The Lakeside Interlude. Parts One through Three.

[Jude Knox]

The Lakeside Interlude.
Part One: How he used to play before the end.

I would make animals out of the clouds.
Only the sky is blue.
Clouds have fallen on my head.
Cut me across the cheek.
And scarred me where I will never see. I am here.
But in the next second.
I am gone.
Swallowed in by brown water.
Contaminate me.
Well. Are you better at sliding down these hills than your brothers?
It’s all we play.
I am not pretending.

-------

The Lakeside Interlude.
Part Two: In the aftermath of the young one’s demise.

The tomb door slid open.
A forlornly looking child crept out.
His bony fingers gripped the tomb door.

And his face was blue.
And his face was blue.
In the moonlight.

He walked into the graveyard.
These days you can never be sure of where you are going.
But he was. He was going to the lake.

And his face was blue.
And his face was blue.
In the moonlight.

Without a sound the dead live.
Rolling with the worms, the lichen and the grubs.
Those child's footfalls made impressions in the soft mounds.

And his face was blue.
And his face was blue.
In the moonlight.
Most corpses complain that they had a horrible affair.
While others remain silent as the day they arrived.
But that child just walked and he never faltered. Not tonight.

And his face was blue.
And his face was blue.
Yours would be, two.
If you walked in the moonlight.

-------

The Lakeside Interlude.
Part Three: It’s easier being dead.

The healers came
Breaking tomorrow’s stars
Within the slipping reason.

He didn’t start off this day
With a chance to save him.

A pause beside his lonely stare
Before the healers left him alone
Did not take too long.

He had evil antics in a smile
That disappeared in the blades of grass.

They took their gloves off
And returned their instruments
And carried him towards the wailing sirens.

He heard the changing chords
Of songs he would never be able to write.

No healers hesitated to go on record
To annihilate the boy’s honesty
In a chain of papers.

Now he’s stuck under his lid
Just wishing his consciousness to die.

[Neurolanis]

This poem shows true promise, Jude Knox. I like the title/s, and the usage of the word "interlude" really interests me. It makes me wonder if they're all just interludes to a much larger poem. There is a good personal tone to it, especially in the first half, that I really like.

To criticize, it's a little hard to follow. One line says "wailing sirens" and the next "changing chords" and this makes me wonder if these are literal descriptions or abstract ones. I find this a little hard to follow.

[Jude Knox]

I perfectly understand. I have found that through the process of writing sincerely what I'm thinking (and this doesn't refer to what's currently on my mind, like the weather or diet Coke, but that scary, abnormal subconscious I drive away whilst in public), that it has confused many many readers.

Obviously, at first I wanted to take a sledgehammer to the computer screen until everyone said that they truly enjoyed my works (lolz ) but after the dust settled and the rubble had been swept away, I made a conjecture behind the criticisms. I have always been misunderstood, whether it be in public conversation or in writing, and it has made me feel as though I have done wrong.

The point I'm trying to make is I had a catharsis and I wanted to post it in order to read reactions. While most are suggestions, and I do appreciate them greatly (more than anything, suggestions reveal how well or how poorly a writer has reached its readers), there are some, like you, who have made a connection and that's all I'm looking for. You saw something in my poems that maybe you felt connected to you somehow or it had made you think of a memory or a time in your life you may have felt that way. Whatever it may have been, you felt a connection and that's all I'm trying to do here.

And if it's all a matter of rearranging parts or changing words (as you have briefly indicated with "wailing sirens" and "changing chords") in order to reach out on many different levels to more people, then I think I should heed your suggestions and advice from anyone else who may criticize.

With that in mind, I've got some great news:

I just saved a bunch of money on my car insurance by switching to Geico!

Anyway, thank you. I know this post was long-winded but I've been trying to figure the best way in which to explain my poetry for many months and haven't been able to do it without seeming narcissistic or conceded. I hope I've been able to explain this in a way that is less than incomprehensible. And if not, well....alsdkfjlksadjflksdajf

[Jude Knox]

Here's a revised version of the Interlude:

::This poem’s about suicide…don’t do it::

The Lakeside Interlude.

…How he used to play before the end...
I would make animals out of the clouds.
Only the sky is blue.
Clouds have fallen on my head.
Cut me across the cheek.
And scarred me where I will never see. I am here.
But in the next second.
I am gone.
Swallowed in by brown water.
Contaminate me.
Well. Are you better at sliding down these hills than your brothers?
It’s all we play.
I am not pretending…
…And in the aftermath of the young one’s demise…

The tomb door slid open.
A forlornly child crept out.
His bony fingers gripped the tomb door.

And his face was blue.
And his face was blue.
In the moonlight.

He walked into the graveyard.
These days you can never be sure of where you are going.
But he was. He was going to the lake.

And his face was blue.
And his face was blue.
In the moonlight.

Without a sound the dead live.
Rolling with the worms, the lichen and the grubs.
Those child's footfalls made impressions in the soft mounds.

And his face was blue.
And his face was blue.
In the moonlight.

Most corpses complain that they had a horrible affair.
While others remain silent as the day they arrived.
But that child just walked and he never faltered. Not tonight.

And his face was blue.
And his face was blue.
Yours would be, too.
If you walked in the moonlight…

It’s easier being dead. But you’re still a coward, young man.
He didn’t start off this day. With a chance to save him.
He had evil antics in a smile. That disappeared in the blades of grass.
He heard the changing chords. Of songs he would never be able to write.
Now he’s stuck under his lid. Just wishing consciousness to die.
How many times you traded your innocence. Yet grew no wiser.
…Now whose scars are worse?

The healers came.
Breaking tomorrow’s stars.
Within the slipping reason.
A pause beside his lonely stare.
Before the healers left him alone.
Did not take too long.
They took their gloves off.
And returned their instruments.
And carried him to wailing sirens.
No healers hesitated to go on record.
To annihilate the boy’s honesty.
In a chain of papers.

[Neurolanis]

To be honest, I liked the first version better. The. dots. get. a. bit. tiresome. Also, it just feels more restrained than the first one. I do like the period usage in the chorus however.

You know, I believe that you can only write a poem once. As a poem comes from a source of inspiration, changing it around can only ruin the authentic feel of the poem. If a poem doesn't work, too bad. My opinion. And that's not to say that it's a bad poem (meaning the hypothetical poem) or, like you say, any poem that is honest is bad, but that it isn't what you want or need in a poem (doesn't suit your taste, isn't publishable, etc.) I just think a poem is how it is born, pretty much anyway (sometimes adding or removing a few words or periods can make it better -- sometimes!)

I always did art from my unconsciousness, as it seems to be with you. I don't know where they come from. Many sound great, or have great wordings or ideas, but rarely do they communicate in a way that other people could understand.

[shootbootleg]

first thing you should forget about is diet coke and geico with its G.
get some real stuff that'll keep you awake for more than 24 hrs and write your ass out.
get some sleep and then edit your stuff, cuz all of your catharsis babble made me twitch. you cannot explain poetry so don't even try to.
you'll ruin all the magic because in a way, you'll always be wrong and almost everyone won't like your work.
being misunderstood is kind of a relief, wrapped in a curse box.
the point is some will like your work and I agree with Neurolanis here: some poems flow better without editing some don't.
I also liked the ver 1.0 better although all the comas seem a bit kinky.

[Jude Knox]

I'm a neurotic wreck. Thanks for pointing that out to me in a clear, positive manner.

And my "catharsis babble" is about something I value. It may seem like rambling to you but that's how I feel. Now why crush a spirit when you're trying to explore your own? If I sounded pompous or arrogant, I'm sorry but that's not what I was about. Not at all. I feel inspired and yes, poetry is abstract and yes, it can be a great thing when it is on an "unconscious" or subconscious level. However, there's something I don't think anyone has noticed yet and that it's one thing to say that I should just leave my poetry the way it is but it's another to say that and then suggest ways in which to format my poetry differently. That's just being hypocritical.

Listen, shootbootleg, I'm not trying to fight but you did come off very direct and quite cold. I want to know where this hostility comes from because what I was trying to do upset you somehow. I understand what you mean when you say:

"being misunderstood is kind of a relief, wrapped in a curse box."

I used to say, "F you" to everybody because I didn't think they needed to understand me. It's been my common enemy. I've always been misunderstood. In fact, I've been bullied for it. And I've also been rejected. I used to believe that in order to keep my creativity unique, I would have to be completely different from other people. I knew I was unlike anyone else and yes, that did make me a loner. I am a strongly independent person as a result of being shunted as a child and in my teen years.

But honestly, that's no way to be in real life. That's not how an artist grows. Being bitter all the time may give you initiative but if that's all your focused on, then you're poetry is always going to sound self-indulgant. That shows no real growth in the artist and therefore no real skill. Being an artist (whether it be a writer, a sculptor, a musician, etc) requires the ability to be independent (which I don't doubt you have) as well as a good observer.

It's not all about your pain. Pain is one emotion you instill in your poetry. When you're making art, you are essentially communicating with others, trying to reach out in a way that is unique and has its own clever identity. You do want to get noticed but it's on your own terms. And you want respect but only people who understand the way you think can do that. And that's the issue: an artist tries to get others to think like them. Real artists are the pioneers of culture, of society.

Now, sure, you can write poetry on a level where it's completely meaningless to other people because only you know who you are and that's all you think there is to writing. But it's not going to amount to anything because eventually you're going to want others to read your poetry. And you're going to be defensive about it because it's your creativity; it's your brainchild. Every writer's fear: criticism. You may not like it, but you take it, either with acceptance or immaturity.

Pain is a tool. Observation is what breeds the intellectual mind. All I am is an observer. I take down notes and when I feel it's necessary, I will change a few lines if I think something is not conveying the tone I want. But I'm still independent about it. If I make changes, it's only so that I can hope to connect with more people. Obviously, this time around, you guys had your opinions and so, sometimes I may not be so successful with achieving my goal.

But don't accuse me of being a sheep. And don't think for a second that I was trying to explain away poetry. There is no "magic" to poetry. That's just lame, I'm sorry. What I proposed was MY thoughts on how beautiful and simple art really is if you are mature enough to understand it as something beyond the bland emotions and clever word usage. That's only part of it.

This is the key: your tone. Not many people comprehend the power behind your tone. Your tone, your attitude, your cynicism...that's what really connects you to others. And that's what's essential here. What are you trying to say and what are you all about? That's what I'm here for: to do my best to present to this forum and many other sites with my own language that I have practiced with for many years before I got comfortable with it.

And guess what? I'm still not really comfortable with my writing and that's normal. That's fine. That's just peachy creamy. I want to be uncertain. That gives me curiosity about myself. That means there are other places in my mind I've not yet discovered.

But the last thing I want to be is meaningless...or misunderstood. Sure, I want others to deem my writing inventive, or hell, even weird. I don't want to be like everyone else that's out there. I have way more to say than what's already been said.

So, in conclusion, if you still find me arrogant, flame me but just be sure of one thing: whatever you say, I know who I am and it's reflective in my writing. Maybe you will learn what it means to not only have a catharsis but to communicate it with others. There's no greater pride than that. I know...because I've experiened it.

I hope you didn't skim over this.

"Birds go flying at the speed of sound to show you how it all began. Birds go flying from the underground. If you could see it than you'd understand."

[shootbootleg]

Sure I find you arrogant and it seems that that's the way you want to be percieved.
I wrote one lil' post and it got you the way I wanted you to get and a bit more:
you flamed me man and thanx for that one cuz I sure wasn't trying to.
If you get so serious about someone elses opinions and reply with a hell of post like that I believe you.
You are independent and you 'dig' poetry and it's lame magic drinking coca coca cola. Great for you and I really mean this. No cynicism, no hostility.
I mean this as directly as I can.
But then again, what's this pain you seem to refer all the time?

[Neurolanis]

LOL. I identify with you here so much, Jude Knox. I find often when people are calling some one "arrogant" or whatever that it's actually their insecurity that is to blame. Having a unique, especially insightful perspective, and sharing it, often makes others feel bad about themselves. They lash out with the same cold, professional aura that you're trying to get over them and please stop because it makes me feel sad..

Bah. Just take such comments with a grain of salt. Never fuel insecurity. (I've done the same, and am trying to change this. Fueling others' insecurity that is.) And it fuels my/your own insecurity to get annoyed by it.

I believe: live free, breath free, insecurity -- leave me!

[Jude Knox]

Neurolanis, you're totally my bff. And with a Boston accent, I say this loud and I say this proud: "you're wicked smaht." But don't get me wrong. I don't want it to seem like I'm favoring you over shootbootleg. Sure, shooter and I are having a tussle over who's life sucks more and who's poetry sounds better. lollilz. But seriously, the last thing I want is to offend. I accept criticism...but not when it's directed so immaturely. I mean, c'mon, when I'm cracking up about "diet coke," it's because I want to make a laugh at all this. I don't always want to be serious. Passionate? Yes. But serious? Not all the time.

I knew shootbootleg was going to respond to that message. I'm not surprised that he would think I'm arrogant. I'm wordy, true, but certainly not full of myself. Hell, the only thing I brag about is being the most self-conscious person I know! I'd rather not blast him at all, seeing as how I've already done that and it does just what you've said: adding fuel to the fire. He's got a lot of fire, and I'll give him that. I'm just not sure he knows how to craft that fire into real art.

But merci, Neuro. Honesty is a good policy but I guess as this forum has proved, honesty is a double-edged sword and can end up hurting more people than help.

[shootbootleg]

...and my face is green.
...and my face is green.
...in the moonlight

[Neurolanis]