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Insufficient, I was.
Her eye's lament.

Avoided as if struck,
Match on last draft,
Liquid flare,
Dripping color,

I Aphrodite friend,
Gave standard statements,
To mortal tears,
Pebbled by stoic quite.

Unfit, this Frankeinstine,
On Iceberg adrift,
black water in motion,
A commute sail,
Cornrow sea,
peppered sweet,
with sunshine daughters.

Then comes Achillies,
(I rumbled low next),
Wanting to force,
His eyes to her  face,
"This is wander because"
Then to all brothers.

Quite protective, for 
MY "shelly" sisters,
Granted taken,
Poetry there wake,
My always companions.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2009




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Date: 1/15/2010 5:57:00 PM
Nouns, yes; the conceit of adjectives, yes; mere tools of a laconic eye ... a sheltered telling of private pain. Each poem is a wrestle between poet and man for invisibility ... nothing and neither subordinates the poem. Extraordinary!
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Date: 3/20/2009 1:21:00 AM
wow! excellent write. i look forward to your future work. -alyssa
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Date: 3/18/2009 10:32:00 PM
Wow, Johnathon! I wrote my college paper on Frankenstein and you have really captured the essence of the story (my favorite novel of all time). Adrift on the ice, the monster dies abandoned by those he loved. Exceptional work! You really hit a chord for me. Love, Carolyn
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