All expectations just surgically take what's theirs and vanish.

There is one person, on a website in which I submit poetry to who always comes back with the most amazing reviews. I read them, and my heart leaps, its like he knows what I'm saying, he GETS the content of my work, he knows when I'm not writing from personal experience, and he knows when I am, and when I am not he tells me about what its like. He is near 60 it seems, quite an older fellow. His review of my poem today, was staggering.


"If you could change the gender of the protagonist, you'd have my last days with my Dad. It didn't help that I was a wimp, unable to look at needle -going in, coming out, docile... So I kept his blanket up a lot and lied to myself. I knew I only had to lie for under two weeks. It lasted six days.

He smoked too much.

The second verse had that humorous red-herring feel that the staff felt necessary to heave my way, but it never fit. Bless them for trying. My assumption is that none of them had to bury a parent yet.

"....watching the tubes like roadways puncture into the concrete of her skin..." was quite a turn of a phrase that was not overkill, yet brought a point home solidly, and with your autograph as did "...pixelated tan Savannah - her skin...": Both are satisfying morsels of information around a topic where a dissatisfying situation lords over every aspect.

Under the law that states that morose topics can, and often do make fine reading, this one is a stellar example. "

I felt great about his comments on my work, really great. I always make sure to write him back and let him know how much I apreciate it.

This is a poem written by him, Paul W. Murray

falling out-of-love is different

It's so easy to feel,
when falling in love,
how days blossom fully
into lush expectations.

But the feel of falling
out-of-love never
tints anyone's
expectations dark, no,

all expectations
just surgically
take what's theirs
and vanish.

My review is as follows:

"Hello again Paul, nice to see more work of yours here. I haven't been reviewing/posting much because of some real-life stress, oddly enough, it shares much with your piece. I just got out of a two and a half year relationship, she fell out of love, as she says. When reading this I wondered if that is what she felt like. I hope that is what it felt like to her, rather than just so plain as one would imagine it.

Days blossoming into expectations is probably the most accurate thing that is said in your poem. Yes its fair that by anyone's telling you can spend your afternoon strolling in a museum with that other whom you find so significant, with her only dreaming of wedding bands and candlelit dinners. It is so easy to look to the future when the present is so beautiful, and vise-versa when you are staring down loneliness in the face.

If expectations were anything, they would be the grim reaper, stealing away your preconceived notions of whats to come. This is detailed amazingly here, and I appreciate the writing. "

Sorry if that bit was boring, I just wanted to put into the permanency of the internet how much I appreciate his work, and why.

Today was...boring. I am going to see the Meat Flower with Katrina tomorrow.