Sounds like something Stephen King might have come up with during his 'Carrie' years.
Are we to assume the narrator and 'she' who never gets out are one and the same person (hence the mirror)? Creepy indeed.
H
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Sounds like something Stephen King might have come up with during his 'Carrie' years.
Are we to assume the narrator and 'she' who never gets out are one and the same person (hence the mirror)? Creepy indeed.
H
Hawk, purple dreads (gothic style) are cool, you should try it some time :D
I'll revisit that stanza but the line "clearly she never got out" (vs. "she's stuck") is to mean getting out of that dress as well as her mental state. But I'm pleased that you are pleased with the rest.
Hill, once again you nailed it, (why am I not surprised? :)) It's indeed one and the same person — the death is symbolic in order to start new as signified by a new year. But plot-wise the chance of "she" coming back from the dead is highly probable. How's that for creepy? However if the stabbing is as creepy as you imagined...you got me thinking of a softer ending....
I thought the transition from the "purple dreads" to the narrator's recollection of herself in her "little pink babydoll dress" beautifully pointed up the situation.
And, speaking of pink, check this out:
http://milford.patch.com/articles/so...ke-superheroes
OK Hawk, S2 is edited for a smoother read. Hope you agree. BTW I never watched Black Swan and don't know anything about it.
Prince, glad you picked that up and the contrast worked. Cute video. Pink was indeed my favorite color, talk about predictable!
A happy New Year haunted!!!! and - what a poem. I mean so very powerful. Reading it aloud, I thought these two would benefit from more concision:
I hurl the hot curling iron
smack into the mirror
glass explodes
shards everywhere
I pick up the longest
and sharpest I can find
and thrust it in her chest
just an idea, please disregard if not to your liking:
I hurl the hot curling iron
smack into the mirror
glass explodes
I pick up the longest shard
thrust it in her chest
and now am ready
for the New Year's party
my very best as always, Bar
Bar, thanks so much for your comment. Love your suggestion! I went back and made some modifications.
the very best to you too and have a wonderful New Year.
wow, now it's great! and I too am ready for the New Year, though not for a party, I'm afraid...! :Angel_anim: greetings! Bar
I don't do New Year's parties either, it's so overrated. For a low key celebration, best wishes for you in the coming year Bar!
hours on end
I would lie next to you even if
on a bed of brambles just to listen
there’s no music more beautiful
more addictive than your rhythmic snrrrrrrrr.....
hhhhhhh.....snrrrrrrrr.....hhhhhhh.....snrrrrrrrr. ....hhhhhhh.....snrrrrrrrr.....
That's a woman in love, I should say... for how else! ;) I'd suggest you use only one first "more" then the enumeration, but as always I might be wrong...
Best to you, haunted,
Bar
Nice idea Haunted and it's humour is a winner. But it is a bit overstated. too much snrrrrring. in the absence of punctuation I'd adjust the line breaks in the second part:
"there’s no music more beautiful
more addictive
than your rhythmic
snrrrrrrrr....."
Live and be well - H
Indeed, Bar :) I agree about the redundancy. I went back and took out a few more things. As always a pleasure to read your comments.
Hawk, you've got my contracted style down pat, LOL. But this one is different. The onomatopoeia is the poem. The repetition is also meant to create a hypnotic effect and extend the rhythm. Thanks for weighing in and finding humor in this little piece of silliness.
Lol! I had the pleasure of reading your works for some time. They may or may not say much but they are unique. To make onomatopoeia the poem is singular. XO
Aliengirl that's quite an astute observation. I do dig the most insignificant subject matters — the lowest denominators of life. Sometimes it's the smallest things that matter most.
And for your delightful comment, hugs from this haunted writer.
I don't know whether I'm really so good at observing but I'm pretty sure you are good at detecting smaller details. :)
This girl hugs you back. :grouphug:
your hours on end could be read in a number of ways I'm sure Haunted. A genuine romantic - the sacrifices we are so willing to make and not even prepared to call them that anyway! Or the wonderful sarcasm you have put to use, underlying so well the hours on end themselves. I don't know. I'm still on my first cup of tea. Either way, those few lines brought a smile to my face Haunted.
You would love me haunted. truely. I can hhhhh and snnrrrrr for hours.... but then I stop and scare the flying crap out of myself. I remember you referencing brambles a while back as an English expression you loved and glad to see it pop up here. I genuinely cannot decide if your poem is sarchasm or love .. but maybe thats the point, or not. Screwdriver! Clink! x
Delta, glad it put you in a good mood :). I can see how the title Hours on End would lead you and Jerry into thinking it's sarcasm. But it's nothing close to a full-blown snore, as there are no vowels in either "snrrrrrrrr" or "hhhhhhh". So I'm afraid it's truly a stupidly-in-love poem.
Jerry, I'd sure love you but dunno about that boil...never mind :D clink x
listener
the side of the face resting
on the moistened asphalt
bears imprints similar to
bumpy scar tissue
every few days
I turn over to the other side
so I won’t stiffen
into stone
still this is the best way
to detect distant sounds
like an imminent apocalypse
or your footsteps
coming back up the road
this is stunning, haunted from first to last word. a very powerful poem indeed! bravo! from Bar
Awesome! It seems as if written by someone living alone in a post-apocalyptic world. Very evocative. XOX
It's very good, Haunted. :) The opening is perhaps a little prosy, but it's very atmospheric and the internal narrative logic works well. The whole piece flows beautifully.
Live and be well - H
Bar, that's so sweet and heartening, many thanks!
yes Aliengirl, something like that. Thanks for dropping in. oooo
Hawk, what can I say, I am poetically challenged. Anyhoo if you find it atmospheric and making sense, then I'm a happy camper.
Listener
Wow Haunted, that's a short poem with a punch if ever I read one. I can even imagine the skin bubbling like the asphalt before popping then scarring....a dedicated listener. You captured the gravity of a place nobody ever wants themselves resorting to.
Thanks so much Delta. Yeah, I'm attracted to places where few dare to go.
The revelation in the last three lines makes this even more stunning than the sufficently graphic preceding lines.
Prince, thanks for your kind words, it's really reassuring.
Loved it. Loved it. Loved it. Face down on asphalt for days??? That image has popped into my head regularly the last day or two since I read your masterpiece. The darkness of it, the hopelessness of the listener but most of all, that image that I cannot get out of my head. Stunning, as bar and Prince noted and I could not agree more. You should be very proud of this one. It is a Gem shining in the black asphalt x
Jerry it's comments like yours that give me a purpose again...write another poem, or get up from the asphalt...... x
Haunted. Now and again a poem a poem creates an image, no matter how unlikely, that just stays with you and hours later it comes back to your mind. You did this here and you should be proud. They dont come along every day. like 1948 this one lingers.
Jerry, you have a few of those as well, particularly narratives from a child's point of view, the images stay with me. I'm truly moved by your comments. Means so much. x
insulating the attic
under my feet
loose thin floor boards
seemingly stable
only to give and
play me for a fool
you said you’ll help but
the boards end abruptly
there’s no warning
no apologies
no goodbye
I fall between two beams
something is broken
I can feel it
the roll of insulation unravels
fiberglass looking as lovely
and innocuous as cotton candy
hits me like a barrel of lies
I have no protective gear
my eyes tear
asthma flames
I can't
breathe
not
on my own
it’s not an inhaler
that I need
This is a good one Haunted. The only thing I'd highlight as perhaps not quite right is is the description of the fibreglass.
"the roll of tight-lipped
cotton candy pink fiberglass"
Why tight-lipped? It's not as though we expect fibreglass to be loquatious, I'd be inclined to drop it. The rhythm of "cotton candy pink fibreglass" is awkward too. Pink cotton candy scans better. You could say:
"...fibreglass, cotton candy pink" but it wouldn't really fit with the fluidity of the rest of the narration. But do we actually need to know the colour of the fibreglass? is it relevent? I'd also query use of the definite article. We know you are in the loft, but we are not told why. as there has been no previous reference to the roll of fibreglass it might be better to refer to a roll, rather than the roll. lastly in the last line of this stanza there's a typo, an, which should be a.
to maintain the fuidity of the piece I'd word it like this:
"a roll of cotton-candy fibreglass
unravels and hits me
like a barrel of lies"
However, there is another obption in which you don't mention the fibreglass at all:
"a 20lb roll of pink cotton-candy
unravels and hits me
like a barrel of lies"
have a think about it.
Live and be well - H
Your transposition of the relation to the attic in need of protection is genial, IMO. If I may suggest, I'd compress the second part to sth like (only an idea): /like a barrel of lies/ my asthma is taking over,/my eyes burn and I can't breathe/ not on my own/ it's not an inhaler/that I needQuote:
Originally Posted by Haunted
I'm shaken by the power of this poem which "looks" so casual at first, Haunted. A good one, for sure.
Thanks for the experience, Bar!
Hawk, thanks for taking so much time!!! "Tight lipped" was meant to go with telling "lies", it also describes how tightly the material is rolled up. "Cotton candy pink" was meant to go with "white lies" but then I forgot about it and dropped the word "white" in the posted version. That's what happens when trying to do too much. I rewrote the stanza and altered a few other lines.
Bar, your depth in writing can be seen in your reads as well and I'm glad you picked up on the deceptive casualness. I changed the part you mentioned, thanks for pointing it out.
Perhaps I missed this one earlier and I think you've done some editing. Anyway, I like the way it ends... with line spaces after every two line as if the narrator is gasping for breath. It is such a good visual effect enhancing the meaning of your awesome poem. Thanks for the update haunted!
Quote:
Originally Posted by Haunted
These make for such a visceral ending!Yes, and I believe that we can feel it, too - and it isn't made of bone.
Quote:
I can't
breathe
not
on my own
it’s not an inhaler
that I need
I love the ending. It's like this top level is a deception, stifling us rather than enlightening us and the last few lines are powerful indeed.
The cotton candy motif is apt-- that's just what fiberglass insulation looks like. But everything about this verse is good. The first version is superior, methinks, but go with what your gut tells you.
Quite a metaphor Haunted!! You are never more careful where you tread so of course it works. can only but guess how this formed in your mind.