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After Hiawatha

Here's seven darker grains we shun
cut clean and free before
we licked the salt from buttered buns
through necks long-veined and sore.
Six small sacks of church step moss
misdealt to would-be farmers.
some tucked in wings of albatross,
the last haunts Hamlet's charmers.
Raisin pies were tallied: 5
(one ripped and incomplete).
Large slice cut with stamped tin knife
pecked bare by fowl in heat.
The bedsheets as the seasons
this morning numbered four.
Two unmarked the infant reasons.
On one the film of war.
Three times the milkman checked his clock.
"I checked three times...", he stutters.
Now his birth-house lights the block.
Hot paint leaps locust-like- and sudden
      from ancient blazing shutters.
The twins of highest dwellings date.
The twins of Venice play.
Pay candied jewels to woo a mate
whose rainless rooftops writhe and fray.
One comrade's mother's broader breast,
ever saved for luck and later,
leave this item last to wrest
from bags of oak and alligator.

13 Oct 02

Rated 9 (6.9) by 2 users.
Active (2): 8, 10
Inactive (7): 4, 5, 6, 7, 7, 7, 8

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11's rhythm is off; "stamped" does no flow. 13-16 isn't without rhythm or anything, just feels like leaning forward and tripping over my feet waiting for some extra syllables.
knowing who wrote it, i need to read again and again and again. the rhythm ate me so that i didn't have time to know what it said. this is a good thing.
 — jade

i have absolutely. no. idea. what is happening in this poem. it makes zero sense to me. i hate it when that happens. maybe i am just tired, or maybe it actually is nonsensical. in any case, great rhythm, follow jade's suggestions, she knows what she is talking about.
 — done

this doesnt mean anything. i get a big kick out of making something sound like it means something. not trying to fool anyone. (all my other poems (here) do have meaning!) but i did want a little feedback on what there is here (aside from specific meaning). thanks.
 — gnormal

sorry about that, done. you are absolutely right! i owe you one.
 — gnormal

Yeah, this is just nuts...
 — Moose

i for one dont like this poem... its alright but theres nothing there that appeases to me... no catch no unusual things... just a very descriptive poem that is well thought yet missing that special thing
 — NO

this is so great. a poet of deftness and skill, you are! meaning schmeaning, I always say! poetry schmoetry!
 — unknown

Very hard reading. Poetry shouldn't be painful to read.
 — bluepisces

this is a cool poem
 — unknown

 — onklcrispy

gnorm  -can we get some help here?
 — unknown

see above.
 — gnormal

--hey, i loved this! thought it fantastic actually, i'll come back when i'm signed in to rate it
 — unknown

i wrote it in the philippines after i read longfellow's hiawatha (now available on the web) from an english primer purchased in china.  if you read that for an hour you cant get that rhythm out of your head and you can easily talk like this.  just treid to capture the cadence, rhythm, and lofty obscure romantic... notions.  i still enjoy it, but honestly it adds up to nada (as far as i know!)
 — gnormal

I licked buttered buns once
they were better buttered I figure.
Although you might have thought
all that cholesterol
would have made them bigger.

If Hiawatha was gay would he be Pokahiney?
 — unknown

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