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Messages - Mark T

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Review My Poetry / Channel Daily (Lyric with Ad-Con)
« on: February 18, 2013, 03:33:40 AM »
Channel Daily

It’s only sci-fi maybe
The late-late show on Channel Daily
It’s what you saw before
When you lied to score
It’s what was at the door
When you tried for more
It’s a head game baby
The late-late show on Channel Daily

The soldiers in black
Came to raid the arcade
The soldiers in black
Came to raid ‘n invade
All through the show
And along the track
And out the back
What they didn’t know
Would blow their mind
What they didn’t find
Would make them blind
They lost the attack
And never came back


Smack the machine
Where you been
Crack street is mean
And the X is fine
Popping a blade
Cutting a line
No one can fade
Before it’s time
Something’s on fire
Nothing’s on stream
Caught us a liar
Having a dream
Of other desire


A girl came along
Like a line in a song
A bitch for a bastard
With purple hair
And no underwear
An itch to be blasted
On the stair
A witch to be mastered
Without a care
She was only a clone
Who went away
So lost and alone
She didn’t stay


Standing up there
Looking down
Wondering where
I’ll be found
Heard a voice
With drums and guns
There’s no choice
For him who runs
From his brain
To the razor
Wanting pain
Like a laser
Think I’m gonna try to fly


War is war
We want more
War is war
Time to roar
Bomb it all
Burn it down
Destroy everything
Salt the ground
Crush the king
And blocked society
Made of slavery
Can’t you see
Anarchy is free

It’s only sci-fi maybe
The late-late show on Channel Daily
It’s what you saw before
When you lied to score
It’s what was at the door
When you tried for more
It’s a head game baby
The late-late show on Channel Daily

Review My Poetry / Mercenary (Ad-Con)
« on: February 17, 2013, 03:21:17 AM »

At the edge of the world
The python jungle
Swallows a fallow field

Scrapings of panic-fear
Rust in yesterday’s mud
Smoky stubble of huts
Screams buried in ash
Snuffled carrion stench
An accusation of bone

Mercy ignored, justice denied
A requiem of flies
Taste victory

Review My Poetry / Poet
« on: February 15, 2013, 01:39:38 PM »

A cube of thought
Rotating in space
A slender spark
Seeking symbols
A tendril tastes
Thinning skeins of ink

Review My Poetry / Re: Hitchhike to D.C., 1971
« on: November 19, 2012, 03:07:27 PM »
Liked this. The first section had a sort of Hunter S Thompson and 'Howl' feel to it. War just sends out ever expanding ripples in unpredictable ways. I always liked the saying; what if they gave a war and nobody came?

Review My Poetry / Re: Clean Desk Policy
« on: November 19, 2012, 02:54:52 PM »
You should correct the spelling of 'where'. I once worked briefly in an office and didn't like it at all. The office didn't like me either. Your take on the petty, Blocked-obsessive jobsworths inhabiting the sphere of water-cooler politics is apt. 

Review My Poetry / Re: Loss
« on: November 19, 2012, 02:45:05 PM »
Can't say I liked this poem. I'm also guilty of playing around with shapes but it involves a little more than hitting a button. I would suggest practicing a little discipline. Try writing something in a traditional format.

Review My Poetry / Re: Cessation
« on: November 19, 2012, 02:40:40 PM »
An interesting poem. I think it could be improved with further attention. I thought I had a broad vocabulary but this piece had me reaching for the dictionary.

Review My Poetry / Re: Chiaroscuro
« on: November 19, 2012, 02:27:55 PM »
Ha. I guess one dabbles in metaphysical speculation at one's own peril.

Review My Poetry / Re: Stonemason
« on: November 19, 2012, 02:19:33 PM »
Thanks ARM. That's pretty much on the nail as to how the piece evolved for me. I'm also writing from experience as I have done what I've described, including the destruction of a beautiful ridge over my protests for an alternative source.

Review My Work / Re: Dream scene: Opinions desired
« on: November 19, 2012, 02:14:19 PM »
Thanks to all for useful and considered comments. That was quick. As mentioned, this is a sequel to a novel that came out well -even including paid professional opinion. I'm struggling with the follow-up, low interest, etc. I wrote this in the beginning of this year and then abandoned it. I decided to re-visit it and one of the things that jarred was the above dream sequence, so thanks for confirming suspicions.


PS to H3K. There is obviously context missing that would rationalise the storyline. As I see it now, the whole wet-dream thing is nothing more than a vehicle for a brief humorous reference later. Basher and Melda were briefly lovers and then bitter enemies in the original novel.     

Review My Work / Re: Dream scene: Opinions desired
« on: November 19, 2012, 11:09:48 AM »
Note: I seem to have lost my paragraph indents in the copy and paste. Please just pretend they are there.

Review My Work / Dream scene: Opinions desired
« on: November 19, 2012, 11:08:01 AM »
This is an extract from a sequel-in-progress. I haven't written a dream scene before because the consensus seems to be to avoid them. It's also not strictly relevant to the storyline in that it can stand without it. So please let me know what you think. I have left a bit before and after to add some sort of context regarding style and story.

Basher sighed. ’Let’s turn in,’ he said, ‘and carry on in the morning. Things will look different.’
‘Okay. We’ve covered a lot of ground tonight.’
‘Why don’t you and Melda take the bed and I’ll sack out on the couch.’
‘I’d rather have the couch,’ replied Zoë.   
‘Or we could leave her where she is and we share the bed head to toe like we did on the boat.’
‘I’d rather have the couch,’ repeated Zoë.
‘Or we could put her in the barn with the dogs.’
‘Be serious.’
‘I am.’
‘Just share the bed with her, Basher. She’s not going to bite you.’
‘You don’t know her.’

Chapter 4

Basher was dreaming. It was a wonderful dream. He was on a tropical beach covered with marooned sailing craft that were all his. The sky was blue and there were no other people around. The bay was aquamarine and full of little islands that stuck up like sharp rocky needles and which had a tendency to rearrange themselves into different formations when he wasn’t looking. He turned away from the sea with its waves that went out backwards and went into a damaged building that could have been in Angola. The building had many hammocks and bunks like the interior of an old ship. There was no roof and the sky was dark and starry. He went back outside where it was daytime. The pointy rocks had moved again and the sea was now bottle green. Silvery fish were flapping on the shore turning the sand grains into salt. Some of his boats were missing. He went into the building again. This time he saw a vervet monkey sitting in a wash basin. He went to the monkey who gave him a piece of red paper. He took the paper and noticed the building had a crooked roof now. There were coppery lanterns in the corners. He went to the hammocks and bunks and began searching through them. He found all manner of objects in the bunks, some strange, some pleasant, but not what he was looking for although he didn’t know what that might be. Then he came to a bunk that had a person in it. The paper in his hand had turned into the queen of hearts who floated off the card and into the person on the bed who then sat up with a wavy knife in her hand. He took the knife and bent it into a crown and gave it back to the queen of hearts. He was cold so he got into the narrow bunk. Under the blanket of forest leaves and spider silk he put his arms around the queen who pulled him close and kissed his brow. The forest queen loosened her robe of grapevines and entwined him so that he melted into her. His queen began to make love to him and Basher dimly realised he was having a sex dream and because he knew he was dreaming he realised he was in danger of waking up and tried to hold onto the dream so that the sex queen would stay and he could stay in the dream with the young queen but it was no use he was waking up… 

Basher opened his eyes. The world had turned lime-green. He removed Melda’s safari jacket from his head and found his limbs entangled with hers. He looked at her face and was startled to realise her eyes were open – but those eyes weren’t blue anymore.
Melda looked at him with fear in her brown eyes and spoke: ‘Who are you?’ she whispered. ‘I don’t know you. What’s going on? Where am I?’
Basher was nonplussed. Of all possible reactions Melda might have evinced upon regaining consciousness, this was not high on the list. After a lengthy pause, he said, ‘You were in a car accident last night. Are you all right?’
‘I don’t remember an accident. What happened?’
Basher felt moistness below and looked down. His wilting cock was sticking out of the fly of his boxers, slowly withdrawing from a puddle of semen he had apparently deposited on the upper thigh of Melda’s lime green trousers.
‘I seem to have had a little accident myself,’ he muttered and disengaged himself from the enjoinment with her body.
Melda was looking at him with puzzlement. ‘What’s your name?’ she asked.
‘Basher.’ Inspiration put a question on his tongue. ‘What’s yours?’
‘Why, it’s… I’m…I’m… oh, silly me. I seem to have forgotten for a moment. I… I…’ Melda suddenly closed her eyes.
Basher patted her face. ‘Melda? Melda? Wake up!’     
It was no use. She had fallen asleep again.

Basher cursed, got out of bed and farted. He pulled on yesterday’s khaki trousers and went into the living room. Zoë was still sleeping, her laptop, cellphone and sat-phone lined up neatly on the coffee table. Through the windows, the sky was pale with dawn. He headed for the bathroom.

Review My Poetry / Re: Education Ltd
« on: November 19, 2012, 09:48:58 AM »
I don't usually offer suggestions but here the navel belongs to the perplexed brow as it is written. Obviously, brows are brows and don't have navels so the brow is representative of either one or more people. I would go with the plural interpretation because the general theme relates to a common philosophy of thought - or to be accurate, the singular lack thereof. Hope this makes sense.

Review My Poetry / Re: Golden
« on: November 19, 2012, 09:43:14 AM »
An economically written poem about contact across the divide through the universal medium of music and memory. Neatly done.

Review My Poetry / Re: The Trespass
« on: November 19, 2012, 09:37:15 AM »
An excellent poem. Most enjoyable to read. One senses the care and effort in the composition but the impression is of a smooth and unforced flow of images in support of the theme. I think it is fine just the way it is.

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