EDIT 1.
They move through osseous sockets and tubes,
rest on mattresses of swarming Springtails,
pallid feelers finding ways through limestone,
through the riddled and broken.
They are not miners, more like blind mice they scurry.
They journey inside a honeycombed clock
where time is heaped and must be stored.
We are a curious parcel of voyeurs,
matrons with cowed or unruly children,
bearded youths in rain slickers and hiking boots,
loud middle-aged Moroccans,
mouths open we gulp the shut-in light.
I allow the group to move ahead of me,
the better to listen to the beetles and the bones.
The song is old: hard forewings lift and rattle,
a chitinous flight of sound -
words in dry shins, in brittle canals,
in the caps and shells of piled skulls,
a symbiotic duet,
the falling semblance of still submerging remains.
It is an underground song, a tale without a tongue
to guide any thought,
nevertheless, this entombed music
scuttles over my mind
a requiem for all the severed, and unearthed.
Like some descriptions a lot. Would not put of sorts in a line if the reader would think its sloppy writing.
Thanks mucho Brownlie.
Good point regarding 'of sorts' line.
(12-02-2016, 01:18 AM)Brownlie Wrote: [ -> ]Like some descriptions a lot. Would not put of sorts in a line if the reader would think its sloppy writing.
(11-27-2016, 01:45 AM)Sparkydashforth Wrote: [ -> ]They move through osseous sockets and tubes,
rest on mattress’ of swarming Springtails, (shouldn't it be mattresses? why the possessive?)
pallid feelers finding ways through limestone,
through the riddled and broken.
They are not miners, more like blind mice they scurry.
They journey within a honeycombed clock (I don't like journey within -- journey is very dynamic and within seems more static. Maybe journey into or live within?)
where time is heaped and must be stored.
We are a curious parcel of voyeurs, (like the shift in attention here from the beetles to the viewers)
matrons with cowed or unruly children,
bearded youths in rain slickers and hiking boots,
loud middle-aged Moroccans, our mouths open
as we gulp up the shut-in light. (maybe, 'Mouths open, we gulp the shut-in light.')
I allow the group to move ahead of me,
the better to listen to the beetles and the bones, (the phrasing here makes me think of, 'all the better to hear you with my dear,' from Little Red Riding Hood. I think it adds to the slightly creepy ambiance).
as they tunnel into each other. (I'd cut this line. It doesn't add much and interferes with the hand-off between strophes.)
The song is old. Hard forewings lift and rattle, (maybe a colon after old?)
a chitinous flight of sound; (em dash here instead of semi-colon, I think)
words in dry shins, in brittle canals,
in the caps and shells of piled skulls,
a symbiotic duet of sorts. (something is going on with the punctuation....you have an end stop, and then don't capitalize the next line, so I'm not sure if you intended to end stop.)
the falling semblance of still submerging remains,
an underground song, a tale without a tongue
to guide any thought,
nevertheless, this entombed music (I'd use 'still' instead of 'nevertheless.' Maybe start a new sentence with this strophe?)
scuttles over my mind –
a requiem for all the removed, and unearthed. (maybe, 'a requiem for all removed, unearthed.' As it stands, you don't need the comma. And I think the word 'removed' could be stronger.)
So much to love here. Great poem.
I should also mention: I copy my em dashes out of this
article.
For the life of me I can't seem to find them in my word processing program.
You can copy and paste this one for now —
If you're using a PC, you can make an em-dash with ALT + 151, straight onto the site or in Word.
Great feedback MadelineAnne!
I'm making changes
including the sloppy punctuation - the result of hasty last minute editing and poor eyesight.
Very much obliged to you, your suggestions will certainly help to lift this poem.
(12-02-2016, 02:41 AM)MadelineAnne Wrote: [ -> ] (11-27-2016, 01:45 AM)Sparkydashforth Wrote: [ -> ]They move through osseous sockets and tubes,
rest on mattress’ of swarming Springtails, (shouldn't it be mattresses? why the possessive?)
pallid feelers finding ways through limestone,
through the riddled and broken.
They are not miners, more like blind mice they scurry.
They journey within a honeycombed clock (I don't like journey within -- journey is very dynamic and within seems more static. Maybe journey into or live within?)
where time is heaped and must be stored.
We are a curious parcel of voyeurs, (like the shift in attention here from the beetles to the viewers)
matrons with cowed or unruly children,
bearded youths in rain slickers and hiking boots,
loud middle-aged Moroccans, our mouths open
as we gulp up the shut-in light. (maybe, 'Mouths open, we gulp the shut-in light.')
I allow the group to move ahead of me,
the better to listen to the beetles and the bones, (the phrasing here makes me think of, 'all the better to hear you with my dear,' from Little Red Riding Hood. I think it adds to the slightly creepy ambiance).
as they tunnel into each other. (I'd cut this line. It doesn't add much and interferes with the hand-off between strophes.)
The song is old. Hard forewings lift and rattle, (maybe a colon after old?)
a chitinous flight of sound; (em dash here instead of semi-colon, I think)
words in dry shins, in brittle canals,
in the caps and shells of piled skulls,
a symbiotic duet of sorts. (something is going on with the punctuation....you have an end stop, and then don't capitalize the next line, so I'm not sure if you intended to end stop.)
the falling semblance of still submerging remains,
an underground song, a tale without a tongue
to guide any thought,
nevertheless, this entombed music (I'd use 'still' instead of 'nevertheless.' Maybe start a new sentence with this strophe?)
scuttles over my mind –
a requiem for all the removed, and unearthed. (maybe, 'a requiem for all removed, unearthed.' As it stands, you don't need the comma. And I think the word 'removed' could be stronger.)
So much to love here. Great poem.