03-26-2015, 08:12 AM
J-mine, First post and you go straight for serious. Evidently you have brassticular gonads, or fail to realize what a monadic morass you've stepped into, and I mean that in regards to all things Leibniz. I guess maybe you missed the sign that said abandon hope all ye who enter here (no, they stole it from us and by they I mean Dante).
There is a tumbling stone that carves its path into mud, squelching little trails
of sweat and blood and bathing itself in grime, pressing on (OK, stones do not bleed. So is there some personification going on here and why is it being used incorrectly?)
because its desire for that bubbling pool at the end of the road is so sweet, (a squelching stone gains no desire)
so tantalising, that it cannot cling to the slippery soil and hold itself. (It could, it wants not)
It hits the water with a splash, the oiled grime that coated it washed off (sorry, water does not easily wash away oil)
without another breath, along with the desire
now fulfilled… (this is awkwardly worded)
but soon, the salt water burns the little bruises that litter its coarse form (what is the purpose of "little"?)
and its soul burns, burns with the echo of pain that follows (why is it the "echo of pain", it appears our heroic stone is still in pains grasp?)
that pleasure, and it sinks, that heavy stone, as the water rises up (if the stone did not sink in water, this would be worth talking about, but I believe Newton made this a non-topic several hundred years ago.)
in embrace and envelops it: together still, as on the horizon the sun(If I am reading this correctly, first the stone sank through the water, supposedly to the bottom, but no, at some point the water rose up to embrace the stone: however that might possibly happen.)
slips away into dark.(does this means it dies?)
_________________________________________________________________________________
As the writer has attached this story progression to nothing in particular, it could apply to many different things. If it can be applied to many things, it loses its meaning for all things.
So while some parts offer some nice images, taken as a whole it is more of a senseless jumble.Â
If this is an attempt at a love poem, I commend you, as it generally avoids most of the cliches (although it still caught enough - pain burns my soul).
This appears to me to be a decent beginning novice piece, I have certainly seen much worse. One point for it, is that it is clearly written. There is much work to do here, but some obvious talent and skill with which to work.
Best,
Dale
There is a tumbling stone that carves its path into mud, squelching little trails
of sweat and blood and bathing itself in grime, pressing on (OK, stones do not bleed. So is there some personification going on here and why is it being used incorrectly?)
because its desire for that bubbling pool at the end of the road is so sweet, (a squelching stone gains no desire)
so tantalising, that it cannot cling to the slippery soil and hold itself. (It could, it wants not)
It hits the water with a splash, the oiled grime that coated it washed off (sorry, water does not easily wash away oil)
without another breath, along with the desire
now fulfilled… (this is awkwardly worded)
but soon, the salt water burns the little bruises that litter its coarse form (what is the purpose of "little"?)
and its soul burns, burns with the echo of pain that follows (why is it the "echo of pain", it appears our heroic stone is still in pains grasp?)
that pleasure, and it sinks, that heavy stone, as the water rises up (if the stone did not sink in water, this would be worth talking about, but I believe Newton made this a non-topic several hundred years ago.)
in embrace and envelops it: together still, as on the horizon the sun(If I am reading this correctly, first the stone sank through the water, supposedly to the bottom, but no, at some point the water rose up to embrace the stone: however that might possibly happen.)
slips away into dark.(does this means it dies?)
_________________________________________________________________________________
As the writer has attached this story progression to nothing in particular, it could apply to many different things. If it can be applied to many things, it loses its meaning for all things.
So while some parts offer some nice images, taken as a whole it is more of a senseless jumble.Â
If this is an attempt at a love poem, I commend you, as it generally avoids most of the cliches (although it still caught enough - pain burns my soul).
This appears to me to be a decent beginning novice piece, I have certainly seen much worse. One point for it, is that it is clearly written. There is much work to do here, but some obvious talent and skill with which to work.
Best,
Dale
How long after picking up the brush, the first masterpiece?
The goal is not to obfuscate that which is clear, but make clear that which isn't.
The goal is not to obfuscate that which is clear, but make clear that which isn't.