Just man made disasters.

Yes just that.

 

Breath  deep enough to crack quarts, living   

clawed and scratched into non expansive

breasts, till slight fibulation  rustles,

a tickle projected out to the ring of fire,

making waves far far away from here.

 

                              Wetting feet in Venice, romance’s dead,

              nothing but a stench remans there, in waters rising.

 

For a moment we all contemplate

so many man made disasters

of passed of those still passing passé,

and no one comes to those victims

rescue

honour’s in rescue from natural disasters,

where miracles are witnessed, and grieved.

Our miracle is in the creation of death,

and what may or may not come after.

 

So let us all look for waves, falling rocks,

the crowds that shout; its not of this

there was nothing of that…

Yet they can damn well point it out for denial,

thereby denying safety zones of stupor.

Their eyes are not filmed in rainbows

like that of a thirsting horse or

hunting companion trebling their traipse,

no true hard yards.

 

                          I’m a man made disaster, like you, not to be saved,

                          patrolled beaches have been around for decades

                          for that very purpose, you just hold up an arm like in class,

                          hope someone happens to be watching.

 

            We’re all waiting for the water the waves, falling rock.

            Waiting to dream forever.

 

    And there are forks in the road, and a fork at the pelvis too,

    Where the left and right hip assist the pivot to

Turn and walk away, because choice is too hard.

 

You

cant

kill

those

who

never

began

to live.

And love is an imprint, a smile to draw back an angry hand,

trust and request. For some it won’t ever register, and doesnt.

 

   So show

          me

              where

                     you

                         dug

                              into

                                   your

                                hollow bones

and pulled out flight, flailing, spurring toward tomorrow.

Where it rose whistling in the air with each beat

Sang like a thrush to mornings frost.

 

Pray the day we die its moonless and starless and dark;

want of nothing for a fixation point to this life, nothing,

but all the love we did and didn’t share,

but would have, had all our eyes ever met.

 

Reviews

[Dani California]

This is the first I have read of yours Armada, and I must say... wow! I wish something a tad more profound would flow from these fingertips, but honestly, I'm still absorbing it all.

"I'm a man made disaster, like you, not to be saved,
patrolled beaches have been around for decades
for that very purpose, you just hold up an arm like in class,
hope someone happens to be watching"

I picked out this stanza, because it struck me hard and I thought the imagery was outstanding, but honestly, in reading through a second time, the entire piece could be pasted here.

Was the effort, or lack thereof, all in vain? Our collective spirit, separated by "me".
Yes, man made disasters indeed. Just look at what we've done.
Or, haven't done.

Truly impressive work!

[Solst Rapture]

Ah, just wrote an extensive line by line review and it vanished. I always get complacent. Sorry Armada, we both loose out. I spent from 8:37 until 9:33 on it. Hope somewhere you can sense my despair.

Over all a very good poem. My main points of the review where about the difference in effects some of your lines had on me - the abstract images and the concrete. I gave you all sorts of ideas, but they're gone and I haven't the will any longer. Here are examples of those that work because they are rooted in the concrete:

Wetting feet in Venice, romance's dead,
nothing but a stench remans there, in waters rising.

So let us all look for waves, falling rocks,
the crowds that shout

The difference with the last one is I think the next bits of the line detract rather than add to the effect. I'd rather just hear, "It's not our fault, we tried to save them!" Very poignant.

patrolled beaches have been around for decades
for that very purpose, you just hold up an arm like

Their eyes are not filmed in rainbows
like that of a thirsting horse

Here, again, good imagery. The messages in this poem are absolutely immense and important. I think that people won't quite feel your passion for them because of the abstract...in my humble opinion.

I also think that you should perhaps consider some extra exploration. Imagine these titles:
'Our Miracle' and 'The creation of death'. Imagine they explored the very thing the stanza was exploring, yet they remain independent. An interesting idea. I'm gutted I lost that review, but I know i should use word. It's a lesson I needed to have, I just wish it didn't happen on such a lengthy review.

Take care.

[Ed Hart]

i like it that you reach and make the language dance on the page...i like it that you fold the words and push them out of convenience into the forms your heart gives to them...i like it...ed