03-15-2017, 11:44 AM
Hi, Amaril
Strangely I really like this poem. I say strangely because it is one of my favorite poems so far on this forum & I can't decide if it is because I found myself standing there in the room with so much blue or if it is the style of your writing. It feels warm with without much trouble, and that is enjoyable and refreshing.
Hiatus -I'm going to chew on this title because I find no immediate connection
Sweet beer is a lampshade askew -A beer can lampshade, like those hats they knitted in the 70's?
in the corner of a must-scented - Interesting MUST
room, blue for the evening, -Is the room blue or the narrator? Depression from alcohol?
with a blue stained sofa borrowed
years ago from one of mom's
work acquaintances she hasn't seen in years. -I liked this, pulled my mind to another place, had my mind imagining
I mean a poem is like a dream the memories of strangers
in that you don't remember most of it. -Yes, in ways, but one often remembers the strongest parts
Or the moon is like the broken
record player I got as a Christmas gift -(can't find the similes)
in middle school, which was not
broken but delightful when I got it
and which now looks cool as ever
with its crocked up lid and needle,
with its dust, only it plays
records wrong, a little too fast
or a little too slow, rending it unusable. -Great description, though. kept me reading
False plants curl in the shadow -"False" plants is a little awkward, isn't it?
of the windowsill, and the dog with an odd
occasional grunt rests on the rug -cute
at the foot of the stair.
The typewriter I rarely touch -[Best part to me between these brackets
rests beside me on the desk,
loaded with paper, gleaming in the lamplight.
I've written some good poems on that machine.
Or the drafts that later became
good poems, or the bad poems remedied
bit by bit on my laptop until
they became not-quite-perfect
but at least themselves. Years ago
this was the desk in my bedroom, and over
the years it hasn't changed. ]
It is red mahogany—blue in the dark— -more blue
covered with scratches and cup rings.
This is the same house, rearranged. -i'm supposed to get this, it's important
Cold moon tomorrow.
I mean December's full moon.
I've got work, and also [love the rambling
I think I'll lose my mind.
Just a little. In spring I'll move out.
Leaving my parents and sister, and
most of my things, until my parents also
move and my sister goes
to college, and then this place
where I sit, so familiar in its proximity ]
will drift forever from my life needs more oomph here
and become the stuff of dreams. a bit cliche
Thank you for the read.
I enjoyed it.
Strangely I really like this poem. I say strangely because it is one of my favorite poems so far on this forum & I can't decide if it is because I found myself standing there in the room with so much blue or if it is the style of your writing. It feels warm with without much trouble, and that is enjoyable and refreshing.
Hiatus -I'm going to chew on this title because I find no immediate connection
Sweet beer is a lampshade askew -A beer can lampshade, like those hats they knitted in the 70's?
in the corner of a must-scented - Interesting MUST
room, blue for the evening, -Is the room blue or the narrator? Depression from alcohol?
with a blue stained sofa borrowed
years ago from one of mom's
work acquaintances she hasn't seen in years. -I liked this, pulled my mind to another place, had my mind imagining
I mean a poem is like a dream the memories of strangers
in that you don't remember most of it. -Yes, in ways, but one often remembers the strongest parts
Or the moon is like the broken
record player I got as a Christmas gift -(can't find the similes)
in middle school, which was not
broken but delightful when I got it
and which now looks cool as ever
with its crocked up lid and needle,
with its dust, only it plays
records wrong, a little too fast
or a little too slow, rending it unusable. -Great description, though. kept me reading
False plants curl in the shadow -"False" plants is a little awkward, isn't it?
of the windowsill, and the dog with an odd
occasional grunt rests on the rug -cute
at the foot of the stair.
The typewriter I rarely touch -[Best part to me between these brackets
rests beside me on the desk,
loaded with paper, gleaming in the lamplight.
I've written some good poems on that machine.
Or the drafts that later became
good poems, or the bad poems remedied
bit by bit on my laptop until
they became not-quite-perfect
but at least themselves. Years ago
this was the desk in my bedroom, and over
the years it hasn't changed. ]
It is red mahogany—blue in the dark— -more blue
covered with scratches and cup rings.
This is the same house, rearranged. -i'm supposed to get this, it's important
Cold moon tomorrow.
I mean December's full moon.
I've got work, and also [love the rambling
I think I'll lose my mind.
Just a little. In spring I'll move out.
Leaving my parents and sister, and
most of my things, until my parents also
move and my sister goes
to college, and then this place
where I sit, so familiar in its proximity ]
will drift forever from my life needs more oomph here
and become the stuff of dreams. a bit cliche
Thank you for the read.
I enjoyed it.
there's always a better reason to love