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Knock. Knock. (Poem)
Lilnoobs
Alpha Queue Registered User regular
Alpha Queue Registered User regular
Posts
The poem itself has a morose quality that vaguely reminds me of Richard Brautigan or other Beat poets.
see Boo, Forever by Brautigan:
Spinning like a ghost
on the bottom of a
top,
I'm haunted by all
the space that I
will live without you.
-- your turn of phrase about the 'present' is reminiscent of this kind of thing, and I think good use of line breaks to add pacing could improve the meaning behind your words.
I like the abstraction in this piece but I can see where other readers may be turned off by it.
Overall, I'm interested to see what you might do with this.
jayxwolf.com || twit || fb || writing || ravelry || dA || g++
I tend to default to 4 line stanzas and ~10 sylls just as a constrain during creation.
I see this one may require line finesse. Let me see what I can do. Thanks for the input.
his feet through the snow
for god knows
the entire length up
the driveway. Sled
dogs trumpet
in the otherwise
observant
night,
and he knows those dogs
would keep barking
even if he was not here.
But he is here, his future
before him; as if thawing
from a winter chill
his eyes water. Each careful step
hardens
his chest. The trail behind him,
the fanged scrape in his throat
constrict
as if alive.
His taxi honks. Startled,
his hand releases a present
he should have left
long ago.
As he searches for what he has
dropped,
a light scampers out the bottom
as she opens the door
just a crack, scared
of who is out there.
jayxwolf.com || twit || fb || writing || ravelry || dA || g++
jayxwolf.com || twit || fb || writing || ravelry || dA || g++
in Fairbanks,
Alaska, the sun stays up all night
nodding
as if a grandfather
smiling at the neighborhood children,
while he hands the last slices
of bread
from the cracked cliffs of his fingers
to the migratory loons.
We sit in this valley of light
on the roof of a cabin. Here,
I offered you
a kiss and you
covered my lips, shoved
my back onto the hot
shingles. Our shadows
married and one
like the last
snow angel
crumbling
in the hands of the sun.
Conversely, the line "a kiss and you" seems like it could have simply been "a kiss" alone. Why did you add "and you" to that line in particular? Is there something we need to be considering there?
[SIGPIC][/SIGPIC]
Oddly enough when I read it aloud I separate the "and you" as the "a kiss/ and you" suggests.
The "of bread" was more for suspension or surprise. Perhaps I was trying to create a surprise in a place that doesn't really need it just to create a "surprise".
Thank you for your feedback.
Journal
Memory is the underside
of a pillow I've left
cooling under the shadow of itself. His thoughts
of her last night embraced between
his folded arms. She warms one
soft cheek on his rising
and falling chest. Untucked, their smiles
curl like burning paper. Informally,
her hands spiral
around his waist. His fingers
flip through
the pages of her hair, returning
to their favorite passages.
Alternative line breakage.
Journal
Memory is the underside of a
pillow I've left cooling under the shadow
of itself. His thoughts of her last night embraced
between his folded arms. She warms one soft
cheek on his rising and falling chest. Un-
tucked, their smiles curl like burning paper.
Informally, her hands spiral around
his waist. His fingers flip through the pages
of her hair, returning to their favorite
passages.
Alaska
A loft
in a cabin down
a potted road, through underbrush
overgrown, where I sleep
behind windows nailed with blankets
breaking sun, the scattered
light through fibers, my thoughts
of us.
I personally really like the Alaska poem and I don't think I would change anything about it-- it carries well and the line breaks work to add emphasis in ways the straight sentence would not.
jayxwolf.com || twit || fb || writing || ravelry || dA || g++
Like a lugie from above
love flew into my palm. I clawed
my fingers as one might to carry an egg
or a bleeding hand to a sink.
After many washes and even the alcoholic
sanitizer evaporating as quickly as it hit,
the mucus felt as if it remained. A phantom
pain? Days, weeks, months later,
as I hold out my hand to shake yours,
the thought of phlegm over my palm like a coat
my mind will not disrobe; I wonder
do we feel the same thing?