communion

[tectak]

Yes to this, anne. It IS a contrivance, but a  necessary contrivance. It fits neatly in to my category of "commitment" verse...that is to say it knows where it is going and goes there with a purpose and determination that shows. Of course, it would not be poetry if it did  not use words as waypoints and there are places where bits run out of line, though you correct these minor navigational diversions very quickly...so quickly that one only sees the shift, if at all, as an excess of waypoints. As an example I would point to the superfluous word at end of S1, "earlier". What on earth made you feel the need to back-track? It is, I believe, there because you are having difficulty making lines long enough or short enough to "look" right against each other, instead of "hearing" the thing.

So why not:
The boat I am in now rocks gently,
in the middle of Little Transverse Bay.
With  midday sun  blurring my vision,
red kayaks on shore look like roses,
in planters on the church porch.

I take your point to heart about your juices in the poem drying out if you make too many changes at the whim of others, but the point I am trying to make is that you dilute yourself by excess. Concentrate your work.
Best and well done. I cannot write like this and so I crit out of a room called envy,
tectak

COMMUNION

The boat I’m in now, rocks
gently in the middle of Little Traverse Bay.
With the midday sun blurring my vision,
red kayaks on the shore look like
roses in planter boxes
on the church porch earlier.

After swallowing the wafer and wine,Lose "the"
I had knelt at the altar and prayed. Lose "had"
Tears filled my eyes when I realized This is a "good" line if cliched, but it would be better split into "cause and effect" rather than simple simultaneous consequence.So:

After taking wafer and wine,
I knelt at the altar and prayed
Tears filled my eyes as I realised my
lack of faith lead to doubt that my sins
would  be  forgiven.

It is a bloody convoluted way of saying something very simple and my suggestion, no less clumsy, uses as many of your words as I reasonably could. Ignore it but simplify yourself. This is an essential stanza.



lack of faith had me doubting
my sins of vanity and materialism No. You are not doubting your sins.
would be forgiven.

I put on my sunglasses
and see the far-off diehard cyclists You put on sunglasses, not binoculars. Of what consequence the far-awayness?
with chiseled waists and thighs, Odd image for a fluid form
then glance down at my own tummy Own? Who else's tummy did you expect to see? Lose "own".
and try to accept what fudge and age
have done to my shape. has or had done...or it is what fudge have done AND age have done. This a moot point but verb/subject agreement is difficult in imprecise situations.eg. "Rock 'n Roll" has(or had, but NOT have) taken its toll on me.

A wave laps into the boat The last three stanzas gallop us to the finishing line as inexorably as the previous stanzas...but  with hurdles of overwordiness. I square the circle. You write hacked up prose but with purpose. Line lengths are a problem for you.
drenching my home decorating magazine
as if the water overheard the minister’s lesson
and was reiterating it.
A gorgeous house on the outside
can still hold mold on the inside.  

The next wave rocking the boat
slaps me in the face
as if to say, “Wake up.”
The morning sacrament was a reminder
of the greatest sacrifice and loss
and to accept what was offered.

To help me forgive myself,
I look outward
at the deep-rooted shoreline trees,
fish weaving through transparency,
sunlight in the blue,
the kingdom, the power, the glory.

*

COMMUNION

The boat I’m in now, rocks
gently in the middle of Little Traverse Bay.
With the midday sun in my eyes,
red kayaks on the shore remind me of
roses in planter boxes
on the church porch earlier.

After swallowing the bread dipped in wine,
I had knelt at the altar and prayed.
Tears came for no clear reason.
I had hoped they washed away
my morning sin of eating
one vacation donut.

I put on my sunglasses
and distinguish the far-off sightseer bikers
from the diehard cyclists,
the Fudgies with Santa tummies
from the ones with chiseled waists and thighs.
A glance down at my own tummy

in a one-piece swimsuit, takes me back
twenty-some years, to two pregnancies.
As my body plumped up
I had viewed it as beautiful.  Now,
I try to accept what age has done
to the shape of my hips and waist.

A wave laps into the boat
drenching a home decorating magazine
as if the water overheard the minister’s lesson
and was reiterating it.
A gorgeous house on the outside
can still hold mold on the inside.  

I understand the metaphor
but am confused if narcissism or low self-esteem
made me believe the sermon was written about myself.
The next wave rocks the boat,
slaps me in the face as if to say,
“What’s your problem?”

The wine-dipped bread was a reminder
of the greatest sacrifice and loss
and to be grateful for so many miracles.
I look outward at the deep-rooted shoreline trees,
fish weaving through transparency, sunlight in the blue,
the kingdom, the power, the glory.