Damn Near Perfect! by Mark Edgemon

[TaoPhoenix]

It's been a while since I did one of my cannonball runs through an Aphelion issue! So here goes, starting in the top left corner, which happens to be ... (opens envelope) Mark!

Mark, I'll need your help on this one because I am fuzzy on the precise brand of evil involved. The key line for me seems to be 4 from the bottom, "The friend, who sold loved ones to be incinerated". The simplest image coming to my mind on that is the Holocaust.

It's been a while since I did one of my cannonball runs through an Aphelion issue! So here goes, starting in the top left corner, which happens to be ... (opens envelope) Mark!

Mark, I'll need your help on this one because I am fuzzy on the precise brand of evil involved. The key line for me seems to be 4 from the bottom, "The friend, who sold loved ones to be incinerated". The simplest image coming to my mind on that is the Holocaust.

It is about the insensitive and thoughtless betrayal by those closest to you! That can be applied to people one trusts to look after their security and well being, but instead, put their focus on their own personal gratification, causing damage to the one in their charge.

A parent leaving a small child in a hot car for only ten minutes, but they get to talking and a hour later they return to dead children.

A husband complains of chest problems for years, popping a couple of aspirin three or more times a night and the wife tunes out the signs, counting them as part of her husbands routine and finds him lifeless next to her when she wakes up one morning!

A teacher notices a student with all the classic signs of depression and anti-social behavior and takes the opportunity to make sport ridiculing the kid in front of the entire class, until one day for show and tell, the boy brings in a fully functional automatic.

I appreciate you tackling this poem. The message was conveyed entirely with imagery, without using plot. I'm still trying styles and methods as I search for my voice.

Mark, a personal message, home is found again.
***

To give impression, giving expression; critique and ask questions...
a poem.
"Damn Near Perfect": wonderful title; poem of explanation, in-and-of itself.
'Damn' (so many memories, from hitting fingers, watching politicians, and an Angel flipping God the finger...)
OK
'Near': Enemies nearer, so close, approaching...
and then 'Perfection'...starting to see what I mean?
Your title is the poem and the rest, well the rest is expression.
*
Always something to critique and yet nothing, well, there IS something i see, is there something to see?
I-S
takes too much expression, giving the impression, that IS is everything.
a suggestion?
Not from me and I know nothing except "Damn Near Perfect" which when translated IS, "Damnation IS Near Perfection..."
see what I mean?
IS, is, needs to be demeaned. The letter 'I' has too much power, the letter, 'S' the same.
^
^
just a thought of reflection Mark,
and nice to see you change:
your style is growing,
your words becoming mature,
and I call you my friend.
('I' used correctly, 'S'ee what i mean?)

Mark, a personal message, home is found again.
***

To give impression, giving expression; critique and ask questions...
a poem.
"Damn Near Perfect": wonderful title; poem of explanation, in-and-of itself.
'Damn' (so many memories, from hitting fingers, watching politicians, and an Angel flipping God the finger...)
OK
'Near': Enemies nearer, so close, approaching...
and then 'Perfection'...starting to see what I mean?
Your title is the poem and the rest, well the rest is expression.
*
Always something to critique and yet nothing, well, there IS something i see, is there something to see?
I-S
takes too much expression, giving the impression, that IS is everything.
a suggestion?
Not from me and I know nothing except "Damn Near Perfect" which when translated IS, "Damnation IS Near Perfection..."
see what I mean?
IS, is, needs to be demeaned. The letter 'I' has too much power, the letter, 'S' the same.
^
^
just a thought of reflection Mark,
and nice to see you change:
your style is growing,
your words becoming mature,
and I call you my friend.
('I' used correctly, 'S'ee what i mean?)

Are you saying that instead of usng words to express the meaning of a subject or purpose, that the words ARE the meaning and should be selected solely to give an "impression" instead of a heavy handed explanation?

Most importantly, I'm relieved you are at home and settled.

Mark

in answer, just a reflection
mirror, always the mirror, telling us the truth when behind the glass, behind a persons back, the truth of action.
words, words, words, what are words if not an extension?
i see you, you see me, together we agree yet...
words, words, words, so subtle filled with so many meanings.
"I Love you Mark," now, what did robin mean?
sarcasm? honesty? sinister leanings? IS this what he means?
*
feeding chickens daily, and one day, no crumbs, yet still the chickens come.
a writer
a poet
a journalist
a healer
a holier
a salesman
a scholar
any and all and yet only a few can do with little or no crumbs yet still feed the masses.
*
words,
words,
words,
what a fun journey we all are on.
*
a public test for you Mark,
one containing little, if at all, any crumbs.
reflect in writing
in words,
an expression of anger, extreme anger, yet the mirror will show sweet flowing honey, words that lead children to rest...
in 33 words, (or less) and contain the following 3 words: 'success', 'joy', 'harmony.'
this IS only a test,
IS only a reflection
and in its creation you will answer your question, one growing and will... (silent lamb sitting beneath the tree,
shade cooling the panting, body hiding stress, thorn planted deep, unseen, all the while the wolf is coming)

...a public test for you Mark,
one containing little, if at all, any crumbs.
reflect in writing
in words,
an expression of anger, extreme anger, yet the mirror will show sweet flowing honey, words that lead children to rest...
in 33 words, (or less) and contain the following 3 words: 'success', 'joy', 'harmony.'
this IS only a test,
IS only a reflection
and in its creation you will answer your question, one growing and will... (silent lamb sitting beneath the tree,
shade cooling the panting, body hiding stress, thorn planted deep, unseen, all the while the wolf is coming)

Okay.

^^^

Lackadaisical Festivities

We sit, little one, as you sleep in the light.
Morning begets morning;
Ecstasy of joy
And harmony, in fantastical success.

Reflect...
Days of wandering, little one

As we wait without.

***

Let me know your thoughts and thank you for the challenge!

"Let me know your thoughts..."
written by: the reflection of Mark

Who felt the anger?
You?
We?
I?
*
lackadaisical, fantastical, testicle, popsicle: 'cal', 'cle'
words empty of calories?
why?
harmon'y', ecstas'y', jo'y'.
don't cry little baby,
don't cry.

(always the separate moment, always the correct time, emotions are viewed by the beholder and a good view can be seen both ways)

"Let me know your thoughts..."
written by: the reflection of Mark

Who felt the anger?
You?
We?
I?
*
lackadaisical, fantastical, testicle, popsicle: 'cal', 'cle'
words empty of calories?
why?
harmon'y', ecstas'y', jo'y'.
don't cry little baby,
don't cry.

(always the separate moment, always the correct time, emotions are viewed by the beholder and a good view can be seen both ways)

What you are saying is that the reader does not feel or sense the anger or the direction it is coming from or to in the poem.

I can explain the poem, but I think you're saying it needs another try.

Here is the analysis:


Lackadaisical Festivities

We sit, little one, as you sleep in the light. (The voice speaking is the one who is angry. First clue is the little one is "asleep" in the "light" meaning they are sleeping when they are suppose to be doing as in not asleep at night, but during the course of the business day. Also, the term, "little one" is one of irony. For all we know, that person is a big fat, good for nothing slob.)


Morning begets morning; (It's everyday's business)
Ecstasy of joy
And harmony, in fantastical success. (The fantasy of the one being spoken to by the poem's voice.)

Reflect...
Days of wandering, little one (The word wandering is the main clue. Not wondering, but wandering about when things need doing.)

As we wait without. (This is the phrase which shows the anger, while we wait without. Like the voice is saying, "get off your lazy ass and get to work!")

Most importantly, the title gives the direction. "Lackadaisical Festivities" indicates that the object of the poem is making a mockery of life's responsiblities.

Since you are not seeing it as fitting the challenge, I'll give it some more thought.

a public test for you Mark,
one containing little, if at all, any crumbs.
reflect in writing
in words,
an expression of anger, extreme anger, yet the mirror will show sweet flowing honey, words that lead children to rest...
in 33 words, (or less) and contain the following 3 words: 'success', 'joy', 'harmony.'
this IS only a test,
IS only a reflection
and in its creation you will answer your question, one growing and will... (silent lamb sitting beneath the tree,
shade cooling the panting, body hiding stress, thorn planted deep, unseen, all the while the wolf is coming)

Robin, show me how it is done. Perform in poetry how to express anger with words that are like sweet flowing honey. I need to visualize it.

Mark, "I did as did you."
Did you feel it in the thread?
The harmony,
the joy,
the ecstasy?
I pulled on the thread to unravel that comfortable shell most writers wear around their shoulder.
Mark, you do not need to wear the sweater.
Be naked,
raw,
rough,
expose yourself without fear of repercussions,
without need for explanation as nations go to war over the meaning of words, over the comfort of explanations.
Armor, clothes, these are self-imposed limitations a writer places upon themselves.
If I write, "Fuck you, you think yours is bigger?"
Did I offend the reader or make them laugh?
Was I talking of a man catching a bigger fish, or having a bigger penis?
To me, a good piece of writing consists of the naked moment, and not thread.
I once wore the clothes of explanation but why try and hand those clothes to someone else who is allergic to cotton,
or nylon, or fur?
I now have to go bathe in emotion as I'm now covered in the stink of words.

Mark, "I did as did you."
Did you feel it in the thread?
The harmony,
the joy,
the ecstasy?
I pulled on the thread to unravel that comfortable shell most writers wear around their shoulder.
Mark, you do not need to wear the sweater.
Be naked,
raw,
rough,
expose yourself without fear of repercussions,
without need for explanation as nations go to war over the meaning of words, over the comfort of explanations.
Armor, clothes, these are self-imposed limitations a writer places upon themselves.
If I write, "Fuck you, you think yours is bigger?"
Did I offend the reader or make them laugh?
Was I talking of a man catching a bigger fish, or having a bigger penis?
To me, a good piece of writing consists of the naked moment, and not thread.
I once wore the clothes of explanation but why try and hand those clothes to someone else who is allergic to cotton,
or nylon, or fur?
I now have to go bathe in emotion as I'm now covered in the stink of words.

Alright, for the first time in my life...I get it!

You're right, of course. I realize it now. I'm afraid of writing (stories, poems) for that very reason. Getting close to letting go makes me nervous and so I either put off writing or I keep it light, using cardboard cut outs for characters. It's like I'm holding my breath and I must write fast so I can breathe again. There's no joy in that!

I don't like having fear I haven't met head on. I think I'm a natural writer, even though I have yet to open my heart up when I create.

I'll study on this and try again.

Oh and, thank you beyond words!

Second pass. The challenge:

a public test for you Mark,
one containing little, if at all, any crumbs.
reflect in writing
in words,
an expression of anger, extreme anger, yet the mirror will show sweet flowing honey, words that lead children to rest...
in 33 words, (or less) and contain the following 3 words: 'success', 'joy', 'harmony.'
this IS only a test,
IS only a reflection
and in its creation you will answer your question, one growing and will... (silent lamb sitting beneath the tree,
shade cooling the panting, body hiding stress, thorn planted deep, unseen, all the while the wolf is coming)

***
Little you are, little one.
Little within my joy, small in measured success.
Harmony in your eyes, yet truly small.
Little - lies, in comfort.
Only minutely aware of your life, dear little one?

[Lester Curtis]

You're getting closer, Mark.

Everyone has known a boss, family member, or teacher who can shred your ego without raising their voice or using nasty language. I think this is what Robin is after, maybe not necessarily a parent-child interaction.

You're getting closer, Mark.

Everyone has known a boss, family member, or teacher who can shred your ego without raising their voice or using nasty language. I think this is what Robin is after, maybe not necessarily a parent-child interaction.

Wow...I have known someone like that...who was damn near perfect at it!

There is an unseen barrier between me and that raw state that tries to keep everything on a surface, superficial level when writing. It is painful and scary. Do I just fight the overwhelming urge to bolt from the chair and force myself through the torment and write.

You were right about the character in my last story who was afraid of leaving their comfort zone - and in actuality - that character was me!

Third challenge submission

Exhalation

Innocent petting, her sweet, tender lips widely opened.
Wet and glistening; deeply red, turning amber hue.
Lying in the dark; heaving; breathless; tremoring;
Which was the way that I left her.

Sweet!

It is nice to see you take off your shoes and socks and dip them into the water
imagine what it will be like when you are naked and shivering
standing next to a highway of words
two lanes of bumper-to-bumper sentences
exclamation points. semi-colons jostling to change spots
what will the words think when they see you trying but still limp?
Show them the erection of your direction...
of the three?
number two i liked best.

It is nice to see you take off your shoes and socks and dip them into the water
imagine what it will be like when you are naked and shivering
standing next to a highway of words
two lanes of bumper-to-bumper sentences
exclamation points. semi-colons jostling to change spots
what will the words think when they see you trying but still limp?
Show them the erection of your direction...
of the three?
number two i liked best.

Okay, first, you've got to cut out all the sexual innuendoes and metaphors. I have no idea what you mean. If you want raw emotion translated to writing, show examples and or give instruction in non cryptic language.

What you've written in this post, I don't have a clue to what you are saying or how I'm missing it.

Show me. A masterpiece should take you about...what, thirty seconds. Let me see what you mean in the example of the challenge you've given me. 33 words that show peaceful language masking rage and raw emotion.

You are challenged, Robin. Go!

Angel of Lite, beyond my senses,
I still see your darker light; piercing;
Illuminating; radiating into the chasms within.
I will be most satisfied, non existent you,
When you're light is cut off!

Explaining the Inexplainable;
Logical intellect; making my will known
To those who clearly understand, clearly see,
Who listens passionately to each and every syllable,
Understanding every nuance;
That they will hilariously disobey!

How To Mark Time

(a challenge, 33 words or less)

Joy!
Patience rewarded,
spoiled child put to test.

Shh, don't cry little baby...
time, (again squalling), time,
patience rewarded.

To see the writer grow,
harmony of success.


(or another)

Mark: The Passage

Success in nature
discover the sex
harmony of God stretched
the joy of the child's orgasm
leading to temptation
knowledge now of evil coddled inside
stroking the message away.

(or another)

Window

Age sitting alone at the shattered glass
hands trembling.
Joy of laughing children
Harmony of family
Success of the tear fallen
echoes of the past
the rock lay silent.

How To Mark Time

(a challenge, 33 words or less)

Joy!
Patience rewarded,
spoiled child put to test.

Shh, don't cry little baby...
time, (again squalling), time,
patience rewarded.

To see the writer grow,
harmony of success.

Okay, I'm the spoiled child...I get it. Maybe I am and I couldn't see it for all the squalling.

You met the requirements except one, I don't see or feel the anger underneath the words. You made your points well.

I hope I'm succeeding. It would be a nice pay off for all the tantrums I've had to throw.

Mark: The Passage

Success in nature
discover the sex
harmony of God stretched
the joy of the child's orgasm
leading to temptation
knowledge now of evil coddled inside
stroking the message away.

There you go again with the sexual analogies. Everyone here knows that I'm a prude.

In the King's English, what is the temptation?

And stroking the message away...is that a good thing?

Window

Age sitting alone at the shattered glass
hands trembling.
Joy of laughing children
Harmony of family
Success of the tear fallen
echoes of the past
the rock lay silent.

This is interesting, you are making the subject "age" instead of a person who is old. I didn't know one could do that! Hummmm.

Now, the parts I don't understand.

Success of the tear fallen...does that mean the grief is complete?

The rock lay silent...does that mean the death of the aged?

You don't really care if anyone understands what you write, do you?

Do you write to express or because it needs to be said or because you get satisfaction from the writing process or the response and interest from others about your work?

Also, I still don't feel the anger anywhere? Were you trying for that?

Harmony in grits and determination.
Success in sex, but little else.
Joy in the mourning, happy laxative-dazical.
Who you - who me?
Back slappin' happy assin' through life.
Oops, I stepped into some meaning!

[Wormtongue]

I wish you joy and every success!
May you live in blissful Harmony!
(Signed) The Bride's Best Friend.

I wish you joy and every success!
May you live in blissful Harmony!
(Signed) The Bride's Best Friend.

God...that was goooooooooood!!!

oh, the pain. to speak in real time...
Mark, explanation?
You know but know to speak in real time. Try looking deeper, write not for yourself or even this world.
Crazy?
Yes, for sure, indeed,
but...
for you, a look into my world.
***
Opinion of mine since knowing, you have climbed a mountain and still keep going.
Anger? I've insulted you and style to invoke reaction, to show you another world.
Did you see?
***
For one, I'm no poet.
It takes two to tango.
I-S, is what invoked my anger.
Did you see?
***
Explanation?
For the 'three'.
Mmm, lets see.
1. there is 'no' Joy... there will never be 'harmony'...there will never be 'success'. mankind has already failed. anger?
the devil, because mankind tries. God, because (unable). mankind, because mankind is able.

2. knowledge, the 'forbidden' fruit, what 'joy', 'harmony', or 'success' can come to pass? Only 'anger'. what is the cause of all anger? S-E-X. only children shall inherit the world, unless... discovery of a new world, the one of knowledge, of temptation, of 'original' sin, leading to sensory pleasure of endorphins being released in a brain wired of-and-for the world, the same world...remember? Write, 'not for yourself, or even this world.' Anger? If you were the Father and your children disobeyed, what would be your 'emotion?"

3. Okay, a poem nearer to this world. An old man or an old girl, hands trembling in anger while sitting in a home filled with memories of raising children, happy children playing in the living room leading to tears of joy but allowing the tears to turn to anger, the real world of the real time as other children now make fun of the recluse who is now alone, without family, spurned by family, and angry at the recent rock thrown through the window. Is the reader confused? Is the reader angry? Or did the reader throw the rock?

Enough of this play as the curtain falls. The words of mine grow stale. The music shrill. The popcorn stale.
I am but an actor standing on rotten wood.
Reading my lines as best I'm able.
but after?
another world.

oh, the pain. to speak in real time...
Mark, explanation?
You know but know to speak in real time. Try looking deeper, write not for yourself or even this world.
Crazy?
Yes, for sure, indeed,
but...
for you, a look into my world.
***
Opinion of mine since knowing, you have climbed a mountain and still keep going.
Anger? I've insulted you and style to invoke reaction, to show you another world.
Did you see?
***
For one, I'm no poet.
It takes two to tango.
I-S, is what invoked my anger.
Did you see?
***
Explanation?
For the 'three'.
Mmm, lets see.
1. there is 'no' Joy... there will never be 'harmony'...there will never be 'success'. mankind has already failed. anger?
the devil, because mankind tries. God, because (unable). mankind, because mankind is able.

2. knowledge, the 'forbidden' fruit, what 'joy', 'harmony', or 'success' can come to pass? Only 'anger'. what is the cause of all anger? S-E-X. only children shall inherit the world, unless... discovery of a new world, the one of knowledge, of temptation, of 'original' sin, leading to sensory pleasure of endorphins being released in a brain wired of-and-for the world, the same world...remember? Write, 'not for yourself, or even this world.' Anger? If you were the Father and your children disobeyed, what would be your 'emotion?"

3. Okay, a poem nearer to this world. An old man or an old girl, hands trembling in anger while sitting in a home filled with memories of raising children, happy children playing in the living room leading to tears of joy but allowing the tears to turn to anger, the real world of the real time as other children now make fun of the recluse who is now alone, without family, spurned by family, and angry at the recent rock thrown through the window. Is the reader confused? Is the reader angry? Or did the reader throw the rock?

Enough of this play as the curtain falls. The words of mine grow stale. The music shrill. The popcorn stale.
I am but an actor standing on rotten wood.
Reading my lines as best I'm able.
but after?
another world.

So, the writing should be raw and not written for either myself or for anyone else (the world).

I appreciate your kindness extending to me this instruction. I assure you I am giving my very best effort to see and write in that other world.

You're getting closer, Mark.

Everyone has known a boss, family member, or teacher who can shred your ego without raising their voice or using nasty language. I think this is what Robin is after, maybe not necessarily a parent-child interaction.

Thank you Lester! Here is the next writing incarnation.


Nut Meg
By Mark Edgemon

She tore into men's chests with the sharpest of instruments,
Her oral fixation was one meant not for pleasure; of unknown origin.
The attention from this auburn-haired beauty was not worth a lacerated heart
Or the pain of loneliness that she felt, as she scouted for her next victim.

How could one so finely place razor tips on words with no meaning?
Why would one rip a hole in the foundation she was standing on?
Her many employers, some lasting only for days would not take it,
Nor her serrated would-be lovers, who found nothing on her anatomy worthy of thousands of cuts.

If you enter into an agreement with Meg, free yourself before her tongue carves out your heart.
Before her excessive speaking blots out the sun and sky and swirling dervishes replace peace of mind.
For the very moment she latches onto any man or woman, the rapid searching of her eyes belies her intent.
For there is no greater fool than Meg, except it be the one who strikes the next bargain with her.

The End

oh, the pain. to speak in real time...
Mark, explanation?
You know but know to speak in real time. Try looking deeper, write not for yourself or even this world.
Crazy?
Yes, for sure, indeed,
but...
for you, a look into my world.
***
Opinion of mine since knowing, you have climbed a mountain and still keep going.
Anger? I've insulted you and style to invoke reaction, to show you another world.
Did you see?
***
For one, I'm no poet.
It takes two to tango.
I-S, is what invoked my anger.
Did you see?
***
Explanation?
For the 'three'.
Mmm, lets see.
1. there is 'no' Joy... there will never be 'harmony'...there will never be 'success'. mankind has already failed. anger?
the devil, because mankind tries. God, because (unable). mankind, because mankind is able.

2. knowledge, the 'forbidden' fruit, what 'joy', 'harmony', or 'success' can come to pass? Only 'anger'. what is the cause of all anger? S-E-X. only children shall inherit the world, unless... discovery of a new world, the one of knowledge, of temptation, of 'original' sin, leading to sensory pleasure of endorphins being released in a brain wired of-and-for the world, the same world...remember? Write, 'not for yourself, or even this world.' Anger? If you were the Father and your children disobeyed, what would be your 'emotion?"

3. Okay, a poem nearer to this world. An old man or an old girl, hands trembling in anger while sitting in a home filled with memories of raising children, happy children playing in the living room leading to tears of joy but allowing the tears to turn to anger, the real world of the real time as other children now make fun of the recluse who is now alone, without family, spurned by family, and angry at the recent rock thrown through the window. Is the reader confused? Is the reader angry? Or did the reader throw the rock?

Enough of this play as the curtain falls. The words of mine grow stale. The music shrill. The popcorn stale.
I am but an actor standing on rotten wood.
Reading my lines as best I'm able.
but after?
another world.

Word Up!
By Mark Edgemon

Words are words, blood dripping words from open wounds,
Permeating stinch after marked expiration date.
Philosopher, genius or stark raving naked.
Who cares? Not I! Not You!
Writing for oneself is literary masturbation.
No one wants to see. Keep it to yourself!

Nobel prize for buried literature;
I'd rather have the check.

Einstein humpin' theory,
Or as close as he is goin' to get.
Frankenstein, a man of few words,
But he had the anger thing goin'.

Wide eyed greatness takes a header into an unmarked grave.
Throw in some feces and assorted seeds
And you got somethin' to look at - until winter.

Seated at an old used computer,
That turns new videos into still shots.
Unexpected freeze and creative growth dies.

Words, we have enough of them
By previous breathers, speakers and writers.
So what's the point...exercise!

Until you move someone.

The End