Comments received on poems by aDarkerMind
When Flesh Leaves Bone
Saxon Crow said:
Beautiful. No other word to describe it
August 17th, 2021 16:41
Saxon Crow said:
Beautiful. No other word to describe it
August 17th, 2021 16:41
When Goes Time
L. B. Mek said:
if Merlin was into poetry
I would bet his writes
would have read a lot like yours, dear Poet
a magical journey of wild, unapologetic imagery
and layered, insightful commentary
\'what a Talent!\'
thank you for choosing to share
August 17th, 2021 03:53
L. B. Mek said:
if Merlin was into poetry
I would bet his writes
would have read a lot like yours, dear Poet
a magical journey of wild, unapologetic imagery
and layered, insightful commentary
\'what a Talent!\'
thank you for choosing to share
August 17th, 2021 03:53
Set Fire And Sea
A Boy With Roses said:
Like I said on my reply to your comment on my newest poem I\'ve been drunk and passing out the last few nights, and busy with life in general, so haven\'t had to time to read and digest poems on here as much, but your poems are so rich and aesthetically pleasing. You\'re a true craftsman of words, and glad it\'s seeing the light of day!
August 15th, 2021 14:07
A Boy With Roses said:
Like I said on my reply to your comment on my newest poem I\'ve been drunk and passing out the last few nights, and busy with life in general, so haven\'t had to time to read and digest poems on here as much, but your poems are so rich and aesthetically pleasing. You\'re a true craftsman of words, and glad it\'s seeing the light of day!
August 15th, 2021 14:07
A Midnight Rush
A Boy With Roses said:
\"no smaller than one freckle on the hen who fathered time
this is my day to rest and rust and bark\".
WOW! Sometimes I\'m too precise to let myself go like this, and I don\'t take full advantage of my vocabulary, but I appreciate poems like this. Very inspiring!
August 15th, 2021 14:03
A Boy With Roses said:
\"no smaller than one freckle on the hen who fathered time
this is my day to rest and rust and bark\".
WOW! Sometimes I\'m too precise to let myself go like this, and I don\'t take full advantage of my vocabulary, but I appreciate poems like this. Very inspiring!
August 15th, 2021 14:03
From The Season To The Egg Plant
L. B. Mek said:
some write\'s we read
some we experience
rare ones, do come along
that allow us to transcend
even for just those minutes
lost in the current of creativity\'s zeal
dogpaddling, to stay afloat
yearning to understand
how such wondrously vivid imagery
can be worded so accessibly transparent,
(what are we but the pride, we forage
in those regretted failings, that we first: must own
so-as to cultivate our capacity, to disown)
another Great write, dear talented Poet
thank you!
August 13th, 2021 04:28
L. B. Mek said:
some write\'s we read
some we experience
rare ones, do come along
that allow us to transcend
even for just those minutes
lost in the current of creativity\'s zeal
dogpaddling, to stay afloat
yearning to understand
how such wondrously vivid imagery
can be worded so accessibly transparent,
(what are we but the pride, we forage
in those regretted failings, that we first: must own
so-as to cultivate our capacity, to disown)
another Great write, dear talented Poet
thank you!
August 13th, 2021 04:28
Through What Was Once An Anger In My Vein
aDarkerMind said:
thank you Teddy.
not sure on this one...
mind all over the place today so got lost somewhere.
a day to forget i think;
always nice to hear your views.
thanks again.
August 11th, 2021 14:47
aDarkerMind said:
thank you Teddy.
not sure on this one...
mind all over the place today so got lost somewhere.
a day to forget i think;
always nice to hear your views.
thanks again.
August 11th, 2021 14:47
I Traced It\'s Tail, And Failed;
L. B. Mek said:
\'through aisles of swans, where once
a short tail grew
as tall as the tower. tall but lame, coiling
with the twisting of the last son\'s kill.
flesh form on the god-bone
pilgrim peas on dates, as red as crows
all eyes aboard the snow plough.
proud but shy.\'
Poetry, has so many layers
in one sense you word, atrocity
with such fervour and stark animosity
that most squirm, if asked to relate
and commentate;
then, on another layer
by choosing this story
from the hundreds, you\'ve heard and ignored
yourself
a thread, is unveiled
where if we were to painstakingly, trace
we would be sure to find
that sting in the story, which pricked
your empathetic artistry
into that zest, of purposed activism
where, no grey lines exist
because you related, to this suffering
far too closely, for its impact
to be marginalised
as merely surreal: inspiration...
(a laudable write
on so, so - many levels;
its a privilege to share in your poetic genius
thank you, for choosing to share)
August 10th, 2021 04:24
L. B. Mek said:
\'through aisles of swans, where once
a short tail grew
as tall as the tower. tall but lame, coiling
with the twisting of the last son\'s kill.
flesh form on the god-bone
pilgrim peas on dates, as red as crows
all eyes aboard the snow plough.
proud but shy.\'
Poetry, has so many layers
in one sense you word, atrocity
with such fervour and stark animosity
that most squirm, if asked to relate
and commentate;
then, on another layer
by choosing this story
from the hundreds, you\'ve heard and ignored
yourself
a thread, is unveiled
where if we were to painstakingly, trace
we would be sure to find
that sting in the story, which pricked
your empathetic artistry
into that zest, of purposed activism
where, no grey lines exist
because you related, to this suffering
far too closely, for its impact
to be marginalised
as merely surreal: inspiration...
(a laudable write
on so, so - many levels;
its a privilege to share in your poetic genius
thank you, for choosing to share)
August 10th, 2021 04:24
Five Days But Still
A Boy With Roses said:
Hm, I wasn\'t able to translate this. Nevertheless I\'m sure it\'s magic.
August 6th, 2021 17:28
A Boy With Roses said:
Hm, I wasn\'t able to translate this. Nevertheless I\'m sure it\'s magic.
August 6th, 2021 17:28
In A Quarantine State Of Mind
L. B. Mek said:
\'hiding, beneath the foxfire from the bee sting
as the shadow
on my windows lung, spreads slowly\'
\'I bear my soul to the white horse drips
pounding my ceilings shores
draining the carpet of my slow crawl\'
\'am at home with the florist
in her red onion dress
now blessed with the fourth seasons trowel
fathering a clarinet child, farming
the strings of her harp
in a quarantine state of mind\'
\'how I have aged
with the marrow in a dead seed well
spinning with the four walls of my grave;\'
\'once more as cups the darkness of the face
the thin laced mother
smothers, the swelling on my chest\'
(forgive my rudeness, dear Poet
I couldn\'t help, rearrange your lines
to showcase and Highlight
that defiant - Luminous: hope
determined to still shine Bright
in-Spite of the bleak Night, dripping
from that Wholehearted scarlet
of your poetry\'s Resplendent: Art!)
\'what a Talent\'!
keep Questing, keep Soaring dear Poet
thank you! for sharing
August 6th, 2021 03:50
L. B. Mek said:
\'hiding, beneath the foxfire from the bee sting
as the shadow
on my windows lung, spreads slowly\'
\'I bear my soul to the white horse drips
pounding my ceilings shores
draining the carpet of my slow crawl\'
\'am at home with the florist
in her red onion dress
now blessed with the fourth seasons trowel
fathering a clarinet child, farming
the strings of her harp
in a quarantine state of mind\'
\'how I have aged
with the marrow in a dead seed well
spinning with the four walls of my grave;\'
\'once more as cups the darkness of the face
the thin laced mother
smothers, the swelling on my chest\'
(forgive my rudeness, dear Poet
I couldn\'t help, rearrange your lines
to showcase and Highlight
that defiant - Luminous: hope
determined to still shine Bright
in-Spite of the bleak Night, dripping
from that Wholehearted scarlet
of your poetry\'s Resplendent: Art!)
\'what a Talent\'!
keep Questing, keep Soaring dear Poet
thank you! for sharing
August 6th, 2021 03:50
In A Quarantine State Of Mind
Coyote said:
This reads like a soliloquy of a modern day McBeth! Stark, brilliant imagery in every line and emotion that leaps from the page and tugs at the heart. Really loved it.
August 5th, 2021 15:33
Coyote said:
This reads like a soliloquy of a modern day McBeth! Stark, brilliant imagery in every line and emotion that leaps from the page and tugs at the heart. Really loved it.
August 5th, 2021 15:33
Of All I Owe The Very Least
L. B. Mek said:
\'as a silent thunder, drains
my sleepwalk snare
scouting tresspass on the almonds
of the dull weed, steer\'..
beautifully vivid and exceptionally Unique, as always
Abstract, stretched to its fathomable tethers..
thanks for choosing to share your brilliance, dear Poet
\'what, a Talent!\'
August 5th, 2021 03:31
L. B. Mek said:
\'as a silent thunder, drains
my sleepwalk snare
scouting tresspass on the almonds
of the dull weed, steer\'..
beautifully vivid and exceptionally Unique, as always
Abstract, stretched to its fathomable tethers..
thanks for choosing to share your brilliance, dear Poet
\'what, a Talent!\'
August 5th, 2021 03:31
When Once Was Nothing More Than Just
L. B. Mek said:
\'flickers with the fibres
of vegan lips on a red meat mist
fisting the papers of my dove note droll
oiling the fountain of my salmon
releasing the ashes of my dead rose
so I sink with the treasures of the reef;
when once was nothing more
than just brail air on the hairs of my page\'..
Indeed, dear visionary Poet
\'may, we all
be lucky enough, to drown
in our exertion\'s: rains!\'
Brilliantly executed
it\'s a privilege, to read
your Poetry\'s: unwavering honesty.
August 3rd, 2021 04:01
L. B. Mek said:
\'flickers with the fibres
of vegan lips on a red meat mist
fisting the papers of my dove note droll
oiling the fountain of my salmon
releasing the ashes of my dead rose
so I sink with the treasures of the reef;
when once was nothing more
than just brail air on the hairs of my page\'..
Indeed, dear visionary Poet
\'may, we all
be lucky enough, to drown
in our exertion\'s: rains!\'
Brilliantly executed
it\'s a privilege, to read
your Poetry\'s: unwavering honesty.
August 3rd, 2021 04:01
When Once Was Nothing More Than Just
aDarkerMind said:
am always deeply touched by your comments Teddy.
very rare i write anything that i like;
but reading your poerty has taught me.....
write with your heart and never be afraid to cry!
thank you;
August 2nd, 2021 12:59
aDarkerMind said:
am always deeply touched by your comments Teddy.
very rare i write anything that i like;
but reading your poerty has taught me.....
write with your heart and never be afraid to cry!
thank you;
August 2nd, 2021 12:59
Through The Swollen Glands Of November
aDarkerMind said:
Hello Teddy,
thank you for your kind words.
at times a little crude.. as you say.
I simply go where the mood takes me.
with a mind that never rests.
a more mellow mood today tho;
hope you\'re keeping well;
August 1st, 2021 02:17
aDarkerMind said:
Hello Teddy,
thank you for your kind words.
at times a little crude.. as you say.
I simply go where the mood takes me.
with a mind that never rests.
a more mellow mood today tho;
hope you\'re keeping well;
August 1st, 2021 02:17
Soon, Without Purpose To The Glare;
aDarkerMind said:
thank you Neil;
never got to see Mac of Nicks...
have always had a crush on her!
July 31st, 2021 08:25
aDarkerMind said:
thank you Neil;
never got to see Mac of Nicks...
have always had a crush on her!
July 31st, 2021 08:25
Soon, Without Purpose To The Glare;
aDarkerMind said:
thank you Teddy.
i am very touched by such a comment;
I cant thank you enough.
July 31st, 2021 08:23
aDarkerMind said:
thank you Teddy.
i am very touched by such a comment;
I cant thank you enough.
July 31st, 2021 08:23
If Only Time Could Sabre My Tooth Blood
L. B. Mek said:
(sorry, didn\'t do too well with my
not gonna be so overzealous, promise - yesterday
I blame your inking brilliance, still
I will repress my natural tendencies better today)..
and simply state, this was a hauntingly surreal
yet somewhat amusingly, an entirely relatable read:
\'blowing my trumpet and scoulding one movement of a sin;
how cross the moment on a steel grass
passing death where death has never confessed
asking only for a square god\'..
(if we could just get a definitive rule book
for life: at least we would know
which BS fuckery to shred and trample - on)
July 30th, 2021 04:36
L. B. Mek said:
(sorry, didn\'t do too well with my
not gonna be so overzealous, promise - yesterday
I blame your inking brilliance, still
I will repress my natural tendencies better today)..
and simply state, this was a hauntingly surreal
yet somewhat amusingly, an entirely relatable read:
\'blowing my trumpet and scoulding one movement of a sin;
how cross the moment on a steel grass
passing death where death has never confessed
asking only for a square god\'..
(if we could just get a definitive rule book
for life: at least we would know
which BS fuckery to shred and trample - on)
July 30th, 2021 04:36
Neither Love Nor Fever Heals
L. B. Mek said:
\'neither love nor fever heals
the stale wind in a winters claw\'..
*could we one, and all be sealed
by that grip of our anxiety\'s maw;
would we - but
succumb, to snare
all that dreary, in our despair
within wings of soaring - tears
climbing, higher
as we forsaken - hurtle lower, asking
be it life or lust or zest
when we know - it will, but expire
a craw serenades, fate\'s - waiting jest
as vampires feast, on charcoaled veins
and mothers, yearn
stoic fathers, ever stern
and we, lost children - bereft
from that accursed, first breadth
grip, for dear life - asking
why, but why - must
we: even try...*
(wow, I\'m sorry dear Poet
I read your masterly lines and a gun went-off
in that egotistically delusional mind, of mine
and I just keyboard drummed, my feeble reply;
please, forgive my overzealous nature
I meant no disrespect by rudely, self-indulgently
writing away in your comments section
if somehow you can, try and view it
as my pitiful show of appreciation, for your
undeniable: poetic prowess!
thank you for inspiring my little scribble
what a gift, you choose to share dear Poet)
what a Talent!
July 29th, 2021 04:13
L. B. Mek said:
\'neither love nor fever heals
the stale wind in a winters claw\'..
*could we one, and all be sealed
by that grip of our anxiety\'s maw;
would we - but
succumb, to snare
all that dreary, in our despair
within wings of soaring - tears
climbing, higher
as we forsaken - hurtle lower, asking
be it life or lust or zest
when we know - it will, but expire
a craw serenades, fate\'s - waiting jest
as vampires feast, on charcoaled veins
and mothers, yearn
stoic fathers, ever stern
and we, lost children - bereft
from that accursed, first breadth
grip, for dear life - asking
why, but why - must
we: even try...*
(wow, I\'m sorry dear Poet
I read your masterly lines and a gun went-off
in that egotistically delusional mind, of mine
and I just keyboard drummed, my feeble reply;
please, forgive my overzealous nature
I meant no disrespect by rudely, self-indulgently
writing away in your comments section
if somehow you can, try and view it
as my pitiful show of appreciation, for your
undeniable: poetic prowess!
thank you for inspiring my little scribble
what a gift, you choose to share dear Poet)
what a Talent!
July 29th, 2021 04:13
Neither Love Nor Fever Heals
flyingfish said:
WOW packed with wonderful imagery and word play. Love it. Cheers
July 29th, 2021 00:42
flyingfish said:
WOW packed with wonderful imagery and word play. Love it. Cheers
July 29th, 2021 00:42
Before My Prayers Layed Still
L. B. Mek said:
\'infant screams for mortals with no crotch
bunched beside a rib-cage eye
while the hunched Stork borrowed an inch of my hill
before my prayers layed still;\'
\'look harder for the birth-scar of the vine.
watch as the sleeping city dreams of padlocks for it\'s Bull
planting his stars on a half-mast moon
mourning a glass half empty
before my prayers layed still;\'
Brilliant!!!
(what poignant lines to book-end
this soaring poetry of scorching passion
questing, for an answer
to a faith, that\'s so desperate - to stem
its continual: waning tide...)
July 27th, 2021 04:23
L. B. Mek said:
\'infant screams for mortals with no crotch
bunched beside a rib-cage eye
while the hunched Stork borrowed an inch of my hill
before my prayers layed still;\'
\'look harder for the birth-scar of the vine.
watch as the sleeping city dreams of padlocks for it\'s Bull
planting his stars on a half-mast moon
mourning a glass half empty
before my prayers layed still;\'
Brilliant!!!
(what poignant lines to book-end
this soaring poetry of scorching passion
questing, for an answer
to a faith, that\'s so desperate - to stem
its continual: waning tide...)
July 27th, 2021 04:23
Under Once Of Bone When Salem Slept
L. B. Mek said:
\'cut my knees
curdle the custard of my trees
knowledge is
memory is
is all beyond the treasures of disease\'..
Brilliant!
July 23rd, 2021 04:50
L. B. Mek said:
\'cut my knees
curdle the custard of my trees
knowledge is
memory is
is all beyond the treasures of disease\'..
Brilliant!
July 23rd, 2021 04:50
Under Once Of Bone When Salem Slept
flyingfish said:
WOW so complex and full of imagery and prompts to dwell upon. Thanks and Cheers
July 22nd, 2021 14:22
flyingfish said:
WOW so complex and full of imagery and prompts to dwell upon. Thanks and Cheers
July 22nd, 2021 14:22
when love was just a thigh bones flute
L. B. Mek said:
\'when love was just a thigh bones flute
that circled the corners of my naive
a bright coloured child with an asparagus foot\'..
(behold, fusion - imagery of \'meta-simile\'
where the impassioned fumes
of a child\'s shaky, femur - step, towards
that first taste:)
\' this guildhall pool where once your unbuttoned blouse
gave comfort to my calloused hands
as we gazed into a seahorse heart
and wished all things eternal;
when love was just a thigh bones flute;\'
(a write, the great Dante
could have happily dedicated to Beatrice, I think
thanks for sharing)
and I promise to tone down
the overzealousness tone
of my comments, dear poet...
well, allowing
for this - last one, today
promise: to try
at the very least
July 22nd, 2021 02:46
L. B. Mek said:
\'when love was just a thigh bones flute
that circled the corners of my naive
a bright coloured child with an asparagus foot\'..
(behold, fusion - imagery of \'meta-simile\'
where the impassioned fumes
of a child\'s shaky, femur - step, towards
that first taste:)
\' this guildhall pool where once your unbuttoned blouse
gave comfort to my calloused hands
as we gazed into a seahorse heart
and wished all things eternal;
when love was just a thigh bones flute;\'
(a write, the great Dante
could have happily dedicated to Beatrice, I think
thanks for sharing)
and I promise to tone down
the overzealousness tone
of my comments, dear poet...
well, allowing
for this - last one, today
promise: to try
at the very least
July 22nd, 2021 02:46
how can i grieve a sectioned man who once crawled upon the seething of my blood?
Locust said:
very interesting metaphors
read it a couple of times & it
kept on getting more engaging
I admire your style 👍
July 20th, 2021 20:25
Locust said:
very interesting metaphors
read it a couple of times & it
kept on getting more engaging
I admire your style 👍
July 20th, 2021 20:25
And Me, Of The Flower And The Burn
L. B. Mek said:
what a cascading waterfall of acutely chosen
and uniquely vivid metaphorically abstract, imagery..
and I gravitate to your ability in managing
that essential tempo, by increasing your poetry\'s complexity
at poignant moments:
\'drowning in my lake with the swans
where wanders the tremors of my white blood oil;
I am the pilgrim of her dove-tail prose reviews
a satanic verse for the still-born of her movement.
me, of the flower and the burn\'..
(drowning
swans
blood-oil) that\'s just your initial layered - wordplay
and you\'ve planted all those oil leak, disaster images
in our minds already, to reinforce \'her\' plight..
(dove-tail
burn) - culminating finale, where again you add to the layers
already \'at play\', only now you\'ve \'set ablaze\' that initial image
we have of the oil drenched swan...
(pilgrim
satanic verse
still born
flower) now a completely new layer, with double meaning
wordplay, addressing your frustration at the hollowness
you feel, knowing your words, be themselves
will never amount to - decisive or impactful, change..
\'What a talent!\' wish I could invest more time
in all your writes..
just know I do my best to connect with every aspect
of all your writes,
and I thank you
for choosing to share your poetic brilliance
July 20th, 2021 03:20
L. B. Mek said:
what a cascading waterfall of acutely chosen
and uniquely vivid metaphorically abstract, imagery..
and I gravitate to your ability in managing
that essential tempo, by increasing your poetry\'s complexity
at poignant moments:
\'drowning in my lake with the swans
where wanders the tremors of my white blood oil;
I am the pilgrim of her dove-tail prose reviews
a satanic verse for the still-born of her movement.
me, of the flower and the burn\'..
(drowning
swans
blood-oil) that\'s just your initial layered - wordplay
and you\'ve planted all those oil leak, disaster images
in our minds already, to reinforce \'her\' plight..
(dove-tail
burn) - culminating finale, where again you add to the layers
already \'at play\', only now you\'ve \'set ablaze\' that initial image
we have of the oil drenched swan...
(pilgrim
satanic verse
still born
flower) now a completely new layer, with double meaning
wordplay, addressing your frustration at the hollowness
you feel, knowing your words, be themselves
will never amount to - decisive or impactful, change..
\'What a talent!\' wish I could invest more time
in all your writes..
just know I do my best to connect with every aspect
of all your writes,
and I thank you
for choosing to share your poetic brilliance
July 20th, 2021 03:20
What Price The Lewesdon Hill?
aDarkerMind said:
most kind...
and it is I who is humble I think.
thank you.
July 19th, 2021 13:33
aDarkerMind said:
most kind...
and it is I who is humble I think.
thank you.
July 19th, 2021 13:33
What Price The Lewesdon Hill?
L. B. Mek said:
\'the spells of stones on limescale
the wells of a Dorset eye
where once I breathed with the ghost of Hardy\'s pen.
now sixty years and counting still
the love lines of my wrist
not deep enough to sing a sad farewell
nor high enough to reach a stairwells chime.\'
\'a ballad for a dying man
punching through the windows of my ears.
in Kings Wood,
where once I shared my carpet with the Yellow Kidney Vetch
sketched an arrow pointing south to Bucknowle Farm,
saw far beyond Old Harrys Rocks,
kissed Kimmeridge on a Dancing Ledge
and watched The Purbeck Marble shed it\'s skin.\'
(its just a privilege, to read - everything
that poetic genius of your mind, chooses
to share with us, dear poet
humbly, I thank you!)
July 19th, 2021 04:37
L. B. Mek said:
\'the spells of stones on limescale
the wells of a Dorset eye
where once I breathed with the ghost of Hardy\'s pen.
now sixty years and counting still
the love lines of my wrist
not deep enough to sing a sad farewell
nor high enough to reach a stairwells chime.\'
\'a ballad for a dying man
punching through the windows of my ears.
in Kings Wood,
where once I shared my carpet with the Yellow Kidney Vetch
sketched an arrow pointing south to Bucknowle Farm,
saw far beyond Old Harrys Rocks,
kissed Kimmeridge on a Dancing Ledge
and watched The Purbeck Marble shed it\'s skin.\'
(its just a privilege, to read - everything
that poetic genius of your mind, chooses
to share with us, dear poet
humbly, I thank you!)
July 19th, 2021 04:37
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