Not For The Thin-Skinned

[flyguy69]

and do you have an excuse for non-menopausal women who fan their cheeks because of your poetry?

 

[annaswirls]

how do you do it

any suggestions would be greatly appreciated. this poem is not working.

how do you do it
by annaswirls ©

how do you do it

just like you, baby, just like you.

Up, there.
Gutted row homes lined side to side,
holes in brick we can see through
to the vacant lot behind.
Inside she crawls over recycled
mattresses edge to edge to find
the one, the soft padded featherbed
that does not belong

here

among exposed springs, mold and cigarette burns.
Crayon stubs from a last day scavenge
mark the waterstained drywall like
cave painting history. She colors in
alley way gemstones of colored glass that fall
through cracks in recycling trucks,
the spectrum of Thursday's produce stand,
rainbows in both oil slick puddles and windshield
cracks in the abandoned Buick.

We stack the bricks with mud for mortar,
walling off our place from the crack head wanderers
thinking this must be a place they can get something.

Something beyond colored glass triangles
embedded deep in the grooves
between brick.

We do not ask where they came from,
we do not question the Belgian fountains
that have appeared in the square,
or the vapor of the sidewalk that still rises
after the night of fires leaving
melted tar, shattered windows.

No one moves when the loud speakers warn
incoming train track two.
We know it is magic,
we know not to doubt,
we are invincible.

Don’t ask me how I do it,
you say.

Lets not question sunrise or springtime,
or the prize at the bottom of the box.
Just shake it, baby,
see what rises to the top.

 

[PatCarrington]

anna - i'm not sure what the poem is about.

the day-to-day struggle to deal with life in a deteriorating (or deteriorated) neighborhood? and keeping a firm upper lip about it? or dreaming about something more?

and who are you speaking to, up there?

you talk about a she and then you move onto we...

for me to deal with the poem specifics, i need those clarifications so i don't go off on the wrong track.

in my opinion, the content is too vague. there are splendid images but i can never really get a grip and put them all together cohesively.

 

[annaswirls]

Thanks Patrick!

Well, I know what inspired the poem, but I am not sure what it is about. I guess that might be the problem, hmm? Guess I need to put myself through some psycho-analysis and then try again.

It is all from a very detailed dream that I had. More like a novel than a poem. The "she" is a young woman I met and had escapades with, and she was more of a cool free spirit artist than a homeless girl. She took me in. So that would explain nthe she and we obscurity.


The "up-there" reference was to a poet who I once asked "how do you do it?" which is a ridiculous question, I know that now. But I was asked the same question in return, which is how I got the "Just like you"

except I don't think it was quite "just like you" as it failed miserably!

I guess I need to figure what it all represents and start from there.


Thank you-- you are very perceptive! Chop chop I will get to it.

first breakfast.

YES breakfast I know it is 12:30 but we were up all night and just waking up.


my poor baby

~anna

anna - i'm not sure what the poem is about.

the day-to-day struggle to deal with life in a deteriorating (or deteriorated) neighborhood? and keeping a firm upper lip about it? or dreaming about something more?

and who are you speaking to, up there?

you talk about a she and then you move onto we...

for me to deal with the poem specifics, i need those clarifications so i don't go off on the wrong track.

in my opinion, the content is too vague. there are splendid images but i can never really get a grip and put them all together cohesively.

 

[flyguy69]

Alright, I'll tell you what it is about. You just lie back and let the good Dr. tell you what your dream means....

This poem is about survival. When the narrator asks "how do you do it[?]," she is asking her compatriot how she survives in such squalid conditions. Her friend responds "just like you," meaning that there is no strategy, no forethought, only that there is no option, either. You simply do it.

The body of the poem describes these two women's attempt to humanize their existance. They seek beauty. They seek safety. They seek food. And they scavange the materials they need to survive.

Their trust in each other gives them faith. Even when disaster impends, or the bleakness of their existance is made clear (the loudspeaker), they show no fear. They will survive.

The final strophe is a perfect conclusion. Her partner warns her that expectations are their enemy: they cannot focus on distant goals or entitlements or they will crushed by the monumental separation between them and comfort. They will shake the box. They will celebrate what life gives them.

Now you know what you wrote, and why I lauded it on the review thread.

Thanks Patrick!

Well, I know what inspired the poem, but I am not sure what it is about. I guess that might be the problem, hmm? Guess I need to put myself through some psycho-analysis and then try again.

It is all from a very detailed dream that I had. More like a novel than a poem. The "she" is a young woman I met and had escapades with, and she was more of a cool free spirit artist than a homeless girl. She took me in. So that would explain nthe she and we obscurity.


The "up-there" reference was to a poet who I once asked "how do you do it?" which is a ridiculous question, I know that now. But I was asked the same question in return, which is how I got the "Just like you"

except I don't think it was quite "just like you" as it failed miserably!

I guess I need to figure what it all represents and start from there.


Thank you-- you are very perceptive! Chop chop I will get to it.

first breakfast.

YES breakfast I know it is 12:30 but we were up all night and just waking up.


my poor baby

~anna

 

[annaswirls]

I love you

Alright, I'll tell you what it is about. You just lie back and let the good Dr. tell you what your dream means....

This poem is about survival. When the narrator asks "how do you do it[?]," she is asking her compatriot how she survives in such squalid conditions. Her friend responds "just like you," meaning that there is no strategy, no forethought, only that there is no option, either. You simply do it.

The body of the poem describes these two women's attempt to humanize their existance. They seek beauty. They seek safety. They seek food. And they scavange the materials they need to survive.

Their trust in each other gives them faith. Even when disaster impends, or the bleakness of their existance is made clear (the loudspeaker), they show no fear. They will survive.

The final strophe is a perfect conclusion. Her partner warns her that expectations are their enemy: they cannot focus on distant goals or entitlements or they will crushed by the monumental separation between them and comfort. They will shake the box. They will celebrate what life gives them.

Now you know what you wrote, and why I lauded it on the review thread.

 

[flyguy69]

I love you

Ahh, girl, it ees perfectly natural for a patient to transfer her feelings to ze doctor. It ees also perfectly natural for ze patient to strip off all of her clothing and take the doctor right on hiss desktop.

[bzzzt] Miss Johnson? Cancel my afternoon appointments!

 

[annaswirls]

um you better call ze resturaunt and cancel your dinner reservatuions as well, Doctor. I got lots of issues you know. Like these little buttons for example

 

[flyguy69]

um you better call ze resturaunt and cancel your dinner reservatuions as well, Doctor. I got lots of issues you know. Like these little buttons for example

Ouch! Those are my nipples, dahlink!

 

[annaswirls]

Ouch! Those are my nipples, dahlink!

ah ha! I knew it. Now you have to work on my hallucinations.
and a maybe my back, there is a little knot
yes
right
there....
and a little lower....

 

[PatCarrington]

eh hem...

i thought this thread was for working out deep, poetry knots...

get a room.

 

[annaswirls]

eh hem...

i thought this thread was for working out deep, poetry knots...

get a room.

buzz kill



I know I know I am a hypocrite and should follow my on topic rules but sometimes, well youknow


and there is always plenty of love and knots to go around darlin'

You have anything you need loosened up? realligned?


So, now Fly told me what it means, are you gonna rewrite it for me?

With all of this massaging, I am feeling a bit lazy. Think I might go for a shower, maybe a pedicure. I am feeling a bit queenly and want my toes to match.


wonder if they have this color

 

[flyguy69]

buzz kill



I know I know I am a hypocrite and should follow my on topic rules but sometimes, well youknow


and there is always plenty of love and knots to go around darlin'

You have anything you need loosened up? realligned?


So, now Fly told me what it means, are you gonna rewrite it for me?

With all of this massaging, I am feeling a bit lazy. Think I might go for a shower, maybe a pedicure. I am feeling a bit queenly and want my toes to match.


wonder if they have this color

You remember that move Being Annaswirls, Pat? It is a crazy world inside of her skull! It looks like her av.

 

[PatCarrington]

buzz kill



I know I know I am a hypocrite and should follow my on topic rules but sometimes, well youknow


and there is always plenty of love and knots to go around darlin'

You have anything you need loosened up? realligned?


So, now Fly told me what it means, are you gonna rewrite it for me?

With all of this massaging, I am feeling a bit lazy. Think I might go for a shower, maybe a pedicure. I am feeling a bit queenly and want my toes to match.


wonder if they have this color

i'm just cranky.

i had a miserable, fuckin' day...in the heat, unable to write or swim because i was babysitting for three Brazilians...

don't ask.

i figured being that there are only 2 (!) threads on this poetry board devoted to analysis and editing (which are the heart and soul of poetry), this and the construction thread, it should probably be respected. it's why i started this thread in the first place.

i DO sound like i need some realignment right now, don't i...

You remember that move Being Annaswirls, Pat? It is a crazy world inside of her skull! It looks like her av.

i can't look at anna's av's any more.

they give me motion sickness or something.

 

[annaswirls]

i'm just cranky.

i had a miserable, fuckin' day...in the heat, unable to write or swim because i was babysitting for three Brazilians...

don't ask.

I know this is code for something. My guess is some alcoholic beverage or supermodel triplets.


i figured being that there are only 2 (!) threads on this poetry board devoted to analysis and editing (which are the heart and soul of poetry), this and the construction thread, it should probably be respected. it's why i started this thread in the first place.

ah there were more threads than that, all of the 1201 interact ones... the individuals asking for specific help.... but you are right these are the only ones that are consistantly about well, you know all of that horribly dull business of thinking about writing. ho hum

I need a swift kick, I have been alseep for a week and cannot shake it damn it.


i DO sound like i need some realignment right now, don't i...


come ere, I will snap you back into allignment.... hmmm as soon as I take another nap.



i can't look at anna's av's any more.


oh sheesh. I will find something unidimensional, hold on.

they give me motion sickness or something.

eek I thought you said morninng sickness!!!

I will ask the moderators to move this to a recycling thread. We have to keep the review thread clean, maybe we need a general dumpster. I'm sorry for giong off topic, I could not help myself, seriously.

 

[wildsweetone]

.....

 

[wildsweetone]

grrr i hate that word 'went'

 

[sandspike]

Nice short story

I wrote this when I was in the middle of trying to conform to some forms. lol


The rising sun cast a golden glow
over wintered trees, boughs
glistened against a pale blue sky.

She tidied magazines
on the polished wooden coffee table,
fluffed cushions
on the new green couch,
stood back

and surveyed her work.
Nothing out of place,
everything perfect. And yet,
something missing.

She wandered around the house
listless,
not sure what she wanted,
or needed.

Through clean clear glass,
her gaze swept
across the manicured lawn.
No weeds.
A tidy, short lawn
edged with bee-laden
lavender bushes in full bloom.

Inside the house, the sparkle blinded.

She made coffee,
went outside and sat
on the lichen grown
garden seat. The sun warmed her body,
stirred her blood,

decided her fate. She drained
the remnants of her cup.

And then left.

You have a nice neat short story here. I just don't see this as poetry.
I get good visuals but no rhythm. I write by ear and I'm tone deaf, so
don't get upset. The 1st verse is great. Second verse slows down
and 3, 4, 5, 6 are a shopping list. The last two verses try to set it
up but are a tad weak. The rhythm and emotion were left in the
perfect but empty house.

Wild? Is this what you do on this thread?

 

[flyguy69]

Sweetie, you are growing dramatically as a poet. You are experimenting with the way images flow as you write. Therein, however, lies this poem's weakness: you have essentially written prose, here, and then broken it up. If we remove the breaks it reads pretty well as a piece of prose.

The rising sun cast a golden glow over wintered trees, boughs glistened against a pale blue sky. She tidied magazines on the polished wooden coffee table, fluffed cushions on the new green couch, stood back and surveyed her work. Nothing out of place, everything perfect. And yet, something missing. She wandered around the house listless, not sure what she wanted, or needed. Through clean clear glass, her gaze swept across the manicured lawn. No weeds. A tidy, short lawn edged with bee-laden lavender bushes in full bloom. Inside the house, the sparkle blinded. She made coffee, went outside and sat on the lichen grown garden seat. The sun warmed her body, stirred her blood, decided her fate. She drained the remnants of her cup. And then left.

That suggests there is a rhetorical step yet to be taken. Since poetry is so often described as a "distillation," you might try looking at it in prose form first and decide what images are essential to your message, fill any gaps, and delete the rest.

Are you contrasting outdoors with indoors? What has coffee got to do with that?

Are you using tidiness as a metaphor for boredom? What does the sun have to do with that?

Are you posing a question about what is missing from this woman's life? Where is the answer?

Look for and establish a theme clearly, then begin to look at things like word choice or repetition.

Good luck!

I wrote this when I was in the middle of trying to conform to some forms. lol


The rising sun cast a golden glow
over wintered trees, boughs
glistened against a pale blue sky.

She tidied magazines
on the polished wooden coffee table,
fluffed cushions
on the new green couch,
stood back

and surveyed her work.
Nothing out of place,
everything perfect. And yet,
something missing.

She wandered around the house
listless,
not sure what she wanted,
or needed.

Through clean clear glass,
her gaze swept
across the manicured lawn.
No weeds.
A tidy, short lawn
edged with bee-laden
lavender bushes in full bloom.

Inside the house, the sparkle blinded.

She made coffee,
went outside and sat
on the lichen grown
garden seat. The sun warmed her body,
stirred her blood,

decided her fate. She drained
the remnants of her cup.

And then left.

 

[wildsweetone]

Yes sandspike, it's what you/we do in this thread. You become a dog tugging a torn, rotting shoe. You did good.

Thanks both of you, I'll work on it. At least you didn't tell me to trash it. Or maybe you did?! lol


*head down... working*

 

[annaswirls]

Fly, sorry I missed this one. I was looking for your nail in hand, tearing down the building one and found this.


First I am not sure about some of your line breaks/enjambments (?)
The word at the end of one line sometimes feels left back, and then when I read the next one off of the break, I get distracted, having to go back, as the meaning of the word changes when the words are attached.

I will mark some of them with a *

At the risk of appearing to kiss ass, I want to point out the parts that really worked for me, and attempt to tell you why, so it is communication of information, not just pats.

Natron, sacred salt
of earth, of sun-burnt lakes.
Its holy task: to suck
the putrid life; the offensive odor
of living fluids, of blood
of pus, of tears and preserve the leather *

record of Pharaoh, swaddled
as a child.

This was intensely visual and concrete. Much of the language used in this poem was difficult to get a feel for as I did not know what it meant (don't roll your eyes at me) This piece brought in all of the senses...all very tangible, visceral, heavy. I could see the scene under a microscope, cells collapsing in a hypertonic solution.


As night descends
we cast off sins in frenzied prayer,
wrap ourselves in unblemished skin
and fill our cavities with salt.
__________________


What an ending. It ties the poem together, and makes it personal. That rush for forgiveness before the light disappears, from the day, from life...and the last line gave me shivers. Bravo on this.






Salt of the Earth
I.
Black journey, across ten nights
before the rise
of an eternal sun. The door
that swings one way,
once. Here the placards
of priests, incantations
of faith in faith. The divine *

documents we present
to a dog-head god: our acts,
our intents, our love and love
returned. The measured
obsidian stare, the exacting scale.

I do not see these two stanzas doing much for the poem. There is one overused phrase (others later in the poem) that no longer evoke the edge of emotion or visuals (eternal sun)

I cringe at new-agey stuff (even that which I subscibe to) "our love and love returned" just feels too much.

The door
that swings one way,
once. what is this?

I would recommend identifing exactly what you indend for the first stanza and cut some of the more obscure language, that which does not clarify your own intent in the poem.

The measured
obsidian stare, the exacting scale.

I love this line. I don't know exactly why, but it went right through me.

II.
Natron, sacred salt
of earth, of sun-burnt lakes.
Its holy task: to suck
the putrid life; the offensive odor
of living fluids, of blood
of pus, of tears and preserve the leather *

record of Pharaoh, swaddled
as a child. Desert boy
dry as mined salt sails
on a boat of stretched skin
through the long black
sea of night. Ten times the moon rises <here you come back to the ten night journey, another reason the first stanza has pieces that may not be necessaryas the dry Nile descends. At dawn

he pleads his case
with entrails, amulets, (something to connect this list might be helpful)
papyrus devotion to his journey.
Against the feathered standard<excellent phrase
his fortune weighs as Ammit, crocodile, drools
for the heavy heart.

III.
The Book of the Dead, ancient
text of undead scribes, written daily
with desperate tongues. <I am guessing you mean by word of mouth? We hear Anubis’ <should I know who this is? does it lose power if you don't know who it is? Maybe include a description (what about him is important to the poem) so it can become more accessible to those who don't have an encyclopedia (or bible) handy or figure they can get by without knowing?padded approach, the swing
of the scale. As night descends
we cast off sins in frenzied prayer,
wrap ourselves in unblemished skin
and fill our cavities with salt.__________________


As always these are just my opinions/suggestions for you to do with as you wish. No need to defend your position if you choose to not follow anything I said Just take it or leave it, as always...

anna

 

[flyguy69]

I will take them and be happy! Thank you, anna, for your thoughts.

The "door that swings one way/once" is death-- the entrance to a realm that the living cannot know. Hence the speculation of "undead scribes."

Yeah, I stepped off the deep end with this one. I need to take it back where it began: with salt.

Fly, sorry I missed this one. I was looking for your nail in hand, tearing down the building one and found this.


First I am not sure about some of your line breaks/enjambments (?)
The word at the end of one line sometimes feels left back, and then when I read the next one off of the break, I get distracted, having to go back, as the meaning of the word changes when the words are attached.

I will mark some of them with a *

At the risk of appearing to kiss ass, I want to point out the parts that really worked for me, and attempt to tell you why, so it is communication of information, not just pats.

Natron, sacred salt
of earth, of sun-burnt lakes.
Its holy task: to suck
the putrid life; the offensive odor
of living fluids, of blood
of pus, of tears and preserve the leather *

record of Pharaoh, swaddled
as a child.

This was intensely visual and concrete. Much of the language used in this poem was difficult to get a feel for as I did not know what it meant (don't roll your eyes at me) This piece brought in all of the senses...all very tangible, visceral, heavy. I could see the scene under a microscope, cells collapsing in a hypertonic solution.


As night descends
we cast off sins in frenzied prayer,
wrap ourselves in unblemished skin
and fill our cavities with salt.
__________________


What an ending. It ties the poem together, and makes it personal. That rush for forgiveness before the light disappears, from the day, from life...and the last line gave me shivers. Bravo on this.






Salt of the Earth
I.
Black journey, across ten nights
before the rise
of an eternal sun. The door
that swings one way,
once. Here the placards
of priests, incantations
of faith in faith. The divine *

documents we present
to a dog-head god: our acts,
our intents, our love and love
returned. The measured
obsidian stare, the exacting scale.

I do not see these two stanzas doing much for the poem. There is one overused phrase (others later in the poem) that no longer evoke the edge of emotion or visuals (eternal sun)

I cringe at new-agey stuff (even that which I subscibe to) "our love and love returned" just feels too much.

The door
that swings one way,
once. what is this?

I would recommend identifing exactly what you indend for the first stanza and cut some of the more obscure language, that which does not clarify your own intent in the poem.

The measured
obsidian stare, the exacting scale.

I love this line. I don't know exactly why, but it went right through me.

II.
Natron, sacred salt
of earth, of sun-burnt lakes.
Its holy task: to suck
the putrid life; the offensive odor
of living fluids, of blood
of pus, of tears and preserve the leather *

record of Pharaoh, swaddled
as a child. Desert boy
dry as mined salt sails
on a boat of stretched skin
through the long black
sea of night. Ten times the moon rises <here you come back to the ten night journey, another reason the first stanza has pieces that may not be necessaryas the dry Nile descends. At dawn

he pleads his case
with entrails, amulets, (something to connect this list might be helpful)
papyrus devotion to his journey.
Against the feathered standard<excellent phrase
his fortune weighs as Ammit, crocodile, drools
for the heavy heart.

III.
The Book of the Dead, ancient
text of undead scribes, written daily
with desperate tongues. <I am guessing you mean by word of mouth? We hear Anubis’ <should I know who this is? does it lose power if you don't know who it is? Maybe include a description (what about him is important to the poem) so it can become more accessible to those who don't have an encyclopedia (or bible) handy or figure they can get by without knowing?padded approach, the swing
of the scale. As night descends
we cast off sins in frenzied prayer,
wrap ourselves in unblemished skin
and fill our cavities with salt.__________________


As always these are just my opinions/suggestions for you to do with as you wish. No need to defend your position if you choose to not follow anything I said Just take it or leave it, as always...

anna

 

[wildsweetone]

.....

 

[annaswirls]

I will take them and be happy! Thank you, anna, for your thoughts.

The "door that swings one way/once" is death-- the entrance to a realm that the living cannot know. Hence the speculation of "undead scribes."

Yeah, I stepped off the deep end with this one. I need to take it back where it began: with salt.

I dont think you stepped off the deep end. As far as salt, yes, it is one of the most basic of things from the beginning...

maybe do one about Gandhi making salt

you can do a whole series
chapbook
song of salt



I can write one for you about ionic bonds...

 

[sandspike]

Well ......

The risen sun cast a golden glow
over wintered boughs
glistening against the sky.
Magazines lay stacked on the table
cushions sprawl on the sofa
as, pacing the house's confines,
she gazes
between grey vertical blinds
across the manicured lawn.
She sat on the lichen grown
garden seat. Sun warmed,
blood stirred
and with fate decided
she left him.


Okay, I've cut out some extraneous 'stuff'. I hope I haven't lost too much.


The old ending leaves you thinking, the new ending has the answer. I like
the first ending. I think you took some lines out of the first draft
that were damn good. The answer I see is in between the two.