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(Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt was for a poem written in the form of a review. Perfect for a poet/movie reviewer, right? In this case, I combined my usual poem and review into the single rant below.)
For those who might think I like all animation, I’ll simply refer to this dreadful creation. I’ve mentioned before that I cherish the art And story of Ghibli’s Whisper of the Heart, And after I saw it, I searched on my own For anime like it that might be well-known For a similar quiet and intimate tone. I read some good things about this little flick From Makoto Shinkai and hoped it would click. I watched it, this 5 Centimeters Per Second, And found it was not at all what I had reckoned. This Japanese drama with praise was anointed. Did no critic see how delayed and disjointed This tearjerker is? Was just I disappointed? The film’s broken up into three distinct parts, With each saying more of the breaking of hearts. It starts off with promise; two thirteen-year-olds Are both separated as each life unfolds. By train, the boy Tono then travels through white, Through blizzard and blockages to reunite With distant Akari who waits through the night. This first part alone could have stayed on its own And is rather sweet, though it’s tedium-prone, But Parts 2 and 3 are unduly depressing, With one girl downcast by love she’s not professing, And then we see Tono grown up, while Akari Has moved on without him, with both feeling sorry And gazing at petals and skies dark and starry. The film lasts an hour, with a pace so not vital It seems twice as long, with less speed than the title, Which fondly refers to the unhurried crawl At which cherry blossoms supposedly fall. When all’s said and done, out of nowhere appears A strange music video meant to draw tears To recap this great waste of time for the ears. The film’s greatest strength is the beautiful art, A treat for the eyes if not quite for the heart. The landscapes are lovely, replete with details, But that’s not enough, for the story still fails. There’s much symbolism with petals and birds, With launches of space probes and unspoken words, And some of it’s poignant, though broken in thirds. The imagery may be the film’s biggest draw, But how it’s employed is a signature flaw. Most anime’s mingled with peaceful transitions, A still or an object, like small intermissions, But actions in this film are drawn out and laced With tons of these images, ploddingly paced, Which may bear some beauty but aren’t to my taste. Yet what do I draw from these touching vignettes, That love sure can stink when it’s full of regrets? A drama needs more than some symbols about The fact that some romances just don’t work out. There aren’t even reasons implied to explain Why two former lovebirds broke up in such pain. I grieved by the end, for my hour spent in vain. Rank: Bottom-Dweller© 2015 S. G. Liput
302 Followers and Counting
The author Jane Austen
Refused to get lost in
Romance of her own,
Though for that she’s well-known.
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I am the fire that burns out of sight,
Starting my rampage as merely a wisp.
Celebrate victory into the night;
I will burn you and your spire to a crisp.
Why do they build these skyscrapers so high,
Making it simpler with every floor
For me to cut off and trap in the sky
Everyone over my fiery roar?
Look at the people who panic and flee,
Visitors boasting illustrious names.
Look at the firemen battling me,
Feeble to fight in the face of my flames.
I am inferno, the new height of heat,
No other bastion of bragging is hotter.
Top of the world, Ma! None can defeat
Me or my mayhem, except—oh no—water!
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Dark, be not proud, though some have cause
To fear when you fall, for you’re not that bad.
For those with blind eyes, you’re vexing a tad,
But not so much when all live by your laws.
You’re at your worst when men barge in because
They want some drugs that they can’t seem to find.
It’s hard to tell their truthfulness of mind
When I can’t see their flimsily-veiled flaws.
Thou art slave to caves, blinds, clouds, and Audrey Hepburn
And dost with broken lights and switchblades dwell,
But lighters and fridge doors can your shadow quell,
And thwart your hopeful fortunes, which (yep) turn.
One long night past, with you and deadly men,
And I won’t dare unlock the door again.
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When R.P. McMurphy gets bored,
He’s sent to a hospital board
To see if he’s nuts
Or just faking with guts
To reach the relaxed mental ward.
He starts to make unstable friends
And bucks what the nurse recommends.
Nurse Ratched cruelly
Won’t let him watch TV,
But Mac sees how far a rule bends.
Before ol’ Mac busts out, the bum
Carouses with each crazy chum.
When in comes the nurse,
Words and actions are terse,
But one inmate will not succumb.
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Cities are a dying breed,
Though those who live in them know not.
They’re full of people, noise, and need,
Yet lack the treasures man forgot,
The joys of wind and sprouting seed
And peace of mind that can’t be bought.
Here in Cross Creek, my writing wakes,
Surrounded by the Spanish moss,
By sylvan streams that link the lakes
And tiny boats to get across.
I moved here for the silence’ sakes;
The lack of clamor is no loss.
My neighbors are a different folk;
Like me, they tend to stay apart,
To work beneath the ancient oak
And never reckon to depart.
We hear the frogs in chorus croak
And know the creatures’ songs by heart.
Cities are a dying breed,
Though some say nature will go first.
Yet renters ever will secede
To find the home for which they thirst.
Cross Creek and peace will thrive indeed
When all the cities have dispersed.
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Rebecca is dead, but her room is the same.
The servants still miss her and whisper her name.
Her husband is grieving, and tries to move on,
But Mrs. de Winter is not fully gone.
Her secrets remain, as do Mr. de Winter’s,
Secrets that torture him daily like splinters.
His new wife is innocent, nervous, and shy;
She shouldn’t learn them, nor understand why.
But secrets have habits of being found out,
Casting suspicion and panic and doubt.
Rebecca is dead, Mrs. Danvers knows well,
And yet Manderley is still under her spell.
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Rhyme and Reason 