Anonymous Crit:
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I don't know who "Moore" is . . . aside from that, this fires on all cylinders. Excellent.

Anonymous Crit:
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For 'No Movies of Me'

This is so good! The last stanza contradicts the
poem's title, but I am willing to forgive this. If I
were a film critic, I'd give it four stars out of
five.

Anonymous crit:

_____________________

TO A CREASED SNAPSHOT OF US:

Of course there's a certain technical challenge in writing a dimeter poem with only two rhyme sounds. But I can't agree that this is skillfully done.

There are problems with sense: for example, "The pictures try/ but fail to see/ how you and I/ would smile to cry." Huh?? There's a problem with grammar: that repeated "of you and I" should be "of you and me." There's a problem with cliché: that play on the meanings of "lie" has been done over and over.

And there's a problem with the meter: it's uniform and monotonous! This would really benefit from some loosening up: hit the beat sometimes on the first syllable of the line, and maybe give some lines a feminine ending.

Sorry I can't be more enthusiastic. I know dimeter is hard.

Anonymous Crit:

_____________________________

NO MOVIES OF ME:

Good job with this! It conveys an emotional attitude effectively and affectingly. Some might see it as a poem of depression. I don't know: there are two ways of looking at it. It might be negative to say "I don't want to be reminded of how I was compared with how I am" or equally it might be seen as a positive, "let's be what we are now, without the distraction of constantly confronting the past."

I especially like the construction and syntax, and the images. The phrasing is distinguished. And the poem occupies an interesting space technically. It's free verse (is it? isn't it?) yet with "the ghost of meter." And it's a lesson in lineation---I'd only question the L4-5 strophe break, which seems unnecessary.

Anonymous crit:

_______________________________

No Movies of Me

Think of the movie stars that were --
their heydays brimming with hormones,
then their relentless public ageing:
a bloated Brando, a withered Bacall,

a Groucho shifting his dentures in a shriveled mouth,
a crumbling, leathered Moore,
a doddery Hope, no hope left,
gazing into the distance, or the past.

How lucky there are no movies of me
on my Road to Anywhere, only stills:
no home Super-8 replay of someone past,
fresh-featured, lithe and limber, playing the fool
forever in a ski-sweater of Norwegian style,
splashing water at the camera lens,
or taking a loving glance for granted.

Or maybe just one. Somewhere in a tin trunk
stashed in the lumber-room of a childhood friend
now gray or gone, there may survive a short trick sequence:
thirty grainy seconds of me at ten or eleven
climbing out of the same cardboard box
again and again, before fading out.

This poem is superb. I find no faults. Masterly.

Non-anonymous comment on the "No Movies" poem: "Moore" must be Roger Moore, an erstwhile James Bond.

(robt)

David, send it to Tom at his email mentioned at the top of the thread and he'll post it, leaving you anonymous.

Carol

Poem by Anonymous:

______________________________

Alphabet Passion, Envelope Love

P q r s t u v;
w, w, j k l.
God, I love you! Can't you tell?
A b a b a b b.
M n o? X y z?
R d p r v v j?
I'm useless since you went away.
D d c c a b b...

Anonymous Crit;
________________________________

'Alphabet Passion, Envelope Love'

For this reader, the poem had the impact the author
must have aimed at when writing it: it is childishly
tender and wise at the same time. The title is in
itself a poem.

Anonymous Crit;

___________________________________

Alphabet Passion, Envelope Love

P q r s t u v;
w, w, j k l.
God, I love you! Can't you tell?
A b a b a b b.
M n o? X y z?
R d p r v v j?
I'm useless since you went away.
D d c c a b b...

Just as well you're anonymous.

Total crap.