should not be trusted with so much power. We don't always make the right choices. Hugs,
Sheila |
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| Reviewed by Sage Sweetwater |
9/12/2009 |
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So in alignment with poetic engineering with the DNA blueprint spread out on the turf, breeding ground calls out, "Intelligent Life!" first with an exclamation point, then calls out again with a question mark, "Intelligent Life?"...It would be unfair to call this poetry anything less of playing a role in creation which places emphasis on artistic statement and palpable visual.
Love,
Sage |
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| Reviewed by Michelle Mead |
9/10/2009 |
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| Much food for thought in this one that requires multiple readings to see the layers (layers? like Shrek's onion???) and their depth. Excellent, as always. |
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| Reviewed by E T Waldron |
9/9/2009 |
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| I felt lift-0ff like a rocket shot into space reading this mind blowing poem!makes me wonder Jude how far that wondrous mind of yours can take you! Keep climbing!Kudo's! |
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| Reviewed by Dale Clark |
9/9/2009 |
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| masterful poetry... Bravo! |
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| Reviewed by Don Juan Amante |
9/9/2009 |
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| you are a transcendental master. poetry to ponder. |
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| Reviewed by Felix Perry |
9/8/2009 |
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wow again you transcend the ordinary to give us such fantastic out of the box lines that you can. Very nicely done my friend.
fee |
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| Reviewed by Suzie Palmer |
9/8/2009 |
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'...transforming wishes of waking worlds
into a refuge of life and a sanctuary of purpose...' |
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| Reviewed by james webcatcher (Reader) |
9/8/2009 |
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it sounded like a volcano crackling and bubbling with lava life. if you ever saw the Invasion of the Body Snatchers you would know what I mean.
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| Reviewed by Ronald Hull |
9/8/2009 |
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There's a lot more joy in birthing, than in deathing.
Ron |
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| Reviewed by Kate Burnside |
9/8/2009 |
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| Can see this like the sudden stirring of a still pond; it's energies amass like the rumblings of an earthquake underfoot and the spillage of thoughts spew forth as if with sudden ferment. Mixing my metaphors, I know, but there are shades here of "voicing atmospheres" (with which this poem hinges like a bi-valve shell, I think, containing a pearl of quintessential thought) and also of "the process". Fabulous tensions of both idea and diction that create dichotomies in our understanding as readers, perhaps: words like "indifferent" and "stillborn" jostle for interpretation alongside "tempestuous birthing" and "flames of its own rapturous nature". Whatever: in my mind it conjures ideas of a suddeness of happening, though what has been coming has been long-suppressed and even awaited - given the "collective sigh of relief". And the hanging last line leaves me with a sense of singleminded focus, like with "the climb". All in all, something is definitely cooking here! :)) KraKatoa Kate xx |
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| Reviewed by LadyJtalks LadyJzTalkZone |
9/8/2009 |
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| the storm of entering this world and leaving all other knowledge behind is suppose to give us that fresh start, yet if more parents were open to the ideas that all knowledge is still available to us, sure would have made my purpose clearer sooner. The words do blend and it's meaning can be realized different ways. Good write and thought provoking. LadyJ |
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| Reviewed by Marcia Miller-Twiford |
9/8/2009 |
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Like a good story or novel the first stanza grabs you and the last leaves you wanting more. Superb engineering of words my friend.
Love and Peace,
Marcia |
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| Reviewed by Jeanette Cooper |
9/8/2009 |
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| "Breeding Ground" breeds thoughtfulness. I read it three times and read something different in its lines each time I read. Interesting write. |
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| Reviewed by Christine Alwin |
9/8/2009 |
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| Your poem of life transpired to such vibrant emotions..superb! |
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| Reviewed by Sherry Heim |
9/8/2009 |
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More than I see the life cycle unfolding here, I see it going on without passion, without recognition and without truly being experienced. I am not sure if that was your intent, but that is how this speaks to me. The hollow people, shuffling through life, much as if in a Thorazine haze, forgetting their dreams, and simply going through the motions of living without the passion of actually experiencing life. I came here last night and read this a few times but couldn’t get a feel for it. This morning, it seemed to settle in quite nicely. Interesting stuff, Jude. Your writings seem to have an unsettled feel about them lately. I hope all is well.
Take care,
Sherry
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| Reviewed by Debashish Haar |
9/8/2009 |
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| Poem has an omniscient voice, but a first person pov, hence the personal elements recreate the people, principles, society, nation associated and surrounding the voice. Your boundless imagination continues to amaze us. |
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| Reviewed by Georg Mateos |
9/8/2009 |
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The mystery of being, from anything, just a drop, to a solid presence and afterwards vanishing by dust, the breeding ground is there, always waiting, expecting another drop...
Georg
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| Reviewed by John Flanagan |
9/8/2009 |
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Jude,
Beautiful, haunting expression.
John |
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| Reviewed by Dawn Wilson |
9/8/2009 |
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| Birth, death... life's cycle...and so many other things that lay between. A beautiful write, Jude that makes your readers wonder. |
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| Reviewed by Karen Vanderlaan |
9/7/2009 |
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| so beautifully written |
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| Reviewed by Amber Moonstone |
9/7/2009 |
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Jude,
Another amazing poem. I like the way you wrote this, always emphasizing your point. I somehow get a bit more than the life cycle here, something more personal on a level of mystical wonderment.
I know all about vibrations and how people can be on the same vibrational level. Somehow I feel very connected to you this evening!
Some day our vibrations may collide and it will be quite an explosion!
Much peace, love, and light my dear man,
Amber "V" |
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| Reviewed by Peter Schlosser |
9/7/2009 |
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| Wonderful poetry Jude, as always. Birth-life-death cycle described with poigant verse and skill. |
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| Reviewed by Roger Wayne Eberle |
9/7/2009 |
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| Seven stunning stanzas tantalize and taunt with almost tautological precision in this peach of a poem which devastates with panache what it so painstakingly procreates. I would be pleased to be privy to its subject, though perhaps the point would be lost on so ardent an activist as I. |
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