Poetry in Progress ~ construction zone

[rikaaim]

Here's a poem I have working in progress. I'd like to try and display the sacrafice of the wife. I want to show her happy in everyday marriage life, but in the bedroom she's completely alone. Can I get a few suggestions to help me really make this one shine and sing?

Sacrifice

Sitting alone on the couch,
she sits and waits.

A young woman in need
Body aching for release.

Yearning and burning with desire,
she imagines his touch on her quivering skin.

He sits on the chair watching TV,
oblivious to how his wife needs.

She longs to give herself to him.
He is oblivious to her.

At the end of the night they head upstairs.
Lying in bed they go through the routine.
She's on top, stradling, struggling desperately for release.
He's on his back, hands at his side, drifting off to sleep.

She begins to touch her aching bosom with the slightest touch.
His eyes pop open full of disgust.
He's told her before that he thinks she's a whore.
She sighs mornfully and goes back to being numb.
For a moment she forget that she shouldn't feel. He reminded her.

She's truly in love with him and has a happy home.
Wonderful kids, stays at home to protect them, he works to support them.
Yet this one area is a total disgrace.

Mundane, routine, not even able to explore in her own space.
She digs back deep into her emotional burrow.

Too much is at stake to walk away.
Too many rely on her now.
Her own happiness compromised.
Never fully living the joys of her body.

 

[CharleyH]

Here's a poem I have working in progress. I'd like to try and display the sacrafice of the wife. I want to show her happy in everyday marriage life, but in the bedroom she's completely alone. Can I get a few suggestions to help me really make this one shine and sing?

Sacrifice

Sitting alone on the couch,
she sits and waits.

A young woman in need
Body aching for release.

Yearning and burning with desire,
she imagines his touch on her quivering skin.

He sits on the chair watching TV,
oblivious to how his wife needs.

She longs to give herself to him.
He is oblivious to her.

At the end of the night they head upstairs.
Lying in bed they go through the routine.
She's on top, stradling, struggling desperately for release.
He's on his back, hands at his side, drifting off to sleep.

She begins to touch her aching bosom with the slightest touch.
His eyes pop open full of disgust.
He's told her before that he thinks she's a whore.
She sighs mornfully and goes back to being numb.
For a moment she forget that she shouldn't feel. He reminded her.

She's truly in love with him and has a happy home.
Wonderful kids, stays at home to protect them, he works to support them.
Yet this one area is a total disgrace.

Mundane, routine, not even able to explore in her own space.
She digs back deep into her emotional burrow.

Too much is at stake to walk away.
Too many rely on her now.
Her own happiness compromised.
Never fully living the joys of her body.

I could see improvements that would make the poem less rigid and more liquid.

 

[rikaaim]

I could see improvements that would make the poem less rigid and more liquid.

I would appreciate any insights you care to share. Remember, I'm still new to solidifying my poetry skills, and need all the help I can get. I can't learn to grow if I don't know what I'm not doing to the best of my ability.

 

[champagne1982]

I would appreciate any insights you care to share. Remember, I'm still new to solidifying my poetry skills, and need all the help I can get. I can't learn to grow if I don't know what I'm not doing to the best of my ability.

I'm bringing this post forward to this point because I'd like to know if this was seen and appreciated, even a lil weensie bit, before I expend any new efforts on a different poem.

This is a poem just recently written in a moment of depression. I won't post it because too many of my friends will get concerned when it is not necassary. It's just emtions of a moment, come and gone. Please no one be worried about me. I am really fine.


Do I stay?

Do I go?

To leave now and stop the cycle.

To end it all and let them live in peace.

Who would miss me?

Who would care?

Who's even going to read this?

What does any of it matter?

Attention whore.

That's what they'll call me.

Liar.

That's all I am.

Go ahead.

Label me.

I can't even see the words on the screen.

The gleam shines too bright off the image of the knife.

Go ahead.

Scream.

Hey there Rika. There's a lot of strong, evocative language in this, but are you doing what you want to do to your reader with this poem? I realize that during this writing you were likely conveying your emotions of anger and loneliness, but I would much rather emote than react. Do you understand what I mean?

As your poem rests now, I tend to sigh and feel exasperated when I read through it because I feel you're trying to scare me or maybe to gain my sympathy. That would be getting a reaction. If I need to read cutter and suicide threat poetry, I'd much rather find a piece that makes me understand your motivations through stronger symbology.

Instead of telling me the gleam shines too bright, show me through a piercing lancet of brightness. When you can't see the words on the screen explain that your vision is blurred by the salty pain of tears held back. What happens if you release your tears? Did Mom or Dad hurt you more because you cried?

For personal agony poetry to work, I think the poet needs to revisit the pain. Many people can't go back to that black place they've managed to kick free of and this, I'll bet, is the real reason that there are very few 'pain poems' that are good reading.

Keep putting your work out there, though. We get better through the experiences of reading and writing. Your friends are right. There is talent here, but for talent to produce anything worth looking at more than once, the artist needs to do a little work.

Thank you for being brave enough to share your poem.

 

[rikaaim]

I'm bringing this post forward to this point because I'd like to know if this was seen and appreciated, even a lil weensie bit, before I expend any new efforts on a different poem.

Champagne, I didn't even realize you did a review for me. I am terribly, terribly sorry. I just posted that to get it out of my system. I didn't even intend for it to be disected. I just wanted to kinda blurt it out here. Man, I feel awful now, honest.

I do appreciate your advice. I was just getting ready to comment on it paragraph by paragraph and noticed when I went to quote it, that is was already quoted. I am truly sorry.

 

[rikaaim]

Hey there Rika. There's a lot of strong, evocative language in this, but are you doing what you want to do to your reader with this poem? I realize that during this writing you were likely conveying your emotions of anger and loneliness, but I would much rather emote than react. Do you understand what I mean?

I do understand what you mean. I have always been good at relaying emtions, or so I've been told, but I've really only looked at my writing in one way, as a writer. I'm still learning to read my writings, as a reader, and thus see what attracts the reader to my works. I do grasp what you are saying as far as emoting, but I'm still not fully sure how to achieve that effect. I'm getting slightly better as I go though.

As your poem rests now, I tend to sigh and feel exasperated when I read through it because I feel you're trying to scare me or maybe to gain my sympathy. That would be getting a reaction. If I need to read cutter and suicide threat poetry, I'd much rather find a piece that makes me understand your motivations through stronger symbology.

Yes, agreed fully. I'm just not too sure about strong symbols. I really do need to read more and learn by observing.

Instead of telling me the gleam shines too bright, show me through a piercing lancet of brightness. When you can't see the words on the screen explain that your vision is blurred by the salty pain of tears held back. What happens if you release your tears? Did Mom or Dad hurt you more because you cried?

I can clearly see what you mean here. This is the exact kind of questions I need to be asked. So I can answer them. I thank you for the questions because I'm not sure which ones need to be asked. I know it seems a little too step-by-step as far as instructions, but I really do grasp the concept better this way. Thanks again.

For personal agony poetry to work, I think the poet needs to revisit the pain. Many people can't go back to that black place they've managed to kick free of and this, I'll bet, is the real reason that there are very few 'pain poems' that are good reading.

You are right again. I feel the very same way, that that point that spawned all the hurt and turmoil must be fully relived to get the effect. However, I have left that painful place, thankfully.

Keep putting your work out there, though. We get better through the experiences of reading and writing. Your friends are right. There is talent here, but for talent to produce anything worth looking at more than once, the artist needs to do a little work.

Thank you for being brave enough to share your poem.

Thank you very much for your welcome. Again I appologize for not seeing this earlier. I honestly did just miss it. I didn't expect to even have anyone review it, yet you did with great care to help teach me, for that I am ever grateful. I really did pick up some great tips in your disection, even in this poem I didn't take "seriously".

I'll be sure to let them simmer and sink in. I know it will take me many, many works in order for my poetry to sing, but that's what a lifetime is for. Right?

I appreciate the time you took to enlighten me and teach me. It was nice to meet you.

 

[champagne1982]

Champagne, I didn't even realize you did a review for me. I am terribly, terribly sorry. I just posted that to get it out of my system. I didn't even intend for it to be disected. I just wanted to kinda blurt it out here. Man, I feel awful now, honest.

I do appreciate your advice. I was just getting ready to comment on it paragraph by paragraph and noticed when I went to quote it, that is was already quoted. I am truly sorry.

See? I suspected you hadn't seen it. LOL! Did I comment on a literary purging then? Hopefully, I'll have some time to help you out with your latest.

Quick first impression, though -- Your intro needs to GRAB your reader and shake the crap out of 'em. Why don't you open your poem in the midst of the sex act? The brutality of his indifference there would definitely be a stronger beginning than the slightly melodramatic vignette you tell us about in this version. I'd rather see her loneliness than have it told to me.

Metaphor and imagery are the toughest parts of poetry.

Sacrifice

Sitting alone on the couch,
she sits and waits.

A young woman in need
Body aching for release.

Yearning and burning with desire,
she imagines his touch on her quivering skin.

He sits on the chair watching TV,
oblivious to how his wife needs.

She longs to give herself to him.
He is oblivious to her.

At the end of the night they head upstairs.
Lying in bed they go through the routine.
She's on top, stradling, struggling desperately for release.
He's on his back, hands at his side, drifting off to sleep.

She begins to touch her aching bosom with the slightest touch.
His eyes pop open full of disgust.
He's told her before that he thinks she's a whore.
She sighs mornfully and goes back to being numb.
For a moment she forget that she shouldn't feel. He reminded her.

She's truly in love with him and has a happy home.
Wonderful kids, stays at home to protect them, he works to support them.
Yet this one area is a total disgrace.

Mundane, routine, not even able to explore in her own space.
She digs back deep into her emotional burrow.

Too much is at stake to walk away.
Too many rely on her now.
Her own happiness compromised.
Never fully living the joys of her body.

 

[rikaaim]

See? I suspected you hadn't seen it. LOL! Did I comment on a literary purging then? Hopefully, I'll have some time to help you out with your latest.

In some regards yes. It was more of an emotional word vomit, but your discection will help me in future pieces.

Quick first impression, though -- Your intro needs to GRAB your reader and shake the crap out of 'em. Why don't you open your poem in the midst of the sex act? The brutality of his indifference there would definitely be a stronger beginning than the slightly melodramatic vignette you tell us about in this version. I'd rather see her loneliness than have it told to me.

Metaphor and imagery are the toughest parts of poetry.

You are right in that for me "showing" is much harder than describing, if that makes sense.


Your advice on starting with the act itself is a great idea. I didn't even think of it. Hmmm...much to think on. Thank you.

 

[tungtied2u]

Cancer Moon ( rev 1)

Tonight the moon's face is pale
like a heart patient
after failed surgery,
gray and lifeless, the result
of persistent poisoning
by smoke spewing stacks
and automobile exhausts,

You can almost hear it hacking,
coughing up sickly yellow sputum
which hangs above your head
like a virus laden cloud,
spreading across the sky
blotting out what few pinpoints of hope
remain visible

Bring on the storm of salvation,
unleash full fury on those
who profligate to contaminate
despite the obvious cataclysmic implications
of their actions,
not a whitewash but a washout,
time to flush this toilet,
disinfect,
and start from scratch.

 

[flyguy69]

Glass Case

Black journey, like nothing
seen or touched or
known. The door
that swings one way,
once. Here the placards
of priests, incantations
of faith in faith, the divine

documents we present for inspection
to a keeper, keys
clinking in his pocket. Our acts,
our intents, our love and love
returned. The obsidian
stare, the fingered keys.

Natron, salt
of the earth, of sun-burnt lakes,
sucks blood and sin
and presents a leather record

of Pharaoh, swaddled
as a child. Ten nights he sailed
on boats of skin through the black
long sea of night. Ten times
the moon rose as the dry Nile
descended. As dawn strikes

his golden forehead he pleads
his case. The entrails,
the amulets, the papyrus devotion
to his journey. I study
the book of the dead.
I finger the keys in my pocket.

 

[PatCarrington]

.....

 

[Tathagata]

what will you do
with this lifetime of letters,
these tributes
that I've laid at your feet, or trapped you in, or hurled like
stone accusations?

Will you tell anyone about them?

Or will you tuck them next to
your remembrances of us
and on tongueless days,
when speech has no meaning,
unpack all of me
onto your unnatural bed
and once more become immersed,
curled, crushed,
grasping paper,
mouthing promises and apologies
over and over
and cry
as I do?

My confessions to you will become as prayer flags,
displayed in some remote technology
slowly fading to white until
they can no longer be read.

as it should be.

 

[Angeline]

Darling Tath

Here are some changes I'd make. See what you think. Change it or not, it's marvelous, an excellent poem--honest and full of heart.

You keep that last line off though. It's overkill I'm telling you.



What will you do
with this lifetime of letters,
the tributes I've laid at your feet
or trapped you in, hurled
like stone accusations?

Will you tell anyone about them?

Or will you tuck them
next to your remembrance of us
and on tongueless days,
when speech has no meaning,
unpack all of me
onto our unnatural bed
and once more become immersed,
curled, crushed, grasping paper,
mouthing promises and apologies
over and over
and cry
as I do?

My confessions will be prayer flags,
displayed in this remote technology
slowly fading to white until
they can no longer be read.

 

[Tathagata]

Here are some changes I'd make. See what you think. Change it or not, it's marvelous, an excellent poem--honest and full of heart.

You keep that last line off though. It's overkill I'm telling you.



What will you do
with this lifetime of letters,
the tributes I've laid at your feet
or trapped you in, hurled
like stone accusations?

Will you tell anyone about them?

Or will you tuck them
next to your remembrance of us
and on tongueless days,
when speech has no meaning,
unpack all of me
onto our unnatural bed
and once more become immersed,
curled, crushed, grasping paper,
mouthing promises and apologies
over and over
and cry
as I do?

My confessions will be prayer flags,
displayed in this remote technology
slowly fading to white until
they can no longer be read.

it isnt " our" bed though
it's hers and unnatural because we don't share it??
make sense?

overkill??
gahhhhhhh

minimalist dommy wench


its acceptance
and, of course, my ever present message of transience
it's mah thang babeeee

I may do this as an audio too?
thoughts??

 

[RhymeFairy]

One day ...

I will be away from all this craziness.
A life, home where all is peaceful,
and kind. No more late night scares,
no more manic days of druggish demons.
That sneak and hide, stalking all who
stand in his way.

A day of happiness, is on the horizon.
A day for warmth ... pleasure. A day
where no more will command and restrain
my existence. One day, I shall be free,
to just be me. One day ...

 

[Angeline]

Oh ok. The "our" can be "your." But you don't need that last line--the whole peom speaks acceptance.

Actually you can do whatever you want lol. I just got the best blueberry granola and then I went to a yard sale and found a chaise lounge for the deck (and a book of John Donne's poems for a quarter). I'm in heaven. Say whatever the hell you want.

Not so dommy in Bangor,
Ange

it isnt " our" bed though
it's hers and unnatural because we don't share it??
make sense?

overkill??
gahhhhhhh

minimalist dommy wench


its acceptance
and, of course, my ever present message of transience
it's mah thang babeeee

I may do this as an audio too?
thoughts??

 

[Tathagata]

Oh ok. The "our" can be "your." But you don't need that last line--the whole peom speaks acceptance.

Actually you can do whatever you want lol. I just got the best blueberry granola and then I went to a yard sale and found a chaise lounge for the deck (and a book of John Donne's poems for a quarter). I'm in heaven. Say whatever the hell you want.

Not so dommy in Bangor,
Ange

ok ok
you hippie broads
so wishy washy

have fun

 

[Angeline]

ok ok
you hippie broads
so wishy washy

have fun

free-spirited


and a belly full of blueberry granola.

 

[PatCarrington]

I give up. I get ideas, and start them and then they fall flat. Here are 2 I've been working on, and then just fizzled. Can anyone do anything with them?

This one was born of the Dreams and Fantasy thread, though it's a nonerotic dream.

Incantations at a clip
as her mind began to slip

she trod the hill behind the house
basket on her arm
bearing gifts to those she loved

Her Jamie, her beloved
wailing on his harp
notes crossing the valley
sitting behind her wrapping her
in strong armed warmth
while Ma and Pa sat across
the table nodding
that life was good.

pouring water on the ground
stepping patterns all around

Firstborn Jesse with black curls
framing eyes that saw the future
running back to kiss her once again
the fever already burning
as Uncle Wiley, boyish charm,
telling once again of the
rage on LookOut Mountain
when the Yanks charged the hill
and left few Rebs alive.

fill the pipe up; let it burn
give the clock a backwards turn

Reverend Goodall came to dine
and tell the sermon he loved best
while Patsy poured the tea
and served fried chicken and said,
with a wink at her husband, "A full belly beats
a day of Godly prayer in my book!"
And he sat down and ate while we all laughed.

Now the moon has reached its height
'tis the ending of the night.​

I'm not comfortable with free verse. I feel each line should be distinct, and here they are not. I may be being too strict with myself, as I'm really a form poetry person. *shrugs

boo, here's the look i promised.

before i get to the poem, there are a couple of things i think:

the poem should not be page-centered and shaped. there is no reason for it in this piece that i can see. i think you should left-justify it at the margin.

your punctuation and capitalization are sporadic, used almost at whim. in my opinion, both should be consistently used throughout (except in the incantations here, which are meant to be “different” from the vignettes). either use it correctly throughout, or don’t, but not here and there.

‘Lookout’ incorrectly has a capital O in the middle of it, and ‘strong-armed’ needs a hyphen.

i would use strict punctuation and capitalization in the vignettes, and none at all in the incantations (as well as keeping the incantations italicized and metered and separated, to make the two parts of the poem as distinct from one another as i could).

here is what it would look like then, without any phrasing changes:


incantations at a clip
as her mind began to slip

She trod the hill behind the house,
basket on her arm,
bearing gifts to those she loved.

Her Jamie, her beloved
wailing on his harp,
notes crossing the valley,
sitting behind her, wrapping her
in strong-armed warmth
while Ma and Pa sat across
the table nodding
that life was good.

pouring water on the ground
stepping patterns all around

Firstborn Jesse with black curls
framing eyes that saw the future,
running back to kiss her once again.
The fever already burning
as Uncle Wiley, boyish charm,
telling once again of the
rage on Lookout Mountain
when the Yanks charged the hill
and left few Rebs alive.

fill the pipe up let it burn
give the clock a backwards turn

Reverend Goodall came to dine
and tell the sermon he loved best
while Patsy poured the tea
and served fried chicken and said,
with a wink at her husband, "A full belly beats
a day of Godly prayer in my book!"
And he sat down and ate while we all laughed.

now the moon has reached its height
'tis the ending of the night


it is a wonderful story. i think it should be made crystal clear somehow, in the first three lines after the initial incantation, that she is visiting a graveyard. also, the idea of ‘gifts’ is mentioned and dropped. somewhere, i’d like to know what she brings them.

i think there are some clumsy spots where the phrasing needs to be cleaner.

this:

sitting behind her, wrapping her

can be done with only one ‘her’

this:

while Ma and Pa sat across…

…that life was good.

‘sat’ and ‘was’ don’t feel right. ‘sit’ and ‘is’ are better. the first vignette works better for me as a ‘present tense’ flashback.


this:

running back to kiss her once again.
The fever already burning
as Uncle Wiley, boyish charm,
telling once again of the

the double "once again’s" feel awkward to me.

and i would also tell the last vignette in present tense as well, for consistency, as if they are happening as she visits their graves.

i would also attempt some kind of ‘closure’ in the last line of the last vignette, to match the excellent closure of the last incantation.

once those things were done, i would attempt to sharpen images and phrasing as best i could.

hope this helps a little, boo-boo.

 

[BooMerengue]

Wow! I just happened to pop in and see this. Thank you so much, Pat.

This is a very 1st draft. I always wait and do my punctuation at the end. I've decided to rework this all together by first writing the 'incantations' as a base and then after they are in a timely order, weaving the vignettes around and through. You're right about the tense; I hadn't noticed it. I did originally mean to introduce the baskets contents and then forgot about it.

I'm going to transfer these comments to my notebook and work on it while I'm away.

Thanks, dear man!

 

[PatCarrington]

Wow! I just happened to pop in and see this. Thank you so much, Pat.

This is a very 1st draft. I always wait and do my punctuation at the end. I've decided to rework this all together by first writing the 'incantations' as a base and then after they are in a timely order, weaving the vignettes around and through. You're right about the tense; I hadn't noticed it. I did originally mean to introduce the baskets contents and then forgot about it.

I'm going to transfer these comments to my notebook and work on it while I'm away.

Thanks, dear man!

enjoy your time away.

 

[BooMerengue]

enjoy your time away.

Thank you, honey, but now I'm not going.

So... hows this?

suns gone down and moon has risen
time has come to seek the vision

listen closely; hear the voices
recognize that life is choices

Incantations at a clip
as her mind begins to slip

fill the pipe up; let it burn
give the clock a backwards turn

pour the water on the ground
stepping patterns all around

see the mist take on the shapes
of long ago and happy days

da dum da dum etc
need one or 2 more here

Now the moon has reached its height
'tis the ending of the night.

maybe one more here

any thoughts? more incantations? too many?

I want the incantations to be a stand alone poem. Then I'll weave the rest around...

 

[Tathagata]

I have loosed yet another paper lantern
out among dancing currents
that swirl and eddy
spinning it father away

wedding veil fragile
its flame bobbing craning looking back to watch me become
one with the darkness
void of light again

i hear the chortle of mountain run off
rich flow in the night
wondering aloud
why i bother
no water seen in the dark

some where downstream
amazed eyes watch
a hundred flames parade by
with no explanation
tears don't burn and so
they laugh
and wonder what wonderful things are going on
up on the mountain

 

[PatCarrington]

Thank you, honey, but now I'm not going.

So... hows this?

suns gone down and moon has risen
time has come to seek the vision

listen closely; hear the voices
recognize that life is choices

Incantations at a clip
as her mind begins to slip

fill the pipe up; let it burn
give the clock a backwards turn

pour the water on the ground
stepping patterns all around

see the mist take on the shapes
of long ago and happy days

da dum da dum etc
need one or 2 more here

Now the moon has reached its height
'tis the ending of the night.

maybe one more here

any thoughts? more incantations? too many?

I want the incantations to be a stand alone poem. Then I'll weave the rest around...

well, it's good to have you around still.

you seem to be asking me my opinion about this set of incantations, but i think i'm certainly the wrong person to judge this sort of attempt. i have biases against this type of writing. i think they're well-founded ones, but they are prejudices, nonetheless.

i understand that you love form poetry, are iambically inclined. but i bristle at writing that i think sacrifices content for structure, that chooses words above other, better words simply because they fit a beat or rhyme.

so i think there are others here who could give you a more accurate map to get where you are trying to go.

it really is great you didn't disappear. you add much to make the overall mood of this community more pleasant.

 

[BooMerengue]

well, it's good to have you around still.

you seem to be asking me my opinion about this set of incantations, but i think i'm certainly the wrong person to judge this sort of attempt. i have biases against this type of writing. i think they're well-founded ones, but they are prejudices, nonetheless.

i understand that you love form poetry, are iambically inclined. but i bristle at writing that i think sacrifices content for structure, that chooses words above other, better words simply because they fit a beat or rhyme.

so i think there are others here who could give you a more accurate map to get where you are trying to go.

it really is great you didn't disappear. you add much to make the overall mood of this community more pleasant.

Thanks Pat! But I sure don't feel like I add much to this place. I'd get a better response if I did.

I'm glad you were upfront with your comments, and if you don't particularly care for a type of poem you can't be blamed for that. I understand.

But... I don't sacrifice a word for a form. When I think of what I want to write it comes out in the form I use. I don't think in free verse. Well... lol! I barely think in phrases! But I have used/written both ways and its just that this piece came out this way. I didn't plan it- I'm just trying to improve it.

I was raised on form poetry. No one ever read anything else to me, and since, though from my grand parents on down we were all great readers, no one ever read to me or showed me anything else. As I got older poetry was the last thing I looked for when I looked for something to read. So I am coming from my roots, stunted though they be.

Thanks anyway, DollBoy!