07-10-2015, 10:24 AM
Hello only red-
Let's see--- First read through finds the lines very heavy, metrical speaking, w/6+ accents in many lines
Like a feather’s gentle breath, kissing at my soft flesh.mixed metaphor: feathers either breathing or kissing, but not both
Biddable, the tight thin lip, graze’s on a cream field of skin. grazes?
A soft skirr, a lover’s touch, in searching tryst of veiled lust.what is "searching tryst?"
Each caress, delicate, concealing a vicious natured tongue.natured?
Hollow laughter beckons, calling like an honest, well known friend.hollow does not seem so friendly
False innocence swathes, tainting the purity flowing beneath.not sure what I'm supposed to see here
Keening strings tug at my grip, crying, to bring force to desire.
Resistance breaks, as a wave upon the exposed ivory shore.
Like a sensuous finger guided by instinct it traces slowly.
A honed edge so kind and cool, licking at my hot bare arm.
Aching, drawn across the trembling limb, it so longs to taste.
A gleam coats the surface, reflecting my vulnerable wrist. good images in this stanza
Suspended; held back by vacant thought, forced on by desire.
The tipping point inches forward, precipitous, to the unfeeling cliff.
Invisible tortured hands vie for control over my shaking own.my shaking own?
Eerie calm takes hold, but who is the master and who the slave?
Adoring, bare, the verge of freedom begging to savour life.
Bittersweet and innocent, let loose this life as the brink bites.brink bites?
Mantling, with liquid passion the dull metal, glistens wet.gotta look up mantling
Happiness spills, like rain, running on the face of a child.
Dripping ecstasy, the steel lip grins, a silent apocryphal smile.dripping ecstasy is hard to visualizer
Life joined to the lifeless, pleasure to pain, hope to eternity.
From me it flows, my hurt, my ache, my essence, and prison.
Were but this my only burden, I could be free in effusion's flow.what is effusion's flow?
My bars are rent, I am open, bare to the breath of the world.
Tears finally come forth, with pooling cruor, ink writing pain.gotta look up cruor, too. asking a lot of the reader
Cerise and clear, metal and salt, they burn at my torn canvas.whatever cerise means, it does sound pretty cool
Evidence bares forth, no longer whole, broken for all to see.
Afore the dam held strong, but breached, the flood washes anew.did it hold strong or was it breached?
History repeats, the tide goes out, and it will come yet again.
I am cold as the ground, and the blade, and soon colder still.
Do voices seek me or am I calling to myself, the whist stranger?good question, 'cause I haven't a clue
The problem with giving words more exposure is that the reader more than likely will have to look them up, and that stopped me cold several times in this piece. Thinking is fine, stopping cold, not so much.
There seems to be a lot of over writing in this one, and from your comment it seems intentional. The old axiom "less is more" is appropriate, I think.
By the end of the story I still don't know what happened. Maybe it's just me. A lot of emotion without much footing is hard for me to hold on to, or relate to. I'm sure it's much clearer in your mind. If you are uncertain where to take it, then go back and revise the story that you're trying to tell. Let us see someplace. Let us see another character. Let us in to the story.
Thanks!
... Mark
Let's see--- First read through finds the lines very heavy, metrical speaking, w/6+ accents in many lines
Like a feather’s gentle breath, kissing at my soft flesh.mixed metaphor: feathers either breathing or kissing, but not both
Biddable, the tight thin lip, graze’s on a cream field of skin. grazes?
A soft skirr, a lover’s touch, in searching tryst of veiled lust.what is "searching tryst?"
Each caress, delicate, concealing a vicious natured tongue.natured?
Hollow laughter beckons, calling like an honest, well known friend.hollow does not seem so friendly
False innocence swathes, tainting the purity flowing beneath.not sure what I'm supposed to see here
Keening strings tug at my grip, crying, to bring force to desire.
Resistance breaks, as a wave upon the exposed ivory shore.
Like a sensuous finger guided by instinct it traces slowly.
A honed edge so kind and cool, licking at my hot bare arm.
Aching, drawn across the trembling limb, it so longs to taste.
A gleam coats the surface, reflecting my vulnerable wrist. good images in this stanza
Suspended; held back by vacant thought, forced on by desire.
The tipping point inches forward, precipitous, to the unfeeling cliff.
Invisible tortured hands vie for control over my shaking own.my shaking own?
Eerie calm takes hold, but who is the master and who the slave?
Adoring, bare, the verge of freedom begging to savour life.
Bittersweet and innocent, let loose this life as the brink bites.brink bites?
Mantling, with liquid passion the dull metal, glistens wet.gotta look up mantling
Happiness spills, like rain, running on the face of a child.
Dripping ecstasy, the steel lip grins, a silent apocryphal smile.dripping ecstasy is hard to visualizer
Life joined to the lifeless, pleasure to pain, hope to eternity.
From me it flows, my hurt, my ache, my essence, and prison.
Were but this my only burden, I could be free in effusion's flow.what is effusion's flow?
My bars are rent, I am open, bare to the breath of the world.
Tears finally come forth, with pooling cruor, ink writing pain.gotta look up cruor, too. asking a lot of the reader
Cerise and clear, metal and salt, they burn at my torn canvas.whatever cerise means, it does sound pretty cool
Evidence bares forth, no longer whole, broken for all to see.
Afore the dam held strong, but breached, the flood washes anew.did it hold strong or was it breached?
History repeats, the tide goes out, and it will come yet again.
I am cold as the ground, and the blade, and soon colder still.
Do voices seek me or am I calling to myself, the whist stranger?good question, 'cause I haven't a clue
The problem with giving words more exposure is that the reader more than likely will have to look them up, and that stopped me cold several times in this piece. Thinking is fine, stopping cold, not so much.
There seems to be a lot of over writing in this one, and from your comment it seems intentional. The old axiom "less is more" is appropriate, I think.
By the end of the story I still don't know what happened. Maybe it's just me. A lot of emotion without much footing is hard for me to hold on to, or relate to. I'm sure it's much clearer in your mind. If you are uncertain where to take it, then go back and revise the story that you're trying to tell. Let us see someplace. Let us see another character. Let us in to the story.
Thanks!
... Mark