It's the 2026 Revise-a-Poem Challenge (Comments welcome!)

[SpermFactory]

I am curious about enjambment in your poem and capitalizations.

Of a lamb already sacrificed too
Many times! Their gruesome empire covered

EPIC. I feel like I just read the Bible, having never read the Bible, having purchased the Orange Kings China Bible (you see the pages came pre-stuck together).

 

[Waeponwifestre]

I am curious about enjambment in your poem and capitalizations.



EPIC. I feel like I just read the Bible, having never read the Bible, having purchased a Trump China Bible (you see the pages came pre-stuck together).

I feel kinda bad cause I’ve been busy with other stuff lately so haven’t been commenting as much as I’d like on others poems but the minute I see someone talk about my stuff of course I’m posting immediately

You know all my poems with enjambment are capitalized like that and maybe it’s a dumb answer but I just think it’s more visually appealing to have every line start with a capital letter.

For this poem in particular I wanted a lot of enjambment and exclamation points to really give the whole poem kind of frantic, almost manic feel. I felt like it paired well with a lot of the apocalyptic imagery.

I hope you bought that shit second hand, or maybe not if the pages were stuck together

 

[Waeponwifestre]

So, I posted this poem in the Poem-a-week- thread and in my Non-erotic thread, but I dug this up again. The poem is primarily my thoughts surrounding the estrangement between my brother and i, which has been going on for years. But it also dawned on me that it fits with the times we're in, brother killing innocent brother.

This is the original version:

Putrescence

We walked down to the sea’s brittle calm,
One morning in that long ago.
We hardly spoke – when I recall the moment,
I hear only the sea’s voice – and I followed
You, brother, just as I had a long time before,

The sight of you when you came to save me
From the teacher’s wrath – you were one of the
Older boys, the ones who walked like giants
And the rest of us, eight and trembling with curiosity,
Could only gawk at the chasm between us and your kind.
I learnt kindness from you. I remember you smiled,
Never chided, patient, calm, a comfort.

And so I followed you, down the shore line, mutable, tumultuous,
Till the years bled and waned, till the distances
That mark our lives grew, festered, like unspoken sores, putrid.

Brother, I never knew you,
Never knew your words,
but you knew me, didn’t you? You saw me,
That day when you saved me,
And chose to forget, forget
Kindness, forget the impulse to save.

Now, once again, we are at that brittle shoreline,
And I lead you to it, perhaps, to help you remember
Kindness, patience, to call the spirit of your giant
Back from the Hadean dark.

But you are not there.
And the sea speaks in Iniquity’s tongue.

I've only just begun edits, so I haven't done too much...but this is what I've got so far. Any thoughts, suggestions welcome!

Putrescence

We walked down to the edge of the sea’s brittle calm,
One morning in that long ago.
Hardly speaking – only the sea’s voice remains,
In my recollection – and I followed
You, brother, just as I had a long time before,

That sight of you when you came to save me
From the teacher’s wrath – you were one of the
Older boys, the ones who walked like giants
And the rest of us, eight and trembling with curiosity,
Could only gawk at the chasm between us and your kind.
I learnt kindness from you that day. I remember you smiled,
Never chided, patient, calm, a comfort.

And so I followed you, down the shore line, mutable, tumultuous,
Till the years bled and waned, till the distances
That mark our lives grew, festered, liked unspoken sores, putrid.

Brother, I never knew you,
Never knew your words,
but you knew me, didn’t you? You saw me,That day when you saved me,
And chose to forget, forget
Kindness, forget the salvation you gave me.

Now, once again, we are at that brittle shoreline,
And I lead you to it. Perhaps, to help you remember
Kindness, patience, to call the spirit of your giant
Back from the Hadean dark.

But you are not there.
And the sea speaks in Iniquity’s tongue.


The 'salvation' line in the third last stanza makes me cringe...

I like it, although I agree that the word “salvation” doesn’t really seem to fit.

The previous stanza has a lot of almost kind of medical words and terminology - bled, fester, sores, putrid. I think replacing it with a term more along the lines of convalescence might help to contrast with the themes of infection that run through this poem. Or some other word that has more of a medical or physical connotation as well might be nice - I think it would help strengthen the metaphor overall.

 

[Angeline]

My husband grew up in a polyglot home. Speaking 8 or 9 languages. According to him, the Scots stopped speaking their language a long time ago. I would agree it’s probably best.

I'm telling Jamie Fraser on you!

 

[Angeline]

@Angeline far be it for me to critique your work, how would I even presume - after many visions and revisions - to disturb your universe? After all, I have only the utmost respect for you, almost ardour (is that even allowed?)

But if I may...I feel that you needn't have split the lines like that - "until"..."one flake"..."down" ... I am aware that is merely my opinion, but the thinking here is that you can achieve the same effect in stanzaic form:

Wanting snow, wanting gray,
anticipating harbinger clouds
looming and the crackle of
air stinging dry until
one, and then another
and still the flakes fall
and group and mass,
falling filling the air...

Note in the last line, I shift falling and filling and discard the comma, so that falling, as a phenomenon fills the air - falling flakes filling the air .


I felt that the line "Cities in snow are beautiful" seemed to stymie the flow of the whole poem, of the snow falling and gathering density, as you zoom out from street, to streetlamps, to the whole city. So, I thought perhaps taking that first line out, and incorporate "Cities" somewhere else in the stanza. But I wasn't sure about this thought either, so herein ends my catechism.

Hi Niv. First off thank you so much for the time you took to read and comment on my ode to snow. As far as your respect (and potential ardour) let's just call it a mutual admiration society! You were gone for a while and I was so happy to see you posting here again. Your poems and thoughtful opinions are a delight to read.

I see your point about not separating out those words ("one flake...down...until"). The way they are now is kind of gimmicky (which makes me want to cringe). I did it to slow the reader down and pause, to mimic the way a storm starts with a flake or two and slowly increases until the whole landscape is filled. If I bunch it all together in the stanza I'll lose that halting pace. I'm going to try spacing a few lines out with tabs and see how that looks

The revision to "falling filling the air" is much better. I think I was a lot more comma prone in 2004!

I agree that "Cities in snow are beautiful" needs to go. It reads like a platitude. I don't think I even need to work "cities" into Stanza iii as I've used it in the previous stanza plus there are other contextual references. Also not sure I should keep the reference to Alfred Steiglitz, which is meaningful to me but maybe not anyone else! Maybe it's better to change it to a photographer, not be so specific.

I'll post a revised version soon. Thanks again for your thoughtful feedback.

 

[42BelowsBack]

Time Punched.

Day by day
Five or six hours a week?

Trying to remeber
Johnny once was a pugilist.

His mind. not him. A page
in novelistic incident.

What happened to him
in Berlin?

In huge unrelated incidents.
no matinee. His feet are kicking.

He says “let it go”
that did not happen.

Skipping everyday.
Or is he.

Drowning five or six
alarm clocks a week?

In five or six beats a minute,
—he slows to remember his life

in a ring, minute by minute
as though that makes sense?.


The reviewed poem. (Thank you everyone for your help).

JOHNNY HARD TIME

Day by day.
His hand in glove.
Fifty six hours a week.
Perseverance is brutality.

Every minute of the day.
His acceptance of self.
Fifty six seconds a minute.
The brute aspirational.

His heart slows.
He enters the ring.
One punch in. Explodes
the meaning of everything.

Explodes day by day.
Explodes in rope work,
Explodes in heart beats.
A hand in glove he explodes.

His destiny a personal journey.
Counting ten. Seconds crawling.
Time. His face time punched.
The canvas is his ever waiting.

The alarm clock rings.
Five or six times a week.
Punching his dream.
The canvas in seconds he wakes.


13 Is lucky for some.


Still needs a touch up. But I don’t want to expend anymore gym time on it at the minute.

 

[SapioSexual9]

H

Time Punched.

Day by day
Five or six hours a week?

Trying to remeber
Johnny once was a pugilist.

His mind. not him. A page
in novelistic incident.

What happened to him
in Berlin?

In huge unrelated incidents.
no matinee. His feet are kicking.

He says “let it go”
that did not happen.

Skipping everyday.
Or is he.

Drowning five or six
alarm clocks a week?

In five or six beats a minute,
—he slows to remember his life

in a ring, minute by minute
as though that makes sense?.


The reviewed poem. (Thank you everyone for your help).

JOHNNY HARD TIME

Day by day.
His hand in glove.
Fifty six hours a week.
Perseverance is brutality.

Every minute of the day.
His acceptance of self.
Fifty six seconds a minute.
The brute aspirational.

His heart slows.
He enters the ring.
One punch in. Explodes
the meaning of everything.

Explodes day by day.
Explodes in rope work,
Explodes in heart beats.
A hand in glove he explodes.

His destiny a personal journey.
Counting ten. Seconds crawling.
Time. His face time punched.
The canvas is his ever waiting.

The alarm clock rings.
Five or six times a week.
Punching his dream.
The canvas in seconds he wakes.


13 Is lucky for some.


Still needs a touch up. But I don’t want to expend anymore gym time on it at the minute.

42 I am enamored that you always put your balls out, get them punched, then business as usual overnight rewrite your poems.

Now darling wear a kilt like Jamie Fraser

 

[SpermFactory]

I feel kinda bad cause I’ve been busy with other stuff lately so haven’t been commenting as much as I’d like on others poems but the minute I see someone talk about my stuff of course I’m posting immediately

You know all my poems with enjambment are capitalized like that and maybe it’s a dumb answer but I just think it’s more visually appealing to have every line start with a capital letter.

For this poem in particular I wanted a lot of enjambment and exclamation points to really give the whole poem kind of frantic, almost manic feel. I felt like it paired well with a lot of the apocalyptic imagery.

I hope you bought that shit second hand, or maybe not if the pages were stuck together

His pages stickily poetic. The Orange King’s Bible. Is an example of everything Orange King: Biblically hates the Bible, hates China, hates The Constitution. Gets rich while selling off all three. I’d love to write a poem about a billionaire’s arrival in heaven. But then I’d have to read the Bible.

Time Punched.

Day by day
Five or six hours a week?

Trying to remeber
Johnny once was a pugilist.

His mind. not him. A page
in novelistic incident.

What happened to him
in Berlin?

In huge unrelated incidents.
no matinee. His feet are kicking.

He says “let it go”
that did not happen.

Skipping everyday.
Or is he.

Drowning five or six
alarm clocks a week?

In five or six beats a minute,
—he slows to remember his life

in a ring, minute by minute
as though that makes sense?.


The reviewed poem. (Thank you everyone for your help).

JOHNNY HARD TIME

Day by day.
His hand in glove.
Fifty six hours a week.
Perseverance is brutality.

Every minute of the day.
His acceptance of self.
Fifty six seconds a minute.
The brute aspirational.

His heart slows.
He enters the ring.
One punch in. Explodes
the meaning of everything.

Explodes day by day.
Explodes in rope work,
Explodes in heart beats.
A hand in glove he explodes.

His destiny a personal journey.
Counting ten. Seconds crawling.
Time. His face time punched.
The canvas is his ever waiting.

The alarm clock rings.
Five or six times a week.
Punching his dream.
The canvas in seconds he wakes.


13 Is lucky for some.


Still needs a touch up. But I don’t want to expend anymore gym time on it at the minute.

Holy F#ck this poem is brutal, a brutal rewrite done in a minute. Art mimics life.
I’d love to read some of your work that you actually spent time with.

 

[Angeline]

Time Punched.

Day by day
Five or six hours a week?

Trying to remeber
Johnny once was a pugilist.

His mind. not him. A page
in novelistic incident.

What happened to him
in Berlin?

In huge unrelated incidents.
no matinee. His feet are kicking.

He says “let it go”
that did not happen.

Skipping everyday.
Or is he.

Drowning five or six
alarm clocks a week?

In five or six beats a minute,
—he slows to remember his life

in a ring, minute by minute
as though that makes sense?.


The reviewed poem. (Thank you everyone for your help).

JOHNNY HARD TIME

Day by day.
His hand in glove.
Fifty six hours a week.
Perseverance is brutality.

Every minute of the day.
His acceptance of self.
Fifty six seconds a minute.
The brute aspirational.

His heart slows.
He enters the ring.
One punch in. Explodes
the meaning of everything.

Explodes day by day.
Explodes in rope work,
Explodes in heart beats.
A hand in glove he explodes.

His destiny a personal journey.
Counting ten. Seconds crawling.
Time. His face time punched.
The canvas is his ever waiting.

The alarm clock rings.
Five or six times a week.
Punching his dream.
The canvas in seconds he wakes.


13 Is lucky for some.


Still needs a touch up. But I don’t want to expend anymore gym time on it at the minute.

This is great. It engages senses: hearing, vision and touch all strong. And time, in various appearances, runs through it like a spine. I feel like you need something in the lines that end "he explodes" and "he wakes". I know you don't want to add an "and" in either line, but something to intensify the cause-effect relationship in each case..

 

[SmilingLez]

The reviewed poem. (Thank you everyone for your help).

JOHNNY HARD TIME

Day by day.
His hand in glove.
Fifty six hours a week.
Perseverance is brutality.

Every minute of the day.
His acceptance of self.
Fifty six seconds a minute.
The brute aspirational.

His heart slows.
He enters the ring.
One punch in. Explodes
the meaning of everything.

Explodes day by day.
Explodes in rope work,
Explodes in heart beats.
A hand in glove he explodes.

His destiny a personal journey.
Counting ten. Seconds crawling.
Time. His face time punched.
The canvas is his ever waiting.

The alarm clock rings.
Five or six times a week.
Punching his dream.
The canvas in seconds he wakes.


13 Is lucky for some.


Still needs a touch up. But I don’t want to expend anymore gym time on it at the minute.

Hi @42BelowsBack

Since I know nothing about boxing, I am curious about whether or not the heart slows before or after he gets into the ring. It would seem to me to be more powerful and confident if his heart beat slows after he gets into the ring .

He enters the ring.
His heart slows.
One punch in. Explodes
the meaning of everything.

Also I do not understand the last line.

 

[NivKay]

I like it, although I agree that the word “salvation” doesn’t really seem to fit.

The previous stanza has a lot of almost kind of medical words and terminology - bled, fester, sores, putrid. I think replacing it with a term more along the lines of convalescence might help to contrast with the themes of infection that run through this poem. Or some other word that has more of a medical or physical connotation as well might be nice - I think it would help strengthen the metaphor overall.

@Waeponwifestre thank you! Thank you kindly!

Yep, that line, cringeworthy! I was basically trying to reconnect with an earlier line about the brother saving him from the teacher’s wrath.

I like your suggestion about the terminology. I was actually going for images of decay, and disease, not so much the medical, you know? The festering speaks to me of some kind of corruption, but I take your point. Thank you so much, will work on this!

 

[NivKay]

Also not sure I should keep the reference to Alfred Steiglitz, which is meaningful to me but maybe not anyone else!

Oh, I would keep it! I loved that reference, because you’re trying to point to the city as canvas, which the snow paints. So, the metatextual works there!

 

[NivKay]

Time Punched.

Day by day
Five or six hours a week?

Trying to remeber
Johnny once was a pugilist.

His mind. not him. A page
in novelistic incident.

What happened to him
in Berlin?

In huge unrelated incidents.
no matinee. His feet are kicking.

He says “let it go”
that did not happen.

Skipping everyday.
Or is he.

Drowning five or six
alarm clocks a week?

In five or six beats a minute,
—he slows to remember his life

in a ring, minute by minute
as though that makes sense?.


The reviewed poem. (Thank you everyone for your help).

JOHNNY HARD TIME

Day by day.
His hand in glove.
Fifty six hours a week.
Perseverance is brutality.

Every minute of the day.
His acceptance of self.
Fifty six seconds a minute.
The brute aspirational.

His heart slows.
He enters the ring.
One punch in. Explodes
the meaning of everything.

Explodes day by day.
Explodes in rope work,
Explodes in heart beats.
A hand in glove he explodes.

His destiny a personal journey.
Counting ten. Seconds crawling.
Time. His face time punched.
The canvas is his ever waiting.

The alarm clock rings.
Five or six times a week.
Punching his dream.
The canvas in seconds he wakes.


13 Is lucky for some.


Still needs a touch up. But I don’t want to expend anymore gym time on it at the minute.

I loved this rewrite. Feels a lot more … fleshed out. I enjoyed the visualisation of his day, and the boxing ring becomes a smaller version of the fight he fights each day of his life. So that central metaphor of life as boxing, wonderful! I loved the clipped sentences - reminded me of the sharp movements of boxers when they unleash their hits, there is tightness in everything, their bodies, their movement, their focus.

The line, ‘ the canvas in seconds he wakes’ troubled me. Not sure how this could be done better, but it strikes me as not as sharp as your other lines. I’m sorry, I’m not sure how you would tighten this, but this line did strike me as an anomaly.

Loved this, @42BelowsBack !!

 

[Angeline]

Oh, I would keep it! I loved that reference, because you’re trying to point to the city as canvas, which the snow paints. So, the metatextual works there!

Someone else just told me the same thing so I'm listening to you and her!

 

[42BelowsBack]

Hi @42BelowsBack

Since I know nothing about boxing, I am curious about whether or not the heart slows before or after he gets into the ring. It would seem to me to be more powerful and confident if his heart beat slows after he gets into the ring .

He enters the ring.
His heart slows.
One punch in. Explodes
the meaning of everything.

Also I do not understand the last line.

Thank you for your feedback. In reflecting on your comment it should read mind. This comment I find fascinating, ‘It would seem to me to be more powerful and confident if his heart beat slows after he gets into the ring.’ It’s fascinating how two people can see the same thing differently i.e.

42 training

He enters the ring.
His heart slows.

vs

@SmilingLez

His heart slows.
He enters the ring.
One punch in. Explodes
the meaning of everything.

Your suggest works for me. Thank you for the above. I will change it including heart to mind (His mind slows).

In the poem I was thinking of sounds as I wrote. So I wrote Time slows which slowed the rhythm of the poem and then speeds back up again.

Thank you for pointing out the following doesn’t readily connect.

Explodes
the meaning of everything

I was thinking of the mantra, train hard fight easy.

Once again thank you. You’ve shown me things I couldn’t see.

 

[42BelowsBack]

I loved this rewrite. Feels a lot more … fleshed out. I enjoyed the visualisation of his day, and the boxing ring becomes a smaller version of the fight he fights each day of his life. So that central metaphor of life as boxing, wonderful! I loved the clipped sentences - reminded me of the sharp movements of boxers when they unleash their hits, there is tightness in everything, their bodies, their movement, their focus.

The line, ‘ the canvas in seconds he wakes’ troubled me. Not sure how this could be done better, but it strikes me as not as sharp as your other lines. I’m sorry, I’m not sure how you would tighten this, but this line did strike me as an anomaly.

Loved this, @42BelowsBack !!

Thanks for this. I was hoping to get away with not having to get back in the ring as it were with this poem. Grrr ‘the canvas in seconds he wakes’ grrr not a points decision.

 

[42BelowsBack]

This is great. It engages senses: hearing, vision and touch all strong. And time, in various appearances, runs through it like a spine. I feel like you need something in the lines that end "he explodes" and "he wakes". I know you don't want to add an "and" in either line, but something to intensify the cause-effect relationship in each case..

Thank you for your feedback. I didn’t want to relook at it but due to the great feedback, the end cause in effect is it’s a draft grrr.

I was however quietly wondering what it would look like with another go rolled / a / round / over it. And what techniques could achieve that?

Hmmm who want’s to think more about getting punched in the face? Not me! Is there no room for throw away poems in this place?

Grrr

 

[Angeline]

Thank you for your feedback. I didn’t want to relook at it but due to the great feedback, the end cause in effect is it’s a draft grrr.

I was however quietly wondering what it would look like with another go rolled / a / round / over it. And what techniques could achieve that?

Hmmm who want’s to think more about getting punched in the face? Not me! Is there no room for throw away poems in this place?

Grrr

Oh there's always room for poems that linger in the "still a draft" file. It's how I end up editing 22-year-old poems.

Now I have to figure out why my indent feature doesn't work. I just want to kick my keyboard...or maybe my recalcitrant poem!

 

[NivKay]

Oh there's always room for poems that linger in the "still a draft" file. It's how I end up editing 22-year-old poems.

Now I have to figure out why my indent feature doesn't work. I just want to kick my keyboard...or maybe my recalcitrant poem!

So, I'm not the only one who is puzzled by indentations. There have been quite a number of indentations that don;t come through when I post here. Am I missing something?

 

[SpermFactory]

So, I'm not the only one who is puzzled by indentations. There have been quite a number of indentations that don;t come through when I post here. Am I missing something?

I would love to know how to. I looked for an instructional and ended up having a discussion with my iPhone I won’t mention.

 

[SpermFactory]

Ps I’ve got to say this before @SpermFaction gets in the ring.

You’ve got to know when to hold em (Your balls) Know when to run (With your balls) Know when to cum

42. I have reviewed your poem and refer you to the opening lines of a Orange King poem.

If I were walking down the street woman would erect me.
She likes me. Woman are yelling out their windows

 

[SpermFactory]

Oh there's always room for poems that linger in the "still a draft" file. It's how I end up editing 22-year-old poems.

Now I have to figure out why my indent feature doesn't work. I just want to kick my keyboard...or maybe my recalcitrant poem!

Oh great. 42 will read this and take 22 yrs to write round two

 

[Angeline]

So, I'm not the only one who is puzzled by indentations. There have been quite a number of indentations that don;t come through when I post here. Am I missing something?

No you're not! I'm frustrated by the same thing: I add indents and when I post they vanish. I used to be pretty proficient with V-Bulletin, the system that controlled all the editorial features here. Then it was updated....

 

[SapioSexual9]

No you're not! I'm frustrated by the same thing: I add indents and when I post they vanish. I used to be pretty proficient with V-Bulletin, the system that controlled all the editorial features here. Then it was updated....

Me too. Not the V-bulletin but the I tried looking in tech support and…

 

[SapioSexual9]

42. I have reviewed your poem and refer you to the opening lines of a Orange King poem.

If I were walking down the street woman would erect me.
She likes me. Woman are yelling out their windows

Oh great. 42 will read this and take 22 yrs to write round two

Remember who taught you to write like you do.