Spinning in centrifugal chaos,
the walls burning flesh from my fingers
like a napalm love affair
as I reach out -
I want off this ride.
I have reaped the rewards
of my failures
and captured them
within my long loopy script
in a journal meant for only my sins
and not the eyes of those who cast masonry,
chipping pieces off my glass house,
laughing,
pointing at my extenuating circumstances.
This life, created by a world I can't remember,
leaves me as an open orifice,
a weeping wound,
marrow spilling out to collect
in paisley patterns around my feet,
and I pray for a blood clot in silent joy
just to remember what it is to feel something
that isn't this,
a condition with no name
as I envision the doctors toasting
great glasses of Chablis
at a midnight soiree,
and they thank God they don't get paid
by the number of patients they save.
What lovely flames that liquid love could birth,
splashed wet upon the walls in arcing blows,
like a Jackson Pollock original mess
made in pyromaniac passion
and I snicker in the shadows of illness,
a doppelganger corpse,
revolving in this axis of medicinal humor,
evolving into something new,
benevolently hoping for a difference,
but knowing better.
Author notes
B E A N S I D H E
Revision 1: Based on Carnivale's suggestion, I have changed the word beautiful to lovely in line twenty nine and have added the word wet in line thirty. I agree that it seems to flow better now.
Revision 2: Based on our lovely judge's suggestion, I have revised the wording in line twenty seven so that it becomes more apparent that the line references the doctors. I have also added a comma in line thirty seven to create a pause but also in the interest in consistency.
A contest entry
- The Writers' Circle: Read, Review, Respond, Revise by MusicBoxMetaphor.
2300 points, ended November 10, 24 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
1 - 24 of 24
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Intreaguing!
Sorry for the tardiness of my comments, I have no excuse that can validate as being busy with secular work is definitely not poetry, although it pays the bills, which poetry seldom does (lol); much has been said by my peers, so I shall refrain from redundancy: to me the piece has an amazing balance of past hurt turned somewhat pugnacious, and the balming effect of the new and wondrous love appearing on the scene to save the day in the otherwise excessively cumbersome existence now turned to life and excitement; the poetry is superb and the punctuation enviable (few typos make the piece so much the more lovable, even if corrected); this was a worthy read... DW
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As a reminder:
***Final date for comments that count towards the contest: Tomorrow, Sunday, November 8th by midnight.
Final date for revisions towards contest: Tuesday, November 10 by noon.***
I will disperse awards the following day: Wednesday, November 11.
As for the poem...
This work stunned me from the start, and I must say I'm surprised you did end up finding anything to change about it.
I went over it again and again trying to find some hole, but all I can come up with is this:
The last couple lines of the second stanza- "thanking God they don't get paid/
by the number of patients they save."- this section was beautifully done, but in my first couple readings I had to stop myself from connecting "thanking" to the "I envision" earlier on. For whatever reason, I read it as a modifier and had to stop and correct myself- silly me. To avoid this confusion for others, perhaps consider saying "and they thank" or "toasting God that they don't get paid/by the number of patients they save." I'm sure you can come up with something sufficient, but it may be helpful for fumbling readers such as myself to either have a complete distinction through a noun, or something that links it to the earlier images of the doctors, drawing the reader away from accusing the speaker.
One last small thing: Since there was comma after comma up until the end, why not a comma after "benevolently hoping for a difference?" For consistency's sake.
"and I snicker in the shadows of illness,
a doppelganger corpse,
revolving in this axis of medicinal humor,
evolving into something new,
benevolently hoping for a difference,
but knowing better."
But.... wonderful wonderful wonderful.
Thank you so much for all the dedication to this contest.
best,
Mia -
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MIA -
Thank you for your kind words! I have taken both of your suggestions & agree that the piece is only getting better with the input of my peers.
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I adored this piece, it is indeed abstract, but it is so filled with strength of character and determination. There is a sense of loss, but then suddenly as if hope wore skirts and tossed them high, you are again dancing within the loop of each new word held in that old journal.
Pain and loss are necessary I think so that we know truly what we do not want as much as what we do and so that when we find it we have a wonderful appreciation of, I think without the pain and loss, we would not feel quite as deeply about anything.
I have no suggestions for this piece, except to tell others to read it. Excellent work and a pleasure to read. Hugs, Bunny -
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BUNNY -
Thank you so very much. I greatly appreciate your thoughts.
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I have to admit that it was only after reading the comments on this piece that I could really put it together. I've read your poetry in the past and because it is abstract I usually allow myself to take what I can pick up on, and leave the rest. In the case of this contest (and following your extensive comment on my piece) I felt that that was not enough.
As has been mentioned by yourself and others, there is little in the way of set meter in this piece, but because the poem makes no attempt at such, I had no expectation and therefore did not find myself missing it in any way.
The words "I want off this ride" after the first stanza solidified the first stanza for anyone who might not have picked up on it. The contrast between the complex imagery and the straightforward plea offers more impact.
I think I understood the second stanza, but will ask for confirmation as I want to make sure I'm not taking this in the wrong direction. The second stanza (to me) speaks of someone who has recognized her mistakes in life and hopes that some larger force accepts that since she has picked up on those mistakes, others will be willing to forgive and forget. (I may be placing an overly religious perspective on this, I know it can mean a similar idea but less spiritual.)
"just to remember what it is to feel something
that isn't this,"
These words are brilliant!! Such a deep sense of pain and sorrow that one does not even recall what other feelings there might be, just wishing and praying to feel "not like this.
I must admit to not knowing much about Jaskson Pollock (other than having heard of his name) before this poem, though with the help of wikipedia I can understand the reference very well.
"What lovely flames that liquid love could birth," is really stunning though I can not say that without the comment you made on another's comment, I would have understood. It might have been more obvious to someone who drinks more though...
There's not much I can really offer for this poem. The imagery is powerful, and coupled with the explanation in a comment below I now know of the specific pain and sorrow that was experienced. This was not conveyed in the poem (I did not really pick up on it anyways, though the variety of body references could certainly be viewed as relating to a child.) Your style is your own, and you use it to create strong pictures, some of which are easier to pick up on then others.
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Thank you for such a thorough comment! You have picked up on a silent pain in the second stanza perfectly. To give you a small bit of background - I was married & tried to have a baby for the majority of my life with no success. My marriage broke up and I met a wonderful man (here at AP, actually) who helped me through my divorce. He moved nearly a thousand miles to live with me and less than a year later, we have a beautiful baby girl! Stanza two elaborates on the chapter of my life before I met my fiance and the fall out from my divorce. I fought tooth & nail for my daughter for years before I even became pregnant and then suffered through six weeks during which she was kept in the hospital (she was born eight weeks early). But she is home now & we are quite the little family!
I'm wondering if you think that there is anything that I need to add to further illuminate this situation within the poem? I don't necessarily want to be obvious but perhaps some clarification would be warranted? -
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"I have reaped the rewards
of my failures"
Does this refer to a view in hindsight that not having a child with your first husband (your "failure" ) lead to "rewards" in the future as you now have a child with a man you look to be with forever?
This hit me as I read your explanation, something I did not pick up on before. Not sure if I'm reading into this correctly though.
I'm still not sure I fully understand:
"within my long loopy script"
As for adding or changing anything, I can't think of anything. I think much of the issue stems from the culture of today. Poetry was always something that was to be savored, slowly dissected and slowly understood. The internet and modern culture creates a situation where poetry is browsed but not read, smelled but not inhaled. On a site like this I wonder if this is compounded by the fact that because anyone can post a poem, one might spend time digging through something posted only to find that there is little inside, something that encourages readers to take a more superficial glance.
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Too obscure for me
That being so, I shall restrict myself to simple things.
You cannot rhyme 'this' with 'Chablis', as the latter word is pronounced 'shablee'.
L.27 is a troche, plus extra syllable
L.28 would therefore be more snappy, if it also were a troche plus one, e.g 'For the tens of lives they save'
I sense there are powerful feelings at play, but it would be foolishly dishonest for me to say I understand them, or the narrative.
I see you have just had a child: I fear that AP will have to take a back-seat! Congratulations!
As for the wail of the Banshee, I was brought up on it; if you heard this dreadful sound, you would die. Oddly, I have a vision of a kind of blob by the wayside, where the blackness would be blacker than black!
E -
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I am usually pretty obscure - primarily because I am a selfish writer & typically only pen for myself. However, I am a glutton for criticism, which is why I enter contests. The first response I can offer you is that I assure you that I did not intend for rhyme in this piece. I am not much of a rhyming aficionado and so any words that inadvertently rhyme are more accidental than concise. Therefore, the implied rhyme within "this" and "Chablis" falls into this category. Particularly since I am aware of the appropriate pronunciation of Chablis!
That being said, I may be showing my rear here but I have absolutely no clue what a troche is! Please humor me & give me a definition.
Thank you for your kind thoughts regarding my newborn daughter. The feelings in this piece are regarding her and the time she spent in the intensive care unit following her birth. The emotion is present here & I am reasonably happy with it but I will admit that because my mind was spinning in various directions, there are times and places within this poem that the delivery is a bit sketchy.
In any case, thanks for the read & the commentary! -
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Banshee
Important things first. My eldest daughter, many years ago, was for a short period in what passed for intensive care - a sort of tent -but now is Mum to bouncy 15 year old girl.
I half-guessed that the poem was to do with the birth, and were I you, for that simple reason, I should not change a word - except anything suggested by me, of course. I also kept wondering whether perhaps you suffered from some unspeakable disease - I don't know why, and I hope not.
I take your point about accidental rhyme; and the shame (and improbability!) of not pronouncing 'Chablis' -automatic exclusion from the middle-class!
Troche is the metre which goes DA de DA de DA de, as opposd to the more common iambic de DA de DA de DA (favoured by THE Bard).
Adverting to your daughter, and nom de plume, my youngest daughter gave birth in the swanky new London hospital, and both she and her daughter had to be stuck in Intensive Care, down separate corridors, off a fine landing, decorated with art-works. It was July. Yet for some reason, when we visited one day, a brass band was playing on the landing --and with nothing held back! I never did get an explanation, but you reminded me of my grand-daughter (now 10) with your descriptions of the Banshee: she has wonderful red-hair. Sorry for going on. E
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I'll admit, I almost didn't comment this because it feels so polished already. Your skill as a poet is quiet evident in this piece.
I love the opening and structure " I want off this ride" , I felt set the tone and voice.
I'm assuming you structured each stanza, purposely ending each one with a period. I am not an expert on grammar, but I don't see any errors to speak of.
Loved the Jackson Pollock reference, really added to the imagery of that final stanza.
Truly great job poet and I'm sorry I couldn't offer anything more constructive. -
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Thank you so much for your kind feedback. I very much appreciate your thoughts.
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From the first line you have my attention, so much pain but also hope and survival. The only part where I faltered was with the line 'pointing at my extenuating circumstances.' In my mind it sounds awkward and a bit cliche. The rest of the poem reads well and shows insight and empathy.
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GC -
Thank you for your thoughts. I'm wondering if you could suggest a better way to communicate 'pointing at my extenuating circumstances'?
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i really enjoyed this poem. it really provoked my senses and made me think, but was still understandable. there is a fine line between abstract and nonsense and you've really done well here.
the placement of "i want off this ride" is very critical, i think, in setting the tone for the poem.
the third stanza is free-flowing, impactful, clever, and loaded with beautifully dark imagery. my favorite is "marrow spilling out to collect
in paisley patterns around my feet."
the only part i'm having trouble understanding is "what lovely flames that liquid love could birth." it probably makes sense, i just don't get it, and i would like for you to explain it to me. the progression and placement of each phrase and construction of imagery seems nearly perfect.
i do think the ending (last two lines) could have more impact, and i think it could be worded in a way that really stands up to the language of the rest of the poem. i like when there is a conclusion of sorts that takes me by surprise or really stands out, but that's just me.
the title is very well chosen. i really like this because it portrays something ugly in such a pretty way!
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g e m m a -
Thank you for your kind review of my work. I like to play along that fine line between abstract and nonsense and am totally tickled that you picked up on that! This poem is, in essence, about the most difficult period of my life. Within the last twelve months, I have turned my back on a lifetime of obsessive addictions to include marijuana, alcohol and a detrimental marriage. I have gotten divorced, gotten clean, fell in love and become a mother inside of a year. My daughter was born eight weeks early and spent nearly two months in the intensive care unit and this poem was written while my fiancé and I suffered through those days.
The part you specifically mention having trouble with is a direct reflection on my desire to fight the temptation to slip back into drinking to help deal with the stress. I visualized my drinking as a Molotov cocktail being thrown against the wall and thus: “lovely flames that liquid love could birth,/
splashed wet upon the walls in arcing blows,”. This symbolizes all my progress being broken with one sip. I hope this clarifies it a little for you.
I am curious as to how you think I could change the last two lines to really make an impact on my readers. Do you think I should add more lines or just strengthen what is already present?
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Are you a published poet? Because you damn well should be, after this. From "napalm love affair" to "great glasses of Chablis", your imagery consistently is both original and effective. A quick point: Do you mean "Jackson Pollock"? I think that's his name.
My major criticism of your work is the rhythm and meter, which I think suffers at times.
"What beautiful flames that liquid love could birth,
splashed upon the walls in arcing blows,"
Add one syllable to the second line, take one from the first line and in my opinion it would flow much better. Maybe:
"What shining flames that liquid love could birth/splashed wet upon the walls in arcing blows"? I'm sure you could improve my word choice.
Another minor issue: "benevolently hoping for a difference/but knowing better." Benevolently is good, but this is the only time in your poem when I think you could have perhaps used a more suitable word. Optimistically comes to mind (although again I'm sure you could do better.)
Still, this is an amazing poem. Well done! -
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Carnivale -
I actually am a published poet, although I haven't pursued it in several years but thank you very kindly for your vote of confidence! I did, in fact, mean Jackson Pollock and have corrected the spelling of his name. Unfortunately, rhythm and meter are my arch enemies. They have been since I began writing and are nearly as difficult for me as rhyme. I will play a bit with it in the lines that you specified and see if I can't better the write some. Regarding, benevolently - I specifically chose that word for the alliterative impact it would have with "better". I'm wondering why that word troubles you - is it a flow issue? -
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The flow's fine, I was a little confused by the meaning. Benevolently would put you in a position of power, whereas the last verse seems to put you in a desperate position of weakness. If that makes sense.
I got the feeling that you wanted to convey desperate optimism, and 'benevolently' doesn't really do that. However, I did miss the alliteration, so maybe benevolently is okay after all. Thanks for your detailed reply! It's rare to see such an open response to criticism.
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Holly snaps!
I am practically left speechless & supremely impressed with your mature word choices in this outstanding piece. You carry the reader along a journey of great wonder and imagery. You should be quite pleased with this truly poetic work.
"I have reaped the rewards
of my failures
and captured them
within my long loopy script
in a journal meant for only my sins
and not the eyes of those who cast masonry,
chipping pieces off my glass house,
laughing,
pointing at my extenuating circumstances."
By far my favorite stanza,
warmly, Chrissy
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Amazing!
You have such talent that could possibly take you somewhere someday. This poem really spoke to me. I absolutley enjoyed this peice of work you have here and I hope to find time to read more of you're amazing peices of writing.
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Superb
I found this to be a most intriquing and excellent write. You have certainly expressed your thoughts quite well. Thanks for sharing.
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a good piece of poetry which you have presented here, long loopy script, now this makes me smile, i know it an be taken as the scribbles we do with writing, but also it is the way we live our lives too. i remember michael morrcock refering to his grandad as a scribbler in one of his books. that's is waht we are as writers, mad. a weeping wound, but all wounds heal, what about about a laughing texture, that stretches over open chasms. i understand your mind here though after ourr recent talks with your child and such
thos doctors... 
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