Not For The Thin-Skinned

[wildsweetone]

I've fiddled, and tweaked. Hit me.

The hot, dry wind
Sculpts the drifts of dust,
Nosing the tumbleweed
Into wrestling heaps.
The cottonwood stand,
Left parched,
Fidgets restlessly.
And, somewhere
A dog howls,
Yearning for mud.

He sits on the porch,
Lop-sided,
In an old wooden chair
Tilted back to rock on two legs,
A glass of Bourbon
On his table-belly.
His name is Cal.
Weathered,
Like the clapboard,
He scratches at his grizzled chin,
Squinting across the years.

The “Last chance to Fill up” sign sways in the wind
And whines
Like a petulant child.
He swats a fly
And it lies
Kicking its life away by his dusty boot.
Looking down at it
He mutters “coulda been me.”


Haunted by memories of lives gone too soon
Of faces he once loved
And lost
He looks helplessly
Into their death-dried eyes.
Now
He is here,
Selling gas to others
Lost
All looking for the way home.

Hi Tess,
I love the images your poem conjures up. I can hear the raspy sound of the man scratching his chin.

These are all just my thoughts (remember I'm pretty new at this stuff) so take what makes sense and dump what doesn't.

I'm not sure, but I feel like some of the line ends are too short. I kind of like the sound of it flowing better with the line ends a little longer.
Drop the caps for the beginnings of every line.
L2 - delete 'the'
L3 - delete 'the'
'Squinting across the years.' - 'across' seems to not give me 'depth of experience'
'And lost' - add a comma at the end
'Now
He is here,
Selling gas to others
Lost
All looking for the way home.' - who is lost? 'He' or the 'others'?

 

[Zanzibar]

I've fiddled, and tweaked. Hit me.

The hot, dry wind
Sculpts the drifts of dust,
Nosing the tumbleweed
Into wrestling heaps.
The cottonwood stand,
Left parched,
Fidgets restlessly.
And, somewhere [1]
A dog howls,
Yearning for mud.

He sits on the porch,
Lop-sided,
In an old wooden chair
Tilted back to rock on two legs,
A glass of Bourbon
On his table-belly.
His name is Cal. [2]
Weathered,
Like the clapboard,
He scratches at his grizzled chin,
Squinting across the years.

The “Last chance to Fill up” sign sways in the wind [3]
And whines
Like a petulant child.
He swats a fly
And it lies
Kicking its life away by his dusty boot.
Looking down at it
He mutters “coulda been me.”


Haunted by memories of lives gone too soon [4]
Of faces he once loved [5]
And lost
He looks helplessly
Into their death-dried eyes.
Now
He is here, [6]
Selling gas to others
Lost [7]
All looking for the way home.

Hi Tristesse! A lot of strong imagery in this poem for me. A dusty, desolate place... full of death and dying and loss, almost resignation as well as contemplation all that has been left behind or passed him by. There were a few things that jumped out at me after I read it as few times and got a feel for the poem from my perspective.

[1] I'd either lose the comma or the "and". I think it's strongest with just "somewhere" by itself
[2] I don't see what this line adds to the poem. Yes it makes it personalized a bit, but deleting it seems to make it flow a lot smoother to me.
[3] Make "sways in the wind" a line by itself. Seems to fit the form you use throughout the rest of the poem. Adds a little pause between sign and sways that is consistent with the rest.
[4] "of lives gone too soon" Delete "of" and put "lives gone to soon" on the next line by itself. Same rationale as [3] above.
[5] Delete "of" and "he" from this line. Seems more consistent with the form you use throughout the rest of the poem.
[6] Add a line "Middle of nowhere" after this line. Stays with the desolation, adrift, lost theme.
[7] Delete this line. It just sounds redundant given the earlier use and doesn't add much to the poem as a line by itself.

With the comments listed, it would read:

The hot, dry wind
Sculpts the drifts of dust,
Nosing the tumbleweed
Into wrestling heaps.
The cottonwood stand,
Left parched,
Fidgets restlessly.
Somewhere
A dog howls,
Yearning for mud.

He sits on the porch,
Lop-sided,
In an old wooden chair
Tilted back to rock on two legs,
A glass of Bourbon
On his table-belly.
Weathered,
Like the clapboard,
He scratches at his grizzled chin,
Squinting across the years.

The “Last chance to Fill up” sign
Sways in the wind
And whines
Like a petulant child.
He swats a fly
And it lies
Kicking its life away by his dusty boot.
Looking down at it
He mutters “coulda been me.”

Haunted by memories
Lives gone too soon
Faces once loved
And lost
He looks helplessly
Into their death-dried eyes.
Now
He is here,
Middle of nowhere
Selling gas to others
All looking for the way home.

There's my take on the poem and some things that I feel could make it stronger from my perspective. Hope you find some usefull parts in there.

Zan

 

[wildsweetone]

Here's one of mine the bubbled out of the fount today... brought up by the works I have been reading and commenting on lately I think. In any case, break out your editing pens and shine your lights on me.

shattered

one moment joy, sharing visions
then a sudden
Oh!
the soft thump of a body collapsing

franticly dialing NINEONEONE
Sirens shrill screams piece the air
their wailing cries mimic my heart

lives
shattered in an instant
vacuum

frenzied EMTs
work their magics to no avail

still
cold
silent

the look of surprise frozen on your face
as they wheeled your shell away

shock, pain and anger
weave in my mind
a tapestry of agony and loss

how?
why?

so abruptly the circle turned
no time to plan, to share
to say I love you

i awake
shrouded in cold, sweaty sheets
calling your name

can you hear me?

First, thanks so much for helping me out Zan. I'm not sure I'll be any good at returning the favour, but here's my thoughts


Would spacing out NINE ONE ONE give more impact?

'Sirens shrill screams piece the air' - Siren's - though it sounds a little uncomfy... maybe 'screaming shrill sirens'...?

'magics' i prefer to see as 'magic' - isn't magic singular and plural?

'so abruptly the circle turned
no time to plan, to share
to say I love you' - each of these is equally important and i would thing about giving them their own line

I hope some of that makes sense.
Have a good rest of the day.

 

[Guest]

Hi Tess,
I love the images your poem conjures up. I can hear the raspy sound of the man scratching his chin.

These are all just my thoughts (remember I'm pretty new at this stuff) so take what makes sense and dump what doesn't.

I'm not sure, but I feel like some of the line ends are too short. I kind of like the sound of it flowing better with the line ends a little longer.
Drop the caps for the beginnings of every line.
L2 - delete 'the'
L3 - delete 'the'
'Squinting across the years.' - 'across' seems to not give me 'depth of experience'
'And lost' - add a comma at the end
'Now
He is here,
Selling gas to others
Lost
All looking for the way home.' - who is lost? 'He' or the 'others'?

All good suggestions, thanks WSO. "Lost" is placed where it is because they're all lost - the travellers in the desert and "Cal" in his memories of Vietnam. If it doesn't work as is I'll try something else.

Thanks for your help.

 

[Guest]

Hi Tristesse! A lot of strong imagery in this poem for me. A dusty, desolate place... full of death and dying and loss, almost resignation as well as contemplation all that has been left behind or passed him by. There were a few things that jumped out at me after I read it as few times and got a feel for the poem from my perspective.

[1] I'd either lose the comma or the "and". I think it's strongest with just "somewhere" by itself
[2] I don't see what this line adds to the poem. Yes it makes it personalized a bit, but deleting it seems to make it flow a lot smoother to me.
[3] Make "sways in the wind" a line by itself. Seems to fit the form you use throughout the rest of the poem. Adds a little pause between sign and sways that is consistent with the rest.
[4] "of lives gone too soon" Delete "of" and put "lives gone to soon" on the next line by itself. Same rationale as [3] above.
[5] Delete "of" and "he" from this line. Seems more consistent with the form you use throughout the rest of the poem.
[6] Add a line "Middle of nowhere" after this line. Stays with the desolation, adrift, lost theme.
[7] Delete this line. It just sounds redundant given the earlier use and doesn't add much to the poem as a line by itself.

With the comments listed, it would read:

The hot, dry wind
Sculpts the drifts of dust,
Nosing the tumbleweed
Into wrestling heaps.
The cottonwood stand,
Left parched,
Fidgets restlessly.
Somewhere
A dog howls,
Yearning for mud.

He sits on the porch,
Lop-sided,
In an old wooden chair
Tilted back to rock on two legs,
A glass of Bourbon
On his table-belly.
Weathered,
Like the clapboard,
He scratches at his grizzled chin,
Squinting across the years.

The “Last chance to Fill up” sign
Sways in the wind
And whines
Like a petulant child.
He swats a fly
And it lies
Kicking its life away by his dusty boot.
Looking down at it
He mutters “coulda been me.”

Haunted by memories
Lives gone too soon
Faces once loved
And lost
He looks helplessly
Into their death-dried eyes.
Now
He is here,
Middle of nowhere
Selling gas to others
All looking for the way home.

There's my take on the poem and some things that I feel could make it stronger from my perspective. Hope you find some usefull parts in there.

Zan

That's great, Zan. I agree with all your changes to smooth the flow. The longer I tamper with a poem the harder it gets to see it clearly. I appreciate your help, thank you.

 

[Zanzibar]

That's great, Zan. I agree with all your changes to smooth the flow. The longer I tamper with a poem the harder it gets to see it clearly. I appreciate your help, thank you.

Glad I could shed some light for you.

I read in your other post that part of it was about Cal and his memories of Vietnam. If having Cal is importent, fitting in his name at the beginning of the second strophe would fit perfectly.

Cal sits on the porch,
Lop-sided,
In an old wooden chair
Tilted back to rock on two legs,
A glass of Bourbon
On his table-belly.

I think SWO's comments about "the" in the second and third lines is a great insight as well.

The hot, dry wind
Sculpts drifts of dust,
Nosing tumbleweed
Into wrestling heaps.
The cottonwood stand,
Left parched,
Fidgets restlessly.

<chuckles softly> I wish I was as prolific with my own works as I have been at working with other folks. But we all have our talents!

Enjoy the night!

 

[Zanzibar]

First, thanks so much for helping me out Zan. I'm not sure I'll be any good at returning the favour, but here's my thoughts


Would spacing out NINE ONE ONE give more impact?

'Sirens shrill screams piece the air' - Siren's - though it sounds a little uncomfy... maybe 'screaming shrill sirens'...?

'magics' i prefer to see as 'magic' - isn't magic singular and plural?

'so abruptly the circle turned
no time to plan, to share
to say I love you' - each of these is equally important and i would thing about giving them their own line

I hope some of that makes sense.
Have a good rest of the day.

First of all, thanks for the comments!

I'll play with the comments and see how they feel. Definitely agree with magic and the comment about the sirens line needing to be reworked. I'll see if I get any more feedback to go with yours before my next major tweak. Thank goodness for word processors!! I remember doing this with writing pads and ink. (No pencils allowed in creative writing class!)

 

[Guest]

I took both your suggestions and moved some words around. Here's the result.

Sergeant Calvin Stride

A hot, dry wind sculpts
the drifts of dust,
nosing the tumbleweed
into wrestling heaps.
The cottonwood stands,
left parched, fidget restlessly.
Somewhere a dog howls,
yearning for mud.

He sits on the lop-sided porch,
in an old wooden chair
tilted back to rock on two legs,
a glass of Bourbon
on his table-belly.
Weathered like the clapboard,
he scratches at his grizzled chin,
squinting across the years.

The “Last chance to Fill up” sign
complains in the wind
whining like a petulant child.
He swats a fly and it lies
kicking its life away by his dusty boot.
Looking down at it
He mutters “coulda been me.”

Haunted by memories
of lives gone too soon,
faces loved and lost,
he looked helplessly
into their death-dried eyes.
Now he is here,
selling gas to other
lost souls,
all looking for the way home.


(I got around the identity problem with tthe title.)

 

[Zanzibar]

I took both your suggestions and moved some words around. Here's the result.

Sergeant Calvin Stride

A hot, dry wind sculpts
the drifts of dust,
nosing the tumbleweed
into wrestling heaps.
The cottonwood stands,
left parched, fidget restlessly.
Somewhere a dog howls,
yearning for mud.

He sits on the lop-sided porch,
in an old wooden chair
tilted back to rock on two legs,
a glass of Bourbon
on his table-belly.
Weathered like the clapboard,
he scratches at his grizzled chin,
squinting across the years.

The “Last chance to Fill up” sign
complains in the wind
whining like a petulant child.
He swats a fly and it lies
kicking its life away by his dusty boot.
Looking down at it
He mutters “coulda been me.”

Haunted by memories
of lives gone too soon,
faces loved and lost,
he looked helplessly
into their death-dried eyes.
Now he is here,
selling gas to other
lost souls,
all looking for the way home.


(I got around the identity problem with tthe title.)

Wow. Simply wow. I really like the end result.

Minor nit - comma after wind in
"The “Last chance to Fill up” sign
complains in the wind"

I'm really impressed.

 

[PatCarrington]

I took both your suggestions and moved some words around. Here's the result.

Sergeant Calvin Stride

A hot, dry wind sculpts
the drifts of dust,
nosing the tumbleweed
into wrestling heaps.
The cottonwood stands,
left parched, fidget restlessly.
Somewhere a dog howls,
yearning for mud.

He sits on the lop-sided porch,
in an old wooden chair
tilted back to rock on two legs,
a glass of Bourbon
on his table-belly.
Weathered like the clapboard,
he scratches at his grizzled chin,
squinting across the years.

The “Last chance to Fill up” sign
complains in the wind
whining like a petulant child.
He swats a fly and it lies
kicking its life away by his dusty boot.
Looking down at it
He mutters “coulda been me.”

Haunted by memories
of lives gone too soon,
faces loved and lost,
he looked helplessly
into their death-dried eyes.
Now he is here,
selling gas to other
lost souls,
all looking for the way home.


(I got around the identity problem with tthe title.)

i think this is REALLY good, t!

i have a few suggestions, elimination of redundancies, fixes of tense errors and caps, etc.

the technical fixes are necessary, the rest just suggestions. take ’em or leave ‘em. it’s excellent just as it is.



Sergeant Calvin Stride

A dry wind sculpts
drifts of dust,
nosing tumbleweeds
into wrestling heaps.
The cottonwood stands
parched, fidgets restlessly.
Somewhere a dog howls,
yearning for mud.

He sits on the lopsided porch
in an old wooden chair,
tilted back on two legs,
a glass of bourbon
on his table-belly.
Weathered like the clapboard,
he scratches at his grizzled chin,
squinting across years.

The “Last Chance to Fill” sign
whines in the wind
like a petulant child.
He swats a fly. It kicks
its life away by his dusty boot.
Looking down at it
he mutters, “Coulda been me.”

Haunted by memories <-this line is cliché – i would reword
of lives gone too soon,
faces loved and lost,
he looks helplessly
into their death-dried eyes.
Now he is here, selling gas
to other lost souls,
all looking for the way home.

 

[Zanzibar]

Shattered - 2nd draft

After reflecting on the comments and some playing on my own, I've reworked the poem and offer it up again in it's second incarnation for your consideration and comments.

Let me have your thoughts.

Zan


Shattered

one moment joy, sharing visions
then a sudden
“Oh!”
and the dull thump of your body collapsing

franticly pounding nine-one-one
shrill sirens screaming pierce the air
their undulating cries
carving away slices of my heart

frenzied EMTs
work their magic to no avail
the look of surprise still on your face
as they wheel your shell away

lives shattered in an instant

vacuum engulfs me

still
cold
silent

shock, pain and anger
weave a tapestry of agony and loss
through my mind and soul

how?
why?

so abruptly the circle turned

no time to plan, to share
to say I love you

I awake
shrouded in cold, sweaty sheets
calling your name

can you hear me?

 

[annaswirls]

Thanks Zanzibar!

I will consider your suggestions, especially the one about reorganizing the verses. 1201 gave me the same advice, and I agree.


ANGLE on the dashboard. Hmm. Would not be as poetic to have a protractor hmm?


"You have me." Was the feeling I (unsuccessfully) tried to convey. There was no loss except of oneself. I will see what I can do.


Thank you much. I will be reciprocating shortly. Why is my busiest month also the most beautiful???


~anna

When I first read this poem, I thought it was about writers block and not being able to draw inspiration from anything. Then I got to the next to last strophe and suddenly it was about loss and numbness. I think if you replaced the first strophe with the next to last, it would be a much more effective piece.

It feels like there's a typo with Angle on the dashboard instead of Angel

Also adding a descriptor before "She" as denoted makes the work stronger for me by reinforcing the difference the pain of today brings out in you.

From my perspective, the last line in the last strophe doesn't jell with the rest of the piece to describe the hurt that permeates the rest. "You have me." sounds more hopeful and positive, and that contradicts everything else you said before. "You hurt me." or "You left me." or even stronger, redoing the last strophe to read something like:

My heart slipped from its sleeve
When you left me.

Or in its entirety

Poet’s razor

Today I am dull,
numbed by the ache of you.
You, who used to make me notice
everything.

Today I see nothing.
Nothing behind, beneath,
or beyond the shiny cars,
all hubcaps matched and intact.

They turn on red.
They turn on green.

People shaped blobs
push air from their space
as they change coordinates,
x,y, sometimes z.

No stories emerge from
angels dancing on the dashboard
the red spiked grandma.

But this one, here!
She who opens the door
with hands, this one!

I could love her cold-chapped nose
and hair touched by brush alone.

Yesterday she could sharpen my edge

enough to strip insulation
from wire,
carve down the false fronts of this
color coded strip mall
until all are naked again
under the power of my poet’s knife.

But not today.

My heart slipped from its sleeve
When you left me.

or even

My heart slips from its sleeve
When you leave me


My two cents... Hope it provides some usefull feedback.

 

[annaswirls]

Poets Razor

Poet’s razor

Today I am dull,
numbed by the ache of my longing for you.
You, who used to make me notice
everything.


Today, I am consumed.
I see nothing behind, beneath,
or beyond the shiny cars,
all hubcaps matched and intact.

They turn on red.
They turn on green.

People shaped blobs
push air from their space
as they change coordinates.

No stories emerge from
angels dancing on the dashboard
or the red spiked grandma
with rhinestone sunglasses.

But this one, here!
She who opens the door
with hands, this one!

I could love her cold-chapped nose
and hair touched by brush alone.
She could re-sharpen my edge.

And we would strip insulation
from wire, carve down the false fronts
of this color coded strip mall
until everything stands naked again
under the power of my poet’s knife.

But not today.

Today my heart slipped from its sleeve.
You have me.

 

[Guest]

After reflecting on the comments and some playing on my own, I've reworked the poem and offer it up again in it's second incarnation for your consideration and comments.

Let me have your thoughts.

Zan


Shattered

one moment joy, sharing visions
then a sudden
“Oh!”
and the dull thump of your body collapsing

franticly pounding nine-one-one
shrill sirens screaming pierce the air
their undulating cries
carving away slices of my heart

frenzied EMTs
work their magic to no avail
the look of surprise still on your face
as they wheel your shell away

lives shattered in an instant

vacuum engulfs me

still
cold
silent

shock, pain and anger
weave a tapestry of agony and loss
through my mind and soul

how?
why?

so abruptly the circle turned

no time to plan, to share
to say I love you

I awake
shrouded in cold, sweaty sheets
calling your name

can you hear me?

It's a powerful poem, Zan. I changed a few things but your version is great.




Shattered

a moment’s joy, shared visions
then a sudden
“Oh!”
and the dull thump of your body collapsing

frantic pounding of nine-one-one
shrill sirens pierce the air
their undulating cries
carve slices from my heart

frenzied medics
work their magic to no avail
the look of surprise is still on your face
as they wheel your shell away

lives shattered in an instant

vacuum engulfs me

still
cold
silent

shock, pain and anger
weave a tapestry of agony and loss
through my soul

how?
why?

the circle turned
so abruptly

no time to plan, to share
to say I love you
one more time

I wake
shrouded in cold, sweaty sheets
calling your name

can you hear me?
__________________

 

[Guest]

i think this is REALLY good, t!

i have a few suggestions, elimination of redundancies, fixes of tense errors and caps, etc.

the technical fixes are necessary, the rest just suggestions. take ’em or leave ‘em. it’s excellent just as it is.

Thank you for giving m your thoughts. I combined all 3 in-puts and here's the result.


A hot wind sculpts
drifts of dust,
nosing tumbleweeds
into scuffling heaps.
The parched cottonwood stand
rustles restlessly
and his old dog twitches,
dreaming of mud.

He sits on the lop-sided porch,
in an old wooden chair
tilted back to rock on two legs,
a glass of Bourbon
on his table-belly.
Weathered like the clapboard,
he scratches at his grizzled chin,
squinting across the years.

The “Last Chance to Fill” sign
whines in the wind
like a petulant child.
He swats a fly and it kicks
its life away by his dusty boot.
Looking down
he mutters, “Coulda been me.”

The eyes of those
loved and lost
gone too soon haunt him
he looks helplessly
into their death-dried smiles.
Now he is here, selling gas
to other lost souls,
all looking for the way home.

finis.

 

[twelveoone]

Thank you for giving m your thoughts. I combined all 3 in-puts and here's the result.


A hot wind sculpts
drifts of dust,
nosing tumbleweeds
into scuffling heaps.
The parched cottonwood stand
rustles restlessly
and his old dog twitches,
dreaming of mud.

He sits on the lop-sided porch,
in an old wooden chair
tilted back to rock on two legs,
a glass of Bourbon
on his table-belly.
Weathered like the clapboard,
he scratches at his grizzled chin,
squinting across the years.

The “Last Chance to Fill” sign
whines in the wind
like a petulant child.
He swats a fly and it kicks
its life away by his dusty boot.
Looking down
he mutters, “Coulda been me.”

The eyes of those
loved and lost
gone too soon haunt him
he looks helplessly
into their death-dried smiles.
Now he is here, selling gas
to other lost souls,
all looking for the way home.

finis.

2 tinys 1 question
and his old dog twitches,
dreaming of mud. ( I would replace "and" with "as"; why is the dog dreaming of mud, I think I know the answer)

whines in the wind
like a petulant child. (I would change the order, replace "whine" with "squeel")
like a petulant child
squeeling in the wind (only reason for doing so, metal sign's squeel more than whine, order change done to bring squeel closer to swatting flies)

to other lost souls, (this is not bad, but it becomes the low point, and it is the lead in to the last line)

Just suggestions, on what otherwise, I think is fine.

 

[Liar]

Blah, I can't get this right however I try. I know I haven't contrbuted much to this thread lately, but if you have any suggestions as to why this sucks, I'd be ever so grateful.


Trigger

Right before the rain fell,
I found your agora key.

So easy,
just a brush of stray strands,
makeshift curtain parting
to a patch of virginal skin.
The one you kept away,
the one you would shelter
safely, locket tucked
closest to that stained heart.

So you snapped,
slapped my wrist away,
and tried to crawl
back in.

The cocoon has room for one,
but you contain me now,
and so much more of you
than when you once escaped.

Two steps later the clouds
spewed November cold tears,
drowning exposure in thermal urgency.
It fought down a blush
I never got to see, but as you sunk
to the ground I heard it.
Pink noise talking of bastions lost
in the sizzling air between us.

We were out in the open,
and comfort zones were ours
to build from scratch
under a weeping sky.

 

[Guest]

2 tinys 1 question
and his old dog twitches,
dreaming of mud. ( I would replace "and" with "as"; why is the dog dreaming of mud, I think I know the answer)

whines in the wind
like a petulant child. (I would change the order, replace "whine" with "squeel")
like a petulant child
squeeling in the wind (only reason for doing so, metal sign's squeel more than whine, order change done to bring squeel closer to swatting flies)

to other lost souls, (this is not bad, but it becomes the low point, and it is the lead in to the last line)

Just suggestions, on what otherwise, I think is fine.

Dear 1201, thank you for your input. If you know why the old dog dreams of mud I needn't expand.

My idea is to get the reader to hear the noise the sign makes which is more a whine than a squeal. I want the "petulance" to come across. To me a squealing child is in a state beyond petulance.

I don't really understand your last comment but many thanks for your help.

 

[Zanzibar]

It's a powerful poem, Zan. I changed a few things but your version is great.




Shattered

a moment’s joy, shared visions
then a sudden
“Oh!”
and the dull thump of your body collapsing

frantic pounding of nine-one-one
shrill sirens pierce the air
their undulating cries
carve slices from my heart

frenzied medics
work their magic to no avail
the look of surprise is still on your face
as they wheel your shell away

lives shattered in an instant

vacuum engulfs me

still
cold
silent

shock, pain and anger
weave a tapestry of agony and loss
through my soul

how?
why?

the circle turned
so abruptly

no time to plan, to share
to say I love you
one more time

I wake
shrouded in cold, sweaty sheets
calling your name

can you hear me?
__________________

Tristesse, some wonderful insight in your suggestions. I definitely appreciate your comments and think they make the picture I was striving for much more vivid.

Thank you!

 

[twelveoone]

Dear 1201, thank you for your input. If you know why the old dog dreams of mud I needn't expand.

My idea is to get the reader to hear the noise the sign makes which is more a whine than a squeal. I want the "petulance" to come across. To me a squealing child is in a state beyond petulance.

I don't really understand your last comment but many thanks for your help.

1, would be interested in your rationale
2, this was a tough call for me; still is. Your hearing, your rationale - your words.
3, "lost souls" is a little shopworn, not fatal, could be better.

 

[Zanzibar]

Blah, I can't get this right however I try. I know I haven't contrbuted much to this thread lately, but if you have any suggestions as to why this sucks, I'd be ever so grateful.


Trigger

Right before the rain fell,
I found your agora key.

So easy,
just a brush of stray strands, [1]
makeshift curtain parting
to a patch of virginal skin.
The one you kept away,
the one you would shelter
safely, locket tucked
closest to that stained heart. [2]

So you snapped,
slapped my wrist away,
and tried to crawl
back in.

The cocoon has room for one, [3]
but you contain me now,
and so much more of you
than when you once escaped.

Two steps later the clouds
spewed November cold tears,
drowning exposure in thermal urgency. [4]
It fought down a blush [5]
I never got to see, but as you sunk
to the ground I heard it.
Pink noise talking of bastions lost [6]
in the sizzling air between us.

We were out in the open, [7]
and comfort zones were ours
to build from scratch
under a weeping sky.

I had to read this a few times... leave it, and then come back to it again a few times. The main thing that jarred my enjoyment of the poem was the lack of a thread that seemed to tie them all together. I got hints of it, and could be just me not getting it, or just the words not being clear. I've got a number of comments, perhaps some of them will shed some light on your block.

~Zan

[1] The flow of words in the second strophe is just awkward for me. I got the feel you're talking about exposing something they are trying to conceal. I changed the order a bit, and offer this:

So easy,
brushing aside stray strands,
parting makeshift curtains,
exposing virginal essence.
The aspect you'd kept concealed,
the one you tried to shelter
safely, locket tucked
closest to a stained heart.

[2] I had a hard time with stained in the last line fo the first strophe originally, but with the revision, it fits a lot better now. The way it feels now is you've pierced a veil to a secret place that she wanted to keep secret/private, a piece uncorrupted next to her tainted essence. Might consider tainted versus stained

[3] What I get from this strophe is her desire to flee back inside her cocoon, but she's outgrown it now and can't get back in - it's too small for her now. I think you need to strengthen that thought/feeling by adding 1-2 lines here because it's a critical transition point. Had to rework the previous strophe as well just a bit so they fit. A possibility

So you snapped,
slapped my wrist,
and tried to crawl
away.

Striving to reenter
that solitary cocoon,
a futile struggle because
you contain me now,
and you've grown so much
since you first emerged.

First specific comments with the next strophe.

[4] drowning exposure in thermal urgency. This line just confused me. Maybe it's the way the verbs don't work together in this strophe. I think it's the word drowning that just doesn't seem to work for me, but the whole line just doesn't flow. More on this when I do the strophe as a whole.

[5] It fought down a blush Change "It" with "You".

[6] Wording is just awkward in these last two lines, a rewording to make the flow tighter would be:
Pink noise talking of bastions between us
destroyed in the sizzling air

Melting might be a beller word than destroyed, but I'm ambivalent about it right now, but it did pop out as a possible alternative that goes with the rain/water theme. I think both are more dynamic than lost.

As a whole... I offer some word and phrasing changes, and think you might break this strophe into two different ones, as I indicate below.

Two beats later the clouds
spewed November's chill tears,
drenching exposed skin and
creating thermal urgency.

You fought down a blush
I never got to see, but as you sunk
to the ground I heard it.
Pink noise talking of bastions between us
melting in the sizzling air.

[7] The last strophe needs a tighter image/feel as it's the turning point that now that the barriers have been disolved, you now have to/can rebuild them together

Exposed in the open,
now free to build our comfort zones,
together from scratch
under a weeping sky.


Incorporating all my comments together, your poem would look like this...

Trigger

Right before the rain fell,
I found your agora key.

So easy,
brushing aside stray strands,
parting makeshift curtains,
exposing virginal essence.
The aspect you'd kept concealed,
the one you tried to shelter
safely, locket tucked
closest to a stained heart.

So you snapped,
slapped my wrist,
and tried to crawl
away.

Striving to reenter
that solitary cocoon,
a futile struggle because
you contain me now,
and you've grown so much
since you first emerged.

Two beats later the clouds
spewed November's chill tears,
drenching exposed skin and
creating thermal urgency.

You fought down a blush
I never got to see, but as you sunk
to the ground I heard it.
Pink noise talking of bastions between us
melting in the sizzling air.

Exposed in the open,
now free to rebuild our comfort zones,
together from scratch
under a weeping sky.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I think it flows a lot better now, with some jarring aspects from mixed tenses in the middle strophes cleaned up. I am sure you'll see some more things or additional changes as you do the final shaping, but hopefully I've given you some positive things to consider/include in your poem.

 

[average gina]

The more I think about this poem and the input, the more I think that changing this poem would be like using a bunch of bandaids to stop an amputated leg from bleeding.

Pictures do form in my mind. Specific ones. Ones that make me choke and ache. I'm on the verge of throwing up just thinking about them, the pain has so thrown me. Now if only I could give you the pictures. I do understand. I think the rewrite of this poem will be more of an evolution than an edit.

I wish I could put all of my posted poems up for ripping (except for I Screamed at Inhumanity--I know people do not like the redundancy of it, but I do and I have since removed the last line), but this is for one and all to share, not a public forum asking all, "Do you like me?" or "How am I doing? Call 1-800-RIP ME UP".

I totally hunger for any tactful advice. Thanks Cat and Anna (and anyone else that wishes to respond).

I wanted to submit another poem for discretion, but I did want to respond to the last poem I put up.

On posts 91 and 92 on page 4, Cat and Anna both gave clear and excellent advice as to how to approach this poem.

I was on the verge of throwing up then. After looking at it even now, I am sick again.

The poem was referring to how I felt days after my mother passed away. She left me in September and, even now, I still ache. I do intend on working on this poem in the future. Perhaps feeling and remembering would be the best time to do it.

Anna, the haiku you posted on #95... yeah.... you are right... my stomach lurched reading it again. I can only hope I put my half the pain I saw in that in the work that I need to do.

Thanks again. I will work on that poem.

That said...

 

[average gina]

On a samurai challenge, I posted this poem:
Pressed a cup
of priceless joy
from my heart

Spritzed some joy
on an armful
of tulips

White became
alabaster
red to fire

Before you
a sacrifice

please

please

please

(Hey! I did it in fifteen minutes! Work with me!)

I took the opinions of the judges in mind and realized that my intent was not clear. So, I did this:

Pressed a cup
of priceless joy
from my gleeful heart

Spritzed over
a large armful
white and red tulips

White became
alabaster
red, precious ruby

Offered you
a loving gift
please friend be happy


Please let me know if it appears that I cleared up my intent. I wanted the sprayed on joy to make the tulips more vibrant and to give not only the flowers but also a piece of myself to the friend to make them feel better.

I have to say I have passed this to people that were in a bad place (including an online friend in Iraq) and it did lift their spirits... I would just want this to be better if possible.

Thanks for your critical input.

 

[Zanzibar]

I took the opinions of the judges in mind and realized that my intent was not clear. So, I did this:

Pressed a cup [1]
of priceless joy
from my gleeful heart

Spritzed over [2]
a large armful
white and red tulips

White became [3]
alabaster
red, precious ruby

Offered you [4]
a loving gift
please friend be happy


Please let me know if it appears that I cleared up my intent. I wanted the sprayed on joy to make the tulips more vibrant and to give not only the flowers but also a piece of myself to the friend to make them feel better.

I have to say I have passed this to people that were in a bad place (including an online friend in Iraq) and it did lift their spirits... I would just want this to be better if possible.

Thanks for your critical input.

This poem has a very sweet sentiment.

It appears there was a style requirement, or one you were trying to for of each strophe having the format of each line containing a set number of sylables,
1st - 3, 2nd - 4, 3rd - 5. While maintaining the same format, I offer up the following comments.

[1] I shifted the tense of this first line to present vs past, make it an act of the here and now (and a bit like a recipe)

Press a cup
of priceless joy
from my gleeful heart

[2] This strophe seems forced to fit the format. I shifted the tense to fit the first strophe and did a little rewording/changing the order. I think it maintains the emphasis while making the offering clearer.

Spritz upon
a large bouquet,
tulips - white and red

[3] I played with the words and tense here, trying to maintain your original theme and stay consisten with the first two strophes. Petals glistening is the result of your spritzing them with liquid joy.. your gilding them with love.

Petals glisten,
alabaster
highlights rubies glow

[4] changing this a bit to become an offering, instead of a request at the end. To me, it's more consistent overall

Offered as
a loving gift,
to bring happiness

In their entirety, the poem would become...

Press a cup <---- (I also like "First" or "Take" instead of Press.)
of priceless joy
from my gleeful heart

Spritz upon
a large bouquet,
tulips - white and red

Petals glisten,
alabaster
highlights rubies glow

Offered as
a loving gift,
to bring happiness

There is my take on your poem from my perspective. I hope my comments offer some added light to help you finalize this poem. ((You know this could also make a good Hallmark type submittal.))

 

[flyguy69]

i won't try to rewrite your poem, Liar. 1) I am not good enough, and 2) I don't find that technique particularly helpful. Generally, i don't think folks want to know how their poem would read if it were my poem instead! But I can share my reaction to it, and suggest reasons for that reaction.

First, it doesn't suck. Right now, in its current form, it is a very good poem. The imagery is beautiful, and the structure works. If I had to find a weakness I would cite the final strophe, which lacks the strength of the rest of the poem.

QUOTE=Liar]Blah, I can't get this right however I try. I know I haven't contrbuted much to this thread lately, but if you have any suggestions as to why this sucks, I'd be ever so grateful.


Trigger

Right before the rain fell,
I found your agora key.

So easy,
just a brush of stray strands,
makeshift curtain parting
to a patch of virginal skin. The use of "skin" here seems odd. You are exposing her interior, and it doesn't fit with 'hiding it away in a locket'.
The one you kept away,
the one you would shelter
safely, locket tucked
closest to that stained heart.

So you snapped,
slapped my wrist away,
and tried to crawl
back in.

The cocoon has room for one,
but you contain me now,
and so much more of you
than when you once escaped. This is beautiful!

Two steps later the clouds
spewed November cold tears, "November" and "cold" may be redundent.
drowning exposure in thermal urgency. "thermal urgency" is weak
It fought down a blush
I never got to see, but as you sunk
to the ground I heard it.
Pink noise talking of bastions lost
in the sizzling air between us. "bastions" suggests strength, but you mean her weaknesses, I think. And you introduce heat here for the first time without any support or follow-up.

We were out in the open, Beautiful return to "agora"
and comfort zones were ours "comfort zones" is weak, "weeping sky" is cliche and "from scratch" seems unwarrented. I think this is where the poem could use the most help. Again, though, I really like it, even as is.
to build from scratch
under a weeping sky.[/QUOTE]