Keeping You

[ellz483]

I wish I had the hands of Michelangelo
so I could sculpt another you
out of my tears and all your ashes;
not a David, but a you---
your lungs, your heart, our eyes
fired in a kiln of Bic lighters
until sooty and black.
 
I would stuff you with those million foam filters
that you flicked between the bricks on our front porch
so you’d be squishy and soft,
then scent you in Irish Spring
and whiten with Crest.
I’d mind never to set you too close
to the microwave, so you’d never get
nuked out of existence---
 
again.
 
Once you were the Marlboro man
and we rode together, not on a Camel,
but in a ‘97 Ford Taurus:
You in the front,
me in the car seat behind you.
We sang along to “Mrs. Robinson,”
blew bubbles,
and I learned your particular
“drag racing.”
Those trips to Circle K
meant ice-cream drumsticks,
more fuel [for your   a d d i c t i o n]
and not telling mom.
_________________________________________________________________________
 
You built our home out of old cardboard packs
in the center of a ring-around-the-rosie.
 
But when we all fell down,
you never
               got
                   back
                          up.
 
 
My Marlboro man. 

[billy]

i did so like the poem. i get the feel it's about a lost brother. in truth i saw little to nothing i didn't enjoy, maybe cut out a few odd words in order to tighten it up but that's about it.

I wish I had the hands of Michelangelo
so I could sculpt another you is [so] needed?
out of my tears and all your ashes;
not a David, but a you--- no need for [but]
your lungs, your heart, our eyes
fired in a kiln of Bic lighters this is a brilliant image, it's the first thing in the poem that made me think of children
until sooty and black.

I would stuff you with those million foam filters
that you flicked between the bricks on our front porch
so you’d be squishy and soft,
then scent you in Irish Spring
and whiten with Crest.
I’d mind never to set you too close
to the microwave, so you’d never get
nuked out of existence--- an expanded image of deep affection yet not at all soppy

again.

Once you were the Marlboro man no need for [once]
and we rode together, not on a Camel,
but in a ‘97 Ford Taurus:
You in the front,
me in the car seat behind you. no need for [you],
We sang along to “Mrs. Robinson,”
blew bubbles,
and I learned your particular
“drag racing.”
Those trips to Circle K
meant ice-cream drumsticks,
more fuel [for your a d d i c t i o n]
and not telling mom.
_________________________________________________________________________

You built our home out of old cardboard packs
in the center of a ring-around-the-rosie.

But when we all fell down,
you never
got
back
up.


My Marlboro man.

[Alic Elliot]

I wish I had the hands of Michelangelo
so I could sculpt another you
out of my tears and all your ashes;
not a David, but a you---
your lungs, your heart, our eyes Our eyes? Did you mean your?
fired in a kiln of Bic lighters
until sooty and black.
 
I would stuff you with those million foam filters
that you flicked between the bricks on our front porch
so you’d be squishy and soft,
then scent you in Irish Spring
and whiten with Crest. The idea of building a person in this manor makes mr kinda feel all warm and fuzzy, in a good-weird Dr. Frankenstein type way. 
I’d mind never to set you too close
to the microwave, so you’d never get
nuked out of existence--- These dashes create an unnecessary, sharp pause, which doesn't really go with saddness. Use dots instead, maybe?
 
again.
 
Once you were the Marlboro man
and we rode together, not on a Camel, Puns are great. Kudos for working a pun into a sad poem.
but in a ‘97 Ford Taurus:
You in the front,
me in the car seat behind you.
We sang along to “Mrs. Robinson,”
blew bubbles,
and I learned your particular
“drag racing.”
Those trips to Circle K
meant ice-cream drumsticks, heartfelt memories of a lost loved one always tugs at my heartstrings. 
more fuel [for your   a d d i c t i o n]
and not telling mom. Are they related or lovers? I can't quite tell with this and the last stanza.
_________________________________________________________________________
 
You built our home out of old cardboard packs
in the center of a ring-around-the-rosie.
 
But when we all fell down,
you never
               got
                   back
                          up.
 
Warm and fuzzy in all the right places then breathtakingly sad. 
My Marlboro man. 

My few qualms with this are minor. I don't understand whether the speaker is a lover or a sibling, and there's a few spacing errors for me, but that's about it. Nicely done.

[Lizzie]

I wish I had the hands of Michelangelo
so I could sculpt another you
out of my tears and all your ashes;
not a David, but a you---
your lungs, your heart, our eyes -- I don't like the sonics of "our eyes." Was it meant to be your?
fired in a kiln of Bic lighters -- this is a great image
until sooty and black. -- I like sooty, but black feels redundant since I think of soot as black. Maybe come up with another descriptor word to replace black.
 
I would stuff you with those million foam filters -- the sonics of million foam filters is lovely
that you flicked between the bricks on our front porch -- flicked and bricks is great also
so you’d be squishy and soft,
then scent you in Irish Spring
and whiten with Crest.
I’d mind never to set you too close -- this phrase feels clunky to me, I might pare it down to 'I'd never set you too close.'
to the microwave, so you’d never get -- I'd end this line with nuked, and that change would really make 'nuked' stand out -- I don't think 'get' really needs to be emphasized. Also, that would call attention to the next line since it would be shorter and then leading down to the 'again' which is very short. So, you'd have the visual of the lines falling out of existence along with the subject. Just a thought.
nuked out of existence---
 
again.
 
Once you were the Marlboro man
and we rode together, not on a Camel, -- nice double meaning
but in a ‘97 Ford Taurus:
You in the front,
me in the car seat behind you.  -- do you need 'car'?
We sang along to “Mrs. Robinson,”
blew bubbles,
and I learned your particular
“drag racing.”
Those trips to Circle K
meant ice-cream drumsticks,
more fuel [for your   a d d i c t i o n] -- like this double meaning as well
and not telling mom.
_________________________________________________________________________
 
You built our home out of old cardboard packs
in the center of a ring-around-the-rosie.
 
But when we all fell down,
you never
               got
                   back
                          up.
 
 
My Marlboro man. 

I love the last bit under the line. I'm curious about the line and what it represents. I'm not coming up with anything.

I, like others, am a bit confused about the identity of the subject, whether lover or brother (I'm assuming brother). It's enough to feel bothersome and a bit unsettling.

I think you've got something very special here, though. You have original images and familiar detail used in an unusual way to make us feel like we really know the character. It's lightly sentimental without becoming sappy or overdone. And, that's hard to do.

So, well done to you! Thanks for sharing, and I look forward to seeing more from you!

lizziep

[makeshift]

I like the extended smoking thing, especially when it or aspects of it become metaphor for something else. Poem made me think of teenagers, because of the reference to mom. Whole thing made me think of grunge music. Thanks for sharing, hope my critique helps!

I wish I had the hands of Michelangelo
so I could sculpt another you
out of my tears and all your ashes; 
not a David, but a you--- These first three lines verge on cliche I think, though I do really like this fourth line, feels sincere. David is so ideal, its nice that your knockin that down
your lungs, your heart, our eyes Our eyes is nice, gives me a sense of shared experience between the narrator and their pal
fired in a kiln of Bic lighters Bic lighters is a pleasntly surprising image, a lot more contemporary then Michelangelo's david
until sooty and black.
 
I would stuff you with those million foam filters
that you flicked between the bricks on our front porch Bricks bring me back to Bic
so you’d be squishy and soft,
then scent you in Irish Spring
and whiten with Crest. I inmagine this is something done, to hide cigarettes, after reading this paired with "and not telling mom" these seem like  devices to hide this persons habit. I like the way my senses our activated here.
I’d mind never to set you too close
to the microwave, so you’d never get
nuked out of existence--- This microwave image feels like its probably inspired by something personal but I couldn't tell ya what. Nuked sure is violent though, my mind goes to chemotherapy but I dont think a reading that literal is necessary. The break for again is dramatic, my fear would be that its melodramatic, you already got the dash going on, but on the otherhand I do appreciate how the poem plays with page/space throughout.
 
again.
 
Once you were the Marlboro man
and we rode together, not on a Camel, Creative image
but in a ‘97 Ford Taurus:
You in the front,
me in the car seat behind you.
We sang along to “Mrs. Robinson,”
blew bubbles,
and I learned your particular
“drag racing.” This has a nice double meaning, maybe my favorite bit of this stanza
Those trips to Circle K
meant ice-cream drumsticks,
more fuel [for your   a d d i c t i o n]
and not telling mom. This line is nice as well, reminds me of the forbidden mischief of young people
_________________________________________________________________________ Idk about this fellow, might be intrusive
 
You built our home out of old cardboard packs Nice! this poem builds to this well, the mental space between these two characters is made of these smokin memories or something to that effect.
in the center of a ring-around-the-rosie. I like the naivety of this but wonder if you cant find something more specific, the ending works, but I think its certainly not the poems strongest point.
 
But when we all fell down,
you never
               got
                   back
                          up.
 
 
My Marlboro man.  v sentimental