pulverize

[Hawkman]

"Hawk, thanks so much for your kind comment and feedback. The itals tell a story within story, it's also the heart of the poem and in a way it's independent of the events of 9/11. it's a standalone."

Yes, I understand that, Haunted, and really that's kind of my point. It is a separate poem which disrupts the flow of the main body of the work. As a separate poem it is very good in its own right, but personally, I don't think they work together. Still, it's your poem

Thanks for letting us see it.

Best, H

[Haunted]

oh now I see your point thanks Hawk!

Janine, you are always so supportive. Thanks

Dafy, you are a gem!

[Jerrybaldy]

Hi Haunted
SpongeBob sends his regards
The original gets my vote, but its the way of things that people will like different versions. If you agree with the changes then change and if not, dont as its what you want to say and how you want to say it that matters. I've changed a few of mine when I have read comments and thought 'you are absolutely right'.

To the poem itself, it felt epic, like the events and I liked the mixing in of the subjects life, as its not just a tale of the towers, its a tale of the people they took and this one individual with her own story wiped out.

Its also written by a New Yorker who in a way has more right to write it and its one of your best (though I am clinging on to 1948)
cheers Lady H
Jerry

[Virgil]

A very interesting poem Haunted. It captures the sadness of the day in a character. I liked this stanza in particular:

she checked into Hudson
an off Broadway boutique hotel
where its cocktail lounge floats
psychedelically on a lit glass floor

[Bar22do]

Bar, your ideas are solid but in this particular case it actually needs to reference 9/11. Not everyone knows what floors the plane hit. And despite subway/compass directions, no one really can pinpoint it as NYC, but even then they may not make the connection to the Twin Towers. Even my friend who lives across the stateline didn't get it the first time until I told her to re-read the last stanza. Some transparency is necessary, or else it gets lost as some tragic event that involves a building but didn't convey the horror that not only was he killed, he was pulverized. And that she was left with no body in every sense of the word.

For sure, I just thought the reference could be short (nine/eleven somewhere in the text). But again - you're the highest authority of your poems!
Best of lucks with this one.

[Haunted]

Thanks so much, Virgil!



Bar, really value your comments!!



Hi Jerry! How's Bob? Hope he's not sponging off you...er, or is it you sponging off him? Never mind, I don't want to know

Thanks for your vote . oh yeah, who can forget 1948, your version, I mean!

[Lynne50]

Thanks, Haunted, for this beautiful poem. My small town lost someone on 9/11. He went to the same high school as my daughter. Very poignant piece.

[Haunted]

Thanks so much Lynne. Oh, so sad. My neighbor lost her niece.

[Jerrybaldy]

No Haunted not my tribute but your original tour de force:

Love Story



let’s do something
different today

let’s take a trip
to September of 1948

let’s dress up
as a Hollywood couple

let’s do a stunt
and scale the steepest cliff

let’s pose for the camera
and kiss like there’s no tomorrow

let’s write our own script
of seduction, love, lust and betrayal

let’s rehearse our lines
for the riveting, tear jerking last scene

let’s give me your best acting
pretend you love me more than you love her

let’s make a pact
that you will not hold me back on my way down



never grow tired of it.
Jerry

[Haunted]

no no, this is the one I have in mind...


48 Crash
by our very own Jerrybaldy

She haunted her hotel room for three weeks that summer
overlooking the HOLLYWOOD sign.
She stood on her balcony, when needing some air
and held the H between finger and thumb.
Inside the dimly lit room,
Glen Miller was forever in the mood,
but the needle jumped more each day.
Room service squeaked the trolley in
daily at one thirty.
One waldorf salad and a screwdriver.
She would blow dark red kisses at the bellboy.
As he left each day, she would ask
'Whatever happened to Baby jane?'

She lit her cigarette ,
held chic in it's holder
and set her neck free of her boa.
Nails uncut for three weeks
tore ragged through the feathers.
Dropping her dress to the floor
she floated to the bathroom
pouring taps, lighting candles
and casting red petals afloat.
As she sank in the water
her cigarette died with a hiss.
She checked her watch.
One thirty.
The squeaking wheels arrived.
'Boy' she shouted,
clearing petals to expose.
The boy hesitated in the room,
small steps taking him to the bath.
Springing from the water
she pulled him back in,
holding his head underwater
by his bellboy hat.
When she let go he burst out
mouth open, sucking for air.
She clamped her mouth over his
and wrapped her legs around him,
long nails ripping his jacket,
candles flickering,
petals sticking to her skin.
From the room next door
Glen Miller was still in the mood.
Kiss done, she stood them both up
threw her hair out of her eyes
and instructed,
'Today I would like a pink gin'.



The best of the best in 1948. *sigh*

[Jerrybaldy]

A mere tribute. Now pack it in :P

[Haunted]

whatever you say boss

[Jerrybaldy]

thats the spirit