rabbit in the grass + minz

wonder and wander and wither it shall
for the blades they whisper
by the pillars it mewls
a doting black pearl
amidst a hundred jewels
but nature unbounded
and certainly not by these mere gates
delicious air to breathe and taste
reminds me of that one lovely bloke
surrounded by soul sisters, mistaken for twins
is the charming and thoughtful, one and only minz

Reviews

[Emunah June.]

You would do well to ignore the bitter old man who’s sole purpose is to destroy the will of other writers and convince them the only way to be “good” is to buy his self-published work off Amazon.

Your writing is beautiful in terms of imagery and poetic taste. It was a gorgeous terrain of visualization that left the reader wanting more while simultaneously feeling satisfied. You have a good, raw ore here. I think your talent is there, keep going!

[JayG]

So let's see...you dumped in 40 amateurish attempts at poetry and fiction today, without participating or critiquing others, an without waiting to see if your work was seen as worth commenting on.

You just stole someone else's memory-space, convinced that everyone would praise you for simply scribbling, without bothering to learn the skills of the professions you're pretending to practice.

In this piece, you're foolishly emulating what you think is the style of E. E. Cummings, in using all lowercase, and leaving out capital letters. But he knew how to write poetry. You? Well, look at this one:

• "wonder and wander and wither it shall"

Literally meaningless. What shall shrivel, dry up, or lose vitality? You give no clue or context for what or who is wandering and wandering.

• for the blades they whisper

None of the blades in my knife rack speaks. Do yours? Really? You certainly didn't mean blades of grass because they don't either whisper or yell.

You're trying to sound obtuse and profound, but achieve neither, because you skipped the most important step: Acquiring the skills of poetry, which have been under centuries of refinement.

In reality, the entirety of your posted work can be reduced to a poem that was popular when I was a kid:
- - - - - -
I love myself, I think I'm grand.
When I go to the movies I hold my hand.
I put my hand around my waist.
And if I get fresh, I slap my face.
- - - - - -

Of course, whoever wrote that understood meter and prosody.

[Davidgeo]

You have emotional regulation problems Jay. It causes you to live in a fantasy world. To be fair, I wouldn't want to really look at myself if I was you either. Woof... that cognitive dissonance has gotta be thick woof woof Jay boy.

[Davidgeo]

... as long as you're not beating your dog or grandchildren, we can tolerate your temper tantrums here. Are you still pretending to be a "pro writer" and a "writing coach"? It really is adorable Jay. How deeply you commit to the role playing... it's impressive.

[JayG]

• You have emotional regulation problems Jay. It causes you to live in a fantasy world...

And you're an a*****e. What's your point?

[Davidgeo]

You need therapy. Good luck.