A stripping puppet (re-write)

[Keith]

Keith, I didn't have much to say about the original since it just left me so confused, but I have been following this thread.

This edit seems like a completely different poem, I guess because it makes sense this time! ;p The first really did have some lovely bits, but it wasn't tied together. (Just thinking... You could even do a totally seperate edit using some of the parts you cut and change the theme to the dementia patient that some of us saw. Food for thought.)

The story that was in your head is told now, and I love it. Here are a few thoughts:

Edit 1 re-write
Thinner than the dress that used to fit,
we make up so you can leave again,
bus ride into town a burned out clown,
tumbles till the neon all shuts down. Love all of this

I sit at home beat rhythms on my chair,
pretending to myself that I don’t care.
She’s all I have that’s worth the worn out floor, When did we go from "you" to "she"?
a dog inside the porch behind her door. Is "she" the dog? If so that's a bit convoluted...

Barstool boys that play you for the fool,
drinking from a cup that makes you drool.
The poet finds her muse to fill the page,
ink is splattered as he leaves the stage. Maybe I'm just being thick but who is the poet and who's leaving the stage and why do we care? Sets the scene I guess but I guess I'm not really sure why these two lines are here. Also L4 keeps tripping me up rhythmically.

I sit cold as milk clinks in the street, I haven't quite figured out what you're saying here but it doesn't really matter because I love it anyway.
and guilt has ploughed a furrow for your feet,
bereavement bleeds as keys drop on the side,
another night of chewed and swallowed pride. I really like the ending.



Original
On Friday nights the sherbet
centres make you fizz.
Saturday wakes wafer thin,
silver foil inside your filling.
Sunday hides your traffic light eyes
and I will bathe you in a dripping tap,
cleansing now has deeper purpose,
a faded duck floats on the surface.

Thinner than the dress that used to fit
you make up to leave again
falling into town a burned out clown
hanging round some young man’s
left begging by the kebab van.
Like that the city turns its back,
a fumbled custard pie has splat
the pavement echoes as it laughs.

Groped smears and muddy nylons
bumper car through our door.
Your headlights shine behind me,
bereaved by the moment once more.
Changing shades of back lit screens,
shape shift you on soft cushions,
and there I blanket my shame.
I sit cold as Monday comes,
but I’ll still love you just the same.

Anyway thanks for that edit, really enjoyable.

-justcloudy

Many thanks for your comments just cloudy I have used them into the next edit. Best Keith

---

Hi Keith,

A very drastic rewrite, but on the first few reads it seems to move you where you need to be. Some comments for you on the edit:

Edit 1 re-write
Thinner than the dress that used to fit,--This first line throws me a bit. The presumption for most people is that the dress would remain thinner, as they got fatter. It's details like that that sidetracked me into sickness in the last round. That said, it doesn't mean it needs to be cut just that I'm not connecting with it probably in the way you intend.
we make up so you can leave again,--Great observation, and characterization for the couple
bus ride into town a burned out clown,--This phrasing feels a bit choppy to me. Maybe, "bus ride to town for a burned out clown"
tumbles till the neon all shuts down.--Great extension of the clown image, implies drunkenness, and has good phrasing

I sit at home beat rhythms on my chair,--love the line for what it conveys about his mood
pretending to myself that I don’t care.
She’s all I have that’s worth the worn out floor,--this instead of the, maybe
a dog inside the porch behind her door. --Comparing himself to a dog is strong

Barstool boys that play you for the fool,--don't like "that"
drinking from a cup that makes you drool.--if you cut that above maybe change drinking to drink
The poet finds her muse to fill the page,
ink is splattered as he leaves the stage.--These last two lines feel a bit off to me for the setting

I sit cold as milk clinks in the street,--I don't like cold here, but I love the sound conveyed and the rest of the line
and guilt has ploughed a furrow for your feet,--love this phrasing
bereavement bleeds as keys drop on the side,
another night of chewed and swallowed pride.

This seems like a good forward step, Keith. I hope the comments help some.

Best,

Todd

Thanks Todd, yes quite drastic tectak was spot on, so it changed a lot, I have gone through your comments and others and agree with most of them so I have moved to a third edit, cheer keith

---

Thinner than the dress that used to fit,
we make up so you can leave again, nice entendre (make up).
bus ride into town a burned out clown,
There's a syntax issue here; I can't parse the burned out clown, is it the bus ride (?!), the town, the us, the you, the them..etc
tumbles till the neon all shuts down.
I can't find a purpose for all, I suspect it may be metrical. What is a neon all? Suggestions: neon lights, signs etc. Maybe even just shut instead of shuts.

Restless hands beat rhythms on my chair,
pretending to myself that you still care. should this be a full stop? the start of the next line is not capped, and it is unclear if the dog is a metaphor.
(I'm) left to lap the worn out floor,
a dog behind your nightclub door.


slurred lines and pickups dance you as the fool,
pass around a parcel unravelled(*) as you drool,unraveled (*sp.) is incorrect tense, or the rest is. either way, " a parcel unraveled as you drool" doesn't make sense in English. Pickups as puppet masters is a new one!
stretched alter necks fumbled out of place,
girl inside the glass sips away without a trace. The missing article here is strange.

I sit silenced as milk clinks in the street,
and guilt has ploughed a furrow for your feet,
bereavement bleeds as keys drop on the side,
another night of chewed and swallowed pride.

The list of abstractions made into metaphors is interesting. It may work better if they were more solid. Is bereavement a bleeding calf? etc.



Edit 1 re-write
Thinner than the dress that used to fit,
we make up so you can leave again,
bus ride into town a burned out clown,
tumbles till the neon all shuts down.

I sit at home beat rhythms on my chair,
pretending to myself that I don’t care.
She’s all I have that’s worth the worn out floor,
a dog inside the porch behind her door.

Barstool boys that play you for the fool,
drinking from a cup that makes you drool.
The poet finds her muse to fill the page,
ink is splattered as he leaves the stage.

I sit cold as milk clinks in the street,
and guilt has ploughed a furrow for your feet,
bereavement bleeds as keys drop on the side,
another night of chewed and swallowed pride.



Original
On Friday nights the sherbet
centres make you fizz.
Saturday wakes wafer thin,
silver foil inside your filling.
Sunday hides your traffic light eyes
and I will bathe you in a dripping tap,
cleansing now has deeper purpose,
a faded duck floats on the surface.

Thinner than the dress that used to fit
you make up to leave again
falling into town a burned out clown
hanging round some young man’s
left begging by the kebab van.
Like that the city turns its back,
a fumbled custard pie has splat
the pavement echoes as it laughs.

Groped smears and muddy nylons
bumper car through our door.
Your headlights shine behind me,
bereaved by the moment once more.
Changing shades of back lit screens,
shape shift you on soft cushions,
and there I blanket my shame.
I sit cold as Monday comes,
but I’ll still love you just the same.

The idea is interesting. I wouldn't put it down if I were you.

Thank you True have took in your suggestions and moved to another edit. Many thanks Keith