Just for a night-- edit 2

[tectak]

edit 2 Thanks billy and Erthona
Hi just,
It is interesting how this has not developed...that is not a criticism. You are holding on to your possession as though the concept is precious beyond the wrapping paper....but only you know what is inside. Enough of the metaphor. It just is not clear though I can SEE what cute cornering you making are to lead us into the story...trouble is, every time you turn a corner I lose you...or vice versa. Consider this. The plane flies at 6 miles up...ish...we know this. We have a serious crash coming on. A gazillion (street slang, comedic, undefined but huge) miles a second...no, it just lacks credence. But then we switch cameras and note the observers watching the catastrophe unfold...I guess they have about a millisecond to the bang. No time to stand. However, this is a poem...there has to be SOME license. I get the plane crashes, I see the observers...er...observing. I can even construct the carnage, the cargo arcing and tumbling in the air....and I like it...but then you are off around the corner! Grammar goes haywire, punctuation plummets...help
A FedEx bullet freefalls through
the wispy noontime clouds
every second a gajillion miles closergazillion is just not serious enough
to the field littered with fresh gilded bales.fresh gilded or fresh, gilded bales. Not clear and probably with over modification to no real purpose. So they were fresh...so?
Two stand to watch, heads droppingThese heads will drop like Madame Guillotine has lopped them...they only have a millisecond
down in time. The plane hits the hay...but you HAVE set the scene and the concept IS good. The "hits the hay" is probably again a little lacking in realism. When a freefalling jet hits the deck at a gazillion miles a second ( notwithstanding terminal velocity!) I could think of little else less worthily observable than clouting in to a bale of hay! This is where some may say, "Come on, get real"
in an screamless gold flashin a screamless
spewing a fountain of crimson
wrapped gifts.

Morning talk show shouts intrudePeriod, or you write "...shouts intrude she slams.." Huh?
she slams on snooze, shuts tight her lidsOh come all ye cliches...you are allowed shuts tight her eyes....no? She shuts tight her upper ecto-orbital sheath....eyes, please
still seeing daddy in his checkered shirt,
with stretched buttons and worn down cuffs,
his hand shielding eyes from silent glare, Ah...too wise for two eyes...so shielding sight from silent glare...btw what noise would you expect a glare to make...as Dale might have asked

his heart still unattacked.Kind of like this, though. It's not original because I have used it but it wasn't new when I thought it was

Dad’s dream twin chuckles
that the carnage smacks
of the lurid dreams she’s had
the past few months. He slowly shakes You wrote this:
"Dad’s dream twin chuckles that the carnage smacks of the lurid dreams she’s had the past few months." Help...you've gone around another corner and I cannot follow you.
his head and laughs, just as real
dad did when his jets crashed
sixty-seven days ago.So who is unreal dad? Wha? Who? Wh....?

It needs tidying up. It is a story. It is undisciplined. It is conceptually compromised by little knots, lumps and tangles. There is a GOOD IDEA here. You can make it work.
Best,
tectak


edit 1 Thanks Bob

A silver FedEx bullet smashes
through noontime clouds
towards her parents’ alfalfa field.
They stand to watch, heads dropping
down in time. It hits without screams,
spewing a fountain of red wrapped gifts.

Morning talk show shouts intrude.
She slams on snooze, clinging
to daddy in his checkered shirt,
hand covering eyes from silent glare,
heart still unattacked.

He chuckles that the carnage smacks
of her nightly terror, shaking his head
as he laughs, just like he did
sixty-seven days ago.




original

Wednesdays in dreamland her neck cranes
upwards, drops down in time with the plane
crashing into her parents’ alfalfa field.
Tonight it’s orange and purple: FedEx,
smashing through the noontime clouds
bearing gifts of-- morning talk show intrudes
so she slams on snooze, clinging
onto daddy standing in his checkered shirt,
hand covering eyes from burning glare,
heart still unattacked.
He chuckles that the scene smacks
of that dream she always has, shaking his head
as he laughs, just like he did
sixty-seven days ago.