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|Reviewed by Axilea MU
|Examining and not being able to see, observing, dissecting and forgetting all humanity. Fascinating themes. If you ever read my poems "the observer" and "the naked eye", you will have an idea of what I think of this.
There's something schizophrenic in the way we lose touch with realities that we want to know more about. By killing, cutting, fragmenting, not looking at the whole picture.
I like the image you have created by mentioning the practice of reading future from the intestines of animals (or, I read this somewhere, from those of beaten enemies). It really "works" well in this poem.
Ok, I could have won the longest comment prize, but I'm afraid Mr Cryer was the best by far).
|Reviewed by William Cryer
|This is great. It's succint yet with style (is that a paradox?). It reminds me of a story that I'll recount here, and that never existed until right now:
Once there was a girl, a trollop by trade, poor by proclivity, and rather homely. In fact, she had a ghastly face, and frequently had to wear a veil during her acts of carnal lewdness. But she was a well-liked girl on account of her friendly nature, and all her friends encouraged her to seek a more respectable profession. One day the girl was standing on a street corner when an old peddler woman shuffled by pushing a wagon. Across the wagon a large sign read: Visage for Sale. The girl, in desperation, stopped the old woman and explained in all earnestness that she wished to purchase a new visage, as hers was rather inadequate. The old woman did not need much convincing on the matter; one glance at the girl's hideous countenance was sufficient. So the old woman asked what sort of face the girl wanted, and how much money she had. The girl replied that she fancied a beautiful face--one to smite the heart of any man she might meet--but that she regrettably only had a shilling, a mere farthing. The old woman thereupon drew her cloak together and from her eyes there came an eerie gleam as she told the girl that if she wanted a new visage the price would be the girl's heart. The girl, ever so eager to look beautiful, immediately agreed and made the transaction. In due course, after some years had passed, the girl found that she had become a woman--a very beautiful woman. Every man who beheld her was smitten with a ravenous desire for her, and many had been the proposals for her hand in marriage. Strangely, inexplicably, the woman found that she could never find the right man for her--one whom she loved. More years passed, and still the woman suffered the daily throes of an unfulfilled person. In addition, the woman found that she no longer had any friends; they had long ago abandonded her, accusing her of being cold and unfriendly. At last, she remembered the old peddler woman who had sold her her beauty those years before. So the woman went and found the old peddler and demanded her heart back, saying how people claimed that she was as repulsive in manner as she was beautiful. The old peddler reached into her wagon and pulled out the heart, and said that she would have to take back her beauty if the woman insisted on having her heart back. The beautiful woman did not hesitate in her affirmative and traded her beauty for her heart back. Going home, the woman found that she was no longer radiant and ravishing as before, but that she wasn't as ugly as she anticipated. And from that day forward, she had all the friends one could have, and even found a man whom she loved. They married and had 14 kids.
(I was going for the longest 'comment' here. I wonder if I won.)
|Reviewed by Ronald Hull
|A gutty self examining piece.
|Reviewed by Karen Vanderlaan
|stunning and powerful write-i love how you brought it to a climax and then ended it so well|
|Reviewed by Regis Auffray
|Powerfully meaningful verses, Leo; very compelling. Thank you. Love and peace,
|Reviewed by blue soplain
|powerful and intricate; if indeed we would just love instead of TRYING to love. .. i love how you almost dissected the poem itself into pieces, into stops and bloodrushes. . .. bleeding ink so to speak. .
i hope this is not a first hand account
if it is, keep breathing~
|Reviewed by Dee C.
|Very visual and moving write!!
|Reviewed by David Hightower
|Leo - Perceptive observation about love. I wonder how many loves lie there in the dust because we couldn't let it be? Great poem. - David|
|Reviewed by Charlie
|Holy cow! Don't try to figure it out anymore. Just let the thing lie on a rock and bask in the sun. --Charlie|