A Short Collection of Trashy Poems

Aliengirl, thanks, I edited it more since then, it seems that I just can't get it right. Installing insulation is hard work, you know...hmm

Prince, I was agonizing over whether "broken" is enough of a hint, or whether the whole conceit worked at all, so thanks for your reassuring comment! I'm also very pleased you got the effect of the new ending.

Delta, I always find it touching that others can experience exactly what I'm trying to say, I enjoyed your comment.

Auntie, I take every comment seriously, especially yours, which is most kind. Yeeea I did overwrite the revise, didn't I? I cut it back again. Thanks for your big vote of confidence!

Jerry, I wonder the same of you, how you think up the things that you think up. I guess treading dangerously isn't such a bad thing if we can get some solid poetry out of it. Cheers.

Thank you all for the read, really really really much appreciated!!!

Hi Haunted. I've just read the new edit and the problem verse is now almost perfect. There is a slight niggle in the last line of it though, "exposing shrapnels of lies."

Henry Shrapnel was a British artillery officer who developed an anti-personnel artillery shell in the 19th century. The word has come to describe the fragments of an exploded shell, so in context, it is a collective noun and consequently doesn't need an s. As a result, the last line isn't particularly grammatical. Better to say: "exploding shrapnel lies." this gives you a double meaning in exploding, a word which fits with shrapnel better and also has a sub meaning of exposing a lie for what it is.

I'm afraid that I really don't like those excessive gaps between the last few stanzas though.

Live and be well - H

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Hawkman

Hi Haunted. I've just read the new edit and the problem verse is now almost perfect. There is a slight niggle in the last line of it though, "exposing shrapnels of lies."

Henry Shrapnel was a British artillery officer who developed an anti-personnel artillery shell in the 19th century. The word has come to describe the fragments of an exploded shell, so in context, it is a collective noun and consequently doesn't need an s. As a result, the last line isn't particularly grammatical. Better to say: "exploding shrapnel lies." this gives you a double meaning in exploding, a word which fits with shrapnel better and also has a sub meaning of exposing a lie for what it is.

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wow I didn't know the history behind the word shrapnel. Perhaps it deserves it's own poem. Now that you pointed it out I realized it's yet another metaphor, it just feels busy. I made a wrong call, it's coming out!

Quote:

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I'm afraid that I really don't like those excessive gaps between the last few stanzas though.

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No? auhh, I'm sure it'll grow on you.......:wink5:

departing JFK


30,000 feet up
we can't be summoned
back to earth

ceremonially
we unbuckle

we flip up all four armrests
of the unoccupied five seat row
and descend

smooth gives way
to turbulence
visibility almost zero
I can't see beyond my arms
arched over your shoulders
bumps intensify
before long we seek refuge
in the bathroom
panting

all this and the plane
hasn't even taken off

Sounds like the N gets turned on by aeroplanes, like Awsome Wells' secretary in 1941 :D Very convenient that the plane seemed to be empty ;)

Live and be well - H

Who's Awsome Well, secretary et al? I know, I can wiki it but a Litnetter's I'd storytelling trumps those cut and dry html pages.

You raised a good point Hawk about airliners being empty. That's just not believable.Years back there were flights with very few passengers but that probably contributed to their bankruptcy. Now they sardine as many people in. It also bugged me when I was writing this and pre-post versions had a few lines about clouds and zero visibility to suggest why they didn't see anyone. I guess I should write that back in, as well as changing "empty" to "unoccupied". I also dropped the destination of busy LA from the title so it can be any obscure place in the world. But just a little tidbit, if you pick a seat way in the back, there are moments where that part of the cabin has just a small handful of passengers, they are stuck behind front row boarders with their enormous carry-ons and reach the seats in the back much later. So flying Economy has its advantages. First Class / Business Class are right at the entrance, those rich folks have to suffer the long parade of lowly Economy Cass people. But they do get to get off first.

oh many thanks for your sharpness btw, I got carried away. I think the revise adds more credibilty to the piece now, your comment sure helped.

Hi Haunt. I think that wikiing, 'Awsome Wells' probably wouldn't do you much good - lol. I was punning on Orson Wells' name. But actually I made a mistake, I was confusing his role in Catch 22, where he played a pyscopathic general who had a voluptuous secretary. I can't remember exactly what her status was in the film, but in 1941 there was a dishy WAC who was an iceburg, though she was an iceberg only until she got near a plane. Planes turned her on.

I think the problem with your poem is that you seem to be getting to the nitty gritty right out in the open in the middle of the cabin. This stretches the suspension of disbelief a bit. If the 'turbulence' occurred while the narrator and their partner were in the bathroom it would make a bit more sense.

Live and be well - H

I really liked it and was slow off the mark to read it other than an every day domestic flight till I got to the end and thought 'woa! I've missed something here' So re-reading it and clicking to the real meaning was a pleasure (and a sign that I definitely need to get out more...) Great piece Haunted and always a joy to read you.

Yes, they are already flying high, in their heads anyway. The pleasure is mine to be graced by your insightful comments Delta.

Haunted, in a plane! I myself never flew in one that has five seats rows - that certainly do expand one's imagination, especially if one's traveling in the right company!!! :smile5: Good to read you always!! Best to you, talented Haunted!

Bar

Always so nice to get your feedback Bar, your comment brightens up my day. Thanks!

There are planes with 2/5/2 seating so if you pick the center row and no one else sits there, you can stretch out and sleep. Also if you get the right and left rows which just have 2 seats, it's great for traveling with a companion, more private. Downside is you can't stretch out. There are also 3/3/3 seating, not so good for hogging and sleeping but much better for "inside" people getting out as they don't have to tramble on so many people :D

stranded in a nor’easter


as if hypothermia
would take too long
the 50-mile gust wind
fills the slack
shooting off ice pellets
across the dim and
deserted mall parking lot

my face burns
before it goes numb

that's the cost
of closure

at least I got a refund
returning your present

the glass doors at Macy’s
slam open close open close
until they smash

I hold on to the shopping bag
as empty as the house
I'm going back to

Bravo for this last one! ^^^^ The last two stanzas are especially effective,
but I loved all of it.


Just returned from a short outing with my bitter half and the icy wind was actually painful. It's supposedly thirty-seven degrees, but the wind chill makes it seem like we're in Antarctica. (If it's like this in February, what are the notorious March winds going to be like? Still very little snow, though. I guess that's good, except for the ski resorts.)

would you believe? just returned from a meeting here where the holy city's gusts of wind lashed my whole body and got me frozen to the marrow! my face burned before it got numbed... you can't escape the cold wherever you are!
however, to read your "cold" poetry (under a warm quilt at the time like this!) is always heart warming while this poems tears it too, alas... but perhaps there is hope for N, for nature abhors emptiness and fills it as soon as it can!

keep warm, dear Haunted, ah, and the introductory lines to your poem are especially classy:

"as if hypothermia
would take too long..."

bravo!

from Bar

Hi Haunted,

a powerful, if chilly, image, but this line in S1 reads oddly to my Anglicised ear:

"the 50-mile gust wind
fills the slack"

To me it reads that the gust is 50 miles long as one would have expected to see "an hour" after, 'mile'. This would have made the line rather ungainly though. Is this a standard way of indicating wind speed on your side of the pond? You don't really need the word, 'wind' as gust is sufficient, and I would have gone for 'knot' rather than mile, as a knot, in context, is a measurment of speed. Also, slack is not so much filled as "taken up," but is slack the right word? Slack what? A slack sail could be filled by wind, I suppose, but hyopothermia is the subject of the sentence.

try:

"a fifty-knot gust
adds some chill"

In case you were wondering, I like the poem though - ;)

Live and be well - H

A joy to read. I could go on, but a joy to read should capture it. You were always good. You got even better.

There must be a nor'easter in cyberspace, I typed up a long reply and as if a gust of wind just blew it off my screen, poof, it was gone. Gone! arrrrhhh. So I apologized for a delayed thank you to everyone.

All the planets must have lined up that day, what are the odds that Auntie, Bar and Haunted all bowed to the same force of nature?

Auntie, exactly! Was trying to capture how painful it was, with the icy wind and sleet beating on the skin. It must be downright excruciating Upstate. But no snow is good where you are. We didn't' get much of anything here this year either. They said it's the jet stream. Usually they blame it on the poor guy El Nino. Now I'm rambling. Thanks for your kind words!!

Bar, just when I thought Jerusalem is all milk and honey! I hope you got out of the wind, especially if it carries sand. It must be cozy to be under the quilt afterwards. Yes, it will/would get better, because the emptiness is of the "house", not "life". Thanks for "tolerating" the cold in the poem in your sweet ways!

Hawk, I know, I wrote "gust" and somehow "wind" got added to it, don't ask me how!! I abbreviate things when I talk, I usually just say "50 mile wind", I assume everyone knows it's calculated as per hour. Anyway I do like the way it reads to you, a 50 mile long wind. I actually like that interpretation, can I keep it? Oh, keep that Anglicised ear open, I know I'll need help again. Glad you still find things to like in the poem.

Jerry, more joy to me to read your comments. I treasure every one of them. x

mirage



the heat was
a hologram
I could touch

in the distance
the lanes were shiny
like it just rained

and there you were
far up the road
wavy quivery
in the midday air

I raced to catch up with you
but no matter how fast I drove
you stayed distant

this can't be real

I stopped
swung the door open
doubled over
and retched
until there was nothing
left of me

I like this Haunt. The only suggestion I might make, would be to cut S3. Everything else about the poem is observational narrative, whereas this stanza is a speculative digression which doesn't really add much. For me it slows the poem down and dissipates its punch. The poem's ok as it is, but I feel it would be better without.

One thing though, there is a tense change in the penultimate single line stanza. everything else is in past tense but this one is present tense. I don't necessarily think this is a problem though. It is in the last stanza though, there's is a contraction for 'there is' and as this stanza has jumped back into past tense it should be, "there was."

to be honest I think the best fix would be to keep in present tense in the last stanza, altering its beginning to:

I stop
get out
double over
and retch
until there's nothing
left of me

Live and be well - H

Hawk, good call. I totally agree about S3. I took that out and instead elaborated on the mirage.

I'm always tense-challenged! I was aware of the single line, it's meant to be a thought of that moment. I could have ital'd it but... The last stanza is now all in past tense. Thanks for your help!

As often with your writing, this poem to has moved me and stopped my breath.
Just a thought, perhaps you could consider compacting S3 and 4, something like:

you seemed
quivery in the midday air,
distant,
no matter how fast I drove

I'd cut "this can't be real", too, I feel it somehow in the way. However, minor remarks aside, this is a heart tearing poem.

Thank you for sharing your art and its deep realities, dear Haunted.

Stunning.

This one has three remarkable features:

--those short, A. R. Ammons-style lines and the tight little stanzas ("strophes")

--accomplishes something it's very hard for a writer to do and that's extend the metaphor throughout the whole poem. From beginning to end, it never loses sight of its central motif, the mirage.

-- the word choices--"wavy, quivery" very expressive. Shows that even poems with sad themes can exhibit wit.

Splendid job.

Yr envious auntie
"A louse in the locks of literature."

Bar, I'm glad you feel the effects of this poem. I like your suggestion, it does read well. Because of the ending, I'll keep the narrative progression. As for that single line, I too find it a bit redundant. But the poem needs something to slow it down and the exclamatory emphasis seems ok. Thank you so much for your and sweet and thoughtful comment!


Jerry, so kind. Cheers.


Dear Aunt, I was really delighted by your encouraging words. Yes I try to be disciplined, so many thanks for validating that. As always your time in reading and commenting means a lot to me.

I especially like the word quivery Haunted and the effect of the mirage on after a rainy downpour on a hot day.

Thanks Delta, I was trying real hard to describe a mirage. So pleased it works for you!

need professional help


I don't want to impose
but the screen won't
fit back into the window
after a very bad winter

there's a slow gas leak
I know it because
my head was just
inside the oven

I would open the window
but I need the screen
to keep the flesh flies out

if you don't mind
it's leaning over there
please watch your step
around the carrion

he is still my child

That's pretty bleak Haunted, but the last line's a killer. I would be inclined to change "dosen't" for "Won't" in S1, It's not essential but I think it would read better. I'd also drop a "very" from the fourth line. the emphasis of the repetition is at odds with the air of detachment which flavours the rest of the poem. I think I'd be inclined to put a stanza break after the gas leek line, and also after "carrion" in S4, to give it more punch.

S3: "Some" doesn't work here. Replace it with the: changing windows to window won't work because you've only asked the other to replace one screen. In S4 you don't need to mention the screen again, "it's" is quite sufficient. Good poem.

Live and be well - H

The last line is indeed a knockout. Short line length adds to the air of detachment you've so successfully evoked. And talking of success, when don't you succeed in writing a poem in your own unique way? Love you, love your works. X

P.S.- The head in the oven is reminiscent of Sylvia Plath.

Hawk, as always thanks for your keen eye and kind words. I totally missed the redundancy of "screen" in S4, there was a stanza before it that I took out but forgot to proof it again afterwards, it was a difficult poem to write, even harder to read back. Thanks for helping and appreciating.

AG, you and your beautiful words, such rarity. Stay the lovely self that you are. Love you too. xoxo

I'm still stunned and almost wordless. You created a whole, bleak, hopeless world out of so few & simple words! Great poem that moved me no end…

Are you reading Plath? but no, it's so much you, Haunted, your poetry is that ongoing Scream Munch's brush has released long ago. A very good, powerful poem indeed, hugs from me.

Dieter, even when it's minimalist, there are moments I wondered if I overwrote, so thanks for your comment!

Bar, no Plath, just coincidence. Much appreciated your comment, makes it all worthwhile. Hugs back.

homecoming


the heels would have
caused echoes like crazy
so I left them out
at the stone cold entry

I pretend it isn't
broken porcelain
and I wasn't stepping
in my own blood
from cuts I can't feel

against my own will
I look around and round
but I know exactly
where to find you

I thought you might
reach out and
stroke my cheek
through the glass
of the photo frame

You are back, Dear Haunted! this is great, welcome back!

Your poem, your very self.... poignant as yours are so often, delicately allusive, containing worlds of sorrow, the emptiness...

The last stanza is a great close of the suspense the previous have built.

Powerful, minimalistic work, Haunted, I read it several times and will return.

Stay here for a while, please.

Worth coming back for. I can say no more.

H

FINALLY. Even Hill (the recluse on behalf of his unsightly knees and justified despise of certain contributors) welcomed you back. I will second Hills comment. It is always a wise move. This place is better for your prescence and your writing.

Bar, always so sweet, I'm really moved!

OMG Hill you are back! So good to hear from you, you had no idea!!!

Jerrrrrr!!!!

Oh really good to be back, but not without you guys!!!

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Haunted

homecoming


the heels would have
caused echoes like crazy
so I left them out
at the stone cold entry

I pretend it isn't
broken porcelain
and I wasn't stepping
on my own blood
from cuts I can't feel

against my own will
I look around and round
but I know exactly
where to find you

I thought you might
reach out and
stroke my cheek
through the glass
of the photo frame

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The poem is very poignant obvious about mother loss of child, have them in the sitting room and longs to be with that child, and also moment of reality hit hard at end.

"I thought you might
reach out and
stroke my cheek
through the glass
of the photo frame."

Wow. Stunning. An elegant idea, so simply yet effectively put.