Not For The Thin-Skinned

[Zanzibar]

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.

There's as many different ways and styles of offering feedback or comments as there are authors. For me, providing an example allows the author help in visualizing the comment, especially when offering suggestions on flow or consistency. Seeing what the reviewer means or feels adds clarity that sometimes isn't there with with a general comment. For me, how better to describe what you see then to provide an example of it? But I've never dictated to an author what they should or shouldn't accept. I just offer my perspectives to their creative process. I leave it up to the author to use what they will, and disregard what they wish... the objective is offering a perspective and insight from a different point of view in an effort to improve the final piece.

I do understand that every author is different, and what works for me certainly won't work for everyone. And if I recieve comments from an author on what kind of feedback works or doesn't work for them, I shift according to whats helpful to them.

But point noted Flyguy... and feedback accepted. If you post poems and request feedback and comments, I'll use a different style of feedback for your works. And please feel free to comment on my own submissions, in any format you like. I appreciate constructive feedback in any form.

 

[flyguy69]

There's as many different ways and styles of offering feedback or comments as there are authors. For me, providing an example allows the author help in visualizing the comment, especially when offering suggestions on flow or consistency. Seeing what the reviewer means or feels adds clarity that sometimes isn't there with with a general comment. For me, how better to describe what you see then to provide an example of it? But I've never dictated to an author what they should or shouldn't accept. I just offer my perspectives to their creative process. I leave it up to the author to use what they will, and disregard what they wish... the objective is offering a perspective and insight from a different point of view in an effort to improve the final piece.

I do understand that every author is different, and what works for me certainly won't work for everyone. And if I recieve comments from an author on what kind of feedback works or doesn't work for them, I shift according to whats helpful to them.

But point noted Flyguy... and feedback accepted. If you post poems and request feedback and comments, I'll use a different style of feedback for your works. And please feel free to comment on my own submissions, in any format you like. I appreciate constructive feedback in any form.

My comments weren't targeted at any specific person, though you are certainly one that uses rewriting as a method of feedback. You also provide detailed, line-by-line analysis that is both insightful and helpful.

I think I probably have rewritten poems, too, and even now often fight a desire to simply do so! I just don't find it helpful because it alters the essential element of the poet's own voice, though. Most importantly, it deprives the poet of the opportunity to discover what works for themselves.

I coach a "Destination Imagination" team for kids in the winter; teams of kids get a problem to solve which they work on for several months. In competition they present their solution to a panel of judges. One of the biggest issues is "interference": assistance offered by non-team members (often a parent). I tell the adults that if they offer advice or solutions, they have taken that particular solution away-- the kids cannot include it in their own work.

I feel that way about writing as well. I want others to own what they write. If I offer a rewrite, I have deprived them of the creative process that may, in fact, lead to the exact words I imagine. And it doesn't work to simply say "use them if you like, ignore them if you don't": the new phrases cannot be used and still remain that writer's poem.

 

[Zanzibar]

Enlighten my world... sharpen my razor

and give me comments on this latest work. Seems I am in a venting anger/pain stage in my serious poetry writings. Those not tied to specific challenges that is. Take a whack and tell me what you think. Z


Razors in my heart

It started with sunburn.
“Nothing to worry about,” the doctor said.
the twisting tendrils of disease
lurking deep inside encroached unseen
unceasing infiltration continued unabated

“What about the itching?”
“Nothing to worry about,” the doctor said.
slow bindings tightened, unchecked and
leeching poisons into unprotected organs
futile armies in white perish fighting invasion

“Honey, everything hurts inside.”
“I’m sorry, there’s nothing we can do,” the doctor said.
organs follow alabaster armies into oblivion,
body wasting away before me as I watch helplessly
Prayers race upward as vitals spiral downward

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”
“She’s in a better place with God,” the minister said.
razors in my heart, slicing wide and deep
like the cancers devouring her, the aching deadens me
leaving an empty husk, yet I remain behind

 

[PatCarrington]

and give me comments on this latest work. Seems I am in a venting anger/pain stage in my serious poetry writings. Those not tied to specific challenges that is. Take a whack and tell me what you think. Z


Razors in my heart

It started with sunburn.
“Nothing to worry about,” the doctor said.
the twisting tendrils of disease
lurking deep inside encroached unseen
unceasing infiltration continued unabated

“What about the itching?”
“Nothing to worry about,” the doctor said.
slow bindings tightened, unchecked and
leeching poisons into unprotected organs
futile armies in white perish fighting invasion

“Honey, everything hurts inside.”
“I’m sorry, there’s nothing we can do,” the doctor said.
organs follow alabaster armies into oblivion,
body wasting away before me as I watch helplessly
Prayers race upward as vitals spiral downward

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”
“She’s in a better place with God,” the minister said.
razors in my heart, slicing wide and deep
like the cancers devouring her, the aching deadens me
leaving an empty husk, yet I remain behind

Z,

i'll try to dig into this later today or tomorrow.

you have been very forthcoming with your own comments lately, and i'd like to give you a deserved return.

 

[wildsweetone]

and give me comments on this latest work. Seems I am in a venting anger/pain stage in my serious poetry writings. Those not tied to specific challenges that is. Take a whack and tell me what you think. Z


Razors in my heart

It started with sunburn.
“Nothing to worry about,” the doctor said.
the twisting tendrils of disease
lurking deep inside encroached unseen
unceasing infiltration continued unabated

“What about the itching?”
“Nothing to worry about,” the doctor said.
slow bindings tightened, unchecked and
leeching poisons into unprotected organs
futile armies in white perish fighting invasion

“Honey, everything hurts inside.”
“I’m sorry, there’s nothing we can do,” the doctor said.
organs follow alabaster armies into oblivion,
body wasting away before me as I watch helplessly
Prayers race upward as vitals spiral downward

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”
“She’s in a better place with God,” the minister said.
razors in my heart, slicing wide and deep
like the cancers devouring her, the aching deadens me
leaving an empty husk, yet I remain behind

I'm going to sneak in my feeble attempt at feedback before Pat puts me completely to shame. *wink*

Remember, this is just my opinion...

I would prefer to see Capital letters after the full stops - that's just a 'me' thing because I like to see consistency in punctuation.

Lines 4 and 5 of the first and second stanzas seem like a big mouthful to read (to me)... if you really like those words then perhaps the line breaks could be altered to help reading ease or adding in commas to allow pauses might help. I 'feel' that after 'unseen' and 'organs' there should be either a full stop or comma as the last lines seem complete as a 'sentences' in themselves.

'futile armies in white perish fighting invasion'

-this seems an extremely important line but the way it reads without punctuation seems to lose most of its impact - in my opinion

In the first two stanzas, it seems as if the discussion is between patient and doctor. Then in the third beginning 'Honey...' it seems out of place that she is talking to someone other than the doctor - i.e. the consistency of character is not there.

'body wasting away'

-I'm tempted to leave this right alone because of hurting feelings. However, it is your writing I am commenting on (always) and only your writing, so I'll just ask, is this phrase, cliche? Can you find another way to say the same thing? Perhaps use a metaphor?


'body wasting away before me as I watch helplessly
Prayers race upward as vitals spiral downward'

-the P for Prayers is not consistent punctuation.
- vitals - do you mean 'vital signs'?


'“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”
“She’s in a better place with God,” the minister said.
razors in my heart, slicing wide and deep
like the cancers devouring her, the aching deadens me
leaving an empty husk, yet I remain behind

- To put this simply, the whole stanza is powerful, but it loses impact with the spacing and line breaks. Among the changes you might make, perhaps having 'yet I remain behind' on a line of its own would be worth thinking about.

I feel that this poem can be very powerful. You've done an excellent job of getting the basic work done to this stage, and now the hard yakka begins to give it some 'kick arse' (please excuse the expression) impact. I want you to make me bawl my eyes out.

And, if this is based on your real life, I am so very sorry for your loss.

 

[Zanzibar]

I'm going to sneak in my feeble attempt at feedback before Pat puts me completely to shame. *wink*

Remember, this is just my opinion...

I would prefer to see Capital letters after the full stops - that's just a 'me' thing because I like to see consistency in punctuation.

Lines 4 and 5 of the first and second stanzas seem like a big mouthful to read (to me)... if you really like those words then perhaps the line breaks could be altered to help reading ease or adding in commas to allow pauses might help. I 'feel' that after 'unseen' and 'organs' there should be either a full stop or comma as the last lines seem complete as a 'sentences' in themselves.

'futile armies in white perish fighting invasion'

-this seems an extremely important line but the way it reads without punctuation seems to lose most of its impact - in my opinion

In the first two stanzas, it seems as if the discussion is between patient and doctor. Then in the third beginning 'Honey...' it seems out of place that she is talking to someone other than the doctor - i.e. the consistency of character is not there.

'body wasting away'

-I'm tempted to leave this right alone because of hurting feelings. However, it is your writing I am commenting on (always) and only your writing, so I'll just ask, is this phrase, cliche? Can you find another way to say the same thing? Perhaps use a metaphor?


'body wasting away before me as I watch helplessly
Prayers race upward as vitals spiral downward'

-the P for Prayers is not consistent punctuation.
- vitals - do you mean 'vital signs'?


'“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”
“She’s in a better place with God,” the minister said.
razors in my heart, slicing wide and deep
like the cancers devouring her, the aching deadens me
leaving an empty husk, yet I remain behind

- To put this simply, the whole stanza is powerful, but it loses impact with the spacing and line breaks. Among the changes you might make, perhaps having 'yet I remain behind' on a line of its own would be worth thinking about.

I feel that this poem can be very powerful. You've done an excellent job of getting the basic work done to this stage, and now the hard yakka begins to give it some 'kick arse' (please excuse the expression) impact. I want you to make me bawl my eyes out.

And, if this is based on your real life, I am so very sorry for your loss.

Thanks for some very insightful comments. You've given me some definite things to think about and ways to make the poem stronger. Especially the comments concerning consistency and punctuation.

Yes, vital signs was what I meant by vital.

This poem is based on some close friends and their battle with cancer. One who was misdiagnosed for over a year and ended up dying from something that would have been highly curable if caught at the beginning.

Like "Shattered" was based on a close friend who died of a blood clot to the brain while I was talking with her on the phone in 2001, I'm striving to put down in words the horror and anguish of that experience. Poetry has helped get out more of the feelings I'd bottled up inside. That's my hope with this one as well, getting more of it out into the open.

 

[wildsweetone]

*hugs*

 

[Zanzibar]

first revision - let me have it again.

*hugs*

*smiles* Thanks for the hugs. I was going to wait for Pat's comments as well, but some of the things you said started my mind awash with thoughts and ideas and I had to finish the first revision so I could focus on something else.

Hopefully Pat, this doesn't set you back any. I still would love to see your comments to either or both versions.

~Z

Razors in my heart

It started with sunburn.
“Nothing to worry about,” the doctor said.
Twisting tendrils of disease
lurking deep inside encroach unseen,
the insidious infiltration undetected.

“I can’t stop itching.”
“Nothing to worry about,” the doctor said.
Tendrils became clutching limbs,
unsuspecting organs suddenly strangled,
while leeching poisons steal precious strength.
Futile armies in white perish fighting invasion.

“Everything hurts inside.”
“I’m sorry, there’s nothing we can do,” the doctor said.
Organs followed alabaster armies into oblivion,
body collapsing into itself as I watch helplessly.
Prayers race upward as vital signs spiral downward.

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”
“She’s in a better place with God,” the minister said.
Razors in my heart, slicing wide and deep.
Like the cancers that devoured her,
leaving only an empty husk.

The aching deadens me.
Yet I still remain.

 

[wildsweetone]

.....

 

[wildsweetone]

*smiles* Thanks for the hugs. I was going to wait for Pat's comments as well, but some of the things you said started my mind awash with thoughts and ideas and I had to finish the first revision so I could focus on something else.

Hopefully Pat, this doesn't set you back any. I still would love to see your comments to either or both versions.

~Z

Razors in my heart

It started with sunburn.
“Nothing to worry about,” the doctor said.
Twisting tendrils of disease
lurking deep inside encroach unseen,
the insidious infiltration undetected.

“I can’t stop itching.”
“Nothing to worry about,” the doctor said.
Tendrils became clutching limbs,
unsuspecting organs suddenly strangled,
while leeching poisons steal precious strength.
Futile armies in white perish fighting invasion.

“Everything hurts inside.”
“I’m sorry, there’s nothing we can do,” the doctor said.
Organs followed alabaster armies into oblivion,
body collapsing into itself as I watch helplessly.
Prayers race upward as vital signs spiral downward.

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”
“She’s in a better place with God,” the minister said.
Razors in my heart, slicing wide and deep.
Like the cancers that devoured her,
leaving only an empty husk.

The aching deadens me.
Yet I still remain.

It reads different to me, I like it. I'll be interested to see what the others suggest.

 

[Zanzibar]

Having a go at kind of story telling poetry - sounds a bit like my waffling and I'm wanting to know if it 'works' as poetry. If not, why not?

Thanks



Tales of Long Ago

On a warm autumn day I’m lulled to dozing
as the rocking chair creaks back and forth, [1]

mesmerising. As [1]
I sit and listen to your tales of old,
about wringer washing machines
and coppers that boiled clothes, [2]
turning hands red raw, cracked and swollen

on Mondays.
Days when wet wood
smouldered without giving heat
and when the power went off [3]
in the milking shed
leaving disgruntled cows <--- I really loved these lines
protesting at full, tight udders. <---

Chuckles emanate from deep within <--- and I really really loved this whole strophe!
when you recall my mussed up face [4]
covered in fresh warm milk
squirted straight from the teat, [4]
clear across the clean concrete cow shed
to my waiting mouth.

And I laugh with you,
finally. Warmed. [5]

Overall, I thought this was a nice warm fuzzy read chock full of memories and family moments. I think you did a great job of telling your story right up to the end where it jarred me. Besides the two parts I highlighted with the <--'s (I loved those in particular!!), here are some observations I have regarding your poem.

[1] I went back and read this section several times, especially the flow between the 2nd, 3rd and 4th lines. As I read the end of the 2nd line and start of the third "mesmerising" just doesn't feel right. Use a different tense or perhaps a different word?

The period between mesmerizing and As makes the next sentence read funny to me. Take a look at the chain and flow of thoughts in these three lines. Maybe a different sentence structure or word choice would make this clearer. (I started to rewrite and give you my versions and held back... <laughs> I'm learning!! )

[2] coppers a kind of washing machine or a pot? Part of the machine? Could just be my lack of proper perspective. (Grandma used a big steel washtub on her farm.) Adding a extra descriptor or perhaps a different word might make it flow better.

[3] Do you really need the second "when" in the sentence, or is it redundant? Is it important to your sense of how the sentence flows? What about using "or" instead of "and"?

[4] The words are wonderful pictures and I can clearly see a vivid image of whats happening. The pauses seem just a bit off to me when I read it however. You might consider moving the pause (comma) from the end of line 4 to the end of line 2.

[5] You lost me here. I get a picture of you laughing with your relative, but "finally." and "Warmed." doesn't fit with the rest of your story. The rest of the poem seems full of light and memories, and then I'm jarred by the last line. Warmed by what? Finally? You never laughed with them before? I'm confused by the ending.


Maybe adding a few more words/lines to make this feeling clearer. Is it a feeling of bonding, happy memories shared, or something deeper. Might just be the way I am reading it, but I'm not sure and I want to be. Please add those last strokes and finish painting the picture for me.

 

[Zanzibar]

It reads different to me, I like it. I'll be interested to see what the others suggest.

Yes, but did it make you want to bawl your eyes out?

As revised, it paints a stronger image for me, and thats what I want others to see. Did I succeed in ramping up the intensity and getting rid of the clutter that blocked the picture before?

Z

 

[Zanzibar]

Razors in my heart - Revision 2

Going back over the comments from before, and coming back to it once more... I did a little more carving out excess words and striving to strengthen more. Now for me it brings out the helpless feeling associated with watching the end come so quickly.

Sorry if you outpacing your comments/review... it's become a frenzy for me. I think I'm going to grab a book and chill out for the rest of the night.

~Z


Razors in my heart

It started with sunburn.
“Nothing to worry about,” the doctor said.
Twisting tendrils of disease
lurking deep inside encroach unseen,
the insidious infiltration undetected.

“I can’t stop itching.”
“Nothing to worry about,” the doctor said.
Tendrils became clutching limbs,
unsuspecting organs suddenly engulfed,
while leeching poisons steal precious strength.

“Everything hurts inside.”
“I’m sorry, there’s nothing we can do,” the doctor said.
Embattled organs struggle in vain,
suddenly collapsing as I watch on helplessly.
Prayers race heavenward as vital signs plummet downward.

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”
“She’s in a better place with God,” the minister said.
Razors in my heart, slicing wide and deep.
Like the cancers that devoured her,
leaving behind an empty husk.

The aching deadens me.
Yet I still remain.

 

[wildsweetone]

Revision 2

.....

 

[flyguy69]

This seems like a rather personal poem, Zan, and ordinarily I view these differently because the sentiment is more important to the author than the general appeal of the poem. But since you have posted it here I will assume you have established a safe distance between yourself and the poem, and are ready for critique!

In general the poem is a bit adjective heavy, many of which don't add significant information (e.g. “empty husk," "precious strength"). I also think that in such a short poem you may have too many metaphoric themes running (strangling, leeching, cutting, devouring). I think the anthropomorphized organs are a bit overdone, and the title is unforgivably trite!

I like the recurrence of the professional, and the story is a cohesive and engaging tale.

Razors in my heart

It started with sunburn.
“Nothing to worry about,” the doctor said.
Twisting tendrils of disease <-- you capture the reader well
lurking deep inside encroach unseen,
the insidious infiltration undetected.

“I can’t stop itching.”
“Nothing to worry about,” the doctor said. <-- already said this
Tendrils became clutching limbs,
unsuspecting organs suddenly engulfed,
while leeching poisons steal precious strength.

“Everything hurts inside.”
“I’m sorry, there’s nothing we can do,” the doctor said.
Embattled organs struggle in vain,
suddenly collapsing as I watch on helplessly.
Prayers race heavenward as vital signs plummet downward.

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”
“She’s in a better place with God,” the minister said.
Razors in my heart, slicing wide and deep. <-- Are these to evoke surgical images? Could be clearer.
Like the cancers that devoured her,
leaving behind an empty husk.

The aching deadens me. <-- The dreaded gerund! (ask Pat)
Yet I still remain. <-- Unnecessary, since you wrote it.

I think you have some real potential here, and you have mostly avoided the cloying sentimentality of poetry about a dying loved one. Good work.

 

[Zanzibar]

Tales of Long Ago

On a warm autumn day I’m lulled to dozing
as the rocking chair creaks back and forth.
Mesmerised, I sit and listen
to your sketchy tales of old [1]
wringer washing machines,
and copper boilers [2]
that boiled clothes and turned hands red
raw, cracked and swollen on Mondays.

Days of wet wood
smouldering without sharing heat,
and days when the power went off
in the milking shed,
leaving disgruntled cows
protesting at full tight udders.

Chuckles emanate from deep within
as you recall my mussed up face
covered in fresh warm milk,
squirted straight from the teat
clear across the clean concrete cow shed
to my waiting mouth.

And I laugh with you,
finally.


Zan, I took into count most of what you said. Thank you for making me think and think hard. I've learned a lot just from the last revision to this. I learned about pauses and line breaks (two things I seem never to learn enough about), I learned about repetitive wording and choosing better words to make my intent clearer. It's also confirmed to me, that I like the word 'finally', and would still like the word 'warmed' but think it makes better (and more important to me) impact with 'warmed' left out, as being warmed is insinuated in the word 'finally'. However, it doesn't give me a circle back to the beginning... I'm not sure if I need to do that or if it works just as it is. Might let it grow on me a day or two.

So, in your holding back and not rewriting for me, you can see I've learned a lot. I appreciate that very much. Thank you.

First off, I think the poem reads much better now to me. The changes you made make the whole picture a lot smoother and clearer, more vivid. I'm very glad you're finding the comments helpful, as your own have helped me a great deal as well. And both learning is good, as I have definitely learned as well.

Have a couple little comments on this revision. Nothing jarring, just to spark some thoughts and see if they'd add or not.

[1] sketchy. For me this means partial or low on details. Is that the kind of tales you mean, or are they really more detailed or vivid? Sketchy is a good word, just a check on what you mean.

[2] Boiler and boiled. Perfect fit or redundant? Would a different word for one of them be stronger or does it fit just right for you? It's purely a personal style thing, but thought I'd toss it out.

Keep on writing! Some lovely things are sprouting out, even if it is fall for you.

 

[wildsweetone]

Revision 3

...Nothing jarring, just to spark some thoughts and see if they'd add or not.

[1] sketchy. For me this means partial or low on details. Is that the kind of tales you mean, or are they really more detailed or vivid? Sketchy is a good word, just a check on what you mean.

[2] Boiler and boiled. Perfect fit or redundant? Would a different word for one of them be stronger or does it fit just right for you? It's purely a personal style thing, but thought I'd toss it out.

Keep on writing! Some lovely things are sprouting out, even if it is fall for you.

Thanks to your comments Zan, I feel that this reads so much better now!

Here's the revision of the first verse.

On a warm autumn day I’m lulled to dozing
as the rocking chair creaks back and forth.
Mesmerised, I sit and listen
to your sketchy tales of old
wringer washing machines,
copper boilers cooking clothes,
and red raw hands on Mondays.


It's still got mostly the same information but is tighter (and more specific since that first draft). Thank you.

 

[flyguy69]

This is a sweet bit of nostalgia, WSO. In keeping with the title of the thread, however, I am going to gut it like a carp.

This poem seems to want to say something significant, but I can't decide what it is. I guess I think that because of your final line, which implies some sort of reconciliation, but I didn't see estangement earlier to justify it. I think you would do well to pull out a theme or two and let them drive the images you present. Some themes I see in this poem are nourishment/nurturing, reconciliation (but note my earlier concern), comfort earned through hardship and time travel (not in the sci-fi sense).

Tales of Long Ago This title won't bring in many readers. This is one of my weaknesses, too, so I really have no suggestions to offer. A very good poet that used to participate here (where are you, JD4G?) used to say "the best title is often in the penultimate line of the poem." In this case, that line is "And I laugh with you."


On a warm autumn day I’m lulled to dozing "lulled" and "dozing" are sort of redundent
as the rocking chair creaks back and forth. "back and forth" are implied by the creaking of the chair
Mesmerised, I sit and listen
to your sketchy tales of old "Sketchy" doesn't do anything for the poem because it doesn't fit with other themes.
wringer washing machines,
and copper boilers
that boiled clothes and turned hands red
raw, cracked and swollen on Mondays. Four modifiers for "hands" seems a bit much.

Days of wet wood
smouldering without sharing heat, The significance of this image is unclear to me
and days when the power went off
in the milking shed,
leaving disgruntled cows
protesting at full tight udders. "full" and "tight" express the same quality, here, and "disgruntled" seems awfully mild for the condition!

Chuckles emanate from deep within
as you recall my mussed up face
covered in fresh warm milk,
squirted straight from the teat
clear across the clean concrete cow shed Wow! Lots of alliteration!
to my waiting mouth. This is a wonderful image

And I laugh with you,
finally. Have you been resisting laughter?

 

[Zanzibar]

This seems like a rather personal poem, Zan, and ordinarily I view these differently because the sentiment is more important to the author than the general appeal of the poem. But since you have posted it here I will assume you have established a safe distance between yourself and the poem, and are ready for critique!

In general the poem is a bit adjective heavy, many of which don't add significant information (e.g. “empty husk," "precious strength"). I also think that in such a short poem you may have too many metaphoric themes running (strangling, leeching, cutting, devouring). I think the anthropomorphized organs are a bit overdone, and the title is unforgivably trite!

I like the recurrence of the professional, and the story is a cohesive and engaging tale.

Razors in my heart

It started with sunburn.
“Nothing to worry about,” the doctor said.
Twisting tendrils of disease <-- you capture the reader well
lurking deep inside encroach unseen,
the insidious infiltration undetected.

“I can’t stop itching.”
“Nothing to worry about,” the doctor said. <-- already said this
Tendrils became clutching limbs,
unsuspecting organs suddenly engulfed,
while leeching poisons steal precious strength.

“Everything hurts inside.”
“I’m sorry, there’s nothing we can do,” the doctor said.
Embattled organs struggle in vain,
suddenly collapsing as I watch on helplessly.
Prayers race heavenward as vital signs plummet downward.

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”
“She’s in a better place with God,” the minister said.
Razors in my heart, slicing wide and deep. <-- Are these to evoke surgical images? Could be clearer.
Like the cancers that devoured her,
leaving behind an empty husk.

The aching deadens me. <-- The dreaded gerund! (ask Pat)
Yet I still remain. <-- Unnecessary, since you wrote it.

I think you have some real potential here, and you have mostly avoided the cloying sentimentality of poetry about a dying loved one. Good work.

Thanks for all the comments. I appreciate you taking the time to read and comment. I'm waiting for Pat's take as well before I do my next revision, but there is a lot there I find valuable.

Ragarding the title... I was torn between what I used, or "Nothing to worry about.” I deliberately had that in the first and second strophes, because time passed between the visits. (And for a continuous thread between strophes.

 

[wildsweetone]

This is a sweet bit of nostalgia, WSO. In keeping with the title of the thread, however, I am going to gut it like a carp.

This poem seems to want to say something significant, but I can't decide what it is. I guess I think that because of your final line, which implies some sort of reconciliation, but I didn't see estangement earlier to justify it. I think you would do well to pull out a theme or two and let them drive the images you present. Some themes I see in this poem are nourishment/nurturing, reconciliation (but note my earlier concern), comfort earned through hardship and time travel (not in the sci-fi sense).

Tales of Long Ago This title won't bring in many readers. This is one of my weaknesses, too, so I really have no suggestions to offer. A very good poet that used to participate here (where are you, JD4G?) used to say "the best title is often in the penultimate line of the poem." In this case, that line is "And I laugh with you."


On a warm autumn day I’m lulled to dozing "lulled" and "dozing" are sort of redundent
as the rocking chair creaks back and forth. "back and forth" are implied by the creaking of the chair
Mesmerised, I sit and listen
to your sketchy tales of old "Sketchy" doesn't do anything for the poem because it doesn't fit with other themes.
wringer washing machines,
and copper boilers
that boiled clothes and turned hands red
raw, cracked and swollen on Mondays. Four modifiers for "hands" seems a bit much.

Days of wet wood
smouldering without sharing heat, The significance of this image is unclear to me
and days when the power went off
in the milking shed,
leaving disgruntled cows
protesting at full tight udders. "full" and "tight" express the same quality, here, and "disgruntled" seems awfully mild for the condition!

Chuckles emanate from deep within
as you recall my mussed up face
covered in fresh warm milk,
squirted straight from the teat
clear across the clean concrete cow shed Wow! Lots of alliteration!
to my waiting mouth. This is a wonderful image

And I laugh with you,
finally. Have you been resisting laughter?

Thanks for your gutting comments, fly, much appreciated. I'll work through them today and over the weekend.

 

[PatCarrington]

Going back over the comments from before, and coming back to it once more... I did a little more carving out excess words and striving to strengthen more. Now for me it brings out the helpless feeling associated with watching the end come so quickly.

Sorry if you outpacing your comments/review... it's become a frenzy for me. I think I'm going to grab a book and chill out for the rest of the night.

~Z


Razors in my heart

It started with sunburn.
“Nothing to worry about,” the doctor said.
Twisting tendrils of disease
lurking deep inside encroach unseen,
the insidious infiltration undetected.

“I can’t stop itching.”
“Nothing to worry about,” the doctor said.
Tendrils became clutching limbs,
unsuspecting organs suddenly engulfed,
while leeching poisons steal precious strength.

“Everything hurts inside.”
“I’m sorry, there’s nothing we can do,” the doctor said.
Embattled organs struggle in vain,
suddenly collapsing as I watch on helplessly.
Prayers race heavenward as vital signs plummet downward.

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”
“She’s in a better place with God,” the minister said.
Razors in my heart, slicing wide and deep.
Like the cancers that devoured her,
leaving behind an empty husk.

The aching deadens me.
Yet I still remain.

Zanz,

it is obvious you worked very hard on this poem, and there are many things about it that i think are very effective.

the first line is excellent, for instance, and sets the theme -- something so seemingly innocent being so vicious – very well. and I think the repeat of “nothing to worry about” that bothered flyguy is actually very effective, drumming home a lay person’s sensible belief that doctors should be listened to, and that their words of unconcern become so important to our sense of well-being.

i think there are phrases all over the place that read very well, and technically, now that you have repaired the caps as WSO pointed out, the poem is strong.

but since the purpose of this thread is to take a poem and hopefully uses the thoughts of others to improve it, i’ll give you some thoughts about things that keep this from being a highly effective poem for me:

theme vs. structure

i think there is a harmful dichotomy between theme and structure. for me, the structure of a poem should augment or at least (as in most cases) be neutral to theme.

you have written a poem with a carefully thought-out skeleton. 4 strophes (disregarding the last), 5 lines per strophe. The first two lines of each are direct quotes, the last three something else – so that these first four strophes are very regimented.

it seems to me that this runs contrary to the theme and subject matter. the ache of loss and especially the stunned confusion, and the unexpected nature of melanoma seems to call for a more lost and rambling feel to the poem instead of a perfectly square build, more of a ‘what-do-I-do-now’, ‘where-do-I-turn,’ ‘you said it would be all right’ type feel – it does not have that feeling, one that i think would highly augment the poem, in its present form.

so, for me, much of the potential universality of emotion has been left buried. when I read this poem, i know i do know feel what you intended me to feel as a reader.

theme vs. mood

i also think much of the language and phrasing is detrimental to the overall effectiveness of the poem. the language here, i think, should be used to better bring out the mood of the piece and thereby its effect on the reader, which is what poetry is about.

for instance, this:

Twisting tendrils of disease
lurking deep inside encroach unseen,

…..seems too cold and officious to me, especially when sitting after a wonderful start like: “It started with sunburn.”


as does this:

Tendrils became clutching limbs,
unsuspecting organs suddenly engulfed,
while leeching poisons steal precious strength


i think the language needs to be made more natural and pure, to capture mood that is in accordance with theme.


this poem, i’m sure, could pack quite a wallop if handled on a more personal level language-wise, and on a less robotic level, structure-wise.

i hope you find these opinions helpful, zanz.

and you have been a great addition to this thread.

patrick

 

[flyguy69]

Narrow Eyes

Jungle heat creeps on narrow eyes
and minds through the cool
Wisconsin woods. Blazing hunters
squint and cock their lips, loose
a hail of epithets on gook-eyed
trespasser, who feels the jungle
close as slurs clip the leaves
around him. These pale bigots

know nothing of Laos
and the cost of collaboration,
the night crossing to Thailand
with two shirts, a knife and a pot
as bullets slap the water. Twenty years
on the jungle fringe before the promise
of America fulfilled.

In the white-tail season
he finds nostalgia in blued steel,
the stock and trigger. He knows
the dimmed eyes of death, the red trail
of quarry. This new bark
extends a familiar roost
for his deadly wait. The ambush

arrives in snarling 4-wheel drive
with shaking fists and 4-letter
suggestions. Hate
cuts through the forest like napalm,
and a twenty-year-old twitch
in his finger returns. He squints
and squeezes and the eyes of 6 hunters
grow dim.

 

[Zanzibar]

A new incarnation...

I took all of the comments I got and took them all in and let them percolate for a while. I am definitely striving for the emotion to break out into the forefront. I also looked at the title and revised it as well. You can see the final results of my revisions.

I think I've reached a much deeper chord with the changes.

Once again, I open myself to your comments as I present the latest version/


It started with sunburn

It started with sunburn.
“Nothing to worry about,” the doctor said
while twisting tendrils of disease
lurk deep inside,
undetected.

“I can’t stop itching.”
“Nothing to worry about,” the doctor said,
while tendrils grew and multiplied,
seeking out unsullied places,
spreading the corruption
unabated.
Natural defenses falter,
then fail,
overwhelmed
while miracles of modern medicine
remain unused.

“Everything hurts inside.”
“I’m sorry, there’s nothing else we can do,” the doctor said,
injecting drugs to ease the pain.
Morphine and Percozet
create facades of
nothing wrong,
while inside,
everything is.

“I’m scared.”
“I know, love. I’m here with you,” I said,
holding a trembling hand.
Surrounded by useless science
and machines,
we share whispers
of love,
then silence
as your eyes close
the final time.

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”
“She’s in a better place with God,” the minister said,
but inside my heart
I feel scalpels carving
wide and deep.
Like the cancers that devoured her,
leaving behind
an empty shell.

The aching deadens me.

 

[flyguy69]

I took all of the comments I got and took them all in and let them percolate for a while. I am definitely striving for the emotion to break out into the forefront. I also looked at the title and revised it as well. You can see the final results of my revisions.

I think I've reached a much deeper chord with the changes.

Once again, I open myself to your comments as I present the latest version/


It started with sunburn

It started with sunburn.
“Nothing to worry about,” the doctor said
while twisting tendrils of disease
lurk deep inside,
undetected.

“I can’t stop itching.”
“Nothing to worry about,” the doctor said,
while tendrils grew and multiplied,
seeking out unsullied places,
spreading the corruption
unabated.
Natural defenses falter,
then fail,
overwhelmed
while miracles of modern medicine
remain unused.

“Everything hurts inside.”
“I’m sorry, there’s nothing else we can do,” the doctor said,
injecting drugs to ease the pain.
Morphine and Percozet
create facades of
nothing wrong,
while inside,
everything is.

“I’m scared.”
“I know, love. I’m here with you,” I said,
holding a trembling hand.
Surrounded by useless science
and machines,
we share whispers
of love,
then silence
as your eyes close
the final time.

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”
“She’s in a better place with God,” the minister said,
but inside my heart
I feel scalpels carving
wide and deep.
Like the cancers that devoured her,
leaving behind
an empty shell.

The aching deadens me.

This is an excellent revision, Zan. I think you have done an admirable job of considering this poem from several angles and refining your message. Two last suggestions: you change tenses in a couple places, and you have parsed the minister's quote in the last strophe.

Nice work.

 

[Zanzibar]

This is an excellent revision, Zan. I think you have done an admirable job of considering this poem from several angles and refining your message. Two last suggestions: you change tenses in a couple places, and you have parsed the minister's quote in the last strophe.

Nice work.

Thanks for the insightful comments. I went back and fixed up the tense issues and the added "'s as well. <smiles> It always reads right if you wrote it yourself, cause the mind knows what you meant to say, no matter whats on the page.


And thanks again to WSO and Pat as well. Between the three of you, you pushed me in lots of different ways and helped me create something much more than when I started.

So once again...


It started with sunburn

It started with sunburn.
“Nothing to worry about,” the doctor said
while twisting tendrils of disease
lurked deep inside,
undetected.

“I can’t stop itching.”
“Nothing to worry about,” the doctor said,
while tendrils grew and multiplied,
seeking out unsullied places,
spreading the corruption
unabated.
Natural defenses faltered,
then failed,
overwhelmed
while miracles of modern medicine
remained unused.

“Everything hurts inside.”
“I’m sorry, there’s nothing else we can do,” the doctor said,
injecting drugs to ease the pain.
Morphine and Percozet
create facades of
nothing wrong,
while inside,
everything is.

“I’m scared.”
“I know, love. I’m here with you,” I said,
holding a trembling hand.
Surrounded by useless science
and machines,
we shared whispers
of love,
then silence
as your eyes closed
the final time.

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
She’s in a better place with God,” the minister said,
but inside my heart
scalpels carved
wide and deep.
Like the cancers that devoured her,
leaving behind
an empty shell.

The aching deadens me.