tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3107838361391025851.post1325332024807096974..comments2024-03-28T19:48:05.247-04:00Comments on Shay's Word Garden (Poetry & Such Like): boneFireblossomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07040525704916368792noreply@blogger.comBlogger15125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3107838361391025851.post-36615995434981915462013-04-03T10:46:05.451-04:002013-04-03T10:46:05.451-04:00Damn, girl. This is raw, primal rage brilliantly ...Damn, girl. This is raw, primal rage brilliantly conveyed.Maude Lynnhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03669688074743095866noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3107838361391025851.post-89025629299418780232013-04-02T18:00:19.598-04:002013-04-02T18:00:19.598-04:00'i am the daughter of a bone' is so chilli...'i am the daughter of a bone' is so chilling, so perfect. <br /><br />'hold me, i'm a sentient plastic bag blowing on a branch.<br />i make a lot of noise,<br />but it isn't music,<br />no more than screaming is singing.' Wow, what an amazing metaphor that is.<br /><br />And those final two stanzas are just breathtaking. Jennifer Wagnerhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04344877737695801883noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3107838361391025851.post-57735419181384871252013-04-01T20:09:24.158-04:002013-04-01T20:09:24.158-04:00To me, "I'm a daughter of a bone" me...To me, "I'm a daughter of a bone" means that her conception was only about sex. She feels worthless because she wasn't truly wanted, as far as she knows. So she's left trying to find herself reflected in another man's face because she wasn't loved by her father---as if being loved physically might make her real, might make her feel worth something for a moment.<br /><br />Her very existence is a defiance of the rising sun. She was never meant to <i>be</i> at all---in her own eyes, anyway.<br /><br />These are very powerful sections; definitely my favorites:<br /><br />"the pretty rising dead, out to visit themselves upon the spring--<br />they stab their way into being.<br />they pretend to recognize the air, when all they know is suffocation"<br /><br />"ill-white,<br />pulling but never having,<br />glowing but stone dead and more bitter than any man could ever understand"Alicehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09212391351233448784noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3107838361391025851.post-59983651625153665802013-04-01T13:46:39.388-04:002013-04-01T13:46:39.388-04:00It will be difficult to think of April in any othe...It will be difficult to think of April in any other way after reading this.<br /><br />April, she has come.Helenhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16619199535376925989noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3107838361391025851.post-59979620912943835592013-04-01T13:15:49.352-04:002013-04-01T13:15:49.352-04:00This is stunning, and although I seem to say that ...This is stunning, and although I seem to say that about your poetry a lot, I agree with Hedge that those last three lines are stunning!Grandmother Maryhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/18169464484379536529noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3107838361391025851.post-62539147622231268542013-04-01T13:06:06.012-04:002013-04-01T13:06:06.012-04:00Wowzers, whatever will you do for an encore? Serio...Wowzers, whatever will you do for an encore? Seriously, this is a fantastic write....."born starving"....."pulling but never having"......."daughter of a bone". As Joy said, cuts like a knife.Sherry Blue Skyhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10769154286598233146noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3107838361391025851.post-66291151638513543062013-04-01T10:42:13.307-04:002013-04-01T10:42:13.307-04:00I love every stanza of this poem, Shay. I love every stanza of this poem, Shay. Lolamousehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12508347229501155001noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3107838361391025851.post-63371609714608295672013-04-01T02:24:31.254-04:002013-04-01T02:24:31.254-04:00little things rise green out of the dirt,
snow aro...little things rise green out of the dirt,<br />snow around their necks;<br />the pretty rising dead, out to visit themselves upon the spring--<br />they stab their way into being.<br />they pretend to recognize the air, when all they know is suffocation.<br /><br />To me, this stanza alone achieves all that Eliot's opening lines of Waste Land set out to do, but with the addition of a real sense of flesh and bone mortality assigned to the plants.<br />Fine, fine work! Kerry O'Connorhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/00720862912375945249noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3107838361391025851.post-40127246340712893232013-04-01T01:03:39.051-04:002013-04-01T01:03:39.051-04:00raw, intense, truth baring
We enter into our prim...raw, intense, truth baring<br /><br />We enter into our primordial being<br /><br />GraciasMarcoantonio Arellano (Nene)https://www.blogger.com/profile/10713672589582754484noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3107838361391025851.post-59078337475525812042013-04-01T00:29:23.806-04:002013-04-01T00:29:23.806-04:00ill white,
pulling but never having
this was bone...ill white,<br />pulling but never having<br /><br />this was bone chilling, a silent screamgabriellehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14488809730387509552noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3107838361391025851.post-11054375343497897702013-04-01T00:17:16.532-04:002013-04-01T00:17:16.532-04:00Hold me, tucked away in this poem of passionate ve...Hold me, tucked away in this poem of passionate venting really struck me. Sometimes those that want just to be loved, protest the loudest? Margarethttps://www.blogger.com/profile/00007201357693227614noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3107838361391025851.post-47735004186539762642013-03-31T23:10:00.930-04:002013-03-31T23:10:00.930-04:00This is raw poetry..packs a verbal knife...Great w...This is raw poetry..packs a verbal knife...Great work!! I bought Night Blooms. :)Susie Clevengerhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09239990133754328967noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3107838361391025851.post-835152723720635412013-03-31T22:20:46.981-04:002013-03-31T22:20:46.981-04:00Whoa. The last three lines are as good as anything...Whoa. The last three lines are as good as anything ever written. This isn't one I'm going to wax verbose on--it's too good for that. A fine, clean surgical knife to the heart, Shay.hedgewitchhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13090696134322515899noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3107838361391025851.post-41038189015517376612013-03-31T21:50:14.402-04:002013-03-31T21:50:14.402-04:00Whoa, I don't think I'm old enough to read...Whoa, I don't think I'm old enough to read this, Shay.<br />However, I did, and you are SOME kinda writer, my dear, some kinda amazing writer.<br />KKay L. Davieshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09966266404058177742noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3107838361391025851.post-415645214152894232013-03-31T20:57:30.454-04:002013-03-31T20:57:30.454-04:00Raw, sensitive wounds given a voice. Visceral, an...Raw, sensitive wounds given a voice. Visceral, and cutting. This was a great piece!HermanTurniphttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15448138758753193112noreply@blogger.com