reverie

Less is more Am thinking if you stretch the lines out like so, then you can soften the weight a bit. Short lines tend to pull the reader quickly down the page, but you punctuation throws in a lot of hard stops, which leads one to think the persona is weighing every word as if they were talking about something of grave importance. However, IMHO, you also could tweak to tone to a (slightly) more meditative one by using longer lines. The two lines that address "stopping" and "halting" can be nixed, if you let the "tip of my tongue" line to carry the metaphorical weight of the poem instead of spelling it out all direct like. cheers, revery That missing piece. The one eluding me, keeping me from sleep. The one, on the tip of my tongue. If only I could find a cease to that missing piece.

Cool, cool. Trying playing with the stanza arrangement. You can use them as a subtle form of punctuation and emphasis. Munching and crunching in the back of my mind, Breaking up dreams and spewing some kind Of nasty ideas and things terribly cruel that never should be allowed to (take -- filler world for beat) rule Dark corners and hallways now out of sight And taking advantage of somebody's plight Brewing in darkness, things one should hate, waiting for one, to come take the bait, To send all the horrid dreams that way, (try Weigh) That come in the dark and eat all (what) they may. Yet all (of) the monsters, bone-crushing and vile, (Hmm, could try this: Bone-Crusher and Vile) Can still bring (out) things to make others smile. For while the dark things that roam, do so and abound One must create light to brighten the sound, To send the dark evil things fleeing away, Great heroes are made, with the breaking (dawn stroke) of day. Therefore the monsters, cruel as they are, breaking up dreams and wandering far, Aren't really so bad, since they let one create Bright shiny new things to challenge that (Their?) fate.

fixed! Thanks nice catch. I am the typo king. Doesn't matter how many times I reread a piece, I always miss something. Even reading out loud from print. I so need an editor. I always worry if my edits improve or hurt the feelings I was going for when I write. Pretty much, I never want to stop editing my poems, which is great when I learn news skills, but bad when I forget what I was thinking about when I wrote it initially. Still, deep reflection sometimes can only happen when I years away from an experience, so it's give and take. cheers

*rewritten for a Veteran's Day service at Starr King School for the Ministry. I was the only self-identifying veteran in the room. My name is Sean and I am Veteran of the U.S. Army that served from 1997 to 2005. Although, I never saw combat, I cannot help, but feel the service changed me -- changed something deep and fundamental in the way I perceive the world. This became clear to me, last year at a Unitarian Universalist (UU) campus ministry meeting in North Carolina. We were doing Psych Problems to challenge our moral constructs. The problem we were working on, asked us to consider: “When is it right to take one life for the sake of another.” Some of you may be familiar with it: The Trolley Dilemma. I bring it up, because in a room of over 20 UUs, I was the only one to choose the position of “in action” over “intervention.” This provoked strong reaction from my peers, and I was never able to persuade any of them to consider changing their position. To date, I’ve only encountered one other person that has agreed with me, or at least humored me because we were dating at the time. So I wrote a poem about it. This poem may evoke strong moral reaction, I apologize if this disturbs you. With Friends Picture five people tied to a track, and just before the unfortunate, on an opposing rail, lies another person likewise tied. At this moment, a trolley car will likely crush the life out of these five folk unless someone switches the rail from a near tower, which you just happen to be imagined upon, too far to do anything, but watch and or hit the control that will lock the switching rails onto the diverging track thus, shifting the fate away from those five innocent lives to another waiting as innocently below. The trolley dilemma tells me much about myself. For in a group of twenty friends, I alone choose to let the car ride on without the benefit of my intervention. Who am I to take the life of one for the sake of many? I say. And my friends answer, Well, who are we not to save the lives of many over the life of just one? This bothers me for a while. No one seems to see why I lament their thoroughly considered utilitarianism. Given the same problem with a slightly different turn where you must push a fat man out of a car to save your own life as well as everyone else aboard. Again, I stand alone in choosing to let the game play on without my hand saving what might as well be the whole world for all I care versus the guilt of having to extinguish one inconvenient life. I am not so sure why I see it differently from my friends, yet I do remember how justified the explanation for dropping another Fat Man over the crowded lights of a far away place called Nagasaki seemed to a much younger version of myself, safely tucked behind the dissociating veil of a history that I did have to live through. Now, I am older and have been taught a little of what it is to kill as a soldier, conditioned to react to the human form as rubberized targets to be shot down as they popped up within the sights of my M-203 equipped assault rifle. Maybe failing to resist my conditioning is what has shamed me, and now I can no longer take for granted the right to save the lives of any number over a single person killed in a calculated wreck of cold blood.

Stand and Deliver: Why I Choose Not to Hate (Written for a social justice class at my seminary) My brother was murdered by an African American man in 2004. My brother, Eric, was twenty-eight and had been attending a Trucking School in Atlanta. His murderer was 35 years old had been attending the same school as part of his parole. He had spent the last 17 years in prison when he was released it either 2002 or 2003. Although the details where never made completely clear to me, I learned that he had been previously convicted of two counts of man-slaughter, which the District Attorney informed me was more than likely a plea bargain struck to protect his older friends who had been a part of the incident that took two lives in Atlanta so many years ago. My brother had been given the man rides to the school and buying him lunch for the past two weeks even though he had informed my brother of his recent incarceration and the fact that his older brother was currently serving time for murdering a police man. My brother generally didn’t discriminate and treated almost everyone he met like a friend he had known for years. The man perceived this as a weakness and took advantage of it when he kidnapped my brother and his friend Jackie at gun point, demanding 10,000 dollars from an ATM card. He had seen a receipt for my brother’s other friend, Jess, and falsely concluded that the receipt from Jess’ bank account belonged to my brother. I held on to my anger for a very long time, but never wished for vengeance. I figured nothing could be done to the man that would ever bring back my brother, and I was not going to let my hate for what he did kill me too, so I quietly forgave him, and decided to learn more about the institutions that had created him; institutions that could lead a man to commit such a brutal planned out attack. This is a major part of why I am here, and I wrote this poem about it. (Graphic Warning). To My Brother Pointing the .44 to the back of Jackie’s head, The man who will murder you says, “Crash this car, your friend dies.” That’s what Jackie tells Dad as I sit stoic on the deck waiting for a lie in his retelling, a misspoken clue of why your friend was not found bludgeoned to death by a misfired gun like you. The man, a black man, wanted cash, ten thousand from the card. Idiot asshole mother fucker, this man has been in jail so long -- seventeen years, half his life -- he does not know what a card can give, or care that the banks have closed or that the money isn’t yours, and only becomes more enraged when you decide that “No!,” you will not take him into Jess’ house You decide “he’ll kill her too.” Jackie abandoned you as you sat gun to your head in a Kroger parking lot. Instead of walking to the ATM; he ran, he actually ran from you into the store screaming for a cop. The policeman at the back of the store ran too, just in time to see your car’s taillights swerving out into the night. They finally found you in the daylight, face broken, body sprawled out over and across the front seat. Like your murderer and your friend, I too am selfish. I only want a fair chance to live my life as I deem it, but do not always deserve. Yet, you chose death my angel, my brother. No signs of attack, only defense as you held your arms around your head taking blow after blow of that pistol’s blunt impact. Cheek caved in, eye socket broken, you died, so someone else might live. As I morn, I try to be inspired: I decide that I too must die, so that we might live. Ambition, comfort, and conceit offered up as you did before the distortion of a deprived human life, a refraction of our superior hate and fear.

I'd nix all the "Ellipsis." A full stop period can be just as dramatic. Colons are great for set ups too. Use of too many ellipsis can give any work that certain late 90s IRC chat room feel, and that was like a decade ago. Hmm, maybe try paying more attention to the direction of your thoughts: to whom are you speaking; who is speaking? Makes for more consistent voice (first, 2nd, 3rd person), and makes any change in voice more effective / dramatic. Basically connect the "what" of what you want to say with the "why" and "how." good effort; don't get addicted, rev...

Say, ah, you do know that Charlie Wilson in a real person, right? http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Wilson_(politician) The film is not only a creative non-fiction comedian, but a very pointed critique at current and past American Foreign Policy. This is an imperfect comparison, but it's in the same vein Crucible being written to critique McCarthyism, or Wicked being written to critique the treatment of Arab and Islamic people in the USA post 911, ditto for the movie Good Night, and Good Luck. oh, there I go again...the American Studies Major geeking out. rev...

Phone call to Navy Recruiter: "Hello, I'm interested in becoming a Navy Chaplain." Tone of Recruiter -- Cordial, maybe a bit bored. "Oh, and did I mention there is only one other Chaplain in the entire Navy Chaplain Corp that prescribes to my particular faith." Tone of Recruiter -- OMG! Alert! Alert! This is not a drill, this is not a drill, we have a live one, here!

http://www.sinfest.net/archive_page.php?comicID=2266

Yeah, I just kind of rifted it off. First poem I wrote in like half a year. (Muse still burned out from undergrad) Is too prosey, I think. Eh, I'll come back to it in a year or two, once emotions from the election have settled some... take care, rev...

Abstaining from Love "If I can choose not to have sex until I am married, why can't they abstain from being gay," she said, my fellow seminarian, years before we graduated with our BAs. She to the right and I too the left, literally as I set out from the radical school on the West Coast, she the remained on the East -- South East -- the cradle from which we were both born. I counseled, you have your dream that you will find someone and a good chance that your family will recognize him if your love in true, and even if it's not the State will, so long as you pay the fee for a paper license. You abstain in anticipation of fulfillment. You suppress yourself to give more one hopeful day to the one man, dream that is meant for you. Yet, you are still you. Not changed, completed. Would you deny that to a man that loves a man or a trans who loves a trans as you dream to love a man, or a woman that loves a woman wishing for a child as you wished and wish. Kristin, love gives before it takes. And the more you wish to take away from that which you do not love, but fear the less you will have to give to Him.

You still got it Cyril. as always am humbled by your presence. rev...

* speaking engagements pay well if you can them. * don't run in smog * no matter what I do, my mother will always tell me the truth. The blunt cold hard brutal truth. Yeah that's right mom, don't even try to hold anything back, just let me have it.

"Jo's Boys," Louisa May Alcott. I figure it will be good light airplane reading in between Georgia and Thailand. rev...

It's always about the format isn't it? Once you get that down, it's like working a puzzle. Not hard, but you have to know rules to be able to play the game. Cool I'm good at synthesizing randomness and I can write on any topic / point of view, so long as it won't jeopardize my path towards the ministry, which frankly is pretty wide open, so I doubt that will be an issue. So cool, cool. Other pen ppls! Jump on board, this sounds like fun.

Giving enough lead time for research I can write about just about anything. Let me know what kind of references you want / need and how to apply. I am going to be starving seminary student, so I could use the $$. thanks, rev...

Hey people, This is a general disclaimer After much thought I've decided to open all my work on the Pen under the creative commons Share Alike 3.0 unported license. "This license lets others remix, tweak, and build upon your work even for commercial reasons, as long as they credit you and license their new creations under the identical terms. This license is often compared to open source software licenses. All new works based on yours will carry the same license, so any derivatives will also allow commercial use." What does this mean? Modified from the creative commons website: You are free to to copy, distribute and transmit my work as well as remixing it under the following conditions: * Attribution. You must attribute this work to me (but not in any way that suggests that I endorse you or your use of the work). In other words, cite me to use me. * What does "Attribute this work" mean? The CC logo in my signature contained embedded licensing metadata, including how I wish to be attributed for re-use. You can use the HTML here to cite the work. Doing so will also include metadata on your page so that others can find the original work as well. * Share Alike. If you alter, transform, or build upon my work, you may distribute the resulting work only under the same, similar or a compatible license. To read up more on this have a gander here: http://creativecommons.org/ best, rev...

Also, a devise used to keep a reader / viewer engaged at the end of a piece in order to stroke anticipation for the next episode in the series, show, comic, etc. Basically it's what happens when you see "To Be Continued" flash up. Think Soap Operas. Charles Dickens is notorious for them. Most of his novels started out as newspaper serials, and he got paid by the word. That's why they're sooooo long winded and with lots and lots twists and surprises.

Thanks, dancing should be in everyone's life. cheers, revery the dreamlost "still on sabbatical" the dream continues...

Random thought of the day. Wise? Eh, doubtful. Personal Philosophy: If you can't laugh at yourself, you can't have fun, and if you're not having fun, something is wrong. The Universe is a vast weighty thing that will eventually crush you no matter how good you think you are. Yet with every soul-crushing smush there exists an opportunity to expand and go in a new direction. You are just a silly little blowfish swimming in a multitude of blowfish waiting for an opportunity to swell as the Big Bad 'Verse pokes and bats you around with it's tentacles. Be the blowfish. -- me, just now.

I'm taking a well deserved break from writing and critiquing poetry at the moment after three years of intense instruction in the craft. I have a few drafts that could be revised and tweaked here and there, but pretty much I'm spent. Only one week left in classes, so my focus now is enjoying what time I have left with my friends on the East Coast before the big move to California in a few months. Regarding the workshop environment, I think I learned the most through osmosis. In that as far as lovers of poetry go, I am very poorly read. I've read more novels than books of poetry. Heck, I've read more online comics than published verse. But the majority of my peers were significantly better read than me, and being forced to read their work week after week; year after year, I think helped me absorbed a fair amount of what they learned from the published types. So in a nut shell, I'm like the modern day rock guitar player that learned the blues by imitating Eric Clapton who learned his stuff by imitating Robert Johnson. cheers, rev...

Dear Di-Di, How are you? I am fine. I spent today playing catch up with school assignments whilst being harassed by an elf via email (my friend's baby sister, don't worry she's legal). I always get the most inconvenient crushes thrown my way. But, at least it's not a guy this time. Alas, though I've had to break many a gay heart, I remain straight as a lone sunbeam falling through the leaves of an ancient forest. Anyway, I finally finished my poetry thesis/manuscript for college. It's quite large consisting of many words, I'd say about 36 poems in all spanning 50 pages or so. It took me three years to write/edit it and I'm still not happy with it, but deadlines wait for no one, so for better or worse I turned it in and am still awaiting my advisors' verdict. Once I get some down time, I may post so of it up here at the pen, most of the early drafts are here already, so might as well post the current revisions. 'best, rev...

Took Elvina's advice and recast it in the original form. Seem's I inadvertently repeated the 3rd six-syllable line in my 3rd stanza. Hmm, actually, I think that kind of gives it a nice symmectrical feel. 4/2/2008 Dance Lessons in August The heat serves us well—we dancers reluctant and pressed, leaving angels’ palms damp with nervous sweat. Look up young friend, her eyes so clear, as you spin her ‘round her halo’s tip or pour her low across your hip, holding close a cradled arch till you embrace her back up- right again. Can you feel her smile when you change up your style: Sashay that hip, spot turn—no, yes Now—fling out that wrist? Or turn it down. It’s too much that beat. Move her quick, quick, slow; let the pulse lead through your feet—stand, don’t fold and retreat.

Oh yes, they do seem similar: http://raisin-sun.netfirms.com/hughes.html A Raisin in the Sun by Langston Hughes What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore-- And then run? Does it stink like rotten meat? Or crust and sugar over-- like a syrupy sweet? Maybe it just sags like a heavy load. Or does it explode?

First rate. feels familar somehow. Completely original or an imitation? Ether way great job. rev...