The Watcher (need some help hense repost)

[Keith]

There’s a budgie hanging from the old man’s ear,
pecking at a skin tag pendulum beneath his eye.
The ladies brittle frame is wired with stronger steel,
her darned stocking legs,protrude from the thread worn,
giant’s chair.
The house is old, cold, cacti fight for survival
in pools of condensation on window sills that
miss the scrape of sandpaper and the gild of gloss.
Four bars hiss as gas gets consumed;
only serving to melt the soles of upturned slippers.
In close proximity camphorated oil
warms to its nightly application.

The watcher loves the watched,
he understand that affection is currency,
spent on echoes of children gone before.
Regardless he squeezes hard against steel
and rests his head on a cardigan perch.



Two plumes of smoke, stream and splutter into the air,
one born of cigarette the other, solder.
The man peers over taped rimmed glasses,
through an eye piece,
into the circuit of an unwanted radio.
Items lie in waiting, petrol tank and urn, both requiring gold leaf
and a steady hand.
Separated by smoke and tales of asthmatic repercussions,
the lady sits in the adjoining room.
Reading light poised over the latest library card choice,
she smiles and redirects a tear with the touch of a finger
as the author’s words invoke raw emotion.

The watcher loves the watched;
he understands needing to be apart, together,
the pleasure of repair and the presence of ink and paper.
Affection unneeded, faces, long studied and hands held.


Scribbled carbon lines,
crumpled petals scattered on bed linen.
The man is hunched over gentle strings and headstocks,
with a pencil behind his ear.
Separate by time and a devil driving delivery,
his wife traces lines for number games
and things tactile to touch.
The man’s youth is framed by the door;
he glances in rooms discussed before,
a light smile twitches into place as he lingers.

The watched loves the watcher;
he understands the fleeting image he has surveyed,
the detail that today is shelved for tomorrow’s recollection.
Affection is given and taken, full and unrestricted
with a little left in store to banish echoes, when required.

[billy]

i remember this, and liking it. i can't remember what i said in it though so anything i say here that's different, is because i'm older and therefore much different

There’s a budgie hanging from the old man’s ear,
pecking at a skin tag pendulum beneath his eye. i like the image it has lots of depth.
The ladies brittle frame is wired with stronger steel,
her darned stocking legs,protrude from the thread worn,
giant’s chair. would stockinged work better and do you need a comma after legs. would it read better as 'giant's thread worn chair'?
The house is old, cold, cacti fight for survival either a period or a semi colon after cold. some good sonics going on
in pools of condensation on window sills that
miss the scrape of sandpaper and the gild of gloss. the enjambment feels off in this line and the one above. a suggestion would be to make three lines out of the two
Four bars hiss as gas gets consumed; again, some great sonics
only serving to melt the soles of upturned slippers. is only needed?
In close proximity camphorated oil comma after proximity
warms to its nightly application. love these last two lines. they reek of old age.

The watcher loves the watched,
he understand that affection is currency,
spent on echoes of children gone before.
Regardless he squeezes hard against steel 2nd use of steel
and rests his head on a cardigan perch. i think i missed it last time, but the way you humanise the budgie is excellent.



Two plumes of smoke, stream and splutter into the air, is into the air needed?
one born of cigarette the other, solder. the grammar feels off
The man peers over taped rimmed glasses,
through an eye piece,
into the circuit of an unwanted radio.
Items lie in waiting, petrol tank and urn, both requiring gold leaf
and a steady hand.
Separated by smoke and tales of asthmatic repercussions,
the lady sits in the adjoining room.
Reading light poised over the latest library card choice,
she smiles and redirects a tear with the touch of a finger great line
as the author’s words invoke raw emotion.

The watcher loves the watched;
he understands needing to be apart, together,
the pleasure of repair and the presence of ink and paper.
Affection unneeded, faces, long studied and hands held.


Scribbled carbon lines,
crumpled petals scattered on bed linen.
The man is hunched over gentle strings and headstocks,
with a pencil behind his ear. again, another full image.
Separate by time and a devil driving delivery,
his wife traces lines for number games
and things tactile to touch. is 'to touch' need
The man’s youth is framed by the door;
he glances in rooms discussed before,
a light smile twitches into place as he lingers.

The watched loves the watcher;
he understands the fleeting image he has surveyed,
the detail that today is shelved for tomorrow’s recollection.
Affection is given and taken, full and unrestricted
with a little left in store to banish echoes, when required.

an excellent poem tomh. mainly my suggestions are just small nits. and i'm sure there are more (it's a long piece ) but the rich images that you lcaed throughout are solid and have weight. wish i could have been of more help. thanks for a great read.