Apples to Apples

Bit gory in the beginning and got better as it went along, lol. No, this is really lovely, as they say, out of the mouths of babes. Well done, Love Lyz. XX

The first impression before the final line is that this poem is interesting but will leave me wanting more. Then you get to the last line (a clever twist in the tale) that it is "Lucifers" fall of which you speak, whose name means the "morning star" said to be one of God's most beautiful angels before his fall. Kudos by the way on your use of language both arcane and modern this I think is concurrent in all your work/ submitted to Neopoet that I have seen. Enjoyed this one alot, perhaps only criticism is that it could be a wee bit longer, just a thought. Also needs a title, though given this particular work it maybe hard to find one, is that why you left it out. Respect Dalton

I too share your problem. Sometimes I use instead the first line of the poem as the title. In your case "The Fall" it has punch, but I'm not sure it's right for this particular piece. The work is somewhat more pithy than your usual work. But at the same time the beauty of your lyric shines through. It's a tough one.Maybe you could call it "The Force of Gravity that Satan Fell" if this doesn't give too much away to the reader. Try reading Dylan Thomas he is an endless source of inspiration I find. Good luck with your decision. Respects Dalton

DS, she shoots! she scores! Another poem falls and we listen. Love & awe, Anna

Fine title, and it's good you don't give too much away to begin with. A poem you should read is: "Kids In A Daze" (sometimes translated as "The Transfixed") by the 19th century French poet Arthur Rimbaud: Black against the fog and snow, Against a grating all aglow, Their asses spread Five kids - poor things! - squat and shake, To watch a happy Baker bake Hot golden bread. They watch his white arms beat The dough, and feel the heat of the bright stoves. They hear the baker softly hum And hear a crackling sound come From the baking loaves. They are transfixed; they do not dare Disturb the fragrant glowing air, Warm as a mother's breast. For a rich man's holiday he bakes Golden rolls and pies and cakes - A sugary feast! And then beneath the smoky roof They hear a song from a savory loaf - Just like a bird! The warm window steams and glows, And they squat in their ragged clothes, Their senses blurred - They even think that they're rich, too - Poor Baby Jesuses in a row As the snow falls; They stick their little noses in Through the grating, moaning something Through the holes In a daze, saying prayers And bending toward the lights Of paradise, So hard they split their pants, And their shirtails dance In a wind like ice. DaltonX

this is just gorgeous, I adore your quick wit and your knowledge of myths, you mix them so effortlessly, and spice them up with unique imagery. Always a treat to read a poem by you. I have a poem floating around here on Neo that is called The fallen angel, I'd appreciate your looking into that one. Yours, ~Nina