Edit 1 Quix

The wooden boards flexed like sleeping ribs
as a large wave spewed over a little café
soaking her favourite Sunday morning spot
to sip hot Mocha, close her eyes
and face the sun, inhale the sea-salt air
the way her mother had always done.

She wanted to feel small again,
still brave enough
to shout her name into the head wind,
to breath herself alive in the rising swell.

The pier was deserted as she stepped over
the danger sign that danced on its rusty chain.
Through the murk of stirred up sand
her raincoat demanded attention,
a slash of red bleeding across the grey.

Far off in the deep its mass was moving,
a vast sea cat timing its run for the neck,
each thudded step counted in the waves
as she ran towards the spray,
a surfer would have known what was coming.
The ocean smashed through the decking,
a sledge hammer on piano keys,
its mouth tight around her legs and chest
as it carried her deafeningly into muffled silence.

On a warm Sunday her usual spot was taken,
a man watching his son crab fishing on the rocks.
” I've got one” the boy shouted,
guiding his catch into a bucket.
He didn't notice the red shape shifting in the sand
surfacing only to fold across the rocks,
a small offering as the guilty tide
bowed with outstretched arms
and stepped away.



Original
She wanted to feel small again, yes.
still brave enough
to shout her name into the head wind,
to breath herself alive in the rising swell.

The pier was deserted as she stepped over
the danger sign that danced on its rusty chain.
Through the murk of stirred up sand
her red raincoat appeared disrespectful
to one so angry, one so hungry.

The wooden boards flexed like sleeping ribs
as a large wave spewed over a little café
soaking her favourite Sunday morning spot
to sip hot Mocha.
She would watch the red of the sun
behind closed eyes and inhale the sea-salt air,
the way her mother had always done.

Far off in the deep its mass was moving,
a vast sea cat timing its run for the neck,
each thudded step counted in the waves
as she ran towards the spray,
a surfer would have known what was coming.
The ocean smashed through the decking,
a sledge hammer on piano keys,
its mouth tight around her legs and chest
as it carried her deafeningly into muffled silence.

On a warm Sunday her usual spot was taken,
a man watching his son crab fishing on the rocks.
” I've got one” the boy shouted,
guiding his catch into a bucket.
He didn't notice the red shape shifting in the sand
surfacing only to fold across the rocks,
a small offering as the guilty tide
bowed with outstretched arms
and stepped away.

Hello Keith,

I love this, the ocean or storm as a living thing, the breathing and hunting as though it were a wild beast, just fantastic.  Just a few minor suggestions below. 

(02-08-2017, 08:03 AM)Keith Wrote:  She wanted to feel small again, yes.
still brave enough
to shout her name into the head wind,
to breath herself alive in the rising swell.

The pier was deserted as she stepped over
the danger sign that danced on its rusty chain. 
Through the murk of stirred up sand
her red raincoat appeared disrespectful  something about "appeared disrespectful" is tripping me up.  It is too mild maybe for the response?  It is like the relationship of the red cape to the angry bull, but the bull doesn't feel disrespected, it's something more intense than that to become riled to the point of charging, perhaps a stronger catalyst for all the violence that follows, maybe it is taunting, or mocking, provoking ... red should stand for danger, for keep out, for anger, but she is wearing it for safety, and in misplaced confidence in the situation, it is an affront to the deadliness gathering.
to one so angry, one so hungry.

The wooden boards flexed like sleeping ribs love, love, love this!!!  Like the monster breathing, yes!
as a large wave spewed over a little café
soaking her favourite Sunday morning spot
to sip hot Mocha.
She would watch the red of the sun You use "red" only a few lines earlier, and then again at the end, perhaps another word for red here? Crimson maybe? Unless the repetition is serving a purpose maybe?
behind closed eyes and inhale the sea-salt air,
the way her mother had always done. Also this stanza, but mostly the second half of it, is suddenly peaceful and also in the past.  I felt jerked away from the action.  The building of the storm builds anticipation in the reader, to step away feels like cutting all the threads you just pulled and then you will have to begin again in the next line.  Is there any way this peaceful scene, the reason she is in the location to begin with, sunrises and her mother and coffee, can be moved to the beginning when all is still well?  

Far off in the deep its mass was moving,
a vast sea cat timing its run for the neck,
each thudded step counted in the waves  yes, the waves the footsteps of the predator racing toward it's prey, just yes.  
as she ran towards the spray,
a surfer would have known what was coming.
The ocean smashed through the decking,
a sledge hammer on piano keys,    YES
its mouth tight around her legs and chest
as it carried her deafeningly into muffled silence.

On a warm Sunday her usual spot was taken,
a man watching his son crab fishing on the rocks.
” I've got one” the boy shouted,
guiding his catch into a bucket.
He didn't notice the red shape shifting in the sand
surfacing only to fold across the rocks,
a small offering as the guilty tide
bowed with outstretched arms
and stepped away.  The guilty thing leaving the evidence and slinking away, yes.  

Anyway, I love how you brought the storm to life, it is so vivid, I can hear the wind and see the pier moving, and then that it acting out of an emotional response.  Just lovely.  

--Quix

Many thanks for the help with this Quix you made some excellent points and I think I've addressed most of them in the edit much apprecied. keith

This is a really great one, my only comment is the switch of s3 to the beginning makes the she pronoun a little more confusing, is she the ocean, the mocha stand, or the girl were about to meet.  Nothing like a tropical storm to make someone feel truly insignificant and tiny.  Thanks for sharing!

---

Not too confusing to take away from the poem though, kudos!

(02-08-2017, 08:03 AM)Keith Wrote:  Edit 1 Quix

The wooden boards flexed like sleeping ribs  Maybe it's just because I read your first edit yesterday and really enjoyed it, but I'm not sure about moving this up here; it's a good line that, for me, doesn't work as well being placed right at the start
as a large wave spewed over a little café  if it's her favourite spot it should be 'the' little cafe, perhaps??
soaking her favourite Sunday morning spot  I'm nitpicking because I enjoy the constituent elements, but it feels like [soaking her favourite sunday morning spot] and [her favourite sunday morning spot to sip hot mocha, close her.. ect] are two separate phrases which jar together. Again, it only needs a small change, but it's a tiny point of contention for me.
to sip hot Mocha, close her eyes
and face the sun, inhale the sea-salt air
the way her mother had always done.  Hmm, this stanza as a whole doesn't quite sit right within the poem, even with this move. I think that bit of history is good though, and there's good imagery in here. 

She wanted to feel small again,
still brave enough
to shout her name into the head wind,
to breath herself alive in the rising swell.

The pier was deserted as she stepped over
the danger sign that danced on its rusty chain.
Through the murk of stirred up sand
her raincoat demanded attention,
a slash of red bleeding across the grey.

Far off in the deep its mass was moving,
a vast sea cat timing its run for the neck,
each thudded step counted in the waves
as she ran towards the spray,
a surfer would have known what was coming.
The ocean smashed through the decking,
a sledge hammer on piano keys,  Great
its mouth tight around her legs and chest Also great
as it carried her deafeningly into muffled silence.  

On a warm Sunday her usual spot was taken,  Either make this a semicolon or have 'by'
a man watching his son crab fishing on the rocks.
” I've got one” the boy shouted,
guiding his catch into a bucket.
He didn't notice the red shape shifting in the sand
surfacing only to fold across the rocks,
a small offering as the guilty tide
bowed with outstretched arms
and stepped away. Nice nice nice


Ok so I really like this poem, it's great for the imagery and a well told story. As mentioned, to me the first stanza isn't quite right yet where the rest of the poem feels very polished. I think moving the most suggestive lines to the end of the stanza works better maybe, I think partly it's fitting the double flashback into an already past tense poem within a single sentence. Maybe open with the sunny flashback for the first few lines, then reel us in by the end of that first stanza by hitting us with the real setting of the poem; with the crashing waves and wooden limbs. Look forward to reading it more. 

(02-10-2017, 08:29 AM)Donald Q. Wrote:  

(02-08-2017, 08:03 AM)Keith Wrote:  Edit 1 Quix

The wooden boards flexed like sleeping ribs  Maybe it's just because I read your first edit yesterday and really enjoyed it, but I'm not sure about moving this up here; it's a good line that, for me, doesn't work as well being placed right at the start
as a large wave spewed over a little café  if it's her favourite spot it should be 'the' little cafe, perhaps??
soaking her favourite Sunday morning spot  I'm nitpicking because I enjoy the constituent elements, but it feels like [soaking her favourite sunday morning spot] and [her favourite sunday morning spot to sip hot mocha, close her.. ect] are two separate phrases which jar together. Again, it only needs a small change, but it's a tiny point of contention for me.
to sip hot Mocha, close her eyes
and face the sun, inhale the sea-salt air
the way her mother had always done.  Hmm, this stanza as a whole doesn't quite sit right within the poem, even with this move. I think that bit of history is good though, and there's good imagery in here. 

She wanted to feel small again,
still brave enough
to shout her name into the head wind,
to breath herself alive in the rising swell.

The pier was deserted as she stepped over
the danger sign that danced on its rusty chain.
Through the murk of stirred up sand
her raincoat demanded attention,
a slash of red bleeding across the grey.

Far off in the deep its mass was moving,
a vast sea cat timing its run for the neck,
each thudded step counted in the waves
as she ran towards the spray,
a surfer would have known what was coming.
The ocean smashed through the decking,
a sledge hammer on piano keys,  Great
its mouth tight around her legs and chest Also great
as it carried her deafeningly into muffled silence.  

On a warm Sunday her usual spot was taken,  Either make this a semicolon or have 'by'
a man watching his son crab fishing on the rocks.
” I've got one” the boy shouted,
guiding his catch into a bucket.
He didn't notice the red shape shifting in the sand
surfacing only to fold across the rocks,
a small offering as the guilty tide
bowed with outstretched arms
and stepped away. Nice nice nice


Ok so I really like this poem, it's great for the imagery and a well told story. As mentioned, to me the first stanza isn't quite right yet where the rest of the poem feels very polished. I think moving the most suggestive lines to the end of the stanza works better maybe, I think partly it's fitting the double flashback into an already past tense poem within a single sentence. Maybe open with the sunny flashback for the first few lines, then reel us in by the end of that first stanza by hitting us with the real setting of the poem; with the crashing waves and wooden limbs. Look forward to reading it more. 

Thank you for the help Donald, you make some good points here that make a lot of sense I will review and come back to edit, thanks again Keith

---

(02-10-2017, 06:55 AM)CRNDLSM Wrote:  This is a really great one, my only comment is the switch of s3 to the beginning makes the she pronoun a little more confusing, is she the ocean, the mocha stand, or the girl were about to meet.  Nothing like a tropical storm to make someone feel truly insignificant and tiny.  Thanks for sharing!

---

Not too confusing to take away from the poem though, kudos!

All good points CRNDLSM, thanks for the feedback, i will take into another edit.Best Keith

[quote='Keith' pid='224112' dateline='1486508603']
Edit 1 Quix

The wooden boards flexed like sleeping ribs I think this line still works where it is as your only talking about the wooden boards in passing.  Perhaps try and relate this line a bit more with the next to make it seem better placed
as a large wave spewed over a little café
soaking her favourite Sunday morning spot
to sip hot Mocha, close her eyes
and face the sun, inhale the sea-salt air
the way her mother had always done.

She wanted to feel small again,
still brave enough
to shout her name into the head wind,
to breath herself alive in the rising swell.

The pier was deserted as she stepped over
the danger sign that danced on its rusty chain. Good use of the word dancing to personify the waves
Through the murk of stirred up sand
her raincoat demanded attention,
a slash of red bleeding across the grey.  An excellent image here

Far off in the deep its mass was moving,
a vast sea cat timing its run for the neck,  Not a fan of the use of sea cat here the description of the deep as a "mass moving" at the start of this stanza makes me think of the sea as majestic and powerful.  The reference to the sea cat detracts from that I think
each thudded step counted in the waves
as she ran towards the spray,
a surfer would have known what was coming.
The ocean smashed through the decking,
a sledge hammer on piano keys,
its mouth tight around her legs and chest
as it carried her deafeningly into muffled silence.

On a warm Sunday her usual spot was taken,
a man watching his son crab fishing on the rocks.
” I've got one” the boy shouted,
guiding his catch into a bucket.
He didn't notice the red shape shifting in the sand
surfacing only to fold across the rocks,
a small offering as the guilty tide
bowed with outstretched arms
and stepped away.  Great ending 

I really enjoyed reading your poem as you've got lots of strong vivid imagery

(02-16-2017, 03:46 AM)Mark Cecil Wrote:  [quote='Keith' pid='224112' dateline='1486508603']
Edit 1 Quix

The wooden boards flexed like sleeping ribs I think this line still works where it is as your only talking about the wooden boards in passing.  Perhaps try and relate this line a bit more with the next to make it seem better placed
as a large wave spewed over a little café
soaking her favourite Sunday morning spot
to sip hot Mocha, close her eyes
and face the sun, inhale the sea-salt air
the way her mother had always done.

She wanted to feel small again,
still brave enough
to shout her name into the head wind,
to breath herself alive in the rising swell.

The pier was deserted as she stepped over
the danger sign that danced on its rusty chain. Good use of the word dancing to personify the waves
Through the murk of stirred up sand
her raincoat demanded attention,
a slash of red bleeding across the grey.  An excellent image here

Far off in the deep its mass was moving,
a vast sea cat timing its run for the neck,  Not a fan of the use of sea cat here the description of the deep as a "mass moving" at the start of this stanza makes me think of the sea as majestic and powerful.  The reference to the sea cat detracts from that I think
each thudded step counted in the waves
as she ran towards the spray,
a surfer would have known what was coming.
The ocean smashed through the decking,
a sledge hammer on piano keys,
its mouth tight around her legs and chest
as it carried her deafeningly into muffled silence.

On a warm Sunday her usual spot was taken,
a man watching his son crab fishing on the rocks.
” I've got one” the boy shouted,
guiding his catch into a bucket.
He didn't notice the red shape shifting in the sand
surfacing only to fold across the rocks,
a small offering as the guilty tide
bowed with outstretched arms
and stepped away.  Great ending 

I really enjoyed reading your poem as you've got lots of strong vivid imagery

Thank you for the feedback Mark, you have made some good points, I have decided to let this one site a while so I can consider if the stanza move was the right thing to do, I will come back and I will use your comments to influence a second edit. Thanks again Keith