Bryon D. Howell
(Free Verse and Sonnet)
____________________________________________
Dan Neumann (Editor): Let me introduce you all to Bryon D. Howell. He is a poet from Connecticut that has sought poetry's ability to vent inexpressible feelings since the age of nine. After years of honing his skills, he wishes to pursue publication. Please greet this man with courtesy.
_________________________________________________
____________________________________________
Comments:
Dan Neumann (Editor): This is an interesting poem. The ending is superb. If I were to make an suggestions, though, I'd say: separate key thoughts to add to the flow. I have made minor alterations for grammar and punctuation. I can tell that you like to personify winter--don't you?
_________________________________________________
____________________________________________
Comments:
Dan Neumann (Editor): When I first read this I was like: "What the hell? Where did nipples come from?" It was only until the next read did I understand what you meant. I can see why magazines may have "not gotten it" now. J I like it. Submit again.
_________________________________________________
_________________________________________________
Comments:
Dan Neumann (Editor): Not my favorite. Probably because I'm biased. It seems to me the message of this poem is that you are angry at God. It was going great in the beginning, but the "Well, He's just dumb" kind of jumped out of nowhere. I understand why you would think he is unfair... but dumb? Clarification may help this poem a lot. At the very least, I would suggest changing "Cripp" to "Cripple" and "Dumb" to "Spoiled" (or, perhaps, "Unfair" ??)
_________________________________________________
Revision:
WHAT GOD?
I've had my share of sad and lonely days
and nights which truly brought me to a knee.
Thought it would end; I guess it's not a phase.
It's rare my heart and mind will both agree.
I'm still alive; they say there's more to come.
I can't see much while kneeling in the sand.
Where praying seems to work out well for some -
I don't get much from sticking out my hand.
I've tried before at many different points -
to move beyond from where I vacillate.
Pain hurts so much I'm frozen to the joints -
and now I can't get up. Well, that's just great!
Upon that knee I prayed He'd truly come.
Now I'm a cripp. I prayed - my knees went numb!
_________________________________________________
Comments:
Dan Neumann (Editor): Much better! J The ending makes much more sense now.
_________________________________________________
_______________________
Comments:
Dan Neumann (Editor): I like this one much more than "What God?" It is a simple message that is conveyed by the use of a running metaphor that is consistent with the rest of the content. I enjoy the analogy of lizards much better than "flippers" any day. J
_________________________________________________
AN EMPTY SKY
I see it as a sign - I'm growing old.
Each sunset comes with mean, sarcastic stares.
The beaches I once knew now misty cold -
the tide is always low, and no one cares.
There must be shores where happiness is found
where only storms of passion rule the sea.
Yet to this lifeless shoreline I am bound -
the sun has set upon those hopes for me.
I close my eyes and turn the other way.
The waves I trusted now, it seems, just lie.
Each sunset comes and goes to close each day -
a sunset with no sun - an empty sky.
A passing seagull laughs, my tears toll down -
my cue to throw antacid to the ground.
_______________________
Comments:
Dan Neumann (Editor): I feel sorry for the seagull in the end... No, but, seriously (if I can pull that emotion off for a few seconds), this is a sad poem. It does what it is supposed to, which makes it successful. I like the rhyming--not a jingle, but still has rhythm. I can tell by your poetry so far that you: a) love to personify your surroundings and b) enjoy a satirist's ending to all your work. I'm waiting for your cheery sonnet some time.
_________________________________________________
HOW FISHERMEN DEAL WITH CLOUDS
We hastened to the shoreline, rods in hands -
the summer sun ablaze with puckered lips.
We heeded not to clouds and their demands -
our nets secured mostly boldly to our hips.
We filled our boxes with the latest trends,
we aimed to nab the keepers by the ton.
The clouds kept rolling in from 'round all bends.
We fished before a wound, excited sun.
The clouds were not impressed; not one held back.
They growled like famished tigers on the prowl.
We caught our winners, promptly sent them back -
we plain ignored the tigers every scowl.
For each fish caught and sent back to the foam-
one tiger chased it to its skyline home.
_______________________
Comments:
Dan Neumann (Editor): I wish I was fishing... I like this poem a whole lot. It is an abstract perspective to one of my favorite hobbies--very nice. And it's accurate too; the weather never agrees with my fishing trips.
_________________________________________________
MY BEST EDITOR
Each time I write, my cat springs on the bed.
Stray hairs are sprinkled on my market guide.
I once thought, "Bookmarks." Now they seem instead
to fray each page until each seam has died.
When I'm daydreaming, she will joust my pen -
and rub her face upon the ink-filled well.
She'll hide it far away from me and then
she'll re-emerge, the blue-faced cat from hell.
She'll trample on my scattered notes and rhymes -
lay butt flush down on books I try to read.
She looks at me as heated in those times -
how dare I trade her for creative need!
She is a poet too; though avant-garde...
she holds my rhymes in utter disregard!
_______________________
Comments:
Dan Neumann (Editor): Can you use fur as bookmarks? That would make my Labrador during summer quite convenient! This poem has a Dickinson subtle-rhyme scheme that I can appreciate. You can't hear it in your head while you are reading, but - under analysis - you find it quite easy. I like how the line that speaks of disregarding of rhyme breaks your scheme. I think it adds to it. This is a novel idea. I certainly like this one better than your other editor poem! J
_________________________________________________
BRAND NEW LOVER
If sonnets with blue bonnets sweetly smell
a lyric simply will not do the trick
A villanelle's the big bad wolf from hell.
Rejections fly. How many? I won't tell.
It's not my fault the editor's a prick.
if sonnets with blue bonnets sweetly smell.
I've written rhyme for years, I think it's swell
Angelic-faced quatrains. Oh, how they stick!
A villanelle's the big bad wolf from hell.
A ballad? Or ballade? Most will repel.
And God forbid I write a limerick
if sonnets with blue bonnets sweetly smell.
Free verse for me, it simply doesn't gel.
It's messy, and a kid - he might get sick.
A villanelle's the big bad wolf from hell.
And so with rhyme I ring the dinner bell.
I love resistance, makes the blood pump quick.
A villanelle's the big bad wolf from hell,
if sonnets with blue bonnets sweetly smell.
_______________________
Comments:
Dan Neumann (Editor): I feel like this is a satire of a poem. It certainly has your humor in it. I like it. I haven't seen a poem written like that in a long time. Keep up the great work!
________________________________________________
ONE WORD SHY OF THE WORD ON THE STREET
We haven't been
talking again
for more than 24
hours.
Already,
I'm not much
liking
what I'm
seeing -
or is that -
not seeing?
Hearing?
Or perhaps -
not hearing?
Three hours between
messages,
emails read but not
answered.
Phone ringing one
minute -
in the next?
Going right to
voice-mail.
Not one
phone call
returned
in ten.
You are
online,
you're not
online.
I'm thinking maybe I
should have
left
well enough
alone
and not come
back at all into
the picture.
Moving,
still,
silent,
clear.
____________________________________________
Comments:
Dan Neumann (Editor): I am not sure about your new style quite yet. I feel like you still have to toy with what should be isolated and what should be all in one line. The message is straightforward, and I appreciate it. I am recruiting my sister's expertise on this one.
Christine Neumann: Hi! I'm Dan's sister J My post is long. See it here.
_________________________________________________
THE HEART OF THE MATTER, A MATTER OF THE
HEART
My grandmother gets
very upset with
me
for spending so much
time
on the computer
despite the fact
I'm almost 40.
She seems
jealous
that within a series of
clicks to links,
I can see the
entire world
on a screen considerably
smaller
than the one
she watches her game-shows
on.
Yet,
I'd be willing
to bet
that as many
windows as I
may open,
they could never
compare
with the amount
of doors
she slams.
_______________________
Comments:
Dan Neumann (Editor): I like this one a lot. I feel like the grandmother is a strong element in your poetry. Again, though, my sister is going to comment on your work.
Christine Neumann: Click here to view.
________________________________________________
Want to add a comment?
E-mail the Editor at orlobooks@verizon.net
Or just E-mail the author at the supplied address