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Iwo Jima

Iwo Jima By Blue Demon77

We stood chest thrust out to the pearled
heaved the frost metal flag unfurled
picture taken, a system curled
We took the world, we took the world
-
Heine planted the stake to earth
Lorenz supporting all the girth
Moss bellowed for all he was worth
cherish the mirth, cherish the mirth
--
Loud flight, loud streets kneeling below
kisses and cheers tickertape show
dour as ordered above, below
countenance glow, countenance glow
--
America roared, heartfelt din
We felt so proud at this big win
yet in our minds it was our men
we watched descend, we watched descend
--

Style / type: 
Structured: Western
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Is the internal logic consistent?
Editing stage: 

Comments

i love this style ... haven't had a go at it yet - you have given me the incentive to try

a strong emotive write - assisted so much by the form i think
i just love
'America roared, heartfelt din
We felt so proud at this big win
yet in our minds it was our men
we watched descend, we watched descend'
- a very powerul finish

nothing to crit
love judy xxx

'Each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star,
shall draw the Thing as he sees It, for the God of Things as They are.'
(Rudyard Kipling)

I appreciate the kind words! I agree that monotetra very much fits this incarnation of my voice. The repetition and formal iambs and rhyme scheme might seem pretty arch in some other context, but in the case of the monotetras, I think the point came out strong. Yes, I'd certainly give the form a try. I find it pretty nonrestrictive and not at all too staccato. It allows me to revel in the music of the language while forcing me to be concise.

Thanks again!

Ron

Blue Demon77

Blue Demon77

"What I want is to be what I was before the knife,
before the brooch pin, before the salve, fixed me in this parenthesis:
Horses fluent in the wind. A place, a time gone out of mind."

The Eye Mote-Sylvia Plath

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