Poetry Forum

Balances

Our nights together have metamorphosed
into slanging matches, howling
over the sound of Coronation Street.
We are like children plucking the wings
of grotesque flies, curious yet cautious
with remarks that dig and tear,
like vicious moths on soft silk.

We are at the edge, balancing between
anger, and sadness, and regret.
Pulling -
at my manicured nails, at the edge of your shirt.
At my dreams, and then yours
almost incessantly.
Taking turns to see - who can hit the hardest?
With sharp, frozen arrows that never quite strike
the head - just the heart;
leaving each jagged wound to bleed out,
joining an exhibition of blemished battle wounds.

Yet when night falls -
when twilight's elegant palms brush over our souls,
we succumb to fatigue, and give up our game.
Love desperately seizes us in these rare few hours,
knowing we wake back with anger's flame.

Bump
Hi Amy, sad to say I'm really done in and pumpkin hour has come extra early...but you poem caught my eye and I found much to like in your retake on a well worn picture of love /hate relationships.
You have some great images going on. So although I offer no crit at this stage, I deff think it deserves a bump for the evenings activity. Hope to be able to give this some time in the morning.
All the best AJ

hey,

im new to this game and all i think i can say is that i relly like your work here great imagary and i love the use of light humour

(05-30-2013, 09:11 AM)UnicornRainbowCake Wrote: [ -> ]Balances The title is most fitting! it makes one think and wonder how frenemy relationships sort of last, its the checks and balances that keeps the boat afloat, between tumultuous and tender moments

Our nights together have metamorphosed- I like the word metamorphosed connecting with the vicious moths.
into slanging matches, howling
over the sound of Coronation Street.
In our most trying times,
we are like children plucking the wings
of grotesque flies, curious yet cautious
that we might push each other too far
with remarks that dig and tear, - how about stain and tear? fitting with vicious "moth damage" on satin silk and lace?
like vicious moths on soft satin and silk.

We both pluck, and claw, and scrape
at the edge, balancing between
anger, and sadness, and regret.
Pulling -
at my manicured nails, at the edge of your shirt.
At my dreams, and then yours
almost incessantly.
Taking turns to see - who can hit the hardest?
With sharp, frozen arrows that never quite strike
the head - just the heart;
leaving each jagged wound to bleed out,
joining an exhibition of blemished battle wounds.

Yet when night falls -
when twilight's elegant palms brush over our souls, - this is my favorite, giving the essence of tender romance
we succumb to fatigue, and give up our game. - would "quench the fire" connect better with anger's flame?
Love desperately seizes us in these rare few hours, - and the word "cocooned"..seems to call for attention here...
knowing we wake back with anger's flame.

I humbly admit, I am most hesitant to comment on a poem simply because, IF it catches my attention, I love it already! Your poem is vivid in my mind however, that too, should be an encouragement for us to keep refining our work. Enjoyed your poem very much. Thank you and Best regards!

hi URC
some good stuff happening in the poem, i like how the poem is given depth by using corry street, in places i think you give too much and in doing so, make the poem weaker i bolded a few lines that feel weak or don't add much that's not already been stated.

(05-30-2013, 09:11 AM)UnicornRainbowCake Wrote: [ -> ]Balances

Our nights together have metamorphosed metamorpho... takes away from the earthiness of coronation street and slanging matches, would something like; 'keep erupting' be more in line with the volatility of the opening section?
into slanging matches, howling
over the sound of Coronation Street.
In our most trying times,
we are like children plucking the wings
of grotesque flies, curious yet cautious
that we might push each other too far
with remarks that dig and tear,
like vicious moths on soft satin and silk. i like the way you're incorporating the simile into the poem i'd suggest not extending them, 'on soft satin' would be enough or 'on silk' with both you rub the edge off its insight.

We both pluck, and claw, and scrape
at the edge, balancing between
anger, and sadness, and regret.
Pulling -
at my manicured nails, at the edge of your shirt. i like this line it gives some depth to some of the weaker or overused lines. (would do help after 'nails')
At my dreams, and then yours
almost incessantly.
Taking turns to see - who can hit the hardest?
With sharp, frozen arrows that never quite strike
the head - just the heart;
leaving each jagged wound to bleed out,
joining an exhibition of blemished battle wounds.

Yet when night falls -
when twilight's elegant palms brush over our souls,
we succumb to fatigue, and give up our game.
Love desperately seizes us in these rare few hours,
knowing we wake back with anger's flame.

I've posted the first revision - I'd be grateful for some more feedback regarding it.

05-30-2013, 08:11 AM (This post was last modified: Yesterday 07:13 AM by UnicornRainbowCake.) Post: #1
UnicornRainbowCake
Senior Member

Posts: 133
Joined: Mar 2013
Balances
Balances

Our nights together have metamorphosed
into slanging matches, howling
over the sound of Coronation Street.
We are like children plucking the wings
of grotesque flies, curious yet cautious
with remarks that dig and tear,
like vicious moths on soft silk.

We are at the edge, balancing between
anger, and sadness, and regret.
Pulling -
at my manicured nails, at the edge of your shirt.
At my dreams, and then yours
almost incessantly.
Taking turns to see - who can hit the hardest?
With sharp, frozen arrows that never quite strike
the head - just the heart;
leaving each jagged wound to bleed out,
joining an exhibition of blemished battle wounds.

Yet when night falls -
when twilight's elegant palms brush over our souls,
we succumb to fatigue, and give up our game.
Love desperately seizes us in these rare few hours,
knowing we wake back with anger's flame.

These things are hard to hear...Why do we continue to pursue these emotional frenzies when all along we recognize that yes, it is in reality a "game" we are playing? I suppose we all have our reasons. All the same I Loved it and all the energy that went into and flows out of it in a torrent of emotion, then a coming together, only to start anew at waking. Great job in my very humble opinion. Thank you Amy...

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(06-03-2013, 01:04 AM)Jacklalanne Wrote: [ -> ]05-30-2013, 08:11 AM (This post was last modified: Yesterday 07:13 AM by UnicornRainbowCake.) Post: #1
UnicornRainbowCake
Senior Member

Posts: 133
Joined: Mar 2013
Balances
Balances

Our nights together have metamorphosed
into slanging matches, howling
over the sound of Coronation Street.
We are like children plucking the wings
of grotesque flies, curious yet cautious
with remarks that dig and tear,
like vicious moths on soft silk.

We are at the edge, balancing between
anger, and sadness, and regret.
Pulling -
at my manicured nails, at the edge of your shirt.
At my dreams, and then yours
almost incessantly.
Taking turns to see - who can hit the hardest?
With sharp, frozen arrows that never quite strike
the head - just the heart;
leaving each jagged wound to bleed out,
joining an exhibition of blemished battle wounds.

Yet when night falls -
when twilight's elegant palms brush over our souls,
we succumb to fatigue, and give up our game.
Love desperately seizes us in these rare few hours,
knowing we wake back with anger's flame.

These things are hard to hear...Why do we continue to pursue these emotional frenzies when all along we recognize that yes, it is in reality a "game" we are playing? I suppose we all have our reasons. All the same I Loved it and all the energy that went into and flows out of it in a torrent of emotion, then a passionate coming together, only to start anew at waking. Great job in my very humble opinion. Thank you Amy...

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Sorry I didn't intend to post my reply twice. I was only attempting a minor edit. Peace, Russ