Big Girls Don't Cry (Playground-edit 2)

[tectak]

1st Edit

Playing is in the playground
chocolates in the box,
maturity is the taste of
vanillin coated candy bar,Not vanillin. That's pretty toxic! Vanilla
feeling your mouth sweat
melting inside.
Hands clutch
the metal on the swings
swaying back and forth.The pleasurable transfer of one thought into another. Children do this well. Excellent

The door closes,
in that final feeling of
warmth against
a wall turning cold.
It's a penny in the fountain
for my thoughts,
a child's fairytale.This whole verse reeks of well worded nostalgia. It is extremely well done. Already your use of precise grammar is having an effect....the commas are strategic.

Feeling your ghost,
the texture must have
felt distant sinking
to your veins.
The last touch, your pulse.Only a slight nit but tenses are getting a bit slippery. It still works... but just a tweek?

I am the echo ...and so we get a bit of a time warp. Not a complaint. I guess we are heading for the "now" and every journey needs to start somewhere (or sometime). The line itself is predictive and just right for what seems to be a short soliloquy. This whole piece is a journey which I will take again. Once again the grammar and the clarity of thinking compliment each other. Clear thought....clear write. Commendable.
repeating alone.
There isn't anyone
left to fight but there
is an accident
left to prepare for.
Time circles
when the day is blank
until it becomes usedSemi-colon here might introduce a pensive pause and let the reader savour the sentiment in the line. This is to your advantage because the next line is fabulously predictable....surely we all know this feeling?
then it is patientBecause your grammar is so good the lack of a comma at this line end over-aggravates
disappearing slowly.

Consider my knees
on the floor once,
the indention in the sounds
of escaping to the bottom
for you.
The eyes forming- swelling
adjusting to the mood
of loneliness. Still I am loathe to crit but the imagery here is being clipped by the desire to say what you must say, and quickly. I think a little tweeking would smooth out the process. I think that "once" is redundant. Just "on the floor;". Similarly, and this may be too much, you need to fix the last line. Encapsulated thoughts need to carry more clues to meaning than this line gives. I think the hyphen is untranslatable...but that is me. Oh, I'm the critic. Forgot for a moment

It's the motion of
pushing yourself
from behind on a slide
to gain momentum
and to finally land from a height. A winner.

It's the hands breaking the seal
off a heart-shaped box,
wiping the chocolate on your clothes.
Hoping it hides well
in your mouth when it tastes
like childhood.

It's the penny among pennies
not recognizing mine.
It's the door, worn and beaten
by flashes of leaving,
by staying too long.
It verges on sacrilege to crit this into change. This is one of those pieces that is just timeless. You use some complex imagery which though, no doubt, from memory, seems contemporaneous...as if the thought was reborn but unchanged. I particularly liked the door, worn and beaten, by flashes of leaving. How I wish I had written that...or even thought it! There are still some small nits which others will pick up on but it is a pleasure to read poetry that aspires to be nothing but perfect unto itself. I am overwhelmed
Best,
tectak[/b]

Original

Playing is in the playground
chocolates in the box,
maturity is the taste of
artificial flavor.
feeling your mouth sweat
melting inside.
It's hands clutching
the metal on the swings
swaying back and forth.

It's the door swinging
open and close.
that final feeling of
a door's warmth against
the wall turning cold.
it's wishing on a penny
in the fountain
finally throwing it.

Feeling your ghost,
the texture must have
felt distant when it's
sinking to your veins.
the last touch, is your pulse

I'm the echo
repeating alone.
there isn't anyone
left to fight but there
is an accident
left to prepare for.
time circles around
when the day is blank
until it becomes used
then it is patient,
disappearing slowly.

Consider my knees
on the floor once,
the indention in the sounds
of escaping to the bottom
for you.
The eyes forming-swelling
adjusting-existing the mood
to lonliness.

It's the motion of
pushing yourself from
behind on a slide
to gain momentum
and to finally land from a height.

It's the hands breaking the seal
off a heart-shaped box,
wiping the chocolate on your
clothes. hoping it hides well
in your mouth when it tastes
like childhood.

It's the penny in the fountain
still holding the wish-wishing.
It's the door, worn and beaten
by flashes of leaving,
by staying too long.

Why couldn't we have been adults?