Double Blind 3 - Poems and Critiques Only

[greenmountaineer]

Legacy

We so admired the shadow
of our vast leathern wings upon the sands below
We were descending
We took possession of the land
and like a termite queen
disgorged a host
Berserkers who did not discriminate
between our quarry and our comprador
or us
A million anguished voices stilled
swallowed in the heaving murmur of the sea

I learn something new every day.:

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Berserker

 

[Magnetron]

I learn something new every day.:

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Berserker

If these were a race of insect people, they could be Beeswaxers.

 

[AlwaysHungry]

Legacy

We so admired the shadow
of our vast leathern wings upon the sands below
We were descending
We took possession of the land
and like a termite queen
disgorged a host
Berserkers who did not discriminate
between our quarry and our comprador
or us
A million anguished voices stilled
swallowed in the heaving murmur of the sea

I would replace "We were descending" and "We took" with something like "having descended," and "taking".

I agree that those lines are awkward, although I'm not sure I like Mags' replacement proposals either.

"who did not discriminate" seems rather dry, also.

 

[legerdemer]

Legacy

We so admired the shadow
of our vast leathern wings upon the sands below
We were descending
We took possession of the land
and like a termite queen
disgorged a host
Berserkers who did not discriminate
between our quarry and our comprador
or us
A million anguished voices stilled
swallowed in the heaving murmur of the sea

Puzzling, this one. I think it is a political allegory about the US. But I could be wrong. If I am right, however, the language and the topic gives me a hint on the author...

I hear the middle lines like so:

We descended.
Took possession of the land
and...

 

[greenmountaineer]

Puzzling, this one. I think it is a political allegory about the US. But I could be wrong. If I am right, however, the language and the topic gives me a hint on the author...

I hear the middle lines like so:

We descended.
Took possession of the land
and...

If it's an allegory, it needs to be teased more IMO. I read it instead as a brief descriptive poem of some epic battle in Norse mythology, perhaps because of the title.

The simile of the termite queen confused me. A Google search suggested a rival villain of Wonder Woman. Because it wasn't capitalized, I read it literally, but somehow it didn't connect with "Berserkers," at least for me.

Either what you suggest, Mer, or "were descending/to take" I think works better.

 

[Magnetron]

I think it is about Vikings with their dragon winged themed ships.




Or Bedbugs.

 

[greenmountaineer]

I think it is about Vikings with their dragon winged themed ships.....

That makes more sense, but "wings," "shadows," and "descending" give the appearance of flight. I actually rather like the image of Odin coming out of the sky. That may have been the poet's intent or my imagination gone awry, but that could well have been how people felt in their fear when the Berserkers beached their ships. In that case I would have emphasized their oars more. I could be mistaken, but I believe Viking marauders secured their oars in an upright position when they beached. That certainly would give the appearance of wings, frightful ones at that. However, I'd ditch "leathern." That may refer to combat attire, but it's confusing.

I'm starting to like this poem, even if I'm out in left field, because the images are fascinating, but it needs to be more coherent.

 

[Piscator]

The simile of the termite queen confused me. A Google search suggested a rival villain of Wonder Woman.

Must be my biological background but I took it literally. There is an interesting Scientific American blog on termites which states

"A termite queen will produce one egg every three seconds, averaging about 30,000 eggs PER DAY. That’s 10,950,000 eggs per year. And when you take into account the fact that a termite queen will often live till she’s 20 years old, that means 219,000,000 eggs, just from one single little insect. So that lumpy little lady above = almost a quarter of a billion babies."

which fits well with the relevant lines in the poem

"and like a termite queen
disgorged a host"

But then I often miss allegory.

 

[greenmountaineer]

Must be my biological background but I took it literally. There is an interesting Scientific American blog on termites which states

"A termite queen will produce one egg every three seconds, averaging about 30,000 eggs PER DAY. That’s 10,950,000 eggs per year. And when you take into account the fact that a termite queen will often live till she’s 20 years old, that means 219,000,000 eggs, just from one single little insect. So that lumpy little lady above = almost a quarter of a billion babies."

which fits well with the relevant lines in the poem

"and like a termite queen
disgorged a host"

But then I often miss allegory.

As I wrote in the earlier post, I took the line as literal, so I'm with you, Piscator. However, I'm not so sure it's an allegory anymore.

 

[Magnetron]

This poem and ensuing discussion calls to mind the lyrics of Led Zeppelin's "Immigrant Song".

Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah
We come from the land of the ice and snow,
From the midnight sun where the hot springs blow.
The hammer of the gods will drive our ships to new lands,
To fight the horde, singing and crying: Valhalla, I am coming!
On we sweep with threshing oar, Our only goal will be the western shore.

Ah, ah,
We come from the land of the ice and snow,
From the midnight sun where the hot springs blow.
How soft your fields so green, can whisper tales of gore,
Of how we calmed the tides of war. We are your overlords.
On we sweep with threshing oar, Our only goal will be the western shore.

So now you'd better stop and rebuild all your ruins,
For peace and trust can win the day despite of all your losing.

 

[AlwaysHungry]

I'm glad that Robert Plant stopped writing lyrics after two stanzas, because you can bet your bottom dollar that the third stanza would have hobbits.

 

[Lyricalli]

DB3-1: A Good Night Near Oude Kerk - legerdemer

A Good Night Near Oude Kerk

The night light flickers, enough to light my steps,
a glow that warms and lies at the same time.
I strip off layers of mascara, rouge and shadow.
The dress has done its duty, worn velvet and torn sequins
covering bruises, needle marks, and plenty other sins.

Most nights bleed into mornings that scream their
too-bright sunshine, heel and arch moan their torture
through laddered stockings. My ears still ring with laughter
and those first gentle touches of would-be gentlemen.

A good night's when no one’s noticed the prosthesis,
the joke fate traded for its pound of my flesh.
I take it off slowly, roll the stocking
down the too-smooth flesh-pink plastic
like a mannequin under my fingers.

It's a good day when no one coos their pity
mixed with worthless pieties, after a two-Motrin
evening, smoke chased with gin and tonics,
scars blending under sagging, distended flesh.

I remember days long past, when a man’s arm
snaked round my shoulder, his fingers
oh-so-casually brushing audacious curves
through openings that left little to imagination.
Light found no room to slither
between our shoulders, hips, and thighs.

His fingers lingered, probed deep into my caverns
and brought out my devotion for free.
Back then I thought we shared our romance,
sitting together, watching the barges rise and fall softly
with the Prinsengracht lapping its banks.

Now, on a good night, he mistakes my averted eyes
for shyness. “Don't be coy, darling,
we're both adults here.”



Comment

Thanks for the comments, all. I considered all of them and played around quite a bit before coming to this version of this "work in progress". For better or worse, I added more story - and I was inspired a bit by some recent prompts by Tzara on the 5 Senses thread, but that entry was too late. The location came from that - I don't think the poem needs it, but it placed the action and provided some pleasing backstory IMO.

Piscator, I thought about your suggestion of deleting the entire prosthesis stanza, but at the moment it's a darling I'm still too fond of to kill. I was amused that you sussed me out; I felt I needed to redirect attention so as not to admit authorship by default.

The Good Night

The night light flickers on, just enough to light my steps
a glow that warms and lies at the same time.
I strip off layers of mascara, rouge and eye shadow
- that's when the night's been good,
my ears still ringing with jokes and laughter
and the first gentle touches of would-be gentlemen.

Most nights bleed into mornings that scream their too-bright
sunshine, heel and arch moaning their torture through
rips in stockings, foundation and mascara smeared on the pillow.
The dress has done its duty, despite worn velvet and torn sequins,
mostly covering the bruises, needle mark scabs, and other sins.

A good night's when no one notices the prosthesis.
I take it off slowly, roll the sweat-stained sock
down the too-smooth flesh-pink plastic,
hard like a mannequin under my fingers,
loosen the buckles as if it were just another boot,
put it aside for another day.

It's a good day when no one coos their pity mixed with worthless pieties;
only a two-Motrin evening, smoke chased with gin and tonics,
the scars blending under the sagging, distended flesh, as
he asks, "what do you have to lose? don't be coy, we're both adults here."

 

[Lyricalli]

DB3-2: That's Shallot! - UnderYourSpell

That's Shallot!

This crazy life is like an onion.
This crazy life is like an onion.
designed to make everyone weep.
Designed to make everyone weep
an onion is life designed crazy
to make everyone weep like this.

Each layer reveals more layers.
Each layer reveals more layers
nothing changes the outlook,
nothing changes the outlook.
The outlook more layers, each
layer reveals nothing changes.

As life vegetates, under the skin
as life vegetates, under the skin,
only the juice brings zip and vim,
only the juice brings zip and vim.
Zip under the skin and as life
brings vim, juice only vegetates.

This crazy onion vegetates as life,
zip under the skin and weep.
Only designed to layer, is the outlook
nothing brings changes?
Make everyone like more layers,
as each juice reveals the vim.

That's Shallot!

This crazy life is like an onion.
This crazy life is like an onion.
designed to make everyone weep.
Designed to make everyone weep
an onion is life designed crazy
to make everyone weep like this.

Each layer reveals more layers.
Each layer reveals more layers
nothing changes the outlook,
nothing changes the outlook.
The outlook more layers, each
layer reveals, nothing changes.

As life vegetates, under the skin
as life vegetates, under the skin,
only the juices brings zip and vim,
only the juices brings zip and vim.
Zip the skin and as life juices
brings vim under, only vegetates.

This crazy onion vegetates as life,
zip under the skin and weep.
Only designed to layer the outlook
nothing brings changes, is like
everyone make more layers
as each juice reveals the vim.

 

[Lyricalli]

DB3-3: Truth to Flesh - Sinseria

Truth to Flesh

Silent secrets whispered
Shared across the shrunken screen
For only us to see

The mental maze
Played as a lovers game
For the truth of you
And the truth of me

Collective thoughts
Splayed in the deep dark of night
Seized in a communion of sin

Services surrendered
That lie beyond bended knee
Chained in redemption
To the forlorn lives we lead

Degradation of the lonely mind
Knows no shame
Violated with acts and deeds
Rendered from the innocence of flesh
That will never feel its true caress

This image of clarity
Perfect in its consent
Pixilated by the painted whore
With acceptance and need

But the body cries
For the precision of a touch
Begging as a wounded toy
To feel for once
The burn of willing words
As truth to flesh

Truth to Flesh

Technology at its best
Does not accept the fear
Or the anticipation beseeching the dream
The wills of texts with requests to be
That painted whore on bended knee

Secrets whispered
Shared across the shrunken screen
For only us to see

Collective thoughts
Splayed in the deep dark of night
Tempting the sins of our souls
With messages back and forth
That read of wanton ecstasy

The mental maze
Played as a lovers game
For the truth of you
And the truth of me
Lusting to the written word
With those pixilated pictures
Pristine and clear to please

Dimmed only to the night shades
Shadowed by our minds
Flickering to the innocence of flesh
Hiding the blemished scars
That will never feel its caress
Beyond the words of texts

This image of clarity
Perfect in its consent
Bleeding the heart
To wanton need
But when will it be
Truth to flesh

 

[Lyricalli]

DB3-4: M'Lady's shallot - Piscator

M'Lady's shallot

Tis August, organics abound,
tomatoes juicy and round,
potatoes new dug from the ground,
among the delights to be found.
But best is the lowly shallot.
Queen of the oniony rabble
over it M'Lady did babble,
this oft times neglected veg'table,
which Tennyson never forgot.


Revised (as per gm)


Comment

This was written long before to poke a pin in another challenge/contest where the objective was to write a stanza with the Lady's rhyme scheme. When the paradelle appeared and I completely misfooted it, I decided to pluperfect the contest and add it.

M'Lady's shallot

Tis August, organics abound,
tomatoes juicy and round,
potatoes new dug from the ground,
among the delights to be found.
But best is the lowly shallot.
Queen of the oniony rabble
over it M'Lady did babble,
this oft times neglected vegtable,
which Tennyson never forgot.

 

[AlwaysHungry]

I decided to pluperfect the contest

You can never go wrong doing that.

 

[Lyricalli]

DB3-5: Itch You Can't Scratch - greenmountaineer

Itch You Can't Scratch

You more than a beer can, Bro,
more than a four pack of sixteen ouncers
of buzz you get for four dollar
ninety-nine from your new lady's handbag
when she wash dishes in her kitchen,

but you gonna do some tap water, Bro,
so she don't go polish knobs in the projects
to pay the city next month's rent,
though all the streetlights is busted,
the hoops in the park ain't got net,

and your kid who ain't never lived with you
runs in the streets in his Nikes,
side-stepping cock socks and empties
towards his mama's dead bolt door
to sleep on her Salvation Army

where he get some biblical shit
an' mabbee a little somethin' to eat
cos he ain't as thirsty as you is yet.



Comment

What I like about these DB Challenges is the ability to take some risks in the first draft to see if something will register or not. "Black diamond" was one. Somewhere I heard a Crip refer to his girlfriend as his "blue diamond," given the Crip's colors and perhaps the allusion "diamonds are a girl's best friend." It didn't take hold; that was good to know.

Likewise, "Abbyssinian Baptist ass" didn't make it to the revision. It was an allusion to the notable church in Harlem. The poem was inspired by the HBO Series, "The Wire," most of which deals with life in the Baltimore public housing projects. Life there is raw. The same can be said for Southside, Chicago, or Watts in LA.

It's easy to say "Why don't they pull themselves up by the bootstraps" when you don't have to do the same. We're all taught from the earliest age of cognition to view the world a certain way. Life in the projects, it seems to me, becomes a psychological prison for young children long before many of them wind up in real prison.

Thirst

You're more than the bottle, once the cap's off,
but you're dying for two more 22 ouncers
you rent for a buzz that takes three dollar
ninety-nine more from your black diamond's rent

but you're gonna have some Kool-Aid instead
so she don't polish knobs in the projects
where all the lamppost lights are busted,
the two bent hoops ain't got no nets,

and your kid who's never lived with you
runs in the streets in his Nike's
around the glass, douche bags, and empties
whose once Abyssinian Baptist ass

is trying to turn his other cheeks
towards Mama to sleep on her K-Mart couch
and get a little something to eat,
since he ain't as thirsty as you are yet.

 

[Lyricalli]

DB3-6: Legacy - AlwaysHungry

Legacy

We so admired the shadow
of our vast wings upon the sands below
and on our lips a honeyed litany
extolling all those principles
we privately despise.
Wrapped in a raiment
of celluloid solicitude
our leader thundered from two teleprompters,
then like a termite queen
disgorged a host
anointed berserkers, untroubled by the niceties
that separate our puppets from our foes
or us;
A million anguished voices silenced, as they sought to flee
swallowed in the heaving murmur of the sea.

Legacy

We so admired the shadow
of our vast leathern wings upon the sands below
We were descending
We took possession of the land
and like a termite queen
disgorged a host
Berserkers who did not discriminate
between our quarry and our comprador
or us
A million anguished voices stilled
swallowed in the heaving murmur of the sea

 

[UnderYourSpell]

That's Shallot!

This crazy life is like an onion.
This crazy life is like an onion.
designed to make everyone weep.
Designed to make everyone weep
an onion is life designed crazy
to make everyone weep like this.

Each layer reveals more layers.
Each layer reveals more layers
nothing changes the outlook,
nothing changes the outlook.
The outlook more layers, each
layer reveals nothing changes.

As life vegetates, under the skin
as life vegetates, under the skin,
only the juice brings zip and vim,
only the juice brings zip and vim.
Zip under the skin and as life
brings vim, juice only vegetates.

This crazy onion vegetates as life,
zip under the skin and weep.
Only designed to layer, is the outlook
nothing brings changes?
Make everyone like more layers,
as each juice reveals the vim.

Not sure if this is how I comment but I'm sure Lyricalli can sort it lol

I deliberately gobbledegooked a lot of this poem to see if it would be seen for what it was or just a badly written poem! Well done to Mer for getting there first
Now for some points made. Magnetron you were quite right about the 'juices', it's amazing how many times you can read through a poem and miss the obvious mistake!
Sinseria I'm sorry you can't put in extra words to make it make sense
AlwaysHungry and Mer ..... sorry but the vegetates stays for the simple reason that an onion is a vegetable
GM it's your fault I wrote it! I was looking through Tzara's Form thread and saw your comments
Piscator the reason some repetitions have capitals and some don't is because I only capitalise at the beginning of a sentence and some of the repeats are enjambed (is that a real word, does one ejamb an enjambment?) into the next line.
I redid the last stanza and hope it makes better sense, oh and I didn't comment on anyone's poems at the time because I didn't want you to realise I was in on this one

 

[Lyricalli]

Not sure if this is how I comment but I'm sure Lyricalli can sort it lol

You can comment however you like! Some just sent comments with their revisions to be included in those posts. Commenting separately is just fine, too.

 

[AlwaysHungry]

A Good Night Near Oude Kerk

The night light flickers, enough to light my steps,
a glow that warms and lies at the same time.
I strip off layers of mascara, rouge and shadow.
The dress has done its duty, worn velvet and torn sequins
covering bruises, needle marks, and plenty other sins.

Most nights bleed into mornings that scream their
too-bright sunshine, heel and arch moan their torture
through laddered stockings. My ears still ring with laughter
and those first gentle touches of would-be gentlemen.

A good night's when no one’s noticed the prosthesis,
the joke fate traded for its pound of my flesh.
I take it off slowly, roll the stocking
down the too-smooth flesh-pink plastic
like a mannequin under my fingers.

It's a good day when no one coos their pity
mixed with worthless pieties, after a two-Motrin
evening, smoke chased with gin and tonics,
scars blending under sagging, distended flesh.

I remember days long past, when a man’s arm
snaked round my shoulder, his fingers
oh-so-casually brushing audacious curves
through openings that left little to imagination.
Light found no room to slither
between our shoulders, hips, and thighs.

His fingers lingered, probed deep into my caverns
and brought out my devotion for free.
Back then I thought we shared our romance,
sitting together, watching the barges rise and fall softly
with the Prinsengracht lapping its banks.

Now, on a good night, he mistakes my averted eyes
for shyness. “Don't be coy, darling,
we're both adults here.”

I have been lax in my critiquing, so I'll try to make up for lost time. I am torn between the two versions of this poem. There are some changes in the new version that I like: "the joke fate traded for its pound of my flesh" is a good line. I especially like the new version of the concluding stanza, which is more punchy and ironic.

I don't think I like the fact that it is longer, and sort of meanders through some rather generic erotica in stanzas 5 and 6 (although I do like the image of slithering light.) I don't think those stanzas strengthen the poem -- I think it would have more impact without them. I also like the shorter, less specific title in the original.

In the new version, I think that the shortening of the prosthesis stanza works. On the whole, I think that this bunny would have the most impact when delivered tersely, bluntly, with minimum sentimentality. If you could make a hybrid of the two versions, I think it would pack a wallop.

 

[AlwaysHungry]

Itch You Can't Scratch

You more than a beer can, Bro,
more than a four pack of sixteen ouncers
of buzz you get for four dollar
ninety-nine from your new lady's handbag
when she wash dishes in her kitchen,

but you gonna do some tap water, Bro,
so she don't go polish knobs in the projects
to pay the city next month's rent,
though all the streetlights is busted,
the hoops in the park ain't got net,

and your kid who ain't never lived with you
runs in the streets in his Nikes,
side-stepping cock socks and empties
towards his mama's dead bolt door
to sleep on her Salvation Army

where he get some biblical shit
an' mabbee a little somethin' to eat
cos he ain't as thirsty as you is yet.

With this version, I feel like I am looking through binoculars and the focus has been adjusted. What was blurry before is now clear, and I can understand much better where you intended to go with this.

 

[Magnetron]

Itch You Can't Scratch

You more than a beer can, Bro,
more than a four pack of sixteen ouncers
of buzz you get for four dollar
ninety-nine from your new lady's handbag
when she wash dishes in her kitchen,

but you gonna do some tap water, Bro,
so she don't go polish knobs in the projects
to pay the city next month's rent,
though all the streetlights is busted,
the hoops in the park ain't got net,

and your kid who ain't never lived with you
runs in the streets in his Nikes,
side-stepping cock socks and empties
towards his mama's dead bolt door
to sleep on her Salvation Army

where he get some biblical shit
an' mabbee a little somethin' to eat
cos he ain't as thirsty as you is yet.



Comment

What I like about these DB Challenges is the ability to take some risks in the first draft to see if something will register or not. "Black diamond" was one. Somewhere I heard a Crip refer to his girlfriend as his "blue diamond," given the Crip's colors and perhaps the allusion "diamonds are a girl's best friend." It didn't take hold; that was good to know.

Likewise, "Abbyssinian Baptist ass" didn't make it to the revision. It was an allusion to the notable church in Harlem. The poem was inspired by the HBO Series, "The Wire," most of which deals with life in the Baltimore public housing projects. Life there is raw. The same can be said for Southside, Chicago, or Watts in LA.

It's easy to say "Why don't they pull themselves up by the bootstraps" when you don't have to do the same. We're all taught from the earliest age of cognition to view the world a certain way. Life in the projects, it seems to me, becomes a psychological prison for young children long before many of them wind up in real prison.

The only thing that concerns me is use of the terms like "bro" and "brah" - I immediately think of young white guys.

 

[Magnetron]

A Good Night Near Oude Kerk

The night light flickers, enough to light my steps,
a glow that warms and lies at the same time.
I strip off layers of mascara, rouge and shadow.
The dress has done its duty, worn velvet and torn sequins
covering bruises, needle marks, and plenty other sins.

Most nights bleed into mornings that scream their
too-bright sunshine, heel and arch moan their torture
through laddered stockings. My ears still ring with laughter
and those first gentle touches of would-be gentlemen.

A good night's when no one’s noticed the prosthesis,
the joke fate traded for its pound of my flesh.
I take it off slowly, roll the stocking
down the too-smooth flesh-pink plastic
like a mannequin under my fingers.

It's a good day when no one coos their pity
mixed with worthless pieties, after a two-Motrin
evening, smoke chased with gin and tonics,
scars blending under sagging, distended flesh.

I remember days long past, when a man’s arm
snaked round my shoulder, his fingers
oh-so-casually brushing audacious curves
through openings that left little to imagination.
Light found no room to slither
between our shoulders, hips, and thighs.

His fingers lingered, probed deep into my caverns
and brought out my devotion for free.
Back then I thought we shared our romance,
sitting together, watching the barges rise and fall softly
with the Prinsengracht lapping its banks.

Now, on a good night, he mistakes my averted eyes
for shyness. “Don't be coy, darling,
we're both adults here.”



Comment

Thanks for the comments, all. I considered all of them and played around quite a bit before coming to this version of this "work in progress". For better or worse, I added more story - and I was inspired a bit by some recent prompts by Tzara on the 5 Senses thread, but that entry was too late. The location came from that - I don't think the poem needs it, but it placed the action and provided some pleasing backstory IMO.

Piscator, I thought about your suggestion of deleting the entire prosthesis stanza, but at the moment it's a darling I'm still too fond of to kill. I was amused that you sussed me out; I felt I needed to redirect attention so as not to admit authorship by default.

It definitely reads better. And I glad you kept the prosthesis.

 

[Magnetron]

Not sure if this is how I comment but I'm sure Lyricalli can sort it lol

I deliberately gobbledegooked a lot of this poem to see if it would be seen for what it was or just a badly written poem! Well done to Mer for getting there first
Now for some points made. Magnetron you were quite right about the 'juices', it's amazing how many times you can read through a poem and miss the obvious mistake!
Sinseria I'm sorry you can't put in extra words to make it make sense
AlwaysHungry and Mer ..... sorry but the vegetates stays for the simple reason that an onion is a vegetable
GM it's your fault I wrote it! I was looking through Tzara's Form thread and saw your comments
Piscator the reason some repetitions have capitals and some don't is because I only capitalise at the beginning of a sentence and some of the repeats are enjambed (is that a real word, does one ejamb an enjambment?) into the next line.
I redid the last stanza and hope it makes better sense, oh and I didn't comment on anyone's poems at the time because I didn't want you to realise I was in on this one

You're an evil woman.