Here in the quiet,
and the stillness,
and the darkness,
and the aloneness,
of the night,
when all I can hear
is my own breathing –
I have a feeling
(no it’s more than that),
that you are here.
You.
Funny, that.
I wonder if I talked to you
out loud
(like I did as a child),
if you would answer.
It makes no sense of course,
your presence –
your existence,
this feeling.
And I’ll deny it in the morning.
.
Good. I like the shape of this one, and you conjure up a good atmosphere.
interesting device.
it refers ot noone in particular.
but someone generally.
but who?
this could be seen as a failing.
This you is never brought any closer to us…
At this level the poem is one dimensional…
But it is an intruiging idea nonetheless
also, i don’t like the word: ‘aloneness’ - its awkward, sloppy.
interesting idea, rainey.
Um, unless I’m a total retard (with respect to poetry) he’s talking to God.
Of course, I could be wrong- it’s not my poem after all. 
The minor quibble I have with the form/syntax is pretty minor compared to my overall feeling of the work. Very nice.
GOD was so obvious.
so cheap.
so done.
thumbs down
Don’t take my word for it. 
At any rate, would you prefer yet another poem about love or existential ennui?
Sure.
we all deal with the same themes
but if we appraoch our themes
in a different way
we can see them in a new light
this poem didn’t really speak to me.
that’s all. i love linearity
but sometimes it holds no tricks.
this is a poem that deals with the same subject
in a way that i think is very effective.
To the One Upstairs By Charles Simic
Boss of all Bosses of the universe.
Mr know-it-all, wheeler-dealer, wire-puller.
And whatever else you’re good at.
Go ahead, shuffle your zeros tonight.
Dip in ink the comet’s tails.
Staple the night with starlight.
You’d be better off reading coffee dregs,
Thumbing the pages of the Farmer’s Almanac.
But no! You love to put on airs,
And cultivate your famous serenity
While you sit behind your big desk
With zilch in your in-tray, zilch
In your out-tray,
And all of eternity spread around you.
Doesn’t it give you the creeps
To hear them begging you on thier knees,
Sputtering endearments,
As if you were an inflatable, life-size doll?
Tell them to button up and go to bed.
Stop pretending your too busy to take notice.
Your hands are empty and so are your eyes.
There’s nothing to put your signature to,
Even if you knew your own name,
Or believed the ones I keep inventing for you,
As I scribble this note to you in the dark.
I love that poem.
Rainey poems is minimalist and more like a personal dialogue…I just think she could have put a bit more meat in it. played with the ideas with more guts.
its decent.
its ok.
it needs work.
That seems a bit smarmy and hackneyed to me, but to each his own.
smarmy and hackneyed
There is some truth in that.
But the tone is also quite ironic and jokey and ordinary.
It plays with the ideas well.
It expands on itself just that bit.
I site it only as an example.
You strike me a little bit touchy and smarmy sometimes.
And sure there is a simplicity and straight forwardness in raineys poem which is great, clear, but Simics poem does much the same in a different way.
The sentiment in raineys poems is good but I just think it comes across
deflated.
[size=75](Don’t mind my bitching too much, I’m just gutted you never comment my poems, and deem them ‘prepy’ which is a mortal wound to me…but one that heals instantly.)[/size]
Colinsign,
Deflated or just stripped of unnecessary fru fru? When is less actually more? Seemed to me that rainey was trying for a feeling of, rather than some ethereal understanding.
But we all look for something different. I guess that’s why there is more than one poem.
Maybe I just love Flummery too much.
This is a simple and clear poem and does articulate ‘The Feeling’ well…
I guess i just like a bit more play and energy with my poetry.
But then i does cut through the bullshit - so much of poetry is bullshit - I cut through a lot of the bullshit too in my writing.
perhaps i was to hasty.
i just like to beef things up.
Is that a dig at my poetry tent?
Collinsign,
It wasn’t a dig at your poetry. We all bring intent and style to what ever we write creatively. If rainey missed the intent of his writing, then he knows it. For the rest of us, we can like or dislike any particular poem written by anyone, and for any part. I may like style but not the content, or the other way around, but until the poet declares their intent, judgement is personal taste and nothing more.
And I do like some of your poems. 
Don’t take my criticisms too seriously, Colinsign. I don’t know anything about poetry. 
Amazing rainey, the presence is in the stillness, we forget in movement (that includes mental activity). Nice.
A
Oh brother.
Thanks angel. Had a feeling you’d like this one.
Thanks ChimneySweep.
Colinsign, Phaedrus, tentative – enjoyable discussion on style. Thanks for your comments. I think in a sense you’re all correct. (Except of course the part where Colinsign called me a “sheâ€).
Hey, JT, should a poet ever declare his intent? The Underground Man made a comment that once a story (or poem presumably) is written, the author has no place. I think I might agree. Once a poem is written, perhaps it belongs to the reader.
(Figure of speech, Selene…not to be taken literally. We’re talking about the interpretation. The poem is mine, kid. The interpretation is yours and just the interpretation…)
Hi rainey,
No they shouldn’t. The published piece is the author’s intent. And that really was my point. Critique only says something about the critic, not the author or the work itself. But this get’s into a whole different discussion, doesn’t it? Perhaps an essay on what is art? Maybe later…
Yes, sometimes I think you write for me…
A
In a sense, I do…