I'm glad you enjoyed it... thank you for picking such a lovely picture to share, loved how it fit so well with this poem.
Once, when I thought it was about candlelight car doors opened scented flowers I said, this wasn’t a word about me now, I would get on my knees to receive his kick most would say there’s something wrong with me but I say, no I’m comfortable here on the floor waiting looking up for a smile hoping for a hand accepting crumbs I’m a romantic.
Hi Vetty, I love the conceit here, how you portray the hopeless romantic. The person who denies romance in their life and then when they do get struck by cupid, they fall seriously head-over-heels, whether it be reciprocated or not. Anyway, I’ve gone through line-by-line to point out some of the minor nits I had and where I feel it could be tightened up a little. Once, I like the use of once. It sets the tone well and seems to suggest that the time when N felt like this was a very long time ago, if not literally, at least mentally. when I thought it was about candlelight car doors opened scented flowers candlelight, car doors opened seems to clatter off the tongue. I think to suggest the type of stereotypical romance, your list should run smoother, the syntax of ‘car doors opened’ in particular. I said, this wasn’t a word about me ‘about me’ is also a little off. Is romance ‘about’ anybody? How about ‘that concerned me’, or something similar? now, I would get on my knees to receive his kick I like this image of supplication a lot, but how about ‘his boot’? most would say there’s something wrong with me ‘would’ seems a little weak. I’d prefer you to be more definite. Have the others actually slagging her off. I would also stretch this out a little, give a definite example of what they think is wrong with you, perhaps a quote from one off them. but I say, no I’m comfortable here on the floor I’d chop ‘I say, no’. I would let N be a little more resigned to her position, rather than speaking up for herself. If waiting looking up for a smile hoping for a hand accepting crumbs I love the last four lines, especially accepting crumbs. I’m a romantic. I think this just states the obvious. I’d lop it off, and end on accepting crumbs. I hope this is of some use to you when you choose to revisit this poem. I really enjoyed working through it. Keep ‘em coming. Peace, A.
I didn’t get to grow old with you, ease you into twilight fathom your eyes of mettle. I hear the wind lift you, toss you like an autumn leaf. You’re that lost glove or scarf remembered fondly on a bitter cold morning. My hand is on the window pane. The darkness settles like snow. I revised this somewhat with Red's critique, probably needs a bit more but ran out of steam. Hope all is well with those reading/writing poetry here! Note to red: I ended up leaving "autumn" in but positioned the stanza earlier... I was having a hard time finding a way to say "weightless declining body" and at one point changed it to "toss you among the branches" but that seemed brutal and not what I was after... I was after how weightless someone becomes in decline. I also didn't work on the "my hand is on the window pane" part yet... I may let it all soak a bit longer. Thank you for taking the time with this. It was helpful.
Periodically, you come to the abyss, reach out, touch wet sable dripping darkness casting shadows you can’t confess, and you run. Sometimes, you tip-toe along its edge, fall to your knees, but always with one hand on the bar, touch its deep spun silk, musky with human sweat eyes closed, grip steady but you find you are not, and again you run. Once more, and this time you are prepared, with time to be lost, a knapsack of hostess cakes a half-finished bottle of white wine, your shield and sword for the darkness, and you climb into it but it climbs onto you and you run. Someday, you will finish this poem.
Hi Vetty, I'm glad you're back writing regularly and hope to seee more of your work on here. Here's a few thoughts on this short poem. I liked the tone of the narrator in this poem, understated and melancholy, but I think that some of the verb choices do little to enhance the mood you are trying to create and for revision that is something I would look at, trying to choose verbs that add to the overall emotion of the poem. I didn’t get to grow old with you, ease you into twilight look into your old eyes. The repetition of old so soon in the poem comes across as slightly lazy and I think that you could choose a more original modifier for eyes. eg. look into your eyes of ______ You’re like that lost glove or scarf remembered fondly on a bitter cold morning. Solid. I hear the wind lifting you, tossing you like an autumn leaf. I would activate at least one of these gerunds, if not both. Also, although there can be bitter cold mornings in Autumn, I more readily associate them with winter, thus the use of Autumn jarred a little here. The darkness of night is settling like snow. I would add this onto the end of the last line and let it suggest that N is hearing the darkness settling like snow. I'm not sure why, I think because I like the idea of listening to the silence. My hand is on the window pane. I like the way you stop 'uncompleted' like the feeling you are trying to convey but I think that rather than the bland 'is on', the inclusion of an original verb here, with some of the connotations of sadness/loneliness, would be much more effective in conveying the feeling you want. I enjoyed considering this and will try and get back to your latest post soon. Peace, A.
Stained fingertips lightly lift lit cigarette to lips long quiet. The moon above, the only voice blown smoke, the only pattern. A tiny hand slips past ribcage and taps lightly; for on a moon lit night, one can linger over crossroads, longer than in the light of day.
I really loved Warm April Day, sometimes I want to be upbeat and something else comes in, I know what you mean
This is definitely a draft, not sure when I'll get around to messing around with it if ever. Here it is in any case: The Earth is Our Spouse Do they still use nails in coffins? Or are they all now fabricated in a factory, one solid lid over one solid case, hinges and a clasp? The one common ground our mortality. No matter the mountains, nor the oceans, no matter whether there were roses or ivy vines, mesquite or olive, no matter if the sun climbs or the sun dips low, the earth is our spouse calling out our name with open arms.
