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Institutes of Death

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Old 03-01-2018, 12:37 PM
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Default Institutes of Death


I've been playing around with my night dreams, tried out a few poems: here's one:


Institutes of Death

A young woman on a motor scooter
On a downtown side street
Blocked by the overflowing river,
Swerved onto a ridge of concrete
Up the side of a wall of rock; then
From that narrow ledge a short jump
Into a field of grass - the danger
Exhausted her, as she peeled out
Onto the freeway; she sat back
Closed her eyes, drifted into the median,
And crashed so gently, she thought
She wasnĎt hurt.

There were consequences, however.
Dad took her to a girlsí school she might attend,
Aimed at those who made mistakes in life.
In the lobby, she completed a written test,
That graded, showed she was too intelligent,
Too bright. A long circular hall led from the lobby
Around, with doors opened off each side;
Slouched in PJs along the hall, in the rooms,
Girls lounged on the linoleum floor,
Some of them suffering greatly from their stupid mistakes,
Girls with missing limbs, girls with dull open-mouthed faces
And some with dead eyes.

Suddenly Dad and his daughter realized:
This was a nursing home for the deceased,
That she was trying out death from her accident!
When the two came back into the lobby,
She told Dad she didnít want to be dead,
Even if it did look extra easy.
She ran out the glass doors, Dad close behind,
But - they stopped in surprise as light blinded the sky -
Huge meteors flying toward Earth -
Fire blazing from three falling stones -
Everyone was going to die now.

Dad entered a similar school
Where adults learned how to be dead.
He went as a reporter, not as a student,
At least so he thought.
He was a well-known writer,
On a par with Solzhenitzyn or Nabokov,
Authors heíd just been reading.
This institute was more like a nursing home, too,
Than a school, but with attempts made for comfort,
To have the old people sit and philosophize;
The father felt himself drawn into the conversations.
Though he didnít want to stay, he eventually did.
He sat in the lobby noting down the entrance
Of all who came to be dead.

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Old 03-01-2018, 03:16 PM
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Well, I'll start with the obvious, which is: this isn't much of a poem. It looks like a poem yet it's mostly a list series of events, and does nothing poetically. This could have been posted in the free-write or even the fiction section, but it strives for art and falls into a list of events that look like author notes to a larger story.
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Old 03-01-2018, 03:30 PM
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Originally Posted by Beesauce View Post
Well, I'll start with the obvious, which is: this isn't much of a poem. It looks like a poem yet it's mostly a list series of events, and does nothing poetically. This could have been posted in the free-write or even the fiction section, but it strives for art and falls into a list of events that look like author notes to a larger story.
Agreed.
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Old 03-01-2018, 07:11 PM
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You two are too dumb for me. Anybody else?
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Old 03-02-2018, 02:57 AM
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Originally Posted by Luciaphile View Post
You two are too dumb for me. Anybody else?


Ha ha!


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Old 03-02-2018, 02:37 PM
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Originally Posted by Luciaphile View Post
You two are too dumb for me. Anybody else?

You can pick your nose, you can pick your friends and now you pick your comments?
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Old 03-03-2018, 06:30 AM
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Next up would be a psychoanalysis of said dream
I dare say i shouldn't, it's not great when one dreams about car crashes.
But that doesn't mean death is near, it only means you may be moving too quickly.
Be careful what you say, you're probably moving too fast; don't go chasing waterfalls --
But this is your magic 8-ball. Would you like another prospect?
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Old 03-03-2018, 07:18 AM
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I donít really like poetry as an entity. Whenever something becomes an entity itís flooded with mediocrity. Sure, people have to try, learn, but the process is often painful to watch. Like musicians learning to play music or write songs.

^^^ not a reflection on your poem here. Just my opinion in general.

I will say itís less of a poem really, than much poetry. Which isnít always bad. Sometimes itís good. It does fall in line with the dream stuff youíve been doing.

And now to my point: I donít like poetry, generally. So in my personal opinion you should write this as a story. Fucking poetsómeh.




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Old 03-26-2018, 08:11 AM
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Thanks for more comments. I forgot to look and see til now. I still think this is a poem I've written. I've seen some like it - maybe a ballad? Beesauce your comment reads like a poem, itself. BrianPatrick, a story, eh? Wonder how that might go...(I'm almost done with the Bonob Mutants)
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Old 03-26-2018, 12:23 PM
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Get inside the head of thewoman on the scooter. This is just what happened. Its written well, but the subject matter glosses over the momentous details. Delve deep inside the event. A story is events as they unfold. A poem is a snapshot of emotion, recollected in tranquility. The emotion is gone. Find it. Feel it. Bleed it, then edit in a calm manner and post it again.
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Old 03-26-2018, 02:13 PM
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[QUOTE=daes13

A poem is a snapshot of emotion, recollected in tranquility.

[/QUOTE]

Cute.
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Old 03-26-2018, 02:13 PM
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Wordsworth good sir
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