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What Do You Make Of This Poem?; just looking for some thoughts
Topic Started: Oct 5 2008, 07:32 PM (368 Views)
Dauthi
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GUITAR HEROOOOO.
[ *  *  * ]
This isn't for English class or anything. I just find this poem powerful, but I'm not sure why.

There Is A God Who Hates Us So Much
by Joseph Lawrence

I.
I was pulled from the womb
into this city.

I learned words when my grandfather
lost both legs.

Before the altar of God
I spent hours on my knees
I felt God's anger
when my semen spilled into my hand.
I ate God's body.
I promised to never sin.

I learned sadness from my mother's eyes.
I learned silence in the dust
a woman hid behind
to cover her face of scars.
I learned blood from my father
fallen to a wooden floor,
a thief's bullet inside him.
He lived to warn me to forget.

After that I sucked darkness.

II.
Years were a breath.

Alone, with whirring metal,
clattering and pounding,
I could not abstract,
smells that tortured me,
I felt my words close inside me
like marrow.

I was a system of laws
I hated, a boy
afraid of burning
in a city that was burning
as my father cried
and my mother whispered in my hair.

III.
I am the poet of my city.

I am the earth that burns the air,
those who talk to themselves,
blood and grease on hands.
I need to know
why I do not want to remember.

In dreams I run through streets
terrified, away
from mouths that hate me,
my face washed with fear.
In dreams I kill
so I will not be killed.

The city is the shadow
strapped to my back.

I am the poet of that shadow.

IV.
Mother says, "Don't
think about it too much."

Father splashes cold water on his face,
vomits his nightmare:
he sweat before a man
who wanted to kill him.

I hold a holy candle and a palm branch,
kiss the feet of a statue,
drink holy water,
imagine my body without words,
pray to be able to sacrifice
like the saint
with arrows in his heart.

God gives the world
the brown and black frost
the city climbs through
to stars no one can see.

V.
That is where I am now, in this city
where there are hours of sun
above the horizon and dirt in the air
that makes me want to holler.

There is a God who hates us so much:
we are given ears to hear ribs kicked in,
we are given eyes to see eyes close
before a city that burns itself to death.

Father shouts until his throat cracks,
the river stops in its sludge,
I pray to know what to pray for:
there is a God who hates us so much.

I was born in this city and live in this city
and know this city like no one else.
Who makes me eat my words and makes my eyes pain:
I measure you according to your creation.
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slate
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This chair. This chair. This chair. This chair...
[ *  *  *  * ]
tl;dr
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-[-Book of Mages-]-
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;)
School Board Members

So he masturbated?
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Alucard
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Konoka-ness Master (army of one XD)
[ *  *  *  * ]
I may be able to say why it was powerful to you in particular. I don't know you personally, so it's likely to be difficult to pin.

I noticed that the world described in the poem just slightly mirrors the amtosphere of your fanfiction.

Story-telling is vicarious by it's nature. The idea is to latch onto the character or world. Naturally, when writting we want to create something similar to how we are. We're basically god with a pen and paper. Maybe you like the poem because of finding that style attractive?

You seem to love writting. Finding something in the same vein feels close to the same love.

Kinda like when actors get married: They create this relationship in the movie and mistake it for true.
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Victor Delacroix
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Type-Mercury
School Board Members
I don't "get" poetry. To me that was a short narrative about a very depressed person that has a terrible family life and masturbates at church.

Might I recommend you read some poems by William Carlos Williams?

His short, pointless descriptions of everyday things make me giggle in a way he did not intend.

The Red Wheelbarrow
so much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens.





Awwww.
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book of life
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'3'
[ *  *  *  * ]
The person seems unhappy with how things are.

I think the guy looking at the negative too much. Needs to lighten up.

But, unfortunately, it may not be as easy for him as it is for others.
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Jane Alison Malefica
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The Perfect and Elegant Maid
[ *  *  * ]
Thread Revived.
One I wrote.

My Mask
I'm being something I am not
Lying to those I know
Instead of being genuine
I'm putting on a show

I wear this fake and hateful mask
This mask is what they love
This mask is now becoming me
It fits me like a glove

The real me would taken out
If ever let loose on stage
This mask is always on me
It has become my cage

The person that they think I am
Is someone that I play
But I can't stop performing
It will always be this way

Will this drama ever stop?
The real me come out?
To throw away this encaging mask?
This idea I sadly doubt.
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