To Talk of things…

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    Leon Fleming

    For those who would it to bother: @emma-starr @evelyn @daeus-lamb @dakota @k-a-grey @ericawordsmith @wordsmith @libby @i-david @h-jones @allelsewhowouldbeknown

    To Reap That Which has been Seeded

    After I walk into the mine

    Of vast assorted articles

    My mind is so entranced that I

    Would dare to walk the particles.

    These minds so fit to toil long

    Into the coldest winter night.

    I daren’t pass their strong sublime

    Nor take that wherewith was not mine.

    These cold walls drip and drag with thought

    Their memory doesn’t fade with time;

    I see within their startled eyes

    These verities beheld in truth.

    Then leaving that dusty, dirty shell

    I find a rag of watered well.

    I take it up and grip it firm

    The ends don’t meet, they leave the worm.

    Then clasped I wring it of its juice

    Its gladness, full, of watered used.

    But still, this sprout within has grown

    And still I push myself to hone

    This craft that with all merited thought

    I would not finish, complete this rhyme.

    So hard, not slight, this wet spring dew

    It flew and still no end became

    I tried and not did I fulfil

    That with which I assayed to do.

    I dropped that rag and left that room

    Unto the fiery gates of bliss.

    The garden, I walk and reminisce

    These talks that I have undergone.

    These friends of cherished cherry trees

    And long-cut grass, they wave with leaves.

    So left upon that mount I lay

    And stare the stars begin to fade.

    Not to leave this world behind

    But to again, behold the night.

    I just wrote this on a thought and thought you guys might enjoy and critique. And tag anyone else of whom you can think. I’m kinda in that mood, ya know? *btw, I just wrote this out with no clear editing so feel free to barrage me with criticism.* 🙂


    @w-o-holmes I like it!


    Leon Fleming


    Nice. Is is understandable or unrelatably annoying?


    @w-o-holmes Overall, you have strong poetic lines and the rhyming is natural.

    You asked for a critique…maybe go through and pick out any unnecessary adjectives. It seems pretty good to me. For some reason, I couldn’t really figure out what was going on–maybe just too much school on the brain though. Don’t take anything I say too seriously. ;P

    Spreading God's love until I can see seven billion smiles. 🙂 https://sevenbillionsmiles.home.blog

    Leon Fleming


    Ok, thanks! Yeah, the meaning is hidden and the poem may seem like a melodious jumble of words that make no sense whatsoever. Anyway, I’ll give you a hint unto the meaning: It has to do with me coming here and experiencing all these new people who have similarities with me. If anything, I think the title should be changed. It seemed quite fitting at the time, but now it does not.

    Their memory doesn’t fade with time;

    I think I should change this line to better fit the meter, yes?


    @w-o-holmes Cool! 🙂

    Coming back fresh, I actually really like that line. I think you should keep it!

    Also, maybe what makes it a bit confusing for me is a couple of words like “wherewith” are not what I’m used to, so it’s harder to process the meaning of the poem.

    Spreading God's love until I can see seven billion smiles. 🙂 https://sevenbillionsmiles.home.blog


    @w-o-holmes I really like your style. It’s vivid and powerful! Well done.

    Like Emma said, there are a few places that seem a little foggy in meaning. But otherwise, excellent! 🙂

    Psalm 119:11
    Your word I have hidden in my heart,
    That I might not sin against You.

    Leon Fleming



    With words like that and others, does it enhance and further the aesthetic feel of the poem? How about with the flow?



    Wow… That was really, really cool!!! I really enjoyed it. Very mysterious, and the meaning is super sweet.

    Tek an ohta! Tek an cala!


    @w-o-holmes @wordsmith @evelyn

    Here’s another poem I wrote a long time ago… This one was actually last December when I was awake late one night and pretty much emotionally exhausted so… It’s a little depressing.

    But go ahead and give critique (which I don’t know how to do with poetry) if you’d like!!

    When It Hurts to Cry

    I lay there quiet, wishing, waiting.

    Slumber deserted me as well,

    I had hoped a friend would stay to care,

    Oblivious rest cruelly left.

    Alone and weary, lying there,

    Dreams of sleep not dreamt.


    Too tired for even things of rest,

    Hard thinking drove away my sleep.

    Weight deepens and drains my weary heart,

    Ending in torn and troubled tears

    The pain is tearing me apart

    Crying only sears.

    It hurts to cry, worse is weeping

    I wish for someone to be there,

    A shoulder stronger than mine for leaning

    Yet no one is there to hold me,

    It hurts to cry, feel it stinging,

    Tears tonight are lonely.

    I know like stars, hope is yet there,

    Behind the clouds I yearn to see.

    Emptied space inside shows it missing,

    Yet I know for all this aching,

    No help in tears, only wishing,

    My heart is breaking

    No tears will mend the wound I bear,

    No sobbing will ever ease the pain

    I’m alone in the dark, in weakness

    Relief when tears fall from my eye?

    No healing comes in pillow wet,

    When it hurts to cry.

    Tek an ohta! Tek an cala!

    Leon Fleming


    *bows* Thank you! Thank you!

    Gosh! That poem’s great! I like the feeling and emotion running away with the words as if by a withered weed upon the edges of a road whereof the wind tears continually upon it’s retched back. Very nice!

    Something like this would often confuse others of the lesser-minded; meaning those who do not read, write, or otherwise interact at all with poetry on any scale. – Not demeaning those at all, but merely stating the obvious. They have no knowledge of it; they are less knowledged…and less privileged…obviously missing out on something of something…but that’s just my weird and somewhat obnoxious opinion and it really doesn’t matter that much to me, anyway. …savvy? – (sorry, rabbit trail) But to others of like mind, this would seem a work of art as a great painting is great in the mind of a fellow painter. It matters not if the form or other things of such attributes as unto poetry flow or not. (This is how it should be, to me. You must be able to understand the poet’s emotions and feelings.) Of course there are exceptions…those are also something of import to me. Pardon. I just contradicted myself. But my meaning through this is that there is a place and time for all things when it comes to poetry. This is not for the whole of this post, but still…you get my gist…right?

    This is the epitome of what poetry is. The setting of emotions, whether deep or light, upon the page by use of words. This is truly the work of a wordsmith…very fitting title, by the way. For the tag, that is.

    …do you really want me to critique it?

    (I think coffee is an essential attribute that is needed when writing poetry. Otherwise the overall feel of it will be somewhat dampened. Not that that’s a bad thing, for if poetry is dampened it is actually most times better than it would be. …?)

    (Another post script: This all is the wanderings of my mind laid in a half-mentioned form unto this post. It does leave me sometimes like the tree in Autumn…which reminds me; I need to work on this poem on the beginning of Autumn. I’m writing it in the Whitman form: long words and meant to be read as if reading a novel or book on a drifty subject. There I go again. Drifty isn’t even a word. I SHALL CEASE AND DESIST!)

    Leon Fleming

    Btw, if y’all don’t know already, I like satire. Especially in everyday talk. Which doesn’t help the attitudes of my siblings when it comes to their drooping states…savvy?

    Ex: It’s funny how I just looked up the word ‘satire’ before beginning this second paragraph-thing. Don’t panic. I know what it means…I just had to make sure! Anyway…on the subject of satire…!..1!!! Don’t ask because there’s nothing to ask about.

    Have I thoroughly confused you all by now?


    @ericawordsmith Oh goodness, how relatable.


    K. A. Grey

    @w-o-holmes  You mean irony?  Because I love irony.  But never mind if you meant satire.

    Anyway, I reread your poem.  To be brutally honest, the first time I read it I didn’t like it because it didn’t make a bit of sense to me.  It took a second reading, but now I can see more of what you’re trying to say.  I like the parallel you make between minds and mines.  I assume the “vast assorted articles” are the wisdom you see in others, possibly also a pun the articles on the blog. I’m still not sure what you meant by this:

    “I find a rag of watered well.

    I take it up and grip it firm

    The ends don’t meet, they leave the worm.”

    Overall, I think you did well.  You have nice cadence and word images. 👍

    "Atticus, he was real nice. . . .”
    “Most people are, Scout, when you finally see them.”

    Leon Fleming

    Just a note here:

    These friends of cherished cherry trees

    Anyone like cherry pie?


    You mean irony?  Because I love irony.  But never mind if you meant satire.

    Yes! Them both; I use irony all the time. Though I think my older sister is getting annoyed…*gollum grin*

    If it didn’t make sense, then that’s great – because then it would make you read it a second time and get it firmly planted within your brain, savvy? Yes, that may be the point. Or not…I didn’t embark to complete this goal. But still, it works. As evidence above is shown.

    Brutality is at most times the source of a fruitful poem. (There’s a patent on this!) Nay, I am merely jesting.

    You know, I always chuckle inwardly (and most times outwardly) when people decipher things from within my poetry that I myself had not an inkling of an intention of adding for the meaning that it proclaimed. Often times I thank them and go by the old writer’s rule “If you made a mistake (or added something unintentionally that made the piece work all the more) just pretend that you did said article on purpose.” I love this rule and all the things implied within. Unfortunately, here, when paralleling the mine and minds, I did not originally intend this to be relevant to the poem as a whole. But looking back I now realize that, yes, indeed it has. Thank you for your consideration upon this topic, K. I shall not say, though, that I did not unintentionally write this (you know, sometimes I confuse myself when I’m writing). It all fitted when the writing took place, and this only on a whim of mine.

    There is much within this world to be found, but nothing will be compared when the findings of God will be at hand. (no patent here; quote away) XXXDDD!!! Sorry, just kidding. My character comes into this…too much.

    Of the vast assorted articles: this may be anything what you wish it to be. That is what I wish readers would do with my poetry. Take it and let your mind be carried away into the land of Nod and Imaginatia. (One of my favourites, that: The Land of Nod -[Robert Louis Stevenson]). My Mother read it to me when I was just a wee lad . . . she read me lots of poetry. Maybe that’s what got me into poetry, I don’t know. She read things of Wordsworth, Frost, Blake, Dickinson, Carroll, and others of that fairy land type. She still does it today with my younger siblings…I won’t say I don’t walk in occasionally and listen. She’s probably memorized them by now.

    But really: the vast assorted articles – quite frequently in my poetry each line builds off the one before it. It is how I let my imagination drift. I suppose many people do this too.

    I walked into the mine and found many articles of vast amounts. Both of wisdom and interest.

    (Pardon; little interlude): Do not let your mind dwell on things of depressing sorts…like how you, as a junior, failed a problem on a test because of a blond moment: you said that 7 times 7 = 14. She’s kicking herself even now (my sister).

    I’m still not sure what you meant by this: “I find a rag of watered well. / I take it up and grip it firm / The ends don’t meet, they leave the worm.

    By this I meant that as I took up the rag of wisdoms and interests, there was no end to its contents. It kept spilling forth its interesting things and more came of it that was before. I think the most complicated of this would be that last line mentioned, “The ends don’t meet, they leave the worm.” Its meaning now is somewhat unclear to me now, but I think I can decipher it. My intentions then were clearly in my head. The ends won’t meet because it is so thick with “water”. I will never be able to wrap my mind around the overall picture of Story Embers, even though I may seem to have the ability. They leave the worm. The ends of this “water-filled towel” will never meet and so they end as worms do when they lie dead in the puddle. The ends of this towel give up ever trying to wrap around and tie themselves together. This towel is partly my mind and partly SE. It is SE in the way, as shown above, of how much there is to be found here. It is my brain in the way that I am trying (in the poem) to encompass my mind around the enormity of SE but to no avail. The ends will never meet to comprehend. They will leave the thought of meeting as dead worms in puddles do to life.

    It is an obscure metaphor, I know, but it seems fitting, in a way. The audience mayn’t understand but then, they can ask to know and knock to be let it. Or of other matters, the knowledge they seek to gain will run away with them on a rampant horse throughout the hills and dales of this world of Imaginatia…but never will it leave and always will it stay with the same meaning as before.

    • This reply was modified 1 year, 11 months ago by Leon Fleming.
    • This reply was modified 1 year, 11 months ago by Leon Fleming.
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