09-16-2017, 11:09 PM
A Ghost -the title threw me off during the read
it was flung from out the balcony
and caught the corner of my eye -corner of my eye is cliche
as it flashed across the air
and plopped into the shallow creek
and diffused its bed into a dirty smoke. -whose bed, the ghosts? this is where the title first confused me.
Had it been some greedy ghost -another reason u don't need ghost as the title, otherwise it is also redundant
protecting with a mesh of roots - is it the mesh of roots protecting the treasure, or the ghost?
their buried treasure from my excavation
of our green and even yard?
If it is, then they are watching -they? who's watching? the ghosts? I can't know yet, this troubles me
and I had better stop this mess -so far, I am confused
and head back in prepared
with my dirty knees and palms
to accidentally confess
the reason for my quietude. -it took many reads to understand someone is excavating/digging not clear about what, exactly, it is distracting
Before I reached the stairs I saw
what looked like my father's ring
winking in the silt beneath
the softly sluicing crystal water
among the natural trickery of light -why is light trickery, if it's natural?
in each ebbing pocket -pocket?
of the surface and the trickery -trickery is a quirky, noticeable, word, I wouldn't use it twice
of something else
that made it feel as if
this has happened all before. -I try not to end stanzas/sentences with a preposition, but I know it is often difficult, as to maintain the narrator's voice.
I found my father scrambling
along the cords beneath his desk -why was he scrambling if he flung his own ring?
and called to him and held my hand out
to reveal his relief in the grimy wet ring
in my filthy palms that reminded him to remind me -why does the speaker need reminding if he/she retrieved the ring?
his ring is not some low-cost trinket.
Weeks later,
he and my mother had an argument;
over what? I can't remember.
But it was just enough
for her to take his ring out back
and in a fit of rage,
love, and love that's motherly, -okay, so the ring keeps getting tossed by mom and dad
and a child keeps finding it?
Hi, alexandorande
The title threw me off greatly. The only thing ghostly I got from the read was how my mind felt, as though I were standing in a misty dream trying to figure out who the characters were and what was happening, and then I felt my lack of comprehension may have been missing some genius metaphor along the way. It took many reads to understand the general plot. When I began to catch on to the scene, I felt sort of sorry for the child with dirty palms and wondered if it was symbolic of the occult, also I wondered about the significance of the protective roots. I also wondered why one would be willing to keep digging or reaching in the muck as if the speaker's fate/life/purpose was reliant on the actions of his/her parents. I did have a strong feeling the loyalty of the child to his/her parents, those who loved him/her most, was the drive of her mission. I liked the cleverness of attempting a round in the poem, but wondered if a title change would have given it better flow, too. I think some clarity throughout might make it into a fine poem that achieves your infinite goal. I hope to see what happens here.
nibbed
it was flung from out the balcony
and caught the corner of my eye -corner of my eye is cliche
as it flashed across the air
and plopped into the shallow creek
and diffused its bed into a dirty smoke. -whose bed, the ghosts? this is where the title first confused me.
Had it been some greedy ghost -another reason u don't need ghost as the title, otherwise it is also redundant
protecting with a mesh of roots - is it the mesh of roots protecting the treasure, or the ghost?
their buried treasure from my excavation
of our green and even yard?
If it is, then they are watching -they? who's watching? the ghosts? I can't know yet, this troubles me
and I had better stop this mess -so far, I am confused
and head back in prepared
with my dirty knees and palms
to accidentally confess
the reason for my quietude. -it took many reads to understand someone is excavating/digging not clear about what, exactly, it is distracting
Before I reached the stairs I saw
what looked like my father's ring
winking in the silt beneath
the softly sluicing crystal water
among the natural trickery of light -why is light trickery, if it's natural?
in each ebbing pocket -pocket?
of the surface and the trickery -trickery is a quirky, noticeable, word, I wouldn't use it twice
of something else
that made it feel as if
this has happened all before. -I try not to end stanzas/sentences with a preposition, but I know it is often difficult, as to maintain the narrator's voice.
I found my father scrambling
along the cords beneath his desk -why was he scrambling if he flung his own ring?
and called to him and held my hand out
to reveal his relief in the grimy wet ring
in my filthy palms that reminded him to remind me -why does the speaker need reminding if he/she retrieved the ring?
his ring is not some low-cost trinket.
Weeks later,
he and my mother had an argument;
over what? I can't remember.
But it was just enough
for her to take his ring out back
and in a fit of rage,
love, and love that's motherly, -okay, so the ring keeps getting tossed by mom and dad
and a child keeps finding it?
Hi, alexandorande
The title threw me off greatly. The only thing ghostly I got from the read was how my mind felt, as though I were standing in a misty dream trying to figure out who the characters were and what was happening, and then I felt my lack of comprehension may have been missing some genius metaphor along the way. It took many reads to understand the general plot. When I began to catch on to the scene, I felt sort of sorry for the child with dirty palms and wondered if it was symbolic of the occult, also I wondered about the significance of the protective roots. I also wondered why one would be willing to keep digging or reaching in the muck as if the speaker's fate/life/purpose was reliant on the actions of his/her parents. I did have a strong feeling the loyalty of the child to his/her parents, those who loved him/her most, was the drive of her mission. I liked the cleverness of attempting a round in the poem, but wondered if a title change would have given it better flow, too. I think some clarity throughout might make it into a fine poem that achieves your infinite goal. I hope to see what happens here.
nibbed
there's always a better reason to love