"What the FUCK was that for?"
Did it matter?
there would be a reason;
the housekeeping, still running
on next months glue and dogfood,
her bingo money turned to beer,
too late, too early, too on time
"SOME BLOODY FLOOZY!"
It didn't matter,
a few minutes before
THAT had been for our supper,
now it was across the floor and wall.
She was a terrible shot
and had terrible taste in men,
"Uncles"
Some lasted weeks, one nearly three years,
they were all the same,
they worked some days that they didn't sign on,
they drank and smoked,
so did she.
They laughed and they fought,
they fought and they laughed.
A dinner thrown, cracked plates finally smashed,
a punch, a black eye, his, hers, both,
then silence
while we waited, out of site, out of mind
in the coal shed, round our mates
just
"out"
then
later
She would be singing and he would grin sheepishly
pulling his shirt on and hand us ten bob
for a trip to the chippy.
Author notes
This is NOT autobiographical
NOT
NOT NOT
NOT NOT NOT autobiographical!!!
A contest entry
- ugly love by Cat.
2750 points, ended October 24, 2008, 18 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 11 of 11
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when i read this- i find myself
going to the line "uncles" and thinking
that is where the poem starts-
it seems that the preceding feels overexplained but everything past
that is just great- and the ending..
with the chippys- just spot on
those "uncles" - they come and go
but the kids
in the wood shed.. they know..
and they stay
and out wait them-
your author notes are great- your tone of poem is terrific
and seriously..lol.. even the title.
much to love here..
m
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firstly i laugh at your author comments... ok
'''What the FUCK was that for?"
Did it matter?
there would be a reason;
the housekeeping, still running
on next months glue and dogfood,
her bingo money turned to beer,
too late, too early, too on time
"SOME BLOODY FLOOZY!"'
next months glue and dog food... ohhh ouch! the question works here and i am wondering if you answer it later... i will wait and read and see---- I get the feeling i am going to watch a spectacle
''It didn't matter,
a few minutes before
THAT had been for our supper,
now it was across the floor and wall.
She was a terrible shot
and had terrible taste in men,
"Uncles"
Some lasted weeks, one nearly three years,
they were all the same,
they worked some days that they didn't sign on,
they drank and smoked,
so did she.''
and yes.. you answered it. Good feel of anger and the use of uncles-- ugh... yuk. good feeling of disfunctional
''They laughed and they fought,
they fought and they laughed.''
emphisis put on the viscious cycle of domestic violence
''A dinner thrown, cracked plates finally smashed,
a punch, a black eye, his, hers, both,
then silence
while we waited, out of site, out of mind
in the coal shed, round our mates
just
"out"
then
later
She would be singing and he would grin sheepishly
pulling his shirt on and hand us ten bob
for a trip to the chippy.''
vivid images of the battles the cycles and how destructive it is... and almost a psycho moment with the grinning and singing.
Thank you for taking the time to enter our contest. I appreciate it.
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You misspelled a word in the first line:
I should be:
"What the HECK was that for?"
Love,
Amera♥
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By jove I think you are correct, I shall have to take it up with my man I employ to actually write the poems
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This made me
Thank goodness for AN
Well penned as always
on a topic all too common
for many.
Love you
Tory
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Methinks the gentleman doth protest too much.
Nice to see you out of your box.
Have some bunnies.
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He should get out of his box more often. He's been out of his tree for years!
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um, Jeff, the a/n are going to crack everyone up! lol
Wow...yes, this IS very different for you, and I can't tell you how proud I am that you are exploring new avenues in poetry. This poem is completely 'real' and intriguing from beginning to end. Bravo, my friend. Love, Lane xxoo
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I'm thinking early 1960s kitchen-sink, angry-young-man, black-and-white. I'm thinking Up The Junction, Saturday Night And Sunday Morning, Look Back In Anger; and I'm thinking Kes. That's the feel you have here.
It's clumsy, but it is good. I think it hits the spot. Bunnies.
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What I need to learn, I think.
Is the skill of editing these. In meter I rarely have to, just fix my dreadful typos and punctuate those that really cannot get away without it.
FV and prose need a lot more work
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It comes, believe me it comes. You get a sense for the shape on the page - just the same as in structured verse; you see where you want the reader to pause on a phrase, or read onwards; you see where you want to break the flow in a startling way. Lines don't have to be short, lines don't have to be long; best of all, you can let the language run free, play with images whose back and shoulders would be bent within a meter, pent up within pentameter. Never forget that it is poetry, and that you are a poet.
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