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portage avenue.

vacant buildings with
broken neon signs
blink harshly over
the early evening
portage avenue seems
foreboding. i keep
standing on curbs,
waiting to fall.
vagabonds hide around
bus stops,
asking for lighters for their
last cigarette.
(when will this nightmare
be over?)
my mind is a jail cell,
i've thrown away the keys
i am happily lying
on cold floors.
wanting/waiting for
wanting you to
tell me that
i'm your regret.
portage avenue seems
even more foreboding
when (i keep lying on roads,
dreaming reckless dreams:
mangled limbs-
shattered bones,
let me win).

10 Nov 10

Rated 10 (8.6) by 2 users.
Active (2): 10
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beautiful. id say more, but beautiful is enough.
except that im also curious where portage avenue is.
 — Empty

i have read this 3 times now.
i rated it and left. i had nothing to say.

but now i must say, it's raw and lovely and beautifully cold.
 — mandolyn

brilliantly bleak
 — unknown

    Vacant-portage-vagabonds-my mind-wanting-wanting-wanting-portage-mangled there is a tune here ... I want , want, want back... let me win.
 — gblade

yeah, I hate Winnipeg, though I'm from there and if you look at Portage Ave. just write, it's really part of a highway that traverses our true north strong and free, all the way here to the West-coast, to the Mountains, the Sea and me ...

I remember cold alone nights walking in the dirty-exhaust gas snow after the buses had gone home for the night... wandering in search of heat, while moving fast through the street

nice bones in this piece and you've got a lyrical bent; how would truth break it down so it came back as a visceral frisson up yer' spine, i-words that are yours, not mine

"Most people, including ourselves, live in a world of relative ignorance. We are even comfortable with that ignorance, because it is all we know. When we first start facing truth, the process may be frightening, and many people run back to their old lives. But if you continue to seek truth, you will eventually be able to handle it better. In fact, you'll want more! It's true that many people around you now may think you are weird or even a danger to society, but you don't care. Once you've tasted the truth, you won't ever want to go back to being ignorant"

Socrates : Greek philosopher, mentor to Plato (469 - 399 BC)

Source: The Allegory of the Cave and Book 7, The Republic
 — AlchemiA

Hi O me of the dismantling - at-mos-feric and enjambments that work instead of detracting - a rare t'ing. Not sure of the plea in 33 but a fine, fine piece that reminded me favourably of Jonathan Cooper Clark's Beasley Street. Cheerz. Mitch :-)
 — pdemitchell

thanks everyone.
 — dismantleme

This is quite good and also quite cold and impersonal. You'll probably be waiting a long long time. You need to get laid and have a nice wam bowl of soup.
 — unknown

This has a resignation in it, and yet a refusal to succumb, that I really like.
 — unknown

well done indeed. much feeling for thought. strong ending.
 — unknown

     Wanting you to
    tell me that
    I'm your regret   this was a part of many stanzas that made it for me .... fresh stuff here I loved it...
 — goeszon

Re-reading this. 14, and 15 come out of nowhere, and hit you in the gut.
27-33 are magic. I think this poem works on the sum of its parts,
and I'm standing there with you.
 — Empty

let me win to.
 — unknown

unK that's hilarious ^^^
 — AlchemiA

haha, you mean the soup comment? rofl.
Are you a he or a she AlchemiA?
 — unknown

indeed if not in essence then in my whirl'd view :)
 — AlchemiA

from the dirty-snows of WinterPeg to the true North, Strong and Free; Leaf Rapids, Thompson and me: well it takes a certain amount of misery to fuel a jump, horror begins at home they say -- I was in a triangle relationship with two people I loved very-much, which perplexed me into partnering with the gal -- I packed two steel-suitcases after crashing into her personal agenda - one suit-case with books and one with the paraphernalia of living every day -- went North and learnt to whistle at the Northern-lights to call 'em down - met a musician-teacher from the states who saw that glint in my eye - he turned me onto jazz and P.D Ouspensky's, A New Model of the Universe, which fit well with my study of Nietzsche at the time -- I became a cross-country ski champion and canoe'd soft lakes in the Spring/Summer in the early morning mist -- watched Nature roil'd with rage 'til just before dusk, when the sharp-edge of the sky became silence'd by the blood-setting Sun -- watched the bears and eagles and great white swans, the Queens Swans, the humming-bird, the great black raven we called Thompson Turkeys 'cause they're the size of a, well a Turkey - had a trap-line for wild-hare and ate Squirrels out there - wolf watched me but left me alone, being hardy to the bone, built a log-cabin and felt the rhythms of that stark land; I could see the lonely rails of my ski tracks disappear into the parallaxing void -- after that, I went back to the urban-scape to meet the dancing grrl with wings on her heart, we dipped in tears and laughter...
 — AlchemiA

so, we're more than the sum of all who've gone before, and a mutation, an illuMentation, merCuriously realEyes'd on the sharp-edge of a glance: and always the fool ready to leap into another hapless romance ... however, I recall living up North - the canoe as my main means of transportation -- I was awed by natures rhythms of silence and storm, that activity is followed by quiescence the norm -- those quiet times just before dawn and dusk, when I felt a singular Peace so much -- so it's important to have an internal sky, or an inner-river that rolls out to the sea, where the mind is both a bird and a fish, in tune with struggle and equanimity ...
 — AlchemiA

http://www.veryessential.co m is that you?
 — unknown

more dismantleme to come, I suppose ... dum dle dee dee dum... come on sing along
 — AlchemiA

my Son, Cian, lives in Winnipeg as well as a cast of many maternal relations from the Chipewa'in and Cree nations
 — AlchemiA


up above us all,
leaning into sky
our golden business boy
will watch the north end die
and sing 'i love this town'
then let his arching wrecking ball proclaim:
 — dismantleme

^ that was the weakerthans.
 — dismantleme

L's 7-9 are EXCELLENT!  I'd get rid of those parentheses from L's 29-33) and just keep the text itself, otherwise it just ends with "when" in L29.  Seems off to me.  Otherwise, this shit is BANGIN', urban, hopeless and cold.  Did I also mention that L's 24-26 are fuckin' KICK-ASS?!  Write on, soldier!  You're an urban warrior now!  :-)
 — starr

yeah, dismantleMe the weakerthans was my analogy ... love the HBO show, too, Less than Kind...
 — AlchemiA

sometimes we guess write ...
 — AlchemiA

you must be a beautiful thing to have written this.
 — unknown

I'm stirring my chi with an organic java-bean slurry then 'leKtrick-ing my prius with my body-of-cycles to a chiro-practical energy-mover who straightens out crinks in my back without touching a hair
 — AlchemiA

I read so many poems in this style. So many that try to be sad and depressed and bleak. But this seems like your just saying something, and it happens to be bleak. Big difference. So many poems are trying so hard to be 'poetic', so much so that nothing real is ever said. Nothing genuine makes it off the page into the reader's experience. People try so hard to write poetry. Feel more and try less. First get to know your feelings and thoughts and bleed them onto the page, and hope that someone resonates with it. That's why this poem stands out from the many others like it - your feelings came before the poem.
 — unknown

this is strong.
 — unknown

Yeah this poem defiantly resonates in me. I'm from winnipeg as well and use to walk up and down portage everyday, even in the winter during -30 degree weather. Walked it by myself with not a single person in sight, reasoning a very dreary time searching for the same truths. Great write.
 — Thenameless

i really like this especially the lines: wanting you to/ tell me that/ I'm your regret. Great great lines the only critique I could give you is line 19, change happily to something else, the first happily works great, I like it and that it's in parantheses but when you throw in that second one it just cheapens the first and disrupts the flow.
 — Luxy

I want to like this lonely drop of nothing, living in a sea of lonely nothings.  But the writing in the whole trips over itself.  There's lots of consonance and almost alliteration floating around.  Its a poetic element, we can create patterns and destroy them, but there is no pattern here, no tone to it.  I feel like I'm waiting for a drop of water to drop for a moment then I get a splash on the bridge of my nose.

I got there.  You're building on solid rock.  But read it through and don't stop until you hit the end, and the ride is bumpy.  Not elegant.  Not wild.  Just... bumpy.  I see what you're saying but why say it cliche?  Why interrupt the thought by repeating the phrase happily?

14-15 and 16-20 are my biggest stumbling points, alongside Vacant/Vagabonds and a few other things.

Ill be back with a name.
 — unknown

^You really dont have a clue unk, do you.
 — unknown

A little too sentimental. Vagabond is a whimsical word for homeless--sounds like your talking about  gnomes. Nice effort , though
 — unknown

This is really something pretty great.
 — unknown

Gosh how I love mikebower. I love this poem. So good. Why did you have to go ruin it though by tacking on that shitty last line?

Nice stuff. Wanders delicately/soflty in and out of the poetically cliched (stanza 1 for example, IMveryHO) while lingering on the unencumbered crystaline capitulation of its own hesitation. VEry wonderful. Lovely. Thanks for posting. Thanks
 — unknown

^because 'let me win' is the best line in the damn poem?
 — unknown

this is a strong poem in my opinion
 — antipoetry

 — unknown

sad and well written
 — unknown

i super really like this
 — odogg

^clueless. might as well uninstall.
 — unknown

^ how bout you show us a poem, mouthpiece, and let us trashpoodle all over it like you do to everyone else
 — unknown

Would someone ban this syviaplastic? No one is paying any attention to its comments, and it's all over the place. Plus its commentary is off-the-top-of-head irrelevancies. Maybe syvia is a crackhead? I find nothing of use in its mental masturbation.
 — unknown

i absolutely love this :D well written poem :)
 — Bookworm

vacant buildings blink?
 — unknown

Perhaps consider a stronger opening line. Pairing something as mundane as a vacant building with a word that barely pulls its own weight just doesn't scream "read me."
 — WordsAndMe

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