9,104,205,830 and Count (poem) by Phyllis Jean Green on AuthorsDen

Reviewed by Karla Dorman, The StormSpinner

Reviewed on January 22, 2008

Oh, (((Pea))), the FORCE with which you write!!!!!!!!!!! Life flashes before, and then, it's gone, never to be remembered...until now. Thank you, for the ride of my life! Excellent.

(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.

Reviewed by Aberjhani

Reviewed on December 20, 2005

Geez, what a thunder-filled blast of brilliant consciousness straight from the seat of the poet's soul into the rest of the world's face! Thanks for sharing this excellent write and inspiring my pen to stop being lazy:-)

Reviewed by Pierre Ortega

Reviewed on December 19, 2005

Where did love go, and how has the world buried compassion? What happened to sweetness? what happened to caring? And where do we go from here? Excellent. Pierre.

Reviewed by Carmen Ruggero

Reviewed on December 19, 2005

I've read this prose poem about five times and I know if I come back to read it again, I'll get more information out of it. But if I was dying and life flashed before my eyes, and in a split second I had to make sense of everything that had affected my life going back to WWII, I think it would read like this and in on my last breath I'd probably think, if I had time: "where did everybody go?" and what has all that changed?

yourfrindwholuvsya,
Carmen :-)

Reviewed by Carole Mathys

Reviewed on December 19, 2005

I too, have to agree that Sage about said it all...
interesting and thought provoking Pea, as always...

Carole...love and peace

Reviewed by Nordette Adams

Reviewed on December 19, 2005

This prose poem makes me think of an empathic experience where the world rushes in and through you with images and voices, colors, blood, spit, shit, horror, pins of lights zooming in and past and you weep to dehydration.

Reviewed by Tinka Boukes

Reviewed on December 19, 2005

Sage said it all...I cannot even pronounce that count.....toooo much for my pea size brain!!

Love Tinka

Reviewed by Sage Sweetwater

Reviewed on December 19, 2005

Mad Max Beyond the Thunderdome and Escape from New York futuristic post-nuke where Cherry 2000 mannequins strut about with computer chip build-your-own-cyber doll! She'll even *&%$#*. Walk like an Egyptian, talk like a New Yorker, sip a dram of Russian Vodka to keep Siberia from freezing caribou sandals with a frame, teach these people something about the Pyramids, teacher. The STRENGTH of those rock-building bronzed people!! Straws came later after ale in the earthen jug, old-world gourmet hops, WHEW!! Hollywood stars violet eyes and beauty marks on the walk of fame, rich fragrance of White Diamonds a pheromone for sure, Omar's bald and Clooney's after-five shadow, gorgeous male Holly and Wood erections, prisoners of war in a bamboo cage, Inca potsherds in mud-brick, Uncle Mo picked cotton for our ribbons and bows, purple hearts and jawbreaker replica bombs in gun's 'n roses war and garden museums, tombs of the unknown soldiers and the Wall in D.C. massive epitaph too numerous to scroll, my grandpa willed me his Korean bayonet still stained with blood of the enemy, the seamstress, tailor, and cobbler keep us in friendly haberdashery, kissing the stained-breeze chinook wind, novelist, poet, shaman, healer, allergies gone from Chinese acupuncture and bee-sting therapy. No tats visible, but piercings you don't want to see, the fire in my eyes lit before and after, Apocalyptic reunion in an underground city maybe in New York where the Lady in the Harbor is still standing. Preserve these words in myrhh and wrap them in timeless ancient embalming potions and slip them into a safe cavity of a sarcophagus for public viewing, Pea.

Sage