Poetry in Progress ~ construction zone

[flyguy69]

Retrograde

Retrograde virus, which means:
turning backwards
the living, the stacking
of one breath on another.
The toothed wheels in each
cellular industry ground to a halt
and then screechingly reversed.

I watched him turn
backwards, the march
of his cells about-faced. His skin
turned first, slow bloom on his cheeks
as wheels groaned in anguish. His mouth
flushed white as the ravenous fungi overtook
him and then, as his lungs spat pink
on his shirt, the slowest of them,
the ashen isolation caught up
and there was nothing further
behind him.

When he was reduced
to a box that fit under the backseat
I took him home, across Ohio,
keeping to the left lane
and always pressing
the gas pedal, unwilling
to slow down.

 

[Du Lac]

having a problem with this one....

I would happily accept any suggestions on this poem. While I like the jest of the work, it to me seems to plainly worded. Now this may be me but what do others see or think? This is from my mystic lake realm so true to the label.. it has some mystery to it...

Time for Du to learn and come right out and ask for help.... I ask only that the critique be in detached kind suggestions ... I learn better this way.... thank you all
du lac~

The Watchman


He sits and waits
her maturing faulters on the edge
poised between earth and sky
his cravings crawl from his mind.

A strength from within, burning under her skin
feminine eyes blink back tears of the past
their path bursting with dusty red rocks
youthful terra filled with vigorous life.

He calls for her to follow
hand held out for her safe approach
pushing her forward into gusting joys
an addiction to share one's mirth.

Elks whistle, grouse dance
echoing canyons filled with silent solace
wide open spaces of healing red
willingly she stands before the watchman.

Protective love wrapped in burly arms
a seduction to change
luring her into a new world
filled with pink folds of clay upon the horizon.

 

[flyguy69]

It is a nice and contemplative piece, Du. I think the mystery would be helped with more concrete imagery, because you want the reader to be certain that they understand it just before you reveal the answer. As it stands now there are a lot of questions so the surprise doesn't really surprise.

Specifically, phrases like "his cravings crawl from his mind." What does that mean, and how might a reader associate it first with a man and later with a canyon? I don't mean take the mystery out of it: mystery is essential to your poem, but I think it needs to have a clear relationship to both the feint and the truth for readers to buy it.

I like the language play like "faulters." Btw, "maturing" and "craving" are gerunds, which always rankle some readers. I also think you may be overusing modifiers. Go though the poem and decide, one by one, if they are necessary. "Dusty," "vigorous," "safe," etc.

Good luck.

 

[Du Lac]

Thank you Fly

Hey Fly
Thank you so much! I see what you are speaking about and will play with it some. Is it not funny that I can look at someone else's work and see the issues but with my own... it is a big NO. I will rework it and see what happens. Appreciate the help
Du~

 

[Vampiric_Mirage]

Ode to a Bulb of Light...

A beacon from the heavens
illuminating my heart and soul,
shining light on an otherwise dim existence.

An infinite army
touched by everyone
desired by the world,
needed over and over again.

How I envy thee,
your simplistic complexity,
your unseen visibility,
how unlike we are.

I am a simple person,
forever in shadows,
lacking inspiration
or even suitable innuendo.

My life is a pale illusion,
insignificant to the world,
whereas you control the world.

If all the world is a stage
you truly do control the lights,
for without you
humanity would be plunged in darkness...

* * *
Lol, sorry after reading the lightbulb thread I couldn't resist doing this...yep a lightbulb is poetic! Thanks for brightening my day

 

[Du Lac]

revision I

The Watchman


He sits and waits,
as cravings crawl from his mind.
They ride the lost winds
hovering within her reach.

Her maturity faulters on the edge
poised between earth and sky.
A young soul housed within
the azure blue skies of middle age.

A strength from within, burns under her skin
feminine eyes blink back tears of the past
their path frozen upon dusty red rocks
cleansing the youthful life filled terra.

Elks whistle, grouse dance
echoing canyons filled with silent solace
wide open spaces of healing red
willingly she stands before the watchman.

He calls for her to follow
hand held out for her approach
pushing her forward into gusting joys
an addiction to share one's mirth.

Protective love wrapped in burly arms
a seduction to change
luring her into a new world
filled with pink folds of clay upon the horizon

 

[Du Lac]

Revision revision revision lol..

The Watchman


He sits and waits,
the cravings crawl from his mind.
They ride the lost winds that
mercifully hover before his Gatekeeper.

Her maturity faulters on the edge
poised between earth and sky.
A young soul housed within
an azure blue of middle age.

A strength from within, burns under her skin
feminine eyes blink back tears of the past
their path frozen upon dusty red rocks,
fracturing a youth filled terra.

Elks whistle, grouse dance. . .
echoing through canyons filled with silent solace.
Illuminated betwixt open spaces of healing red,
undaunted, she stands before the Watchman.

He beckons for her to follow,
hand held out for her approach,
pushing her into a joyful torrent.
His is an addiction to share one's mirth.

Protective love wrapped in burly arms.
Luring her into the new world,
the seduction of change
filled with pink folds of clay upon the horizon.

 

[SeattleRain]

Erica would tell people
"One time I hit a dead end,
and I do not mean metaphorically
I really hit a dead end on new years
driving my parent's station wagon,
a reflector stuck to the bumper
I kept it as a souvenier"

and later I tell her
You do know that was my story
my bumper my literal interpretation

and she laughed
(god she was so gorgeous)
and said oh Jenn
it is all the same story
why bother keeping track?

but she did not say that
it was me only older
and who knows, maybe it was her reflector
it happened so long ago
and she was so gorgeous

 

[annaswirls]

.........

 

[tungtied2u]

I spied a flower peeking from the brush
attracted by her pink yet pallid blush
muted by encroachment of the weeds
she seemed to beg for me to set her free

from the entanglement which she was in
that strangled breath, choked her fragile stem
starved her of the nourishment she required
cast shadows on the future she desired

I knelt beside her, trimmed the overgrowth
so she might bask her face in daylight's glow
released the tendrils choking leaf and stalk
coaxed color back with water, food and talk

until she blossomed with a special splendor
so bold and blinding, able to transcend her
cruel crippling ......

 

[SeattleRain]

He told her
the arms grew our of necessity
every now and then
Lamark gets it right and we do stretch our neck
to bite the leaves, to reach the branches,
to stretch inside to hidden lobes, folded petals
we stretch to invite
or filter, gather or deny
perceptions.

See how they they spin in the sky, my love?
Irradescent, swirling liquid?
They spin like plates in my palms
here above our city of jewels.

War rises above the horizon
followed by Love, held by Fire.
See how they hold their mirrors steady?
See how they stretch to return our favors?

We play bellies like tight stretched drums.
Call for the show to begin.
Clouds draw the curtain
My love, do you remember your lines?

 

[Sabina_Tolchovsky]

Ode to Anna

wanting&wanting&wanting,
always
you, make me want.
sex and lust
at your fingertips with every word you type.
I would lick behind your knee's
and tease your wants from you one by one
slow
slowly
slower
show your goose flesh
breathe out your moans
tremble for me
I will give you something to write about
something a husband could not give you
even if you begged from behind your apron
and you will beg...
for me.
your wanton frustration
part of the attraction
the seduction
you want
embarassed to take
bake cookies all day if you like
drink some coffee with shakey hands
answer his questions about your day
while your mind dreams away
you can feel me between your thighs
slow, wet and hungry
my hands in places that make you squirm
again&again&again.

 

[flyguy69]

::

We finally talk about sex

Sex cannot be the bed-
rock, she says, only the dirt
for growth. We need more
from each other than fucking like animals
that can’t even talk
about their day or their dreams.
What happens when my breasts sag
or you can’t get it up, the TV says
half of men over forty suffer that,
she says.
Yeah, I agree, titfucking is great.
She tightens her jaw and drums
her fingers on the table. We never just cuddle
and tell each other I love you,
and so our relationship is like sand dunes
that look like mountains until a wind blows
them into a stinging cloud. I need you
to talk sometimes and tell me
what you’re thinking, to let me
inside your head.
She’s starting to make sense, now,
and I understand what she wants
from me. I reach across
the table and take her hand in mine
as I look into her eyes. Her pupils are wide
and I can tell by the way her lips quiver
that she knows this is a seminal
moment in our marriage. Honey,
you want me to talk dirty,
to tell you that I want to cum
on your face or call you slut, is that it?
Her air comes out hard
and I think she is starting to cry as she says
you only see me as a sex object.
Yeah, I agree, you’ve got a great body.


::

 

[annaswirls]

........

 

[Rybka]

. . .
You do laundry constantly.
I look on and unravel the silver braid
wondering how you wound up here,
calculating which prescriptions
to fill this month.

This last strophe is so tragically true to life and prescient. - Wonderfully insightful wording!

 

[annaswirls]

This last strophe is so tragically true to life and prescient. - Wonderfully insightful wording!

Thank you so much! This one has been giving me such a headache, it is especially meaningful to hear this compliment.

 

[Sabina_Tolchovsky]

they are old men,
waiting for death with
tarpaline bandages
and fiberglass casts
creaking and moaning in the dark
dreaming the brighter days of
saltwater bows &
creaking ribs
sails full of lusty wind
and a strong mast to hold her
pushing through the trough
wave after wave
of salty spray
they dream
the wind howls through the bone yard
a desperate lover
seeking a lost love
if your silent you can hear them whisper of the golden days

 

[flyguy69]

they are old men,
waiting for death with
tarpaline bandages
and fiberglass casts
creaking and moaning in the dark
dreaming the brighter days of
saltwater bows &
creaking ribs
sails full of lusty wind
and a strong mast to hold her
pushing through the trough
wave after wave
of salty spray
they dream
the wind howls through the bone yard
a desperate lover
seeking a lost love
if your silent you can hear them whisper of the golden days

Very nice.

 

[annaswirls]

very nice, subtle interweaving among the metaphor.

one quick edit, I know this is an "in progress" thread but I noticed your should be you're

they are old men,
waiting for death with
tarpaline bandages
and fiberglass casts
creaking and moaning in the dark
dreaming the brighter days of
saltwater bows &
creaking ribs
sails full of lusty wind
and a strong mast to hold her
pushing through the trough
wave after wave
of salty spray
they dream
the wind howls through the bone yard
a desperate lover
seeking a lost love
if your silent you can hear them whisper of the golden days

 

[flyguy69]

very nice, subtle interweaving among the metaphor.

one quick edit, I know this is an "in progress" thread but I noticed your should be you're

And tarpalin should be tarpaulin.

 

[annaswirls]

And tarpalin should be tarpaulin.

is that a bandage made of turtles?

 

[flyguy69]

is that a bandage made of turtles?

or a plastic sheet over Maryland!

 

[vampiredust]

These Words

My words no longer exhale
the feelings they once did

their lungs are tired
from the constant push of the pen

thoughts come and go,
the microcosm I created

now lies in ruins

 

[annaswirls]

ah it is not easy to write a new poem about writing! This is heartwrenching!
nicely done.

My words no longer exhale
the feelings they once did

their lungs are tired
from the constant push of the pen

thoughts come and go,
the microcosm I created

now lies in ruins

 

[vampiredust]

The Early Days Of Cinema

A locomotive crashes through the iris

shifting perception for a second,
life, for once, becomes stranger

than reality