1. I read somewhere,
that as adults,
we try growing into
the traits that would've
rescued our parents.
And when my father moved out
I started moving.
The day my father's signature
danced across a set
of divorce papers,
my body became boat.
These ankles retracted anchor.
I have been sailor ever since.

2. Mental illness runs
in my mother's family
so leaving was more like
a race for my sanity.
There are days when
I wonder if schizophrenia
is what happened
when Liz stopped writing.
When a poet stops being a poet
I guess all of that empty
silence leaves room for
the walls to start speaking.
There are days when I wander
just to see if my feet
are as fast as they
used to be.
I used to leave what I love.

3. I love a lot
so I jog often.
Not for hobby,
but for healing.

4. Survival is a scary thing,
especially when it means
running from what's
already been sewn into
your family genes.

5. If your body ever
feels foreign,
remember home is
where the heart is
so it is no worthless carcass.
Call it Cathedral.
You. Holy congregation
of bones filled to the brim
with sin but blessed
from birth.
Your skin is
nothing short of sacred.
Sanctuary.
Your muscles only grow
from being torn and rebuilt
so it makes since
for these walls to crumble
sometimes.
Destruction is a form
of creation.
And of course,
you will want to
dance atop that rubble.
Movement is a sign of life.
Let them see
you're still alive.

6. This life is magic
and you come from
a long line of magicians.
We people of Black suits
and bow ties threaded
from braided chains.
We, wands for wrists,
perfect for reaching
for potions and people
and dreams.
We, top hats for teeth
perfect for abracadabra speaking
things into existence.
We, artists.
We, storytellers.
We, preachers and poets.
We, who spit spells
disguised as poems.
Poems that work like
prayers born between pews.
We, walking sanctuaries
with pews for knees.
We who birth life. Love,
you are nothing short
of magic.

7. The day the spine
of my father's signature
tangoed along the rubble
of a broken marriage,
my mother's hips
kissed a beat like
Stevie Wonder
was just invented.
And my God,
is it lovely.
How she wears her lonely
in the sway of her shoulders.
See, you come from
a long line of magicians
who don't need to be
run from or rescued.
You are not our final flare.
You are not our savior.
Just our plagiarized draft
of a poem called God.
Love, if this is what
dominion means,
then Amem. Amen. Amen.

Hi Nicolette, welcome to the site! There's a lot in this one to consider. Here are my comments below:

When I consider your title, I immediately think of the Thou shalt or Thou shalt not. I like the title, and I'm not saying you need to adopt that form, but what I read did not come off as commandments. That said, let's go to the lines:

(09-16-2013, 09:21 AM)Nicolette Wrote:  1. I read somewhere,
that as adults,
we try growing into
the traits that would've
rescued our parents.--That is a fantastic observation. It seems true. Unless you really did read it somewhere you could probably simply lead with "As adults..."
And when my father moved out
I started moving.
The day my father's signature--possibly just "his"
danced across a set
of divorce papers,
my body became boat.--Initially, this felt a bit choppy to me, but I got used to it
These ankles retracted anchor.--Like this phrasing
I have been sailor ever since.--so, just to reemphasize and I'll only do this once: Where is the commandment in this?

2. Mental illness runs
in my mother's family
so leaving was more like
a race for my sanity.--This is conversational, and I don't mind that I think you can cut down on some of the my's. There's some filler in all of this (not horrible but there)
There are days when--Not sure you need this line
I wonder if schizophrenia
is what happened
when Liz stopped writing.
When a poet stops being a poet
I guess all of that empty--empty doesn't add much for me and could possibly be cut
silence leaves room for--"for" is a weak word to to do a break on, and breaking on room instead would be more interesting
the walls to start speaking--fantastic line. Very evocative. You could possibly take this idea further.
There are days when I wander
just to see if my feet
are as fast as they
used to be.--all of this part feels a little like the previous section and not to tied to the themes here. I think that's an area to work on
I used to leave what I love.--this needs more lead up in this section for you to sell it to us, in my opinion

3. I love a lot
so I jog often.
Not for hobby,
but for healing.--If this we're phrased as a tight commandment you could probably pull it off. It's simply not enough as it is.

4. Survival is a scary thing,
especially when it means
running from what's
already been sewn into
your family genes.--Again nothing new here that hasn't been better expressed in section one (the first proposition).

5. If your body ever
feels foreign,--There's got to be a better image to express this idea
remember home is
where the heart is--If you're going to use a cliche than you need to lead in with "You've heard it said", or some such thing. It would be better to cut it
so it is no worthless carcass.
Call it Cathedral.
You. Holy congregation
of bones filled to the brim
with sin but blessed
from birth.
Your skin is
nothing short of sacred.
Sanctuary.--A long way to get to "body is the temple of the Holy Spirit" idea
Your muscles only grow
from being torn and rebuilt--This part is moving in a good direction.
so it makes since[b]typo: sense
for these walls to crumble
sometimes.--Not strong enough to hold the line alone
Destruction is a form
of creation.
And of course,
you will want to
dance atop that rubble.
Movement is a sign of life.
Let them see
you're still alive.--These propositions feel a bit choppy and may need to be linked better

6. This life is magic
and you come from
a long line of magicians.
We people of Black suits
and bow ties threaded
from braided chains.
We, wands for wrists,
perfect for reaching
for potions and people
and dreams.
We, top hats for teeth
perfect for abracadabra speaking
things into existence.
We, artists.
We, storytellers.
We, preachers and poets.
We, who spit spells
disguised as poems.
Poems that work like
prayers born between pews.
We, walking sanctuaries
with pews for knees.
We who birth life. Love,
you are nothing short
of magic.--This section feels like it would work well as spoken word especially. I like the rhythm of it. I could see areas I might address but I'm going to chock those comments up to style differences and not worry about them

7. The day the spine
of my father's signature--This isn't bad to return to. I like the closure
tangoed along the rubble
of a broken marriage,
my mother's hips
kissed a beat like
Stevie Wonder
was just invented.--I like this phrasing
And my God,
is it lovely.
How she wears her lonely--That's also sort of nice
in the sway of her shoulders.
See, you come from
a long line of magicians
who don't need to be
run from or rescued.--I don't associate run from with magicians. You could possible include some escape artist imagery to sell the rescued idea more
You are not our final flare.
You are not our savior.
Just our plagiarized draft
of a poem called God.--I like these last two lines. I'd be tempted to end the poem here
Love, if this is what
dominion means,
then Amem. Amen. Amen.

For me the poem seems all about section 1, first part of 2, 6, and 7. The fact that ideas bleed through makes me think that the poem would be better if it were tightened to less sections. Just thoughts. I enjoyed the read. I think you have some nice things going on here that could be developed.

I hope some of this was helpful.

Best,

Todd

(09-16-2013, 09:21 AM)Nicolette Wrote:  Hi nicole,
First of all,welcome. We all look forward to your views on the posters here. You have posted in the workshopping forum and so you are open to suggestions on your piece.
This is an overview having read through 7 commandments seven times...first observation? Not one commandment If you are going to use concept in a structural way then do so. As it stands, this piece struggles with its own identity and in the end, the identity loses. This reader could imagine you starting off wishing to write ten "commandments" in this cameo, running out after 5 observations and strugging to stagger to seven...a bit like God, really. and he only just managed 10...but they were commandments and not just loose thoughts.

1. I read somewhere, God said, and I think he may be right...No to the opening line.Unnecessary and unequivocally dismissive of responsibilty. Is this your work, or a translation? Begin with:
"As adults, you must fall
into those traits your parents
used, to save themselves.
When my father...."
Your poem but this is now a "commandment". You can now give your "example" to make your point. This is now the "set in stone" nature of the piece and the reader can look forward with some confidence to an interesting unfolding. As it is, there is a complete lack of cohesion...worse, the title should be reported under the Trade Description Act. It does NOT do what it says on the tin

that as adults,
we try growing into
the traits that would've
rescued our parents.
And when my father moved out Drop the "and"
I started moving.
The day my father's signature
danced across a set
of divorce papers,
my body became boat. NICE METAPHOR but will you sustain it?
These ankles retracted anchor. Ankles? Ankles? Of all the body parts that could haul anchor...ANKLES? Comedic scene of Able Seaman First Class being ordered for the first time to haul anchor....holy shit, belay that order!
I have been sailor ever since. Mascot?

2. Mental illness runs Begin with "Always leave what you love" then explain. Try to avoid trite truths...otherwise known as cliches. If you had said " Mental illness runs like wooden legs", it would at least be mildly humorous. As it is, you are not getting the juice out of this yellow lemon. We really want madness.
in my mother's family
so leaving was more like Lacks veracity on two levels. It is not your character's intent to have us believe that he "thinks" he can "leave" to escape genetic disposition. No? The character has already suitably explained why he went to sea, he had versatile ankles. This is the struggle I mentioned in the overview. Poetically, to re-invoke the unsustained metaphor, you are all at sea.
a race for my sanity.
There are days when
I wonder if schizophrenia
is what happened
when Liz stopped writing. Look, this is not funny, but you make it so. You tempt the credibility of the character's personna..."schizophrenia" doesn't happen. Shit happens. Again, there is much more you could make of this. Remember "Always leave what you love"? What's funny? It is just me, I guess. If schizophrenia took hold you would expect at least twice as many letters....but it is your fault that I have these thoughts.
When a poet stops being a poet
I guess all of that empty
silence leaves room for
the walls to start speaking.
There are days when I wander Great observation but what the hell is it doing here? This is such a disconnect it makes the piece a ramble. Omit it entirely and write another poem around it. It has no known purpose here. Help.
just to see if my feet
are as fast as they
used to be.
I used to leave what I love. Gone to L1

3. I love a lot
so I jog often.
Not for hobby,
but for healing.
Love a lot and jog often;
not as a hobby,
but to heal.

There is now a real danger that you will be seen as a poetical dilettante. This is a direct comment on the "poem". Where has the structure gone? If you want this to be seen as "poetry" it must contain some tiny homeopathic trace of the poetic elixir. Randomising everything is not going to do it. The last stanza is not even an afterthought...it is barely a thought at all. Advert for an energy drink. You need to develop this stanza to keep true to the ethos of the piece. This is a heavy subject. You cannot just jog your way out of it. Hmmm.


4. Survival is a scary thing,
especially when it means
running from what's
already been sewn into
your family genes.This is a restatement of what has gone before and stands out like a candle on a slagheap. The first line could save it. The 4th commandment:
" Be afraid of your ancestors" (Honour you father and mother....neat twist)
Your poem.Hmmm.

5. If your body ever What kind of a commandment is this? Begin with:
" Be seen to be alive" .The rest of this stanza is pizza dough with good bits on the surface...and like most home made pizzas, there is a temptation to overdo the topping. A mistake.
feels foreign,
remember home is
where the heart is Impudent cliche for serious workshopping forum. Surely you are aware of this?
so it is no worthless carcass. Sorry. You have completely lost the significance of your own poem. Not surprising as you make no attempt to plan for the future.
Call it Cathedral.
You. Holy congregation Who you...glue gone....falling apart...haiku
of bones filled to the brim
with sin but blessed
from birth.
Your skin is
nothing short of sacred.
Sanctuary.
Your muscles only grow
from being torn and rebuilt
so it makes since
for these walls to crumble
sometimes.
Destruction is a form
of creation. Trite but unsubstantiated and if it were so it would be a cliche. Your call.
And of course,
you will want to
dance atop that rubble.
Movement is a sign of life.
Let them see
you're still alive. I have absolutely no idea what this is all about but would only frazzle myself trying to fathom it. Just one question.Who is this "you" person that has suddenly put in a high profile appearance.Did you think you had formally introduced us previously.You had not. This stanza needs cutting to its core. I have the magnanimous feeling that there is chorizo in this gooey mozarella, tomato puree and anchovy paste gunge. Some pizza...some commandment

6. This life is magicA statement. Your poem. Make it in to a commandment. I'm tired.
and you come from
a long line of magicians.
We people of Black suits
and bow ties threaded
from braided chains.
We, wands for wrists,
perfect for reaching
for potions and people
and dreams.
We, top hats for teeth
perfect for abracadabra speaking
things into existence.
We, artists.
We, storytellers.
We, preachers and poets.
We, who spit spells
disguised as poems.
Poems that work like
prayers born between pews.
We, walking sanctuaries
with pews for knees. Pews? You've stated two, but then again, too pew to mention.
We who birth life. Love,
you are nothing short
of magic. If I was not well brought up I would say you are now taking the piss...but I shall say urine. I can just recall the point if this poem, but it was made long ago. Thank god I can get some relief from my indomitable sense of humour...a sailor with pews for knees hauling anchor with his ankles.Priceless. You must calm down. This is hopelessly wordy and disconnected. It is like reading several poems. Is that it?
7. The day the spine
of my father's signature
tangoed along the rubble
of a broken marriage,
my mother's hips
kissed a beat like
Stevie Wonder
was just invented. Excellent. Quite excellent. What is a nice strophe like you doing in a horrid poem like this? More of this...less of everything else.
And my God,
is it lovely. I do not know...did you ask???????
How she wears her lonely loneliness. You must check for basic errors. The whole thing is now over-excited and that is why errors creep in. Have you read this before posting or do you expect all the work to be done by the crits?
in the sway of her shoulders.
See, you come from "See" is a filler word and serves no purpose. You are actually writing prose and have no need to concern yourself with meter, flow, rhythm or rhyme...and nor do you do so, superbly. Having given up entirely on your own concept it would be churlish to bang on about anything else. See end
a long line of magicians
who don't need to be
run from or rescued.
You are not our final flare.
You are not our savior.
Just our plagiarized draft
of a poem called God. Is this the same you as the you you didn't introduce before you brought in this you? I still don't know who he/she is.
Love, if this is what
dominion means,
then Amem. Amen. Amen.

This is an unholy alliance of poorly connected thoughts and peregrinations.What metaphors there are do not serve to clarify but exist purely as devices to consume excess words. There is much to be said for "your" idea...indeed, much has already been said, but you have not so much wasted an opportunity as buried it beneath a pile of verbose vernacular. I believe strongly that if you began each stanza with a clear "commandment" then explained your thinking clearly, you would get something wonderful out of the experience....and when that happens, it is shared with the reader in a very real sense. As it stands, I felt excluded from the madness...and to a degree, for that I am grateful.
I look forward to edits and wish you well here. Remember, all is opinion.
Best,
tectak

(09-16-2013, 09:21 AM)Nicolette Wrote:  1. I read somewhere,
that as adults,
we try growing into
the traits that would've
rescued our parents.
And when my father moved out
I started moving.
The day my father's signature
danced across a set
of divorce papers,
my body became boat.
These ankles retracted anchor.
I have been sailor ever since.

2. Mental illness runs
in my mother's family
so leaving was more like
a race for my sanity.
There are days when
I wonder if schizophrenia
is what happened
when Liz stopped writing.
When a poet stops being a poet
I guess all of that empty
silence leaves room for
the walls to start speaking.
There are days when I wander
just to see if my feet
are as fast as they
used to be.
I used to leave what I love.

3. I love a lot
so I jog often.
Not for hobby,
but for healing.

4. Survival is a scary thing,
especially when it means
running from what's
already been sewn into
your family genes.

5. If your body ever
feels foreign,
remember home is
where the heart is
so it is no worthless carcass.
Call it Cathedral.
You. Holy congregation
of bones filled to the brim
with sin but blessed
from birth.
Your skin is
nothing short of sacred.
Sanctuary.
Your muscles only grow
from being torn and rebuilt
so it makes since
for these walls to crumble
sometimes.
Destruction is a form
of creation.
And of course,
you will want to
dance atop that rubble.
Movement is a sign of life.
Let them see
you're still alive.

6. This life is magic
and you come from
a long line of magicians.
We people of Black suits
and bow ties threaded
from braided chains.
We, wands for wrists,
perfect for reaching
for potions and people
and dreams.
We, top hats for teeth
perfect for abracadabra speaking
things into existence.
We, artists.
We, storytellers.
We, preachers and poets.
We, who spit spells
disguised as poems.
Poems that work like
prayers born between pews.
We, walking sanctuaries
with pews for knees.
We who birth life. Love,
you are nothing short
of magic.

7. The day the spine
of my father's signature
tangoed along the rubble
of a broken marriage,
my mother's hips
kissed a beat like
Stevie Wonder
was just invented.
And my God,
is it lovely.
How she wears her lonely
in the sway of her shoulders.
See, you come from
a long line of magicians
who don't need to be
run from or rescued.
You are not our final flare.
You are not our savior.
Just our plagiarized draft
of a poem called God.
Love, if this is what
dominion means,
then Amem. Amen. Amen.

Yeah, it's wordy and rambling (like those other guys said) but I do commend you on the "sewn into your family genes" gag.
I would go with something like "sewn onto my genes" or "sewn into the inseam of my genes" (or so on) but that is my mind. Yours came up with the genus and that is genius to me.

Thanks for the read material.
Nick

You've been given some fantastic feedback already, so I'll just jump in a few key points: Don't like the title...but obviously, that's just my opinion. I would see it as "7 things my children should know."

Your metaphors are strong, but sometimes get muddled. I would have like to see the boat one carried on a bit longer, even though having anchor feet is probably hard to jog with. As for the 3, the whole thing could be cut off or needs much more fleshing out. Why does jogging heal the N.? What exactly is he/she running from.

The lonely-loneliness thing has been pointed out already...the father's signature "tangoing" is an odd thing to me. Tango is a dance of two lovers, not sure what the implication of separation is here. And I have to throw in that "home is where the heart is" almost made me gag a bit.

Overall you have some very very good lines that are almost gems. It is your job to pick through, sort, and polish.

I like the commandments angle. It is to your child and you tell us in advance that your child "should" know them, not that he or she "does" know them. After all, commandments are made to be broken. Any Catholic would know this

Random things I like:

1) "How she wears her lonely" Great image. Wish I had written this. Forget the grammatical illogic of this image. It fits. And she wears it. Wonderful delivery.

2) Like the soft sell of dogma. It's there...and it should be. If a poem is referencing Catholicism, than by God, some dogma should be part of the program.

3) I like that this is not schmaltzy. It could come off as a sermon, but it does not. All opinions are handled w/care and are not delivered w/a hammer.

4) Commandment #3 is very cool. Short and sweet. No explanation necessary. And none is give. Could be food. Could be sex. Could be anything. I like it.

**All comments already stated by others are worthwhile. Prune every unnecessary word out this. Spit and polish it. bena's comment about "home is where the heart is" is well taken. Stay fresh.

Good luck. The concept is a keeper.

Thanks for the feedback! I am working on a second draft now.

I don't give a fig about each section not containing some equivalent of ''Thou shalt...'' Almost all were such that the reader might have extracted an insight -and what else is expected? -such as the theme of something ceasing, such as the father being around, or the poet being a poet, allowing space for , and even calling existence, some other stuff.

I enjoy fragmentary writing now, and similarly, a conversational style. I should not worry too much over that. There is a danger, of course, that it will throw up the odd hackneyed phrase --because, apart from those who breathe the air of Parnassus, that is how we speak.

I have been rather distracted while reading-several times - by the fact that I had lunch with a South African bloke. As there is a Nicolette on Another Poetry site, who is South African, I read it in a kind of phoney S African accent, and doing so, noticed that several locutions which are used here, (e.g. ''See...'' ) were peppering the talk of my lunch-friend. So naturally, coming across the typo ''since'' for ''sense'', confirmed all this fantasy, and my distraction.

I see you are already pruning, and re-jigging. At risk of being banned from these Elysian Fields, I shall not add to the constructive criticism already tendered, save to say, that while I don't think the ankle is important, I have never heard the term ''retract anchor''. ''Weighing''' anchor would be more normal. Either way, it is a poem well worth working on.

This is really great stuff. A moving and completely coherent description of mental illness.

(09-27-2013, 12:46 AM)NewJerseyMan99 Wrote:  This is really great stuff. A moving and completely coherent description of mental illness.

Thank you

---

(09-20-2013, 02:25 PM)abu nuwas Wrote:  I don't give a fig about each section not containing some equivalent of ''Thou shalt...'' Almost all were such that the reader might have extracted an insight -and what else is expected? -such as the theme of something ceasing, such as the father being around, or the poet being a poet, allowing space for , and even calling existence, some other stuff.

I enjoy fragmentary writing now, and similarly, a conversational style. I should not worry too much over that. There is a danger, of course, that it will throw up the odd hackneyed phrase --because, apart from those who breathe the air of Parnassus, that is how we speak.

I have been rather distracted while reading-several times - by the fact that I had lunch with a South African bloke. As there is a Nicolette on Another Poetry site, who is South African, I read it in a kind of phoney S African accent, and doing so, noticed that several locutions which are used here, (e.g. ''See...'' ) were peppering the talk of my lunch-friend. So naturally, coming across the typo ''since'' for ''sense'', confirmed all this fantasy, and my distraction.

I see you are already pruning, and re-jigging. At risk of being banned from these Elysian Fields, I shall not add to the constructive criticism already tendered, save to say, that while I don't think the ankle is important, I have never heard the term ''retract anchor''. ''Weighing''' anchor would be more normal. Either way, it is a poem well worth working on.

Wooooooow! Thank you