| "Critiquing and revision use similar skills, as revision involves self-critiquing. Therefore, to get better at revision, it’s necessary to critique other people and to read critiques other people give. Once you’re used to evaluating work that you have no preexisting emotional attachment to, it’s easier to look critically at your own work." ^SparrowSong |
Critiques
by *alapip
first, I agree this is a very strong piece. I also agree that it needs some work, especially toward the final stanzas. uncounted pou...
by ^StJoan
I know that feeling all too well. The only thing worse is the water growing cold. Without your comment regarding pain, I'd have ...
Portfolio
mondaymornings are importantmonday
to the poem. sometimes it
has to struggle toward Monday
and the house has to be cleaned.
it hardly has time to think of you. it needs bagels for strength
and caffeine for the tangled mess of words, strewn about like cheese
doodles locked in battle position
on the floor. the air is stale.
it will unearth suitcases full
of past. read history books written on cracked luggage tags. it will want to stop because its allergies are flaring. the flotsam and jetsam of the mess is getting in the way of the poem. it becom
by `Anavah
The Ecstasy of Gold"The Ecstasy of Gold"The Ecstasy of Gold
I dreamt of elongated aisles aligned with molded
silver and a nut-wrapped sticky something
that wasn't leftover chicken or deviled eggs
with pickles and paprika. I was 12 but felt
neonatal, like dough left to rise in warm glass
with an armadillo tongue curling up the inside
of my mouth and a continual loop transmitting, "Desert sand, endless...a foreign and barren
tumbleweed mulling away distance." But it
was just my mother broadcasting, "Breakfast
time kiddies, orange and lemon poppy-seed
muffins so wake th
by `Anavah
Christmas in Vietnamxxix.Christmas in Vietnam
Christmas lights in Vietnam
were automatic weapon fire
blinking within the perimeter
while back home in America
I broke the leg of my first Barbie
bending it too far back, my pixie
haircut standing at attention; Morse
transmitting code-aviation across
a cracked oatmeal bowl, a crippled doll, a divided country, an ocean,
a continent, another ocean
and a few borders (because mamma
always took the long way around
so we could live from a car)
to intercept and slit the throats
of
by `Anavah
untitledthe silence can seem awkward don't look, it's perfectly at home. the poem will justify the yearn;untitled
the necessity of walls; believe that.
my thoughts are tires over gravel
that can't slow down for adjectives
or verbs except for the poem.
take this sentence and swallow hard.
in the trust of you feel twos become one. here, we can take turns; your silence for my words. you understand because we've spent a lot of time recognizing tone: train wreck months; gnawing clocks; enormous rooms.
look, baby, despite the lack of nouns and conjunctions, we kn
by `Anavah
Featured
AmnesicAmnesicAmnesic
The poem drained us; pressurized meaning from marrow -- a tsunami of DNA colliding against your tourist distance, binoculars dangling over the hibiscus of shirt, saturating your lie into the mundane of us before hijacking the last flight out. You'll show slides
back home. Guests feign understanding while checking out the new BBQ instead. Your melancholy nature
of undercurrent shifts the patio bricks beneath their feet
as you stagger toward the memory of crest
while pretending to refill a drink, when we were face
to face in the composition of it;
by `Anavah
On LoveLove is not a poem drinking coffee at dusk, calculating distance of space to close between us. It's a ratio of silence at the gallery opening; the dark-cornered guest with an understanding we fail to emulate.On Love
It mingles like an impaled olive cemented in glassine. Its grief outshines the beautiful lichen munching satiated on stone when taken for granted or ignored. The reminder hurts so we close its orange-red eye with the sharp fingers of our mouth.
We reason its truth until shrunken to a memory of a memory. It's not about our need, though. Not the cli
by `Anavah
so what?I lied and you knew. I lost the directions somewhere in the decree and evaded a meeting so nothing would change. It always changes when we find out the wine is cheap. It overpowers our palette and makes our tongues thickso what?
with distaste. It couldn't be the grapes we stomped with our own feet. It had to be the process of change. That's the truth.
I tried to prepare quicker. I searched unpacked boxes of Easter and Christmas decorations before throwing them out, just to be certain I hadn't overlooked anything. I sneezed a lot from allergen. I changed the name from the
by `Anavah
the art of fine dininga half-circled sun of yolk colored gold turned over-easy onto a falling plate of pineappled-orange. wind scraped toasted earth like a butter knife under oatmeal and grape-jellied clouds before dusk perked-a-pot of Midnight Bold.the art of fine dining
sheers rolled like a caterpillar ocean across the ochred room. harbored candles shape-shifted upon a basin of bed and cushioned cotton. music absorbed like suds spreading over a Sakura’d shore, while a diaphanous musk became a sybilline communiqué deciphered only by a Baroque engraving.
a flotilla of
by `Anavah
Favourites
| Support the arts by featuring and promoting fellow artists. |
Affiliations
 *DailyDeviants -Staff *Lit-Twitter - Proud Supporter - Proud AdvocateIf you feel a Deviant deserves special recognition for their deviations, please send me a note with "Daily Deviant" in the title. Please do not forget to include a link to their gallery and any comments you'd like to share about their work.  and Happy Arting!! |
Wish List
   Peace: There should not be a choice. |
deviantID
| Love is my religion. |
Being Ticked Off... 
dA LovedeviantART Honors
Friends
Twitter is a free social messaging utility for staying connected in real-time.
JavaScript is required for this module to display correctly.
Watchers
Visitors
- Nov 20, 2009 @ 8:24 am=TheRealGame
- Nov 19, 2009 @ 9:06 pm*glait
- Nov 16, 2009 @ 10:15 pm~NarnialuvsmartPJs
- Nov 14, 2009 @ 8:44 am~nathan-speaks
- Nov 10, 2009 @ 5:23 pm^fllnthblnk
Comments
Site Map
©2009 deviantART. All rights reserved
--
Hear lit tweet here
the age of my anavah-aaaaaaaaaaaaah!
--
"My little old man and I fell out;
I'll tell you what 'twas all about,--
I had money and he had none,
And that's the way the noise begun."
--
Avatar by =elicoronel16
"I'm sorry, I didn't realise art was a sport and that the point was to win." -~SOLARTS
*DailyDeviants | `seniormentors | ~Trashrock | #Writers-Workshop
--
Support Literature! *The-Novelist-Club *Adopt-A-Writer *Prose-R-Us *WordCount *writersunknown *getLIT *litNEWS
Take care,
Dementium
Sorry about the typo. XD
--
The woods are lovely, dark and deep
But I have promises to keep
And miles to go before I sleep...
And miles to go before I sleep
-Robert Frost
--
The woods are lovely, dark and deep
But I have promises to keep
And miles to go before I sleep...
And miles to go before I sleep
-Robert Frost
apparently you have been honored with a new punctuation mark or something
--
-------Jadis///...
I really do appreciate it.
--
"Man is the only creature who refuses to be what he is." - A.Camus
Previous Page12345...Next Page