Addressed to Whitman, from ironman

[Neruda II]

-To the death
That is still listening
And the machines
That whisper closely,
I beg-
Please, ancient builders,
Rebirth our intellect
And find our bravery
new batteries.
Write our perfect songs,
Give us the revival of our best friends,
Show us the last time
We were sure we knew
What it meant to love someone so much
That it might break us.
I want to beg for it all;
that you never let us forget
The bigness that fills our stomachs
When we are by ourselves
And happy.
And we remember that we can still
See the good traits
in the men and women that made us
wish forever into existence.
But for now, ladies and gentlemen
I can only hope that you don’t
Grow tired.


I am glad to be sharing a glass,
With my cellmate,
The loafer.

Mr. Whitman
I watched you from the other side of the mirror
Eye brows raised,
Waiting for you to come out
And take me to your field,
So I could finally
actually
Believe that all of the soul searching
Used up nights,
cigar butts,
daydreams,
and neck pains
might resuscitate my old bones one day.

In you,
The carrier of the inevitable-
I see a child
And a cheer,
The nature of all things that grow.
My most glorious
Seconds free fall
Through your own celebration,
Because to me you are
As alive as Dali, Don Quixote,
Bukowski, The Red Ranger,
Ironman, Steve McQueen, Hunter S. Thompson,
My little Brother, and Sonnet 19 By William Shakespeare.
You are my adversary
And when I die, it is through you
That my leftovers must travel.
As a good friend of mine once put it,
The safety is off.
I’m coming for you Mr. Whitman,
Singing overkill,
Nose runny with ink,
And weilding a typewriter like a goddamn bazooka.
King of the Good Cause,
I hope you are not still waiting for me,
For if I find you resting,
In a field of grass,
I will not stop running
For you alone.

[spokenoh]

This was the perfect thing to come home and read after dying in theory class for three hours. You quirky motherfucker, your tone is incredible like being drunk in public. The allusions, the rhetoric, the no-holds-barred-shoot-him-twice-to-make-sure-he's-dead one liners, it's all something that is completely unique to you. The typewriter-bazooka is epic, as well as all other gun illusions. Seriously, high five.

[abiona]

I haven't been reading your work as long as most on here have... but in the short time that I've been privy to your pieces, I've really grown to appreciate them. There is always something so alive and honest about your words and when I read them I always walk away feeling as if I really got a sense of what was going through your head as you were writing.

Enjoyed the different maneuverings of this piece... the first, second, and third+fourth could almost be pieces on their own. When placed together, they paint a picture of someone hungry for life and meaning, on a journey towards becoming the hero of their own personal poem. Conveyed an energy that was much enjoyed and appreciated.

Write our perfect songs,
Give us the revival of our best friends,
Show us the last time
We were sure we knew
What it meant to love someone so much
That it might break us.

Loved this.

[Neruda II]

your tone is incredible like being drunk in public.

absolutely the best thing that has ever been said about my poetry.

[artisan.]

"Nose runny with ink,
And weilding a typewriter like a goddamn bazooka."

hahah xD well that is one way to paint determination...

"And find our bravery
new batteries."

lines like this are stimulating beyond the poem itself, yet did not distract from the main event, I enjoyed this very much.

The 3rd and 4th stanza could stand together as one poem, I suspect yet they fit as a kind of change of pace mostly because you used a name, which kind of makes the reader pause.

The 2nd stanza introduced a "she" without too much background, it didn't hinder the progress of the poem or meaning of the stanza yet using a pronoun without a direct association threw me off for a second or so...

The words felt alive, and were attention holding...I reread 3x in an attempt to give you something to work on for next time, but I found next to nothing >.> I am not a fan of big metaphors or hidden meanings etc, however blatant or subtle ...but I find your work a nice balance where most readers can take away something.

[Neruda II]

i thought that "she" would be a bit confusing. but im glad that the message and emotion was still easy to relate to.

ill be performing this tomorrow so yall will see a video soon

[Mantra]

that title is so dope, it made me laugh but at the same time it made me curious to what the content was going to be...to be honest though i would have read it anyways because i dont want to miss anything else you drop.
I already want to kick myself for not being around when you hit your stride and started producing this stuff thats been blowing me away. ha, now on to something actually about your poem...

loved the beginning. i like being able to start reading something and right off bat have to re-read lines. not because i didnt get em' but for the sake of their effect.
I agree with amanda on that batteries line she quoted:

-To the death
That is still listening
And the machines
That whisper closely,
I beg-
Please, ancient builders,
Rebirth our intellect
And find our bravery
new batteries.

stuff like that makes me jealous...

the last stanza though was my absolute favorite of the piece.

I liked how abi said she could see an honesty in your writing. thats perfect because i get the same feeling. sometimes i read shit on here and it seems sterile or cold, like how could someone expect to connect. yours always puts that heart on the sleeve and exudes the human quality. never a lack of emotion in your stuff.

anyways, i'd try and give you some criticism biut i dont feel like its my place to do so. you're where i want to be as a writer and it doesnt feel appropriate to be telling to change anything...besides abi, spoken, amanda, etc are way better at doing that.

great piece homes. please keep writing

[LedgenZ]

FUCK!!!! You make me want to be a better poet. Seriously, you make me want to quit my job, sell my house and car, take the money, buy a plane ticket, fly to Tibet, build a shack, and live on a mountain at its highest peak, and write poetry until my hair turns grey and teeth fall out…and then maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to find the inspiration and peace of mind necessary to write something of this caliber. I mean, I am honestly green with envy right now. Like did you sell your soul to the devil, and if so, how much did he pay for it? Because in order to come up with the sort of lines and concepts you have sprinkled sporadically throughout this poem some sort of supernatural entity must be involved. Anyway, I’ m sure this is probably the worst feedback you’ve ever received. I’ve told you absolutely nothing about your poem, but then again…fuck you! Become a worst poet…it’ll make me feel better about my own talent. LoL. Truly epic piece Ex. Pz