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5/8/2010 1:47:21 PM
Between The Stingers
||"Popped," in "popped out of a street urchin" feels am little off-center from the imagery...just really hard a imagine the "popness" connotation towards a baby coming out of the naturally slow process of labor.
Also, I think if you took out "Now white" between "paled" and "impatient" in the next line about the sun, you'd the poem good. Whatever you can take out, if its able to add a sort of powerful mystery (not to mention pace and brevity) in its omission, the better. And in the case of "paled" nd "now white" is just simple repetition...something we all fall into.
Reading and re-reading it, honestly if I found this drifted to shore somehow and hand a handy red pen, and then cut out the first 4 lines of the 3rd stanza (start with "the past lies dead"), skip the dying heraldic section (feels a little self-glorifying...trust me, I fall into this feverish proclaiming in my own writing, then look backon it, and with 20/20 it feel deeply extraneous), take out that first "yet" and go straigh into "I crawl through the layers..." and that final stanza is just fine...man...I'd love to see it then!
Cuz, y'know, I could always be wrong...but the best thing you can ever do to poem-in-progress inj tighten, tighten tighten, and make trails, as many trails as you can that get you either to the core of the poem, or very near it.
5/8/2010 2:14:21 PM
punched in face by fist in face
||I'd take out the inner commentary within the poem...by that I mean everything that isn't a clear description o the pain or the sequenceof actions...which are by far the best parts of the poem...
fr example, I'd x the following: "yeah thats quite etertaining...funny on your own," and "Homeward bound I headed....neither will its contents"
Those step-back-and-evaluate lines ten to slow or full-on break the stride of the piece...and I suspect, with the strength and visceral imagery and description of your meat-and-potatoe lines (those dealng more intimately with the violent moments) subtracting the lesser-impact lines will bring this even more to life...
5/8/2010 7:20:12 PM
||I was pulling strings of beads--
They were dancing!
I lumbered to a lull,
The lighted eyes raying me--I shot upwards!
A rebounding blue casket flash,
I slide onto wet wood as Wendell
Dropped salt spit from his brow,
Patting me tender,
Wendell lived aone,
With the many fresh faces rolling along the lawns,
Pattering and clopping against the silent realm of the wood,
Piercing my silvering sounds,
The pier from below provided shuttering glimpses of the Great Blue and White.
There was always a party with Wendell...
Woven in nature's disgonal rings, as they appear against the sun,
There is some irate lust for hman-human companionship,
Mad scientists run a-muck about the land,
All on differeing timetables, differeing desires,
Rarely allowin the opportunity to walk around their own body,
To view themselves as semi-self-constructed circuitry
With a thirst for air me.
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