>yo, why are you so nice?

---- Thank you from the beginning.


>to the point where its
>not even words anymore.
>its not even poetry.
>its, movements, its photo frames,
>its motion.

------ That is one of the BEST compliments I have ever received in my entire existence! You keyed into why I say "keep the motion" when I leave someone's post...motion is highly important..constant...motion..e-motions...to move up and on. Thank you again for seeing in to that.


>I mean, this piece (and that
>other one where I keyed
>in an editor's review length
>response)

----I remember that, you even sent me an e-mail with the response. It still shocks my memory.

wtf do
>you think about when you
>write? what is your
>inspiration?

----- Well, sometimes, I write from the eyes of other people...but some eyes....are mine.....I haven't written in a month. I vowed silence until the right words came out again. See, what happened was I was so busying try to write "whatever" that I forgot to listen to me. The last piece I wrote for my mother, called "7300 poems for my mother", it drained me. I never put some much of me into a poem. Never wrote a poem that every time I read it or recite it, I begin to cry. So...after that poem, I found myself at a lost for words. I felt like I had gone to an edge...and I couldn't turn back to writing the same way that I did before.... I don't know if that makes sense...but as long as I have been a poet, I hardly ever wrote poem about me personally, about my eyes...and my beginnings..my basements and backseats. I had writers block because every time I picked up a pen I was trying to write about someone else....live through another soul...but there were words of my own that were choking me to come out. I wasn't ready to let them out. I wasn't prepared to hear my truth...so I vowed silence, until I did again. ((did I go off on to another point? YES! Okay.)) My inspiration is the after effect that each poems has on the reader. I want it to be real. I want it to right. I need for readers to see/fee/hear/taste/understand what the speaker in the poem does. That is what inspires me. And that is what I think about when I write.

I'm very curious
>'cause this is so well
>constructed (except for the small
>sentence fragements, but if that
>was done on purpose, please
>correct me)

----I don't know structure when I write. My poetry doesn't take a pre-set form..and my sentences lose their grammatical correctness. And even though I'm an English major, I continue to wreck the language. Honestly, I feel like the entire poem is a sentence. Each line drips into the other....like links..I use word play to link the lines rather than end one sentence and try and start another one. For instance:

i just walk behind him in the airport
-trying to catch up- (plays for both lines)
but we don't speak

so i smile
-back- (double again)
to grandma's house

so i follow
-and he leads me-
to believe that

until we get tired of playing
-so he says-
lets pretend

I also use breaks in sentence...like

how can she sing
holy songs
'bout baby jesus
and mary
and not come
and
save
me
from
choking
on sweet youth mixed with mildew

that break down is to be read and understood just as it is...like each word is a child choking.

>now, I have a short perception
>of it. okay, you
>had your father in your
>life. moms and you
>had split from him early,
>and it was more or
>so a weekend meeting with
>you.

-------Yes, Christmas vacation is usually the time I would go up to Atlanta ( hence the "fulton county basement" line).

my christmas still smells
like old spice and visitation rights
like my daddy


he took you
>out, bought you things, weared
>that cologne you liked.
>he loved you for what
>you were, right?

------All right, let me explain this part. I loved him because I wanted to be a part of him. I wanted him to love me too.

explanation:
who wears a pinky ring
that hurts him if I hold his hand too tight

----Shows that I want to love him..but I can't..because it seems to bother him.

so i don't
i just walk behind him in the airport
trying to catch up
but we don't speak

-------This shows that the relationship isn't close to being "good" or close.
I want to be close...I want to speak..but he sliently pushes me off.

cause airports are noisy
and so
is his red sport car *( sports cars are sometime seen as a "single" thing. You don't think of parents with sport cars, esp of young children. Shows is selfishness...he's moving on with life.)*

thats his favorite color
so
i wear red ribbons in my hair even though my color is purple
but he doesn't see it though
cause he's too busy

The ribbons I wear are showing that I am trying hard for him to "like me", wearing his favorite color, trying to be like him, but he still doesn't see it.


>but
>as you came up in
>age, dad started promising you
>a lot of things, and
>hadn't carried those promises out
>like he used to.
>he didn't see you as
>much, he layed off on
>calling you and checking on
>how school was, and he
>didn't invite you over as
>much.

------Actually, it represented a routine sort of. He would pick me up every Christmas and drop me off at Grandma's and tell me that if "hurry back to the car" he would take me with him...knowing that I would not make it back before he left, so I would feel like it was my fault for not running fast enough. BUT...in the poem..I used only one time frame...the present then.


okay, I'm assuming
>that he and your mother
>had a lot of problems
>socially (mainly over you) and
>he just didn't like the
>pressure and responsibilites your mother
>"ironed on him" (as he
>probably said). so he
>and you gradually broke away
>from each other, but that
>last meeting had a promise
>settled in it that wasn't
>carried out, and so this
>is what the flower dress
>represented. the memories you
>shared with him.

-----You're right about one thing, the flower dress or the "old spice" smell represents my father. But I am not trying to hold on to the memories of him..I am trying to be a part of him. I want to smell like him. Thats my link.

>
>mmm-kay, now moms has to recooperate
>from all that, and uh,
>a couple years later, she
>connects with someone. now,
>she feels that this is
>where she patches up the
>past with your father and
>all, and she introduces that
>glitch in your life to
>you. now in the
>presence of moms, duke's the
>perfect picture.

----The cousin that comes in..is a cousin. I can see where you got that "step father" from though. The story doesn't have a lot of metaphors. Though...I don like your story line :)...gives it a depth...but the poem was based on actual occurences.

but behind
>all that, you know he's
>more of what your father
>wasn't (or was). so
>one night, he goes the
>distance, and gives you a
>christmas present, one you don't
>expect, in this basement your
>speakin about.

---Yes, but its the cousin.

now your
>wearin this dress that represented
>your father, and in the
>post event, you feel dirty
>and betrayed. so now
>those petals on that flower
>dress are ruined and now
>that good smelling dress full
>of good memories, is douced
>with a bad one, and
>now that memory garden has
>been destroyed (boy, I hope
>I'm on point with this
>'cause I'ma look like a
>fool keyin up all this,
>thinkin I'm nailing your intentions
>and I'm dead wrong).

----lol...you are on point with the basics of the story....but sometimes minds that travel in depth see more than what is there. The flower dress and scent have a dual purpose, her/my innocence, as well as a link to the father. The speaker isn't upset about the flowers...because she just wants her daddy...she just needs her daddy to be around.you see that she blames everone from the grandma to the mother and even as far as Jesus...but she never associates any fault with her father. As a little girl...sometimes the only thing you want is to be a part of your father's life...to be daddy's little girl.. nothing else matters...

>I'm not sure if who
>you were playin with represents
>a friend, a stepfather, your
>father or some other relative,
>but this is what I
>got out of it.
>correct me (if your up
>for it) if I'm wrong.

Through this poem..YOU were able to see behind scenes...to make a life out of the words....and thats what i wanted! I wanted the characters in the poem to become a live...relateable..like you could see it happening..and you did that with depth..you were on point... You have to remember that..my poetry means one thing to me..but it comes to mean anything from you. YOU ARE THE READER..whatever you see...you were meant to see...what you chose to see...and that is the beauty of poetry. It is able to transform into many out of one. Some people might even have seen their relationship with their fathers...some have seen their own basement flowers... some see parents separation....some people will see a helpless child..but it all fits in. So, there is no real need to "correct you"..this was only my way of telling you how I saw it when I wrote it... but please..keep your eyes...seeing...what...your eyes...see.


>beyond_levels? you've got a talent
>ma, and I don't even
>think you know the extention
>of it.

-----And I will be the first to admit that I don't. And I hope I never do, so that I may continue to live at peace with humbleness. Once an artist no longer starves..they forget what hunger is....art is my hunger....

>I'm here to listen, word
>up.

I have peeped your work as well....lets just say...we're both here and listening. ;)


You know, I was just complaining the other day about how I felt some people that reply to work don't actual read the posts. They just say "good work" or "that is great", just so that people can come out to their poems and do the same thing. I respect opinions.. even if you would have said that this piece was some weak isht..as long as you supported your thesis, I would have appreciated it. I commend you..and respect the fact that you took the time to read the work..but also the effort into understanding it and telling me what you thought. This means so much to me.

Thank you again for the chance to speak.

keep the motion
beyond. myself.

--------------------------------------
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