Of Diamonds and Toads (Revision)

[Todd]

Revision

I swallowed the secret
that swims in my stomach
like a school of darting tadpoles.
These words we speak when we must

not speak.

So, we make up stories
about a child who sang diamonds
and another who croaked toads.
We nod our heads, impatient for the moral,
as when we wait for dessert after dinner—
sweet to cover the bitter, sweet
to make us forget.
These words lodge in my throat
till I am choked. This is the secret
I cannot tell:
there are not two children but one.

You are long dead
and my tongue still roils
beneath this sediment.

Original

I swallowed the secret
that swims in my stomach
like a school of darting tadpoles.
These words we speak when we must

not speak.

So, we make up stories. Once

there was a child who sang diamonds
and another who croaked toads.
We nod our heads, impatient for the moral,
as when we wait for dessert after dinner—
sweet to cover the bitter, sweet
to make us forget.

Truth burns inside with a blue flame
like sulfur on my fingertips.
This is the secret I cannot tell:
there are not two children but one.

You are long dead
and my tongue still roils
beneath this sediment.

[shemthepenman]

hello,
my very first thought, genuinely, was, are tadpoles in a group called a school? and this thought continued in my mind through the rest. i spent about 5 minutes looking it up and could find no definitive answer, so decided "school" was as good a word as any. and as i cannot base a critique entirely on my own ignorance [though, a better poem may not have distracted me with this insignificant detail], even in the "mild" forum, i will endeavour to do mildly better.
half of the poem made a kind of rambling sense, and the other half was just bafflingly pretentious nonsense trying desperately to wring some profundity from the better half. my suggestion is cut it back to its root, and, ironically, get rid of all the frippery.

far better would be:

I swallowed the secret
that swims in my stomach.
These words we speak when we must
not speak.
 
So, we make up stories.
 
Once there was a child who sang
and one who croaked.
We nod our heads, impatient for the moral,
like waiting for dessert after dinner—
sweet to cover the bitter,
sweet, to make us forget.
 
Truth burns inside with a blue flame.
This is the secret I cannot tell:
there are not two children, but one.
 
You are long dead
and my tongue roils
beneath this sediment.

I swallowed the secret
that swims in my stomach
like a school of darting tadpoles.
These words we speak when we must

not speak.

So, we make up stories. Once

there was a child who sang diamonds
and another who croaked toads.
We nod our heads, impatient for the moral,
as when we wait for dessert after dinner—
sweet to cover the bitter, sweet
to make us forget.

Truth burns inside with a blue flame
like sulfur on my fingertips. -- sulphur? 
This is the secret I cannot tell:
there are not two children but one.

You are long dead
and my tongue still roils
beneath this sediment.

[Todd]

Cool. Thanks Shem appreciate the comments. As far as the tadpoles go, I had checked that and it was a school.

[Achebe]

I swallowed the secret
that swims in my stomach
like a school of darting tadpoles. .....a surprisingly fresh simile
These words we speak when we must

not speak. ... a well used gap

So, we make up stories. Once .. and again

there was a child who sang diamonds
and another who croaked toads. ...I sense an allusion to a familiar children's story, but it could be a false memory. Either way, engaging.
We nod our heads, impatient for the moral,
as when we wait for dessert after dinner— ... another beautiful simile
sweet to cover the bitter, sweet
to make us forget.

Truth burns inside with a blue flame ... sulphur does burn with a blue flame
like sulfur on my fingertips. ... here's where I'm a little discomfited, because your fingertips are not inside you. 'Sulphur from' would be better, but still not quite
This is the secret I cannot tell:
there are not two children but one. ... the suspense has been built up well up to this point

You are long dead
and my tongue still roils
beneath this sediment. ... while I like the poetic quality of the last two lines, the ending is too open to any number of interpretations. The first explanation that suggests itself is 'resorbed twin', but that would hardly be a secret. In fact, the doc would know it more than you. The other explanation is murdered sibling, but because no motive is supplied, I'm unable to connect with the speaker. The third explanation is the speaker having suppressed one side of his personality as a child (a schizophrenic?), but all this thinking and guessing takes the fun out of these lines. The mystery should be at another level, not on the surface.

Thanks for the read

[nibbed]

Hi Todd.  I'm thankful your poem is here in this forum of mild to moderate critique.
I am feeling rather moderate today...



I swallowed the secret                                   [sometimes secrets must be swallowed, to protect the innocent]
that swims in my stomach
like a school of darting tadpoles.                                             
These words we speak when we must

not speak.
                                                                      [Confused at this device of separation]
So, we make up stories. Once

there was a child who sang diamonds                                      
and another who croaked toads.                                             
We nod our heads, impatient for the moral,                             
as when we wait for dessert after dinner—        [Made me think of the Tree of Heaven, the one that bears every manner of fruit                        
sweet to cover the bitter, sweet                          that one might freely eat of, just reach up, pluck and enjoy]                    
to make us forget.                                                                    
                                                                         
Truth burns inside with a blue flame                                         
like sulfur on my fingertips.                               [I'm not sure how these two are alike. Fart lightning?!]                          
This is the secret I cannot tell:                          
there are not two children but one.                 

You are long dead
and my tongue still roils
beneath this sediment.                                       [Interesting how I would be tricked into reading this as "sentiment" if not for the roils.]




The poem maintained it's level of mystery,
but it seemed almost forced to do so.  Best wishes.

[just mercedes]

I swallowed the secret
that swims in my stomach
like a school of darting tadpoles.
These words we speak when we must

not speak.

So, we make up stories. Once

there was a child who sang diamonds
and another who croaked toads.
We nod our heads, impatient for the moral,
as when we wait for dessert after dinner—
sweet to cover the bitter, sweet
to make us forget.

Truth burns inside with a blue flame
like sulfur on my fingertips.
This is the secret I cannot tell:
there are not two children but one.

You are long dead
and my tongue still roils
beneath this sediment.

Hi Todd - I enjoyed the read, and the build-up of mystery. Some of the imagery is really strong (...as when we wait for dessert after dinner, ... the image of a school of darting tadploes ...). I like the use of white space, too, showing me the 'not speaking'. The only real problem I have is with the 'truth burns inside me' image. For me it doesn't sit well with the tadpoles. Also, are your fingers now inside you? I also think 'truth' could be replaced by a concrete object, 'your face' maybe, or 'your voice'. 'sediment' sticks, for me. Maybe rethink that final word. But a good involving poem, thank you for the read. 

When I saw the title I'd just read it on Duotrope - your poem would make a worthy entry there! http://www.fairytalemagazine.com/

[kolemath]

I swallowed the secret
that swims in my stomach
like a school of darting tadpoles. i like the shift in plurality, from singular secret to plural tadpoles; it complicates the secret as multifaceted 
These words we speak when we must darting words, cool, like you're unsure what to say

not speak.

So, we make up stories. Once not too sure of this line break. prob drop once altogether 

there was a child who sang diamonds
and another who croaked toads. good connection to tadpoles, but how do diamonds connect to the metaphor?
We nod our heads, impatient for the moral,
as when we wait for dessert after dinner— moral=dessert?
sweet to cover the bitter, sweet
to make us forget. ok morals are like deserts, but the shift to diamonds and human meal sequences is a bit distracting

Truth burns inside with a blue flame
like sulfur on my fingertips.
This is the secret I cannot tell:
there are not two children but one.

You are long dead is you for the other child? if so, the shift from 3rd to 2nd is confusing. you're addressing the reader all of a sudden?
and my tongue still roils
beneath this sediment. i guess sediment works since we're talking tadpoles 

glad to read a post from you

[Todd]

Hello all, I took a lot from your critiques. It helped me identify some problem areas. I did a quick adjustment which I'll post shortly. It doesn't answer everything I'm working on but it's a start. I appreciate the help and clarity.

Mercedes, it amazing that that is the topic that the magazine is currently desiring. This needs a bit more work but thanks for passing it on. I would probably like that magazine no matter what I choose to do with this poem. Outside of a few anthologies, I haven't looked to submit anything for about 20 years. I'd have to put aside my own reluctance but I just might especially given the topic.

Oh and Kole, the diamonds part relates to the fairy tale I'm drawing from.

Thank you all,

Todd