poem

[Knot]

Hi FB,
some very nice lines but my feeling is
it could do with a determined edit.
Your punches are being lost in the
excess weight and it is rather repetitive
in places. Leaner may be meaner.
(Why are you shouting the title?)

When first fed on leaking breast
the ambiguity of 'fed on leaking breast'
is a bit unsettling in a cannibalistic way.
And is 'leaking' the right term?
until boxed and blessed and laid to rest,
some never venture from the far side of the bridge
I'm assuming 'far side of the bridge' is similar to 'right
side of the tracks' - though bridge plus fairy-tales calls
up Trolls.
where lay fairy-tales of opportunity and privilege.
'lay'? Maybe leave a line after 'privilege'?

Oh my,
The sights they must see, looking out from their balconies.
'looking...balconies' rather reduces the inferences of 'sights
they must see'.
What if fate should falter, and set them to work in factories?
'factories' seems quaintly old fashioned in the gig economy.
Perhaps you could pare this back to something like;
Oh my, the sights they must see.
if the sugar coating on their world dissolved?
...


Would they still have a wonderland to behold
If the sugar coating on their world dissolved?
nice line
Would they dare to walk along with me,
to where life hides its brutality,
down to the dark end of my street,
where what they see will make them want to weep?
You're tiptoeing too close to cliché here I think.

Shoulders stooped from the weight of time.
I think the 'stooped' should more directly connect
to 'without a dime'
Born to money, now without a dime.
An old lady dressed in fusty oddments and rag
'rag', singular?
carries her memories in a battered plastic bag.
the next two lines are just repetition of the line above.
She unpacks cherished treasures and childhood souvenirs
clutching them lights a pathway through hazy yesteryears.

Harry Hippy hates himself; all he possesses is a bad habit and regret.
Time to feed the monkey; his hands are shaking, he's dripping sweat.
Deep inside a lost part of him would deny...but far too long he's been a slave.
Will the evil-needle provide a paradise...or, this time, be a chaperon to the grave?
'chaperon to the grave' is very nice.
Just a suggestion;
All Harry possess is a bad habit, regret,
he hates himself. It's monkey feeding time,
all shaking hands and cold dripping sweat,
denial running deep inside
...
will [...] be a chaperon to the grave?

Bottle half-empty, wound up tight,
Johnny Angry is set ready for a fight.
He shouts and cusses amidst struggle and squalor.
Once he beat a man to death...for a dollar.
He doesn’t care if there’s another day or not.
To hell with the world and all that it’s got.
Johnny beat a man to death for a dollar,
not caring if there's another day or not
...

Nobody's strange when everyone's a freak.
It’s how it is here, and it makes me want to weep.

Don't mistake this as a brotherhood of the poor.
[this ain't no] brotherhood of the poor.
It's the bloody battlefield of an urban war.
[but a] bloody battlefield of an urban war.
There’s Sebastian; he’s got his knife.
He steals a wallet…He takes a life.
Many witness, but no-one will talk.
So the law-man lets the guilty walk.
Not much to choose between these four lines
and 'Johnny Angry' - you could probably just
cut them.
Statistic listed, all that remains
a chalk outline and pavement stains.
Here in the shadows, people are meat.
(maybe - the meek are meat ?)
The truth is harsh, and it makes me want to weep.

Isadora has two grandkids: don’t she look great?
Come next month, she’ll be twenty-eight.
One of the children suffers from a condition.
She’s so thankful she’s got herself religion.
Without money for a doctor’s care,
Izzy must trust in aspirin and prayer.

Day after day [in] the same deep furrow.
It's hand to mouth just [making] tomorrow.
Maybe reorder, as in;
Magazines and newspaper [warm] a doorway bed.
Half-naked lies a lady…who might be dead.
Hungry, a baby is crying underneath that heap.
I’m down on my knees, and now, I’ve begun to weep.
(not sure that you need this stanza, and what's with the ellipses?)

Here is the place where the wretched are crushed.
This is the carpet under which our sins are brushed.
(Probably should be 'your' sins, to tie in with 'your tired...')
Here in this wasteland of destruction and ash[es]
Here are your tired, your poor, your huddled mass[es]

All of them yearning for escape;
but the [high] road's too long,
[the way out's t]oo steep
I stand in the thick of this malady.
(I stand amidst all this tragedy ?)
..and oh, how I want to weep.

Hope you find something of use.


Best, Knot.