The Afterlife

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ray miller
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Fri Sep 24, 2010 7:49 pm

At the moment of death
I breathe deeply and focus
on a light above
the assembled bodies
and deliver you into
the afterlife.

Your cloth is cut,
the cord is severed;

eyes are closed
and stubble shaven.

Flannel wipes the spittle
from your chin.

Every orifice is plugged;
as much mystery

as I can muster
remains concealed within.

Sprinkle scent,
spread the shroud;

count the mourners
bearing flowers.

You disappear beneath
the weight of others,
give or take
the occasional bump.
I'm already pregnant
once again.
I'm out of faith and in my cups
I contemplate such bitter stuff.
Mr Black
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Sat Sep 25, 2010 1:49 pm

?
Last edited by Mr Black on Sun Jun 05, 2011 9:41 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Suzanne
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Sat Sep 25, 2010 3:22 pm

Ray,

This was very interesting. Very.
It definitely leave me with a transitional phase feeling rather than a final ending.
The voice it is quite different than much of poems which seem more concrete. I liked the line about mysteries best but thought that the whole flowed together well. Yep.

It was very interesting, Ray. And the title is well fitted.

Suzanne
ray miller
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Sat Sep 25, 2010 8:34 pm

Thanks, Mr Black. I never try to tick the received poetry boxes. So you're familiar with "my work"! There's only one person before I've known refer to Langston Hughes. That you? UTV!

Thanks, Suzanne.Funnily enough, the mystery bit and the title is what gave me most trouble!
I'm out of faith and in my cups
I contemplate such bitter stuff.
clarabow
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Sun Sep 26, 2010 2:00 am

Yes, the tone seems different in this one. It seems more highly constructed and the lines more concise. It lacked emotion for me but technically speaking I thought it very good.

At the moment of death
I breathe deeply and focus
on a light above
the assembled bodies
and deliver you into
the afterlife.

Your cloth is cut,
the cord is severed;

eyes are closed
and stubble shaven.

Flannel wipes the spittle
from your chin.

Every orifice is plugged;
as much mystery

as I can muster
remains concealed within.

Sprinkle scent,
spread the shroud;

count the mourners
bearing flowers.

You disappear beneath
the weight of others,
give or take
the occasional bump.
I'm already pregnant
once again.
ray miller
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Sun Sep 26, 2010 9:20 am

Thanks, clarabow. Technique and construction are not what I'm usually commended for, so I'm grateful for that.
I'm out of faith and in my cups
I contemplate such bitter stuff.
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Denis Joe
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Sun Sep 26, 2010 1:36 pm

Ray I like this very much but I think it could do without the sestets. I don't they balance the poem because of the first person use in the first and the second person use in the latter. But more than that, I think that they give too much away. trust in the reader/listener to make sense of the poem.

I think that the couplets make an excellent poem by themselves. You have already given the theme to the reader/listener in the title.
Art is not a mirror to reflect the world, but a hammer with which to shape it.
[right]Vladimir Mayakovsky[/right]
ray miller
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Sun Sep 26, 2010 4:21 pm

Thanks Denis Joe. The sestets are neccessary, I think, not so much to balance but to register distance.
The title is not saying enough, perhaps. The poem is not saying enough, perhaps! What it's meant to be about is the life-cycle of a poem.
I'm out of faith and in my cups
I contemplate such bitter stuff.
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