Cloaks and Daggers : Forum : Randomness Along The Lines Of ..


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Randomness Along The Lines Of Order

10 Years Ago


What offers us more humor in the end,
Than perhaps the sheer suspense,
Than perhaps the tragic thrill,
Of that bitter finality of suicide,
Offered with a rigor mortis smile,
In dry swallowing that last pill.

What could possibly be more fitting,
Stirring us on to even greater depths,
Stirring up that quaint taste of madness,
But to take that last long drag,
But to smoke that last cigarette,
That slow exhale of perpetual sadness.

What might people say looking back,
Having read all our morbid words,
Having taken a glimpse into our lives,
With all their educated academic reasonings,
With all their mental breakdown think tanks,
Trying to figure out how words cut like knives.

So we go on writing what we do,
Writing what comes to mind,
Writing what we feel is true,
Closing our eyes so we are not blind.
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[no subject]

10 Years Ago


Originally posted by Adrian K. Smith

What offers us more humor in the end,
Than perhaps the sheer suspense,
Than perhaps the tragic thrill,
Of that bitter finality of suicide,
Offered with a rigor mortis smile,
In dry swallowing that last pill.

What could possibly be more fitting,
Stirring us on to even greater depths,
Stirring up that quaint taste of madness,
But to take that last long drag,
But to smoke that last cigarette,
That slow exhale of perpetual sadness.

What might people say looking back,
Having read all our morbid words,
Having taken a glimpse into our lives,
With all their educated academic reasonings,
With all their mental breakdown think tanks,
Trying to figure out how words cut like knives.

So we go on writing what we do,
Writing what comes to mind,
Writing what we feel is true,
Closing our eyes so we are not blind.
Mother of Jesus CHrist, Adrian. Somebody make this famous. Is this famous? Are you famous? You will be after this. Godamn!

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[no subject]

10 Years Ago


This is really a beautiful piece of writing. the topic is something that many poets seem to have a taste for, not including myself; however I feel that this piece is so profound and thought provoking that it really seems to offer meaning to such a seemingly futile subject. I wish I had had the chance to mention it sooner. For anyone in the group who is familiar with Adrian K. Smith, I vote to have every member inthe group invite him back into the group. I don't know maybe we shouldn't try to annoy him on the subject.

For all it is worth I would like to see more people commenting on this piece.

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[no subject]

10 Years Ago


Adrian prides himself on his Randomness. His reviews, his poetry, his messages were the stuff  that provoked thought. And so, if a thinking man like Adrian attempts to convey some idea of Order in his life, whether it makes sense to us or not, I suppose we should respect that.

I find his work to be beautiful and honest. Full of wit and sometimes wisdom, he is a reluctant writer despite the breadth of his works. May he find the peace he seeks.

His words brought to mind these other words:

 

Choose Something Like a Star

by Robert Frost - 1947

O Star (the fairest one in sight),
We grant your loftiness the right
To some obscurity of cloud --
It will not do to say of night,
Since dark is what brings out your light.
Some mystery becomes the proud.
But to be wholly taciturn
In your reserve is not allowed.

Say something to us we can learn
By heart and when alone repeat.
Say something! And it says "I burn."
But say with what degree of heat.
Talk Fahrenheit, talk Centigrade.
Use language we can comprehend.
Tell us what elements you blend.

It gives us strangely little aid,
But does tell something in the end.
And steadfast as Keats' Eremite,
Not even stooping from its sphere,
It asks a little of us here.
It asks of us a certain height,
So when at times the mob is swayed
To carry praise or blame too far,
We may choose something like a star
To stay our minds on and be staid.

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[no subject]

10 Years Ago


Adrian,

There are many kinds of poets I meet everyday on the Internet and many I have known since first writing poetry almost sixty years ago.  The majority dash off poems and choose not to insult the "sacredness" of that first draft by revising it so it could be even better than it is.  Most poets feel it a waste of time to study the writing craft, read the poems of the famous and of the dabbling.  Having read your work, I know you are not one of that majority.

When I read your poem "Randomness Along the Lines of Order," I was impressed by the tightness of language, the pattern established, the choice of words, the emotions that your poem was able to draw out of me, the idea well expressed.

I did not know you are no longer with Cloak and Dagger where members could surely learn from you and your work.  A favorite college professor of mine, Dr. Shahani, who was a friend of T. S. Eliot and also a poet and writer, once told our creative writing class, "A true poet is not one who pens his words in a garret, alienated from others, but one who writes in the company of others, who shares his talent and his poems so others might learn how to climb the ladder, the top rung of which he stands, because he loves poetry so much he wants the world to be poets too!"

If it's true you are no longer with Cloak and Dagger, I ask you to reconsider.  Come back and spread some joy with your exceptional writing.

Salvatore

 

 

 

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[no subject]

10 Years Ago


Originally posted by Emily Burns

Adrian prides himself on his Randomness. His reviews, his poetry, his messages were the stuff  that provoked thought. And so, if a thinking man like Adrian attempts to convey some idea of Order in his life, whether it makes sense to us or not, I suppose we should respect that.

I find his work to be beautiful and honest. Full of wit and sometimes wisdom, he is a reluctant writer despite the breadth of his works. May he find the peace he seeks.

His words brought to mind these other words:

 

Choose Something Like a Star

by Robert Frost - 1947

O Star (the fairest one in sight),
We grant your loftiness the right
To some obscurity of cloud --
It will not do to say of night,
Since dark is what brings out your light.
Some mystery becomes the proud.
But to be wholly taciturn
In your reserve is not allowed.

Say something to us we can learn
By heart and when alone repeat.
Say something! And it says "I burn."
But say with what degree of heat.
Talk Fahrenheit, talk Centigrade.
Use language we can comprehend.
Tell us what elements you blend.

It gives us strangely little aid,
But does tell something in the end.
And steadfast as Keats' Eremite,
Not even stooping from its sphere,
It asks a little of us here.
It asks of us a certain height,
So when at times the mob is swayed
To carry praise or blame too far,
We may choose something like a star
To stay our minds on and be staid.



I took a breath and a sigh at your reply to this post. Wow. What gorgeous words by Robert Frost. Does anyone know what has become of Adrian? Dare I ask? Should I know?