The River

[Sparkydashforth]

They are inside the water - molocules of memory;
horse and buggy, parts of eighteen wheelers,
a girl on a tricycle – squirrel bones,
the sludge of a delving tide.

No one can tell what is missing,
what iis still surfacing, what has become
lathered into womb-bearing suds.

A wake nibbles the passing,
heaps up headless pomades,
a filigree of funnel cake,
cotton candy and rum;
the painted missing parts
of the once and will be.

A momentous loss drifts by -
is found by stooping gulls;
mute tales are diced into mist.
Amid the tremble of reeds,
late summer copulates
with eddy, churn and jism.
Unbuckled slosh slips by a sipping sky.
There are rusting blooms
between spent shot shells.
Condoms colonize cattails.
The river slops together
wind-plowed concoctions -
blends the newly-unearthed
with the long abandoned.

The Ohio dredges itself,
sifts moments in fish-guts of time.
There are long trod dreads,
sweet smoke in hair-spun ecstasies.
Unseen acts that still beat
against eroding banks.

The backwash seeps as moon-spill,
or drives a John Deere
deeper into boggy entrails,
while barges slowly push
each muddy footprint
toward an empty shoe.

[amaril]

I'm not going to use the quote feature for this post--if that is not acceptable, let me know.

They are inside the water - molocules of memory;
horse and buggy, parts of eighteen wheelers,
a girl on a tricycle – squirrel bones,
the sludge of a delving tide.

This opening sets up the poem well, and establishes the river as a metaphor for history/forgetfulness. "They are inside the water" is a little too passive of an opening line for my tastes, but it is fine. "Molecules of memory" is weak because it is a paraphrase of the rest of the stanza's meaning. The juxtaposition of "horse and buggy, parts of eighteen wheelers" is good because it highlights the depth of the river--this is not a human's memory. "A girl on a tricycle" is excellent because it allows for the impossible. The main problem w/ this stanza is that the punctuation is confusing. As is, I would phrase the stanza: "They are inside the water--molecules of memory,/horse and buggy, parts of eighteen wheelers,/a girl on a tricycle, squirrel bones,/ the sludge of a delving tide."

No one can tell what is missing,
what iis still surfacing, what has become
lathered into womb-bearing suds.

I like the lathering metaphor, but besides that this stanza is weaker than the first. The "no one" humanizes the scene--all of a sudden there are onlookers trying to figure out what is emerging from the water (or something like that). This is not necessarily bad, but it detracts from the objective/force-of-nature tone of the first stanza. "What is still surfacing" is passive and confusing. "Womb-bearing suds" doesn't make sense as an image.

A wake nibbles the passing,
heaps up headless pomades,
a filigree of funnel cake,
cotton candy and rum;
the painted missing parts
of the once and will be.

Excellent. This stanza has a texture of its own. "A wake nibbles the passing" makes intuitive sense in a way that is difficult to explain, and "a filigree of funnel cake,/ cotton candy and rum" describes the frothy color of the water quite well. These images follow the trend of the first stanza, but are different too, more specific. "Of the once and will be" seems like a contrived way of saying 'everything.'

A momentous loss drifts by -
is found by stooping gulls;
mute tales are diced into mist.
Amid the tremble of reeds,
late summer copulates
with eddy, churn and jism.
Unbuckled slosh slips by a sipping sky.
There are rusting blooms
between spent shot shells.
Condoms colonize cattails.
The river slops together
wind-plowed concoctions -
blends the newly-unearthed
with the long abandoned.

Another good stanza w/ a unique feel--'sexual lethargy' or something like it. The first three lines are strong independently but awkward syntactically. In general, this poem has a habit of interrupting itself, and this disrupts the flow of imagery by forcing the reader to 'reorganize' the poem and figure out which descriptions/actions belong to which objects. Lines like "Amid the tremble of reeds,/ late summer copulates/ with eddy, churn and jism./ Unbuckled slosh slips by a sipping sky" are easy to follow and natural. While not terribly convoluted, the line "The river slops together/ wind-plowed concoctions -/ blends the newly-unearthed/ with the long abandoned" forces the reader to do a little re-arranging, and this weakens images that might otherwise hold their own.

The Ohio dredges itself,
sifts moments in fish-guts of time.
There are long trod dreads,
sweet smoke in hair-spun ecstasies.
Unseen acts that still beat
against eroding banks.

I like that you say the river's name here. By placing the river in context, you broaden the perspective of the poem (which the final stanza subverts by focusing in on a specific image). "Sifts moments in fish-guts of time" is logically confusing. I think the fish guts are the sifters, but maybe the river is the sifter and "moments in fish-guts of time" are the things being sifted. Regardless, the line isn't musical enough to justify disclarity. On the other hand, "There are long trod dreads,/ sweet smoke in hair-spun ecstasies" is, like the earlier funnel-cake lines, smooth enough to make intuitive sense. Once again I dislike the word "still" in the second-to-last line.

The backwash seeps as moon-spill,
or drives a John Deere
deeper into boggy entrails,
while barges slowly push
each muddy footprint
toward an empty shoe.
[/quote]

The push-and-pull imagery of "drives a John Deere/ deeper into boggy entrails,/ while barges slowly push" exemplifies the tempo of the river and the poem's shifting perspective. These are good lines. However, the ending is weak. At first I thought there was only one shoe, and that obviously made for a perplexing image. Now I read it as 'one footprint per shoe' which is better, but still unclear. How many shoes are there? I think it is a fine sentiment that you are trying to express--the idea that this river of incoherent memory approaches something that is inexplicably missing, but there are probably cleaner means of articulating that idea (or whatever idea you actually want to express).

In sum--good poem. Syntax and imagery is sometimes cumbersome, sometimes musical.

[Sparkydashforth]

Welcome Amani I see you joined only yesterday. If this is an example of your usual feedback
then I would say we are enriched by your membership - no BS.

I will ponder all of your critical points with a view to changes.

I may discuss some finer points with you later, but your suggestions will no doubt lead to a better edit.

Very much obliged to you

I'm not going to use the quote feature for this post--if that is not acceptable, let me know.

They are inside the water - molocules of memory;
horse and buggy, parts of eighteen wheelers,
a girl on a tricycle – squirrel bones,
the sludge of a delving tide.

This opening sets up the poem well, and establishes the river as a metaphor for history/forgetfulness.  "They are inside the water" is a little too passive of an opening line for my tastes, but it is fine.  "Molecules of memory" is weak because it is a paraphrase of the rest of the stanza's meaning.  The juxtaposition of "horse and buggy, parts of eighteen wheelers" is good because it highlights the depth of the river--this is not a human's memory.  "A girl on a tricycle" is excellent because it allows for the impossible.  The main problem w/ this stanza is that the punctuation is confusing.  As is, I would phrase the stanza: "They are inside the water--molecules of memory,/horse and buggy, parts of eighteen wheelers,/a girl on a tricycle, squirrel bones,/ the sludge of a delving tide."

No one can tell what is missing,
what iis still surfacing, what has become
lathered into womb-bearing suds.

I like the lathering metaphor, but besides that this stanza is weaker than the first.  The "no one" humanizes the scene--all of a sudden there are onlookers trying to figure out what is emerging from the water (or something like that).  This is not necessarily bad, but it detracts from the objective/force-of-nature tone of the first stanza.  "What is still surfacing" is passive and confusing.  "Womb-bearing suds" doesn't make sense as an image.

A wake nibbles the passing,
heaps up headless pomades,
a filigree of funnel cake,
cotton candy and rum;
the painted missing parts
of the once and will be.

Excellent.  This stanza has a texture of its own.  "A wake nibbles the passing" makes intuitive sense in a way that is difficult to explain, and "a filigree of funnel cake,/ cotton candy and rum" describes the frothy color of the water quite well.  These images follow the trend of the first stanza, but are different too, more specific.  "Of the once and will be" seems like a contrived way of saying 'everything.'

A momentous loss drifts by -
is found by stooping gulls;
mute tales are diced into mist.
Amid the tremble of reeds,
late summer copulates
with eddy, churn and jism.
Unbuckled slosh slips by a sipping sky.
There are rusting blooms
between spent shot shells.
Condoms colonize cattails.
The river slops together
wind-plowed concoctions -
blends the newly-unearthed
with the long abandoned.

Another good stanza w/ a unique feel--'sexual lethargy' or something like it.  The first three lines are strong independently but awkward syntactically.  In general, this poem has a habit of interrupting itself, and this disrupts the flow of imagery by forcing the reader to 'reorganize' the poem and figure out which descriptions/actions belong to which objects.  Lines like "Amid the tremble of reeds,/ late summer copulates/ with eddy, churn and jism./ Unbuckled slosh slips by a sipping sky" are easy to follow and natural.  While not terribly convoluted, the line "The river slops together/ wind-plowed concoctions -/ blends the newly-unearthed/ with the long abandoned" forces the reader to do a little re-arranging, and this weakens images that might otherwise hold their own.

The Ohio dredges itself,
sifts moments in fish-guts of time.
There are long trod dreads,
sweet smoke in hair-spun ecstasies.
Unseen acts that still beat
against eroding banks.

I like that you say the river's name here.  By placing the river in context, you broaden the perspective of the poem (which the final stanza subverts by focusing in on a specific image).  "Sifts moments in fish-guts of time" is logically confusing.  I think the fish guts are the sifters, but maybe the river is the sifter and "moments in fish-guts of time" are the things being sifted.  Regardless, the line isn't musical enough to justify disclarity.  On the other hand, "There are long trod dreads,/ sweet smoke in hair-spun ecstasies" is, like the earlier funnel-cake lines, smooth enough to make intuitive sense.  Once again I dislike the word "still" in the second-to-last line.

The backwash seeps as moon-spill,
or drives a John Deere
deeper into boggy entrails,
while barges slowly push
each muddy footprint
toward an empty shoe.

The push-and-pull imagery of "drives a John Deere/ deeper into boggy entrails,/ while barges slowly push" exemplifies the tempo of the river and the poem's shifting perspective.  These are good lines.  However, the ending is weak.  At first I thought there was only one shoe, and that obviously made for a perplexing image.  Now I read it as 'one footprint per shoe' which is better, but still unclear.  How many shoes are there?  I think it is a fine sentiment that you are trying to express--the idea that this river of incoherent memory approaches something that is inexplicably missing, but there are probably cleaner means of articulating that idea (or whatever idea you actually want to express).

In sum--good poem.  Syntax and imagery is sometimes cumbersome, sometimes musical.
[/quote]

[CRNDLSM]

So, I picture a man sitting by the river watching all this flow by.  is this part of the lake that caught fire 60s 70s?  first,  I like the symmetry of 2 short stanzas, then the long, then 2 more.  I wrote it all out to try and put myself there.

They are inside the water - molocules of memory; 'they are' seems to be how you start getting your mind rolling, not helpful to the piece but maybe personal characteristic flair, although, 'they are' also reminds me of a horror film.
horse and buggy, parts of eighteen wheelers,
a girl on a tricycle – squirrel bones,
the sludge of a delving tide.

No one can tell what is missing,this is my favorite stanza, seems to actually say the most about the lIst of losts that flow later
what iis still surfacing, what has become
lathered into womb-bearing suds. Also womb bearing is good all the procreation references later.

A wake nibbles the passing,
heaps up headless pomades,
a filigree of funnel cake,
cotton candy and rum; these items listed I feel could be pasted anywhere within the poem.  
the painted missing parts
of the once and will be.

A momentous loss drifts by -
is found by stooping gulls;
mute tales are diced into mist.
Amid the tremble of reeds,
late summer copulates
with eddy, churn and jism.
Unbuckled slosh slips by a sipping sky.
There are rusting bloomswhat is a rusting bloom.  just treating rust growth as a flower? 
between spent shot shells.
Condoms colonize cattails.
The river slops together
wind-plowed concoctions -
blends the newly-unearthed
with the long abandoned.Id hyphen long-abandoned
Even though this stanza has items almost listed, the movement of it describes the actual river the best.  this stanza could almost stand alone as a poem.

The Ohio dredges itself,
sifts moments in fish-guts of time.
There are long trod dreads,I like 'long trod dreads', because I think 'treading trodden trails'
sweet smoke in hair-spun ecstasies.
Unseen acts that still beat
against eroding banks.

The backwash seeps as moon-spill,
or drives a John Deere
deeper into boggy entrails,
while barges slowly push
each muddy footprint like objects lost in the river are footprints in time. but it all comes off as trash anyway.
toward an empty shoe.

The beauty in describing the horrors here has an effective impact on my need to clean.
I'm sure this poem could be twice as long with original disgusting descriptions, or you could cut half and probly have the same impact.  it is what it is.

[tectak]

Hello spark,
first of all, as you are by now aware, this is the workshopping forum which does NOT mean that the crits are there to do the work. Come on, spelling and grammar matter as much as typos...when you cannot be bothered to get such basics right. Onwards



They are inside the water - molocules of memory;molecules. A hyphen then a semicolon is a problem if only because of the confusion. You see, I lost trust in what you were saying in the first line. Is it " They are inside the water; molecules of memory." or "They are inside the water molecules of memory". Your call because I cannot.
horse and buggy, parts of eighteen wheelers,
a girl on a tricycle – squirrel bones,
the sludge of a delving tide. Now how nice it would be to say I know what you are talking about...I have no idea what you are talking about.OK, OK...fragments of memory, yes, I get the idea but what the hell is a "tricycle-squirrel bones"? What on this good earth is a "delving tide"? No doubt someone who knows knows and will tell me...but this is POETRY we are reading. I long for the days when google was not required. It ain't gonna happen so I need YOU, the writer, to create an image in my head that describes what you saw and memorised. Believe me, a girl on a tricycle-squirrel bones leaves me grounded. Help.

No one can tell what is missing,
what iis still surfacing, what has become
lathered into womb-bearing suds. Quite apart from the "iis" typo, shame on you for not reading your OWN STUFF, this interjecting little stanza has no poetic qualities whatsoever...it should not be here because it takes away from, rather than adds to, the piece. Any poetic device which for its raison d'etre relies upon open-ended questions must inevitably give up the aswers, otherwise the reader moves on and moves on the next time imponderables are introduced. I am unclear. What I am trying to say is if "no one" can tell what is missing then I am certainly not going to try...so next. But wait...aha, hidden beneath the waves, eh? Perhaps if I wait for a delving tide I will find out...oh...hang on, I can just see it bobbing up...damn it, lost it again beneath the foam....but, hell, it sure looked like a womb to me. Now I am not trying to be cynical, I don't need to it comes naturally, but the frustration factor is always highest when the poetic endeavour is at its lowest. I can hear the purists shout out "prose, you dummy" and I take it on the metaphorical chin, but believe me a good moon-june still trumps in-um-uds; particularly when there is nothing else to finesse.

A wake nibbles the passing,
heaps up headless pomades,
a filigree of funnel cake,
cotton candy and rum;
the painted missing parts
of the once and will be. Now very oddly, and this happens to me a good deal, I actually LIKE this stanza because it DOES add to the piece. You have some nice rhythm in the first line, some altruistic alliteration in the second, third and fourth, and nonsense in the fifth and sixth...so three out of five does it for me. Not to be considered an ignoramous, I like it for that other reason...the title still comes back to me and reminds me of what the poem is about, just enough to interpret the last two lines. I don't do obscure. What is the point in a piece so potentially rich in imagery and thence clarity? Just paint me a picture and I will do the rest. Still, I LIKE this stanza.

A momentous loss drifts by - Again with the single N (?) dash. What grammatical function is it intended to serve here? By its use you compromised the next line and went as far as to behead it through no fault of its own. " A momentous loss drifts by, plundered by stooping gulls" gives meaning. Someone's loss is someone else's gain. How boring to say that a momentous loss has been found. End.
is found by stooping gulls;
mute tales are diced into mist. You may hate me for this but I believe that the poem starts with this stanza. Notwithstanding the runaway alliteration, clearly compromising , flailingly foolish, irritatingly irrational ...et al...you really are on a museful high. Calm down, clarify, flow like a river, suck me in. More cometh
Amid the tremble of reeds,
late summer copulates
with eddy, churn and jism. This is excellent if "jism" is taken to be slang vernacular, rather than its source which is, I believe, Hindi body, not bodhi ( I used it myself one, and got into terrible difficulties with erthona. Ah, those were the days). OK. some may say it is gratuitous...it is gratuitous..BUT, BUT...there is nothing wrong with that.
Unbuckled slosh slips by a sipping sky. Drop "slosh". You will become fixated on the easy and lose your desire to find EXACTLY the right word. Oh, see, further down...you almost did it again but changed it to "slops". Tell me I am wrong
There are rusting blooms
between spent shot shells.
Condoms colonize cattails.
The river slops together
wind-plowed concoctions -
blends the newly-unearthed
with the long abandoned. Like. Like .Like....but not the bloody n dash. It really does compromise whatever follows. It is almost being used to substitute for thought and so I will focus on what the sentence structure says. It says "the river (blah blah blah bla) blends the newly unearthed with the long abandoned". That is the point. It is up to you to get out the descriptors of these two mixed metaphors in some intelligible way. I still don't know what you have against "long-abandoned"...but I am very-glad. Harrruuummmphhhhh.

The Ohio dredges itself,
sifts moments in fish-guts of time.
There are long trod dreads,
sweet smoke in hair-spun ecstasies.
Unseen acts that still beat
against eroding banks.

The backwash seeps as moon-spill,
or drives a John Deere
deeper into boggy entrails,
while barges slowly push
each muddy footprint
toward an empty shoe. Last two stanzas...top drawer. Well done. This piece better as it improved

Some quite unique imagery in the later stages but I really do believe you could make this piece shine by buffing out the irregularities. It is geographically sensitive and may not travel well but from where I sit in the "barren wind-swept heath-land, moor-land bracken-brown and broken-bricked with failed-farms" it STILL makes sense. Thank you for it.
tectak  

[Sparkydashforth]

Hi CRNDLSM,

thanks for these editorial thoughts. They will help in any future edits.

"what is a rusting bloom.  just treating rust growth as a flower?"

That's a good question! I wish I had a good answer for you. My intent was
to envision displaced mechanical (industrial ) parts, and flora mingled together,
but failed to construct the image intelligibly enough. Have o work on that.

Thanks again for taking a thoughtful look at this.

So, I picture a man sitting by the river watching all this flow by.  is this part of the lake that caught fire 60s 70s?  first,  I like the symmetry of 2 short stanzas, then the long, then 2 more.  I wrote it all out to try and put myself there.

They are inside the water - molocules of memory; 'they are' seems to be how you start getting your mind rolling, not helpful to the piece but maybe personal characteristic flair, although, 'they are' also reminds me of a horror film.
horse and buggy, parts of eighteen wheelers,
a girl on a tricycle – squirrel bones,
the sludge of a delving tide.

No one can tell what is missing,this is my favorite stanza, seems to actually say the most about the lIst of losts that flow later
what iis still surfacing, what has become
lathered into womb-bearing suds. Also womb bearing is good all the procreation references later.

A wake nibbles the passing,
heaps up headless pomades,
a filigree of funnel cake,
cotton candy and rum; these items listed I feel could be pasted anywhere within the poem.  
the painted missing parts
of the once and will be.

A momentous loss drifts by -
is found by stooping gulls;
mute tales are diced into mist.
Amid the tremble of reeds,
late summer copulates
with eddy, churn and jism.
Unbuckled slosh slips by a sipping sky.
There are rusting bloomswhat is a rusting bloom.  just treating rust growth as a flower? 
between spent shot shells.
Condoms colonize cattails.
The river slops together
wind-plowed concoctions -
blends the newly-unearthed
with the long abandoned.Id hyphen long-abandoned
Even though this stanza has items almost listed, the movement of it describes the actual river the best.  this stanza could almost stand alone as a poem.

The Ohio dredges itself,
sifts moments in fish-guts of time.
There are long trod dreads,I like 'long trod dreads', because I think 'treading trodden trails'
sweet smoke in hair-spun ecstasies.
Unseen acts that still beat
against eroding banks.

The backwash seeps as moon-spill,
or drives a John Deere
deeper into boggy entrails,
while barges slowly push
each muddy footprint like objects lost in the river are footprints in time. but it all comes off as trash anyway.
toward an empty shoe.

The beauty in describing the horrors here has an effective impact on my need to clean.
I'm sure this poem could be twice as long with original disgusting descriptions, or you could cut half and probly have the same impact.  it is what it is.

---

Hi tectac

this is a full and challenging edit from you.  I need to work on the construction of images better.

"first of all, as you are by now aware, this is the workshopping forum which does NOT mean that the crits are there to do the work. Come on, spelling and grammar matter as much as typos...when you cannot be bothered to get such basics right. Onwards"

Yep, I've ben told, and agree. No excuse for sloppy.

I am not happy with the opening lines of the poem. Really I need to find a way to get into the memory
of the water (river), without stating the obvious.


horse and buggy, parts of eighteen wheelers,
a girl on a tricycle – squirrel bones,
the sludge of a delving tide.

You found the above incomprehensible, but I want to defend the lines (to an extent).
My intent was to infer that each thing discarded into the river has a back story behind it,
and that story can be dark, light or trivial. For instance unsolved child murders.
I do think that tidal forces do delve and expose these memories and stories.
Though one has to be careful when speaking of 'tides' in inland waterways.

Your thoughts will help me lift this poem immensely.

Very much obliged to you.

Hello spark,
first of all, as you are by now aware, this is the workshopping forum which does NOT mean that the crits are there to do the work. Come on, spelling and grammar matter as much as typos...when you cannot be bothered to get such basics right. Onwards



They are inside the water - molocules of memory;molecules. A hyphen then a semicolon is a problem if only because of the confusion. You see, I lost trust in what you were saying in the first line. Is it " They are inside the water; molecules of memory." or "They are inside the water molecules of memory". Your call because I cannot.
horse and buggy, parts of eighteen wheelers,
a girl on a tricycle – squirrel bones,
the sludge of a delving tide. Now how nice it would be to say I know what you are talking about...I have no idea what you are talking about.OK, OK...fragments of memory, yes, I get the idea but what the hell is a "tricycle-squirrel bones"? What on this good earth is a "delving tide"? No doubt someone who knows knows and will tell me...but this is POETRY we are reading. I long for the days when google was not required. It ain't gonna happen so I need YOU, the writer, to create an image in my head that describes what you saw and memorised. Believe me, a girl on a tricycle-squirrel bones leaves me grounded. Help.

No one can tell what is missing,
what iis still surfacing, what has become
lathered into womb-bearing suds. Quite apart from the "iis" typo, shame on you for not reading your OWN STUFF, this interjecting little stanza has no poetic qualities whatsoever...it should not be here because it takes away from, rather than adds to, the piece. Any poetic device which for its raison d'etre relies upon open-ended questions must inevitably give up the aswers, otherwise the reader moves on and moves on the next time imponderables are introduced. I am unclear. What I am trying to say is if "no one" can tell what is missing then I am certainly not going to try...so next. But wait...aha, hidden beneath the waves, eh? Perhaps if I wait for a delving tide I will find out...oh...hang on, I can just see it bobbing up...damn it, lost it again beneath the foam....but, hell, it sure looked like a womb to me. Now I am not trying to be cynical, I don't need to it comes naturally, but the frustration factor is always highest when the poetic endeavour is at its lowest. I can hear the purists shout out "prose, you dummy" and I take it on the metaphorical chin, but believe me a good moon-june still trumps in-um-uds; particularly when there is nothing else to finesse.

A wake nibbles the passing,
heaps up headless pomades,
a filigree of funnel cake,
cotton candy and rum;
the painted missing parts
of the once and will be. Now very oddly, and this happens to me a good deal, I actually LIKE this stanza because it DOES add to the piece. You have some nice rhythm in the first line, some altruistic alliteration in the second, third and fourth, and nonsense in the fifth and sixth...so three out of five does it for me. Not to be considered an ignoramous, I like it for that other reason...the title still comes back to me and reminds me of what the poem is about, just enough to interpret the last two lines. I don't do obscure. What is the point in a piece so potentially rich in imagery and thence clarity? Just paint me a picture and I will do the rest. Still, I LIKE this stanza.

A momentous loss drifts by - Again with the single N (?) dash. What grammatical function is it intended to serve here? By its use you compromised the next line and went as far as to behead it through no fault of its own. " A momentous loss drifts by, plundered by stooping gulls" gives meaning. Someone's loss is someone else's gain. How boring to say that a momentous loss has been found. End.
is found by stooping gulls;
mute tales are diced into mist. You may hate me for this but I believe that the poem starts with this stanza. Notwithstanding the runaway alliteration, clearly compromising , flailingly foolish, irritatingly irrational ...et al...you really are on a museful high. Calm down, clarify, flow like a river, suck me in. More cometh
Amid the tremble of reeds,
late summer copulates
with eddy, churn and jism. This is excellent if "jism" is taken to be slang vernacular, rather than its source which is, I believe, Hindi body, not bodhi ( I used it myself one, and got into terrible difficulties with erthona. Ah, those were the days). OK. some may say it is gratuitous...it is gratuitous..BUT, BUT...there is nothing wrong with that.
Unbuckled slosh slips by a sipping sky. Drop "slosh". You will become fixated on the easy and lose your desire to find EXACTLY the right word. Oh, see, further down...you almost did it again but changed it to "slops". Tell me I am wrong
There are rusting blooms
between spent shot shells.
Condoms colonize cattails.
The river slops together
wind-plowed concoctions -
blends the newly-unearthed
with the long abandoned. Like. Like .Like....but not the bloody n dash. It really does compromise whatever follows. It is almost being used to substitute for thought and so I will focus on what the sentence structure says. It says "the river (blah blah blah bla) blends the newly unearthed with the long abandoned". That is the point. It is up to you to get out the descriptors of these two mixed metaphors in some intelligible way. I still don't know what you have against "long-abandoned"...but I am very-glad. Harrruuummmphhhhh.

The Ohio dredges itself,
sifts moments in fish-guts of time.
There are long trod dreads,
sweet smoke in hair-spun ecstasies.
Unseen acts that still beat
against eroding banks.

The backwash seeps as moon-spill,
or drives a John Deere
deeper into boggy entrails,
while barges slowly push
each muddy footprint
toward an empty shoe. Last two stanzas...top drawer. Well done. This piece better as it improved

Some quite unique imagery in the later stages but I really do believe you could make this piece shine by buffing out the irregularities. It is geographically sensitive and may not travel well but from where I sit in the "barren wind-swept heath-land, moor-land bracken-brown and broken-bricked with failed-farms" it STILL makes sense. Thank you for it.
tectak  

[Beardowulf]

This was a refreshing read - I like how you captured the temporality of the Ohio river (I assume it's the Ohio river from the second to last stanza) and all of the nuances of a river, exceptionally I may add. I'll go into further detail within the lines of your piece, but you have turned a a one sided concept (a river) and added oomph (I like to use oomph to express more detail or finesse) giving this piece originality, semblance of your voice as a poet, and interesting images. Just to make one point, the bit about condoms colonizing cattails grant me a realistic and gritty image of the Ohio river - It seems you've been there as well.

I see that others have commented in great detail. I hope my comments can be of use, and I don't want to just re-write what has been written. Good luck with the revision! 

They are inside the water - molocules (molecules) of memory; This line feels awkward starting with "They" which is vague but becomes "molecules of memory" at the end. "Molecules of memory lay inside the water;" sounds better. However, using "they" to convey an image or idea can work and enhance meaning, I feel that it is ineffective here.
horse and buggy, parts of eighteen wheelers,
a girl on a tricycle – squirrel bones, Nice caesura placement - the pause gives a weight to "squirrel bones". This also paints an image of the side of the river, the tricyle, buggy and bones but the final line is confusing.
the sludge of a delving tide.

No one can tell what is missing, I agree with Amaril that this is the weakest stanza of this piece. I understand its place in the piece with the concept of "molecues of memory", but it's just too dense without a clear message (the womb-bearing studs is confusing) and the second line could do without "what has become". I would go with the idea of things missing and coming to be but written and worked completely differently .
what iis (is) still surfacing, what has become
lathered into womb-bearing suds.

A wake nibbles the passing, The alliteration is nice here, the lines are powerful but the last two lines don't really do anything for me. They go back to the first stanza's concept but they just seem out of place when compared to the lines that come before.
heaps up headless pomades,
a filigree of funnel cake,
cotton candy and rum;
the painted missing parts
of the once and will be.

A momentous loss drifts by -
is found by stooping gulls;
mute tales are diced into mist.
Amid the tremble of reeds,
late summer copulates This is where I believe the poem excels - using sex and sex terms as a metaphor. The alliteration throughout is also superb.
with eddy, churn and jism.
Unbuckled slosh slips by a sipping sky.
There are rusting blooms
between spent shot shells.
Condoms colonize cattails.
The river slops together
wind-plowed concoctions -
blends the newly-unearthed
with the long abandoned.

The Ohio dredges itself,
sifts moments in fish-guts of time.
There are long trod dreads,
sweet smoke in hair-spun ecstasies.
Unseen acts that still beat
against eroding banks.

The backwash seeps as moon-spill, This first line is confusing for me but I like the final five lines. The ending two lines gives an idea of leaving one's trace by the river --> "molecules of memory".
or drives a John Deere
deeper into boggy entrails,
while barges slowly push
each muddy footprint
toward an empty shoe.

[tectak]

They are inside the water - molocules of memory;[b] MOLECULES and the rest, as this is  now up for workshopping[/b]
horse and buggy, parts of eighteen wheelers,
a girl on a tricycle – squirrel bones,
the sludge of a delving tide.

No one can tell what is missing,
what iis still surfacing, what has become
lathered into womb-bearing suds.

A wake nibbles the passing,
heaps up headless pomades,
a filigree of funnel cake,
cotton candy and rum;
the painted missing parts
of the once and will be.

A momentous loss drifts by -
is found by stooping gulls;
mute tales are diced into mist.
Amid the tremble of reeds,
late summer copulates
with eddy, churn and jism.
Unbuckled slosh slips by a sipping sky.
There are rusting blooms
between spent shot shells.
Condoms colonize cattails.
The river slops together
wind-plowed concoctions -
blends the newly-unearthed
with the long abandoned.

The Ohio dredges itself,
sifts moments in fish-guts of time.
There are long trod dreads,
sweet smoke in hair-spun ecstasies.
Unseen acts that still beat
against eroding banks.

The backwash seeps as moon-spill,
or drives a John Deere
deeper into boggy entrails,
while barges slowly push
each muddy footprint
toward an empty shoe.