Not My Cuppa
Not a review, but pretty much a reflection on why I won't be reading this (aside from the author attacking a very prominent reviewer on GR, which was pretty goodness awful in and of itself.)
Poetry is one of my first loves in writing, but I looked at some of the samples of the narratives from this and concluded it wasn't my thing. Too expensive of price for the quality of the poetry that's offered here.
If I feel up to it, I may write a poem that summarizes my thoughts about it, but I think this should suffice. :)
Edit: Okay, I think I have something.
This Empty Rhyme
by Rose Summers
Interesting the weight of this book
Outweighs the words hidden inside.
For all the emotion carried within a look
You'd think it'd have nothing to hide.
If we're speaking the experience of love
What it means to be cloaked in an embrace,
Why is it that the words don't shove
Their way past the page, float in space-
Be the cup that fills to the brim, spills,
a crested wave that swallows so bold?
Surely there's more to the heart that fills
Each passing day, glitters more than gold.
When you're in love, you do more than shout
your affections to the expansive skies.
You grab it by the clutches, wring it about
Turn it on its head, fling it 'til it flies
Like a boomerang coming back quick,
Knocking you from any place you may stand.
Heavy and heady, a fog so thick
You're lost to its clutch, no longer in command.
Make me feel this, this pain yet pleasure
In the rhythm of the text with which you dance
Only here I can gain no true measure
Of what love provides you with a single glance.
It's an empty rhyme, the most empty rhyme,
A rhyme with which I do not choose to bide my time.
Because the experience doesn't make me feel like its mine,
And for all that's worth? Not any second, not any dime.
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