Boulevard--(I welcome the feedback, guys)

Here you can post YOUR OWN poems, prose, music, or art inspired by the 'Muses nine'.

Moderators: Saturn, Malia

;)

Postby edwardkeenaghan » Mon Oct 16, 2006 5:38 pm

Im not yucky am i ;) :lol: :lol:
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Postby greymouse » Mon Oct 16, 2006 9:38 pm

dks, this is probably my favorite thing I've read by you. It has beautiful autumn imagery, and it's very barren.

I like how you switch back and forth between human imagery and natural imagery so that the two get all mixed up into one mood. The cat and dog were very well painted. This poem is very Keatsesque for me with its rich contrasts.

I didn't quite understand "These trees herald my acceleration", and for some reason I always associate "shoots" with spring growth. But I love the other brittle descriptions. Thanks for a great read.

edwardkeenaghan wrote:Im not yucky am i
:lol:
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Postby Saturn » Mon Oct 16, 2006 9:43 pm

Thanks for the analysis Eddie :wink:

So much depth to her work I feel like a pupil sitting at awe at the feet of a master [or in this case, a mistress].

My own "poems" are lightweight and shallow in comaprison, not fit to tie the shoelaces of Denise's verses. :oops:
"Oh what a misery it is to have an intellect in splints".
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:)

Postby edwardkeenaghan » Mon Oct 16, 2006 9:54 pm

Saturn you write uniquely too,your poetry does have depth and its very much your own,your design ,i love reading yours too i understand it because we come from the same isle,but some of your poems are marvelous,your as true as a poet as they come how many have you written and what inspiresyou to sit down lift up a pen ,pencil what have you and write :) :)
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Saturn

Postby edwardkeenaghan » Mon Oct 16, 2006 10:05 pm

The embrace and Summoned by the goddess are beauitful and lots of others,

Do you belive that if denises poetry was out say in yeats time or a little after i bet the world would be at her feet and she would have a forum with all her poems and people come in their bucket loads to read,explore and by doing that they would be cleaning her soft feet.

Its funny you find that saturn have you heard of william allingham the irish poet well he was the same he did not get any recongtion outside ireland because he was before his time,and in a way denises poetry is the same and even yours ,your unique appeal.

If denises poetry was unleashed,beauty would always shine .
I bet she is all smiley now ,thinking she is a godess :lol: :lol:
Well she deserves to be happy,more than anyone :D :D

A bula bus for denise
(Clapping of hands-in irish ) :D :D ;)
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Postby Saturn » Mon Oct 16, 2006 10:11 pm

Thanks for the kind words Edward.

I have vaguely heard of William Allingham.

You are right about Denise she is a beautiful person with a beautiful mind and a unique talent.
"Oh what a misery it is to have an intellect in splints".
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Allingham

Postby edwardkeenaghan » Mon Oct 16, 2006 10:36 pm

Ah william allingham is fantastic,he was born near me in Ballshannon" the oldest town in ireland "

And he was born when keats died.Here is one of his most famous

The Fairies by William Allingham

Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We daren’t go a-hunting
For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
And white owl’s feather!

Down along the rocky shore
Some make their home,
They live on crispy pancakes
Of yellow tide-foam;
Some in the reeds
Of the black mountain lake,
With frogs for their watch-dogs,
All night awake.

High on the hill-top
The old King sits;
He is now so old and gray
He’s nigh lost his wits.
With a bridge of white mist
Columbkill he crosses,
On his stately journeys
From Slieveleague to Rosses;
Or going up with music
On cold starry nights
To sup with the Queen
Of the gay Northern Lights.

They stole little Bridget
For seven years long;
When she came down again
Her friends were all gone.
They took her lightly back,
Between the night and morrow,
They thought that she was fast asleep,
But she was dead with sorrow.
They have kept her ever since
Deep within the lake,
On a bed of flag-leaves,
Watching till she wake.

By the craggy hill-side,
Through the mosses bare,
They have planted thorn-trees
For pleasure here and there.
If any man so daring
As dig them up in spite,
He shall find their sharpest thorns
In his bed at night.

Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We daren’t go a-hunting
For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
And white owl’s feather!

Denise also has to be one of the most attractiveand stuunily beautiful poets,i mean i love keats and all ,but denise has got it ,O yeah ;) ;)

I love the first verse and last verse of the fairies,great rhyme :)
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Postby Saturn » Mon Oct 16, 2006 11:18 pm

That's great Edward - I'll have to look into his work.
"Oh what a misery it is to have an intellect in splints".
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:)

Postby edwardkeenaghan » Mon Oct 16, 2006 11:30 pm

No problem saturn :) :D

He has a poem named Meadowsweet
Which is one of the most beautiful titles of a poem doesnt it just feel so right saying it.

Funny enough i know that meadow well too :) :)
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Postby dks » Tue Oct 17, 2006 5:38 am

:shock:

Keenaghan, quit it. My Catholicism is kicking into high gear--if you keep gushing, I'm liable to get hit by a big bus.

Uh, erm...thanks, Saturn. :oops:
"I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart's affections and the Truth of Imagination."
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Postby dks » Tue Oct 17, 2006 5:59 am

Saturn wrote:Thanks for the analysis Eddie :wink:

So much depth to her work I feel like a pupil sitting at awe at the feet of a master [or in this case, a mistress].

My own "poems" are lightweight and shallow in comaprison, not fit to tie the shoelaces of Denise's verses. :oops:


Complete and utter nonsense... :shock:

Ask Edward what I said about "Tantalus" one of these days while you are chatting amongst yourselves...

...and that Keenaghan...he can write...no doubt about that...he already knows it.
"I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart's affections and the Truth of Imagination."
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Postby Saturn » Tue Oct 17, 2006 9:08 am

You really give me far too much credit Denise - there is no great mystery to what I write - it's all more or less spontaneous and very little deep thought goesd into teh composition to them.

As I've said before they are almost a physical need to express myself, or to offload a thwarted feeling or emotion.
"Oh what a misery it is to have an intellect in splints".
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