I know it and You know it: 

It is so very difficult to give criticism in such a way that it can be well received!

Online, Prosers are at a particular disadvantage in that they cannot read all those helpful nonverbal cues of conversation—tone of voice, gesture, facial expression... Wording is everything! Intent can become misconstrued entirely unintentionally, even with great care and good will. On any given day, we interpret things very differently, depending on a wide variety of interdependent factors.

For this reason I refrain from making unsolicited comments that might be deemed “confrontational.” If tagged, private messaged, or emailed by another Proser, though, I consider this as receptivity for a more critical analysis and discussion...I then do my best to take my time to study the post, and weigh my reflections judiciously so as to provide what I do believe is desired candid feedback. This is time consuming, but very enjoyable, and I hope that my observations are useful to the author! 

I am confident that it is entirely possible to discuss a composition with reasonable objectivity; and to even politely debate subjective differences of opinion. Why not?! It is an intelligent activity that goes hand-in-hand with any creative work—Effective self-expression comes from careful consideration of ideas from as many perspectives as possible. In full disclosure, I try very hard to respond to every tag; however, when I am unable to routinely check into Prose, I do occasionally overlook some requests… I have noted two such omissions, which I sincerely regret! There is nothing personal here, just the unrelenting course of Life, which I am certain that in the end everyone understands and forgives.

Indeed, a willingness in our writers-circle to break the barrier of timidity-to-critique (so often found lacking within our day-to-day interactions) is Key!!! I believe, that this exchange unlocks the very HEART of Prose.com

A sick day

Oh! the delight of a sick day

Words shimmer and invite

Skies still dark, but bed warm

Blankets red and green

piled high

While I

Robe-cocooned

pad the room

Dreaming

softly sweet

Outside

A cockatoo dives

Screeches, circles the air

Flash of white

through drizzled rain

Sky patched in blue

Brightens

Sprawls horizons

across the streaks of grey

Day without structure

My only need

to rest and heal

falling slowly

through the breach

Yesterday

my mind

constricted so -

Stalled by office walls -

now breathes deep

Roams free

Curled up warm

in capsuled time

Wide open once again -

Shuddery limbs

Knives in throat

still cannot dim

the delight

of a sick day

I set out one day

To Be -

Everyone I knew

told

me

All it takes

is

the

first

step

One foot

before the other -

But I wonder -

When all you've

Done

is

Doing -

Isn't this

forward

movement

palaver

More

of

the

same

thing?

So I thought to try another way -

Hit it from another angle, so to speak -

I thought, instead, to

Stop.

Stop the striving.

Stop the

trying

too hard.

Stop the

pushing

it

all

Uphill -

and instead

Feel.

It wasn't easy, at first.

My body jittered,

felt on edge.

My chest

felt

hollow.

I twitched

for another

Distraction.

But then -

As time went on

Something strange happened -

The compulsions fell away.

I luxuriated in the silence.

My body unravelled,

Let

Go.

Is this

what it is

to

be

Free?

Is this

what it is

To

Be?

I am

A chameleon.

My face shapeshifts,

Blends into that of so many

Cultures and races

who combine the somewhat pleasing combination

of olive brown skin,

dark brown eyes

and hair

"Oh, you must be Italian

Spanish

South American

Lebanese;

Part-Maori

Turkish

Persian?

Or is it maybe Indian?

But no, I'm insulting you."

No.

You are not.

The truth is much closer to that

than Mediterranean dreams,

Middle Eastern houris

Native American shaman shawled

Mysterious healer from deep within

the Amazon.

It seems

there is something of the exotic in me.

When I was young, in my time

in between

twenty

and thirty

-something

it would pulse through me

involuntary

a low tremolo

a contralto croon

the call of the sea-woman

reeling in

lost voyager men.

Funny that.

In my high school days

it was the blondes

I was envious of.

One girl -

by fourteen, fifteen

her breasts round and fully formed

her hair bounced in soft golden waves

Her eyes blue, her teeth so white

they gleamed -

Boys followed her scent

like Labrador pups

learning the trail of elusive reward.

Radiating Midas maid

all elements perfectly in place

to make

the Eighties Teen Dream -

I skulked, dark and cynical

tongue barbed with sarcasm

hiding behind the no-care front

and a poison pen.

I was sure of the power of my words even then

even as I despaired

my dark ugliness

would leave me ever

alone.

Now

my dark brown hair

is streaked with white

And I can no longer recall

its exact colour

layers of hairdresser dye have tinted it

red brown

dark auburn

a bit darker

a bit lighter

(my olive complexion

no longer glows just so)

the under layer closer to black

to hide the white

and I wonder

if it is time to let it

all just

go -

But I digress.

I am -

When I was young I would say

(more to myself than anyone else)

"I am

the new face of Australia"

I am

where we will all end up

When the races pour into each other

and white is tinted

with yellow and red

brown and black

and the hue

then diluted -

or sometimes enhanced -

again

All our skin tones will blend

A morass of casts -

of castes -

of chroma and tone

and who will care

any longer

or even

be able to tell?

I Am.

i

am 

stagnation

a hollow

person

filled

with the mire 

of self-loathing

jealousy

and covered

in dribbling

honey

poisoned

with lies

*Please note that the flag was an accident. Can I undo it?

I envision a six foot

  Ceiling of dirt

      Can't conceal 

  What I feel

      Cannot deal 

Or avert 

   Wrapped inside 

        Disarray 

            And decay 

You could say

  What you may

      But I'm sick

         Of your day

Fuck you

  Fuck me 

     And fuck this

I'm tired 

   Exhausted 

     I'm fed up

         And pissed

It just might be

  Time for you 

         To die

Don't try

  To ask why

     Just say so long

        Goodbye

It only makes sense

  A solution 

     To end your 

           Pollution 

A future 

   Past tense 

        To reveal 

   Your conclusion 

Now it's time 

   To plot and plan

 This closing

    Of curtains 

Your time now

     Grows short

And this is for 

          Certain 

A tasteless snake

  A mistaken

     Worthless birth

 It's time I forsake you 

    On your last day

 On 

     This 

           Earth

Daniel 

         Jacob 

                Dabney 

And 

   My 

       Fucked 

                 Up 

           Mind 

03-16-17

...shameless self-promotion? Ah, I detest the tooting of horns, and the floofing of plumage, but here goes: my book of poetry, Some Days, Here, is now available:

Amazon

http://buff.ly/nh6UBV

AuthorHouse

http://buff.ly/2mNCgT1

Barnes & Noble

http:/buff.ly/2mNCppx

Whoo hoo. Exciting.

Little man........

you call me dada

and everything else you call

....dada

soon, you will find new words

I pray they are just as joyful to you

As you build your time here

may the road rise

to meet your every step

though if not......

that each stumble

strengthens your will

and reveals your heart

you will change the world

as the world changes you

the roads you travel......

some will share - some will not

either way

your journey shall reveal itself

there are those who will bask in your glow

........that amazing fire

and those who will take from it

let them come or go or remain as they will

know when to let go, my son

and not grasp too long

to what cannot be

then let me know how :)

you will see the light in others

and be drawn

into their fire

there are no wrong turns little man

only transitions

and quite a few destinations

that may confuse

........give it time

you will always know home

in that heart of yours

and like all of us

you will spend your years here

searching for it

whether you know it or not......

try not to take it all too seriously

and if you succeed in that

let me know how :)

good journey little friend

know that you are loved by many

especially this foolish man

......who you call dada

tears falling down 

rolling off 

your body 

freezing 

as they 

roll 

into 

your cold frozen heart 

trying  to thaw 

out 

the pain

your turning 

rock hard 

your forming 

into an icicle 

your constricting 

at every effort of trying to warm your  heart 

cocooning your feelings 

your an iceberg bobbing 

through 

the icy 

cold 

water

of

hurt 

your veins 

turning blue 

lacking 

oxygen 

your treading 

water

your slowly 

loosing 

grasp 

your heading 

to the bottom of the ocean 

I feel mused

But confused

I feel too emotional 

And I don't want to lose

The hope for your love

I probably want to increase 

The dose 

And keep writing 

On prose

To fill up the gap

To satisfy this bullshit hose

Not you prose...

I meant my heart

That in denial and refuse

To

Give up

To

Lose