Thank you. I realized, while: Thank you. I realized, while reading your comment, that I had fouled the 14th and 15th lines---which I have now corrected. They do not change the poem, just make it a little more cosmetically "fit." But thank you for understanding, and so gracefully explicating, the metaphor that I pursued.
My first love was novels, so: My first love was novels, so I know what will keep me devouring a book from beginning to end, and your style has "it": that free-flowing acrobatics of language, subtle teasers ("The men tossed and turned in their beds") mixed with a spellbinding plot . I tell you honestly: this is top tier stuff in my book.
Can't wait till chapter 8!
I believe it is a valuable: I believe it is a valuable skill for a poet to make us see ourselves in a poem. This innovative introspection does just that with admirable honesty and resonance. Making the past failures an entity in itself and correcting that past self retrospectively was a clever construct, and it was very cathartic and rejuvenating to see the positive result of all that trial and error: It created the superb poet that you are.
A portrait of inner victory. Well done.
Thank you so very much. I: Thank you so very much. I first read Poe's tale when I was nine years old. Even then, I felt the disapproval of neighbors and classmates because of my ardent love (and growing knowledge) of the old Shock Theater package of the classic horror films from Universal Studios, which would lead me to the writings of Mary Shelley and Bram Stoker. In Fortunato, I saw some of those people who seemed to take great delight in frustrating a nine year old kid (I was supposed to be more interested in earning my Cub Scout badges than in Boris Karloff's great acting), and I saw Montressor (who, I admit, is just a little off the mark on certain things) as an avenger. Thank you for seeing this same tendency in the poem: my present self thank you, and, since I am still that nine year old, now decrepit and old, the nine year old thanks you too.
Like Poe's classic, the: Like Poe's classic, the viewpoint (In this case an injured third party and not the avenger) causes us to feel the rage that consumes the narrator. In your high-voltage twist on the classic, the offended is not desiring vengeance for himself, but an innocent victim, which creates an interesting moral dilemma: would murder be a crime or healing for a defenseless and persecuted segment of society?
In your swift and well-ordered universe, justice was done when the pompous scoffer lost his ability to intimidate so that the victims "need neither fear nor flee his dominance/
/ which is, merely, a mask and false construct:/ an honorific for his arrogance/.
Being knocked off his gleeful high horse was enough.
An intriguing and astute example of great writing.
Death Happening: A large number of wounded, as portrayed here, are in flight. Civilians trying to fler terrorized, why? Worry about radiation, sustenance, reaching a border, leaving a home. .
These past two years we counted Covid-19 dead and dying, saw families torn by deaths of young people parents grandparents friends teachers those beloved's who we hoped to spend our lives with. We are still recovering.
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Imagine yourself hearing conspiracy theories about germ warfare, waking up to explosions that kill horribly. That is what they're going through inside the borders of Ukraine. .
Some insiders are questioning Putin's health, his sanity. He is the one calling the shots, dropping the bombs, killing innocent people, targeting neighborhoods, targeting homes and apartment buildings. Imagine huddling in a bunker waiting for bombs to stop. This violates international law. Of all the wars, including Vietnam and all the war since, this one has the most coverage, it is reaching us through visuals reaching the most people, because of the visuals coming out of that country. .
We have seen fires and floods we have seen homes destroyed, we have watched people walking out of Oregon, California, the floods in Texas, the East Coast, then Europe and Asia. Where homes once were, where lives had been for generations. It was another war scene for them, for what they lost.
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The difference being that in USA and elsewhere there was quick help, but Ukraineans are trapped and no one is coming fast enough. Imagine no help coming, no place to go, no way to get out. That's hell and Putin is responsible for that manufactured hell. .
Good poem. Topical and emotional. Thank you for writing it down.
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Lady A
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Yes, it's fair to imagine politics melts away in survival mode:
I doubt there is a book that exists which has told the whole truth about any given war. I'm sure at least a few have truly tried, but I think it's unlikely any have succeeded. To really understand all of why these things happen, we'd have to unwind a ball of string that goes back to the generations ago, if not to the beginning of civlization itself. At our best, we're gathering the biggest pieces we can to examine, hopefully before they're shattered by the bombs of the next day or conflict. And doing so if you're on the ground? The enemy is who ever is doing the shooting you're running from at that moment.
It's quite a good work.: It's quite a good work. Perhaps my most particular reason for appreciation of E.A. Poe is the ability he had to tap into the darkest recesses of the human mind. He so often went past the base fears and gore that a writer could so easily score an audience with, digging down to depth that some have explored and far fewer have understood nearly so well as he did.
U Still In Missouri?: .
St. Louis Son
.
Out of the wrong lane
going the righteous way
makin the best decision
at crossroads. I heard.
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In from the cold experience
avoiding alleys
buyin pya own bread
roof solid over ma head.
.
I never been there;
arm veins black and numb.
No summer nose, no
hurtin, but I heard about
ya. Clean. Yeah. Squeaky.
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Lady A
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I have never really cared for: I have never really cared for Poe's poetry, but "The Conqueror Worm" has been one of my favorite poems for at least half a century or more.
Ah, Poe, favorite of: Ah, Poe, favorite of mine:
"Sit in a theatre, to see
A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully
The music of the spheres."
The worm is our greatest overlord, indeed.