09-05-2017, 12:08 AM
yes it's caret
yes to the trove...except in my poem
i see your point about the chicken it just seemed the easiest thing to bleed out.
good point about the hyphen though i'm of a mind to keep the holy man, they too have to eat.
like shopping trolly's fountain pens in my hands have a mind of their own in that the ink never goes where i want it to.
i shall keep your feedback in mind when the edit comes. thanks for the thoughtful words.
yes to the trove...except in my poem
i see your point about the chicken it just seemed the easiest thing to bleed out.
good point about the hyphen though i'm of a mind to keep the holy man, they too have to eat.
like shopping trolly's fountain pens in my hands have a mind of their own in that the ink never goes where i want it to.
i shall keep your feedback in mind when the edit comes. thanks for the thoughtful words.
(09-04-2017, 10:48 PM)Achebe Wrote:(09-02-2017, 06:21 PM)billy Wrote: On Death.Nice read. Good to see you post after a while (the last one was about clutching a blue penis, as I recall...)
Like everyone I have a hidden citadel;.....a cellar, or vault might be more appropriate to the subsequent image of corpses lying in state
An ex wood-wormed drawer where treasures trove. ....although 'trovare' is a verb in Italian, isn't 'trove' a noun in English?
Twin Watermen lay in state
embraced in shrouds of fine filigree.
Upon their autopsies the worst was confirmed
Exsanguinated, bled out like Halal
chicken on Eid Al-Adha. ....nice! although I'm disturbed by the 'chicken' - it's a poor man who can't afford a camel, cow, or at the very least, a goat
I'd sacrificed them like a Muslim holy-man; ...but Eid Al Adha sacrifices are by the rank and file, not necessary holy men....why the hyphen?
a final stroke for each. ....nicely done. The final stroke and a cup of water
I never fed them but the once,
and replaced each one in turn.
Flawless in the right hands
they never marched to my tempo. ...I like the sudden change here. The pens suddenly become animated, have a life of their own.
Zig and zag they went, darting
in tongues they spoke, undecipherable.
How they vexed me, left me blue-fingered
blue-thumbed and humbled. ....I can attest to this
Their sweetly etched 14 carrot toes kicking page ...."carat"?
after crumpled pages to the trashcan;
pissing Prussian over white heavyweight vellum.
They died and in their death throes turned me...
Have you met my Biro? ....a clever ending...but also confusing. Wasn't the main problem that the written word had a mind of its own, and the one about ink sumdging your fingers only secondary?
