Misogynist

[heslopian]

Two red eyes are stuck to the black
of my childhood, in the foreground of the frame,
my stereo and dirty books hovering behind.
Since nineteen I've been tunnelling back
through the months, then years, towards
her body like a lone island.

When we met on the patio
your bracelets caught the sun. Fugitive beams
bathed in your glass, propped against the dying ice.
And I had tunnelled all day long
to reach you there, mother,
hiding yourself in this prettier form.

All women share the same spirit,
like the strain of some disease
ploughing through the rat kingdom.
You're her, the bitch, creator and scum,
who bore me like a dead tumour.

Your punishment is still a germ, evolving all the time.
Regardless what you say, my dear, you're her, you're her, you're her.

[Wildcard]

Two red eyes are stuck to the black --great opener. nice visual and it's intriguing
of my childhood, in the foreground of the frame,
my stereo and dirty books hovering behind. --dirty books makes me think of porn, but maybe thats what you mean.
Since nineteen I've been tunelling back --I like tunnelled later on, but here it seems forced. even digging might work better for me.
through the months, then years towards
her body like a lone island.

When we met on the patio --this is definitely my favorite part. I can't even say which of the phrases here is the most effective. They are all wonderful.
your bracelets caught the sun. Fugitive beams
bathed in your glass, propped against the dying ice.
And I had tunnelled all day long
to reach you there mother,
hiding yourself in this prettier form. --this lead me to the next part nicely. I felt that tingle like I might know where this is going.

All women share the same spirit, like the strain of some disease
ploughing through the rat kingdom. --I change my mind, this is my fav part :p
So her, the bitch, creator and scum,
who bore me like a dead tumour,
flows among your bones. --'flows' I don't know about. It just doesn't seem right to me. JMO

Your punishment is still a germ, evolving all the time.
Regardless what you say, my dear, you're her, you're her, you're her. --good close. I think the narrator is trying to convince himself more than her.

A great deal of emotion is packaged into this piece. You write like you aren't part of the cycle, but somewhere above it all, seeing the real. There are insights here, but instead of sounding like tired, stale, 'mother' problems, it sounds like everyman caught a glimpse in the mirror. (if that makes any sense)

Thanks for sharing, Jack. As always, I'm tickled to have read this.

[Aish]

Two red eyes are stuck to the black
of my childhood, in the foreground of the frame,
my stereo and dirty books hovering behind.
Since nineteen I've been tunelling back I think it's spelled 'tunneling'. It's a fantastic device, tunneling back in time.
through the months, then years towards
her body like a lone island.

When we met on the patio
your bracelets caught the sun. Fugitive beams 'Fugitive beams' and 'dying ice' are gorgeous.
bathed in your glass, propped against the dying ice.
And I had tunnelled all day long I like how you are tunneling again, reinforcing your theme.
to reach you there mother,
hiding yourself in this prettier form.

All women share the same spirit, like the strain of some disease
ploughing through the rat kingdom.
So her, the bitch, creator and scum,
who bore me like a dead tumour, This is such a harsh strophe, and yet eloquently rendered. You did a wonderful job here, Jack. I am wondering about your use of 'flow', though. A tumor would be more static.
flows among your bones.

Your punishment is still a germ, evolving all the time.
Regardless what you say, my dear, you're her, you're her, you're her.

Quite an embittered end. I am quite fond of this, even more so than 'Lynda'.

[heslopian]

The mother is flowing among the bones of the woman the misogynist is speaking to. I'll try and see if I can make that clearer.
Thanks for your kind words and feedback guys Cheers for the heads up on the spelling mistake as well Aish, I'll edit in a mo.
I should point out AA that this piece is purely fictional. I'm not above, below it or among it. I'm writing from the perspective of someone who isn't me, someone I'd hate if I met him Also, I did mean porn by "dirty books."

[Todd]

Hi Jack,

The tone of the piece backs up the title. Here are some comments for you:

Two red eyes are stuck to the black--great opening line. It makes the mother come off as a creature of darkness out of legend. I like the break and the entire "black of my childhood" part
of my childhood, in the foreground of the frame,
my stereo and dirty books hovering behind.
Since nineteen I've been tunelling back
through the months, then years towards
her body like a lone island.--I like this a lot. This entire tunneling idea going back to meet your parent before conception reminds me a bit of Sharon Olds "I Go Back to May 1937"

When we met on the patio
your bracelets caught the sun. Fugitive beams
bathed in your glass, propped against the dying ice.--These are really nice lines. She had no light in her but glowed with captured light (as if her alure was a pose). We have fugitive beams (really nice) as if they are prisoners or criminals to give themselves to her. The glass placed next to dying ice gives a sense of fake versus real. Though I also like the actual event (the woman with sunlight melting the ice in her drink)
And I had tunnelled all day long--all day long seems too short a time for the jouney
to reach you there mother,
hiding yourself in this prettier form.--is there a better way to say "hiding yourself"? disguised maybe

All women share the same spirit, like the strain of some disease
ploughing through the rat kingdom.
So her, the bitch, creator and scum,
who bore me like a dead tumour,
flows among your bones.

--Jack, this is the strongest strophe in the poem. I would ask what the longer first line here is meant to do? Is it meant to be thought of as a rant? The deviation in line length draws attention to it, and I'm not sure what it gives you that a break after spirit wouldn't accomplish (could just be me) One other thing, I think the strongest place to end this strophe is on tumour. Would you consider moving flows among your bones from the end of the strophe to making it come after disease (just a thought)

Your punishment is still a germ, evolving all the time.
Regardless what you say, my dear, you're her, you're her, you're her.--the repetition carries a sense of horror. I like how you've ended it. In this case for the final two lines, the longer lines make sense to me.

I thought it was good Jack. Hopefully the comments will be helpful to you.

Best,

Todd

[Wildcard]

Sorry if I made that sound wrong. I meant 'you' the narrator or the 'eyes' I'm peering through

[heslopian]

Thanks for your kind words and feedback Todd. The third verse was heavily edited before reaching its current form, which is why the first line is as long as it is. Originally the following four were about the same length. I'll make "like the strain of some disease" its own line and remove "flows among your bones". Cheers for the suggestion.
"All day" in the second stanza was supposed to indicate his most recent tunnelling, not the whole journey.
Thanks again Todd

[Leanne]

All women share the same spirit,
like the strain of some disease
ploughing through the rat kingdom.
You're her, the bitch, creator and scum,
who bore me like a dead tumour.

Your punishment is still a germ, evolving all the time.
Regardless what you say, my dear, you're her, you're her, you're her.

These lines, to me, sound like mitochondrial DNA -- which would indicate that the pattern is set deep in the genetic structure, with no possible escape. The detached condemnation by virtue of gender alone is chilling. Misogynistic indeed -- so much so that it makes a very uncomfortable read for me, I've known this man.

[heslopian]

Thanks for the feedback Leanne. That you've known my narrator is I suppose a huge compliment, and I thank you for it. Though it makes me wonder if this poem is wholly moral. Oscar Wilde I'm aware said something to the effect of art is removed from morality (correct me if I'm wrong), so I'll satisfy myself with that for now

[billy]

nothing to add jack. i'd be nitpicking something that didn't really need picking at.
don't know how i missed this one, i'm sure i've visited before.
some of the images, are as strong as they could be.
fugitive beams for fuck sake . i loved the imagery throughout the narration.
my mum god bless her was one of those women who stumbled from man to man
misogynists every one (except my dad) and she could be who the narrator talks to.
great read.

[heslopian]

Thanks for the kind words Bilbo

[abu nuwas]

It is beautifully written, I think, and strong or what. The irrational rant of a man who has no problem in inferring from his own experience that all women are -- he has either no words to express, or such poison. I was forcibly reminded of a friend of mine, from an extremely wealthy back-ground, who was brought up mainly by his grand-parents, who spoiled him hopelessly, and occasionally met his mother. He recalls having lunch with her at an hotel, where she gave her keys to a waiter, and then vanished for a while. He now lives in England, and refuses to buy anything new. But no doubt the mum had her own story--- as would your narrator's have had, if he had thought. I ramble.