Bad,bad boys.

[tectak]

edit 1 billy, Indie

The burnished boys stand outside Inn, fuming unfashionably. Bad, bad boys.
Their bright albedos, with hair but a gesture,
parted no longer by mothers demented, or long departed.
Who washes behind the grey oyster shells?
Who spits on the hanky to rub?
Who chivvies and cherishes, loves and protects?
Who cares for and cuddles the bad, bad boys?

The burnished boys from summer suns, stumble and mumble. Bad, bad boys.
Slack jawed and toothless,
drooped and dishevelled,
fish-eyed in tankards, bottoms high.
Two glasses will fill them, tight bladders  will them
to void like babies. Avoiding the shame
with  proud peer hubris; it's  accepted behaviour for bad, bad boys.

But deep in their eyes, sunken and sightless, in the dark that comes even to bad, bad boys;
Faint glints of memory slip to the surface,
Floating like motes on the corneal rheum .
Away on an ocean of Sunday sailing,
paddles and buckets, sand castles and suns;
Father’s tobacco, sweet burnt sugar, tart apples purloined by those bad, bad boys.

Adrift on the dream-sea, one then the other, looks lost but remembers the bad, bad boys.
Do you remember? Which of us was it, who leapt in the water,
naked and shivered?It can’t have been me.
I would have remembered, but now that you tell of it, yes. Maybe.
Talk of the sum of all that  you cherish.
Ah yes, we had good times, we bad, bad boys.

TAK August 1998. Updated 2008. 
Originally posted elsewhere but though mauled by erthona some slight punctuation changes may appease. We shall see. Penultimate line particularly weak so open to suggestions.

edit 1 Thanks to each, with apologies to billy whose but I could not kick out.

original
The burnished boys stand outside Inn, fuming unfashionably. Bad, bad boys.
Their bright albedos, with hair but a gesture,
parted no longer by mothers demented, or long departed.
Who washes behind the grey oyster shells?
Who spits on the hanky to rub?
Who chivvies and cherishes, loves and protects?
Who cares for and cuddles the bad, bad boys?



The burnished boys from summer suns, grumble and mumble. Bad, bad boys. is 'The' needed here?
Slack jawed and toothless,
drooped and dishevelled,
fish-eyed in tankards, bottoms high.
Two glasses will fill them, tight bladders will them,
to void like babies. Avoiding the shame
with proud peer hubris; it's accepted behaviour for bad, bad boys.

But deep in the eyes, in the sunken and sightless, in the dark that comes even to bad, bad boys;
Faint glints of memory slip to the surface,
Floating like motes on the corneal rheum .
Away on an ocean of Sunday sailing,
paddles and buckets, sand castles and suns;
Father’s tobacco, sweet burnt sugar, tart apples purloined by those bad, bad boys.

Adrift in the dream-sea, one then another, looks lost but remembers the bad, bad boys.
Do you remember? Which of us was it, who leapt in the water,
naked and shivered?It can’t have been me.
I would have remembered, but now that you tell of it, yes. Maybe.
Talk of the sum of all that you cherish.
Ah yes, we had good times, we bad, bad boys.

TAK August 1998. Updated 2008.
Originally posted elsewhere but though mauled by erthona some slight punctuation changes may appease. We shall see. Penultimate line particularly weak so open to suggestions.
[font=Tahoma]

[Indie]

I love the evocative language used in this, and overall, a beautifully nostalgic piece. The first verse is great, but I found the second verse lost the flow, and stumbled on and into the third verse, righting itself in the last line of verse three, and into verse four.

I'm not sure what to offer in ways of righting it, maybe rephrasing, possibly reading it aloud to see how where it flows and stumbles.

[billy]

The burnished boys stand outside Inn, fuming unfashionably. Bad, bad boys. good wordplay to set the poem off.
Their bright albedos, with hair but a gesture,
parted no longer by mothers demented, or long departed.
Who washes behind the grey oyster shells?
Who spits on the hanky to rub? we've probably all been through this
Who chivvies and cherishes, loves and protects?
Who cares for and cuddles the bad, bad boys?
the juxtaposition of now and then (when they were cared for) works well


The burnished boys from summer suns, grumble and mumble. Bad, bad boys. is 'The' needed here?
Slack jawed and toothless, this along with grumble and mumble feel weak, if one or the other were changed it would lift one or the other (does that make any sense at all )
drooped and dishevelled,
fish-eyed in tankards, bottoms high.
Two glasses will fill them, tight bladders  will them, i really like this line. i had lots of friends like this,
to void like babies. Avoiding the shame
with  proud peer hubris; it's  accepted behaviour for bad, bad boys.

But deep in the eyes, in the sunken and sightless, in the dark that comes even to bad, bad boys; the evolving refrain works well in setting up each stanza. is 'but' needed?
Faint glints of memory slip to the surface,
Floating like motes on the corneal rheum .
Away on an ocean of Sunday sailing,
paddles and buckets, sand castles and suns;
Father’s tobacco, sweet burnt sugar, tart apples purloined by those bad, bad boys. this is by far my fave stanza. found the truth of it rather sad.

Adrift in the dream-sea, one then another, looks lost but remembers the bad, bad boys.
Do you remember? Which of us was it, who leapt in the water,
naked and shivered?It can’t have been me.
I would have remembered, but now that you tell of it, yes. Maybe.
Talk of the sum of all that  you cherish.
Ah yes, we had good times, we bad, bad boys. a killer of a stanza that ties the piece up. screams nostalgia which is one of the reasons i enjoyed the piece.

TAK August 1998. Updated 2008. 
Originally posted elsewhere but though mauled by erthona some slight punctuation changes may appease. We shall see. Penultimate line particularly weak so open to suggestions.
[font=Tahoma]

the nostalgia grows from the ember lit in the 1 stanza. i did think in places it felt to cosy, specially the grumble mumble part like it was, mmm that seems okay i'll just toss it in there;

i can't think of anything better for the penultimate line, in fact i think it's okay as is. all in all i enjoyed the read. thanks

billy

[tectak]

The burnished boys stand outside Inn, fuming unfashionably. Bad, bad boys. good wordplay to set the poem off.
Their bright albedos, with hair but a gesture,
parted no longer by mothers demented, or long departed.
Who washes behind the grey oyster shells?
Who spits on the hanky to rub? we've probably all been through this
Who chivvies and cherishes, loves and protects?
Who cares for and cuddles the bad, bad boys?
the juxtaposition of now and then (when they were cared for) works well


The burnished boys from summer suns, grumble and mumble. Bad, bad boys. is 'The' needed here?
Slack jawed and toothless, this along with grumble and mumble feel weak, if one or the other were changed it would lift one or the other (does that make any sense at all )
drooped and dishevelled,
fish-eyed in tankards, bottoms high.
Two glasses will fill them, tight bladders  will them, i really like this line. i had lots of friends like this,
to void like babies. Avoiding the shame
with  proud peer hubris; it's  accepted behaviour for bad, bad boys.

But deep in the eyes, in the sunken and sightless, in the dark that comes even to bad, bad boys; the evolving refrain works well in setting up each stanza. is 'but' needed?
Faint glints of memory slip to the surface,
Floating like motes on the corneal rheum .
Away on an ocean of Sunday sailing,
paddles and buckets, sand castles and suns;
Father’s tobacco, sweet burnt sugar, tart apples purloined by those bad, bad boys. this is by far my fave stanza. found the truth of it rather sad.

Adrift in the dream-sea, one then another, looks lost but remembers the bad, bad boys.
Do you remember? Which of us was it, who leapt in the water,
naked and shivered?It can’t have been me.
I would have remembered, but now that you tell of it, yes. Maybe.
Talk of the sum of all that  you cherish.
Ah yes, we had good times, we bad, bad boys. a killer of a stanza that ties the piece up. screams nostalgia which is one of the reasons i enjoyed the piece.

TAK August 1998. Updated 2008. 
Originally posted elsewhere but though mauled by erthona some slight punctuation changes may appease. We shall see. Penultimate line particularly weak so open to suggestions.
[font=Tahoma]

the nostalgia grows from the ember lit in the 1 stanza. i did think in places it felt to cosy, specially the grumble mumble part like it was, mmm that seems okay i'll just toss it in there;

i can't think of anything better for the penultimate line, in fact i think it's okay as is. all in all i enjoyed the read. thanks

billy

Thanks to both. Edited accordingly but with caution!

---

I love the evocative language used in this, and overall, a beautifully nostalgic piece. The first verse is great, but I found the second verse lost the flow, and stumbled on and into the third verse, righting itself in the last line of verse three, and into verse four.

I'm not sure what to offer in ways of righting it, maybe rephrasing, possibly reading it aloud to see how where it flows and stumbles.

Seperate thanks to you, Indie. Points noted and action taken. Duly acknowledged in Edit 1.
Best,
tectak

[billy]

edit 1 billy, Indie

The burnished boys stand outside Inn, fuming unfashionably. Bad, bad boys.
Their bright albedos, with hair but a gesture,
parted no longer by mothers demented, or long departed.
Who washes behind the grey oyster shells?
Who spits on the hanky to rub?
Who chivvies and cherishes, loves and protects?
Who cares for and cuddles the bad, bad boys?

The burnished boys from summer suns, stumble and mumble. Bad, bad boys.
Slack jawed and toothless,
drooped and dishevelled,
fish-eyed in tankards, bottoms high.
Two glasses will fill them, tight bladders  will them
to void like babies. Avoiding the shame
with  proud peer hubris; it's  accepted behaviour for bad, bad boys.

But deep in their eyes, sunken and sightless, in the dark that comes even to bad, bad boys;
Faint glints of memory slip to the surface,
Floating like motes on the corneal rheum .
Away on an ocean of Sunday sailing,
paddles and buckets, sand castles and suns;
Father’s tobacco, sweet burnt sugar, tart apples purloined by those bad, bad boys.

Adrift on the dream-sea, one then the other, looks lost but remembers the bad, bad boys.
Do you remember? Which of us was it, who leapt in the water,
naked and shivered?It can’t have been me.
I would have remembered, but now that you tell of it, yes. Maybe.
Talk of the sum of all that  you cherish.
Ah yes, we had good times, we bad, bad boys.

TAK August 1998. Updated 2008. 
Originally posted elsewhere but though mauled by erthona some slight punctuation changes may appease. We shall see. Penultimate line particularly weak so open to suggestions.

edit 1 Thanks to each, with apologies to billy whose but I could not kick out.

---

bugger, i love getting me but busted out i went through it and couldn't see where it had been edited

original
The burnished boys stand outside Inn, fuming unfashionably. Bad, bad boys.
Their bright albedos, with hair but a gesture,
parted no longer by mothers demented, or long departed.
Who washes behind the grey oyster shells?
Who spits on the hanky to rub?
Who chivvies and cherishes, loves and protects?
Who cares for and cuddles the bad, bad boys?



The burnished boys from summer suns, grumble and mumble. Bad, bad boys. is 'The' needed here?
Slack jawed and toothless,
drooped and dishevelled,
fish-eyed in tankards, bottoms high.
Two glasses will fill them, tight bladders will them,
to void like babies. Avoiding the shame
with proud peer hubris; it's accepted behaviour for bad, bad boys.

But deep in the eyes, in the sunken and sightless, in the dark that comes even to bad, bad boys;
Faint glints of memory slip to the surface,
Floating like motes on the corneal rheum .
Away on an ocean of Sunday sailing,
paddles and buckets, sand castles and suns;
Father’s tobacco, sweet burnt sugar, tart apples purloined by those bad, bad boys.

Adrift in the dream-sea, one then another, looks lost but remembers the bad, bad boys.
Do you remember? Which of us was it, who leapt in the water,
naked and shivered?It can’t have been me.
I would have remembered, but now that you tell of it, yes. Maybe.
Talk of the sum of all that you cherish.
Ah yes, we had good times, we bad, bad boys.

TAK August 1998. Updated 2008.
Originally posted elsewhere but though mauled by erthona some slight punctuation changes may appease. We shall see. Penultimate line particularly weak so open to suggestions.
[font=Tahoma]

[/quote]

[heslopian]

[font=Tahoma]edit 1 billy, Indie

The burnished boys stand outside Inn, fuming unfashionably. Bad, bad boys. Should there be a "the" before "Inn"?
Their bright albedos, with hair but a gesture,
parted no longer by mothers demented, or long departed. The syntax here seems needlessly odd. How about just "demented or long departed mothers"?
Who washes behind the grey oyster shells?
Who spits on the hanky to rub?
Who chivvies and cherishes, loves and protects?
Who cares for and cuddles the bad, bad boys?

The burnished boys from summer suns, stumble and mumble. Is the comma needed? Bad, bad boys.
Slack-jawed and toothless,
drooped and dishevelled,
fish-eyed in tankards, bottoms high.
Two glasses will fill them, tight bladders  will them
to void like babies. How exactly do they "void like babies"? Do you mean they wet themselves. Avoiding the shame
with  proud peer hubris Odd combination of words. I think this might work better if you picked just one, for instance: "Avoiding the shame/with pride," "with hubris" or "for their peer's."; it's  accepted behaviour for bad, bad boys.

But deep in their eyes, sunken and sightless, in the dark that comes even to bad, bad boys; Should this be a comma?
Faint glints of memory slip to the surface,
Floating like motes on the corneal rheum .
Away on an ocean of Sunday sailing,
paddles and buckets, sand castles and suns; Ditto. Also, Why are the first letters of all but this line capitalised in this verse?
Father’s tobacco, sweet burnt sugar, tart apples purloined by those bad, bad boys.

Adrift on the dream-sea, one then the other, Is this comma needed? It bumped the rhythm a bit for me. looks lost but remembers the bad, bad boys.
Do you remember? Which of us was it, who leapt in the water,
naked and shivered?Space needed here. Also, shouldn't that be "shivering"?It can’t have been me.
I would have remembered, but now that you tell of it, yes. Maybe.
Talk of the sum of all that  you cherish.
Ah yes, we had good times, we bad, bad boys.

Now and then in your edit you put one too many spaces in between words, such as between "with" and "proud" in verse two.
Otherwise I really enjoyed this. It's a great mix of elegiac elements dealing with memories and lost mothers, and light banter about drinking and "good times." The repetition of "bad, bad boys" felt slightly camp, which I liked. I think that's what I like about this poem, the clash of styles which somehow works. It's feathery on the surface, but conceals a poignancy.
All critique is JMHO. Thanks for the read.