Thick grease smears across your fingertips,
sticking to the surface and filling up the ridges;
wad a paper towel, clean away what you can,
the rest'll smear across your forehead when you
wipe your face yet again.
Before, as you stuttered over sidewalk cracks,
the pavement revealed through the chips in your deck,
each passing pebble seemed a layer of gravel, each turn
a rusty centrifuge yanking you further
away from your teetering grip on control.
The edge of a razor blade lifts the little cap
red plastic revealing a chain of rolling orbs beneath
squeeze out a drop or two, let it drip down and oil
the spinning circles; add the cover, grab another,
pry it open and repeat.
It's a temporary freedom, slowly drying
as each hurdle and bump causes metal to grind
in a ticking decay, wearing down the smoothness of spiral
rails that guided you, suspended,
through the eerie tune of a concrete-bound bird.
Line up the spacers and press down on the wheel
little silver circles sliding back into their places
spin it down the axel and tighten til it catches
on your wrench, adjusting for speed and checking
that each one rotates in time.
Original
Black grease smears across your fingertips,
sticking to the surface and filling up the ridges;
wad a paper towel, clean away what you can,
the rest'll smear across your forehead when you
wipe your face with your hands.
Before, as you stuttered over sidewalk cracks
wheels grinding on axels like forgotten gears
in a rusty clock ticking another five minutes behind,
you thought you might get new wheels, justification
to scrap your old ones and toss them aside.
The edge of a razor blade lifts the little cap
red plastic revealing a chain of rolling orbs beneath.
Squeeze a drop or two of oil, let it drip down between
the spinning circles; add the cover, grab another,
pry it open and repeat.
It's just a repair, only lasting until that sudden
hurdle, a landing that damages the delicate balance
of suspended spheres and prevents the smooth turns
that let you glide through silent city streets
like a concrete-bound bird.
Line up the spacers and press down on the wheel
little silver circles sliding back into their places
spin it down the axel and tighten til it catches
on your wrench, adjusting for speed and checking
that each rotation matches.
(10-12-2013, 02:16 AM)FractalPacifist Wrote: Black grease smears across your fingertips, Grease commonly comes in the color black, I don't think "black" is needed for this line. Especially with the context of this poem, we know what car grease/oil looks like.
sticking to the surface and filling up the ridges;
wad a paper towel, clean away what you can,
the rest'll smear across your forehead when you Classic grease monkey look
wipe your face with your hands. I don't think you meant to rhyme can and hands, but it reads a bit weird, almost forced rhyming although it may be unintentional
Before, as you stuttered over sidewalk cracks The car is on the sidewalk?
wheels grinding on axels like forgotten gears
in a rusty clock ticking another five minutes behind, This car must be getting old, if I'm correct, I think this line is a good representation of a aged car, "rusty clock" I enjoyed that, possibly one that has been in the family for a while? With sentimental value. Or this is all one big metaphor to a different story? I'm gonna go with my first hunch
you thought you might get new wheels, justification
to scrap your old ones and toss them aside.
The edge of a razor blade lifts the little cap
red plastic revealing a chain of rolling orbs beneath. I liked this line
Squeeze a drop or two of oil, let it drip down between
the spinning circles; add the cover, grab another,
pry it open and repeat.
It's just a repair, only lasting until that sudden
hurdle, a landing that damages the delicate balance
of suspended spheres and prevents the smooth turns
that let you glide through silent city streets
like a concrete-bound bird. Good stanza
Line up the spacers and press down on the wheel Press down on the wheel? Not sure with this lingo, I'm no car expert/mechanic or anything like that, but I usually just associate the wheel with holding, grabbing, driving. Not really pressing down on it
little silver circles sliding back into their places
spin it down the axel and tighten til it catches
on your wrench, adjusting for speed and checking
that each rotation matches. Decent ending, I think it could be stronger
I liked this poem. You mentioned circles, orbs, and spheres, which all apply here and definitely have connotations of those parts, but to me these words are almost the same. Even though they may represent different car parts. I typed orb into the thesaurus and got back six results, two of which were in fact circle and sphere. I think that even though those car parts are indeed those shapes and dimensions, you could possibly describe them with some metaphors that allude to their shape. Thanks for the read.
I never highlight my flaws or deficits
Because none of that will matter when death visits
I'm actually talking about skateboard bearings! I think I need to make that a little more clear if I want any readers to understand. To clean a bearing, you unscrew the wheel, pry out the bearings, pop open the cap of the bearing (with a razor blade or something equally thin), and add lube. Then you put the two bearings back in the wheel and press down tightly to pop them back together.
Would a simple title change fix the confusion a little, or should I work some vocabulary into the poem itself?
The "repair" remark bothered me. You're basically just lubing ball bearings, a repair would be to replace them to my mind. Maybe if you called it a temporary fix? Also, if "wheels grinding on axels like forgotten gears" was actually happening, it would mean your bearings had seized up and the inside part of the bearing housing would have become loose against the axle with only the end screw holding it on. Just oiling the bearings would not have kept the bearing housing from spinning, the wheel/bearing housing would continue to be kept on by the end washer and nut. It is also questionable that if the bearing had seized to enough degree to cause the housing to spin on the axle that simply oiling/greasing them would suffice to free them up. Most likely you would need to replace the wheel and probably the truck as the axle has been shaved down by the wheel, and even with a new wheel the housing would continue to spin.
Just a thought,
Dale
How long after picking up the brush, the first masterpiece?
The goal is not to obfuscate that which is clear, but make clear that which isn't.
(10-12-2013, 08:34 AM)FractalPacifist Wrote: I'm actually talking about skateboard bearings! I think I need to make that a little more clear if I want any readers to understand. To clean a bearing, you unscrew the wheel, pry out the bearings, pop open the cap of the bearing (with a razor blade or something equally thin), and add lube. Then you put the two bearings back in the wheel and press down tightly to pop them back together.
Would a simple title change fix the confusion a little, or should I work some vocabulary into the poem itself?
Oh well I feel stupid, I just associated grease with cars and went from there. I clearly don't skateboard, my knowledge of it stops at an ollie
I never highlight my flaws or deficits
Because none of that will matter when death visits
You could just say the wheel was dragging, and you needed to loosen the nut. I can't really think of any circumstance where you would need to actually try to apply grease/oil to the bearing as the are sealed so as not to be exposed to dust particles, plus I'm not sure you could even get to the bearings as the "rubber/plastic" completely covers everything except the inside part of the housing.As such I can't think of anyway you would need to introduce oil or grease into the process. I point this out for you spend some amount of detail on:
"clean away what you can,
the rest'll smear across your forehead when you
wipe your face with your hands."
I don't know if you are attempting to use that metaphorically or not. There might be other ways to introduce oil/grease without the need for it coming from your skate board, it could simply be somewhere where you put your hand, like going through the parking lot of a closed auto repair place. I'm thinking for the "repair" you could tear one of the bolts that holds the truck on through the board (that is it get pulled through) because all of the nuts on the truck were loose. If you had a Leather-man's type of tool on you, you would be able to tighten them up, but with only three left it would be a temporary fix. I'm not sure how likely that is to happen, but at least the repair would be realistic, and still be temporary. Sorry, best I can do.
Dale
How long after picking up the brush, the first masterpiece?
The goal is not to obfuscate that which is clear, but make clear that which isn't.
Alright, I made some edits. Hopefully the actual intention will come through a little clearer this time.
Dale - cleaning my bearings is something I do on a regular basis, so I'm not sure which kind you are used to. The brand I used is called Reds (hence the color of the plastic cover), and they're intended to be opened for cleaning, revealing the bearings inside the housing. I decided to stick with it, since it fit the metaphor I was going for, but thanks for the advice!
Malu - don't feel too bad. Did you know some people drive smart cars on sidewalks? XD
I kind of thought it might have been a car on stanza 1, but by the second verse I thought it was about somebody progressively going mad and, when the razor blade came in, cutting their throat. [gulp] Would it be too much throw in a fucking, 'of my skateboard', somewhere?!
Quote:Thick grease smears across your fingertips,
sticking to the surface and filling up the ridges; The rhythm is really nice here.
wad a paper towel, clean away what you can,
the rest'll smear across your forehead when you
wipe your face yet again. This stanza is fine, but to me, it lacks anything suitable for its place as an opening stanza. The only thing it introduces on a first read through is grease - I'd switch it with the second verse, which is where the poem really kicks in.
Before, as you stuttered over sidewalk cracks, stuttered implies speech - staggered? cobbled? rattled?
the pavement revealed through the chips in your deck, clunky - tongue trips over 'pavement revealed' - because you haven't built up an explicit skateboard image, 'deck' is really bewildering here - this is the first time the body of the skateboard is actually mentioned and it's presumed I already know about it
each passing pebble seemed a layer of gravel, each turn pebbles are a lot harder on wheels than gravel!
a rusty centrifuge yanking you further beautiful line - gorgeous meter, gorgeous vocab
away from your teetering grip on control. seems a little melodramatic for a shitty skaeteboard wheel
The edge of a razor blade lifts the little cap I feel like this is forced poeticizing, and it makes it somewhat obscure. I would say 'You lift the little cap with the edge of a razor blade'
red plastic revealing a chain of rolling orbs beneath 'Red plastic' doesn't really add much here and feels weak - 'revealing a chain of rolling orbs beneath' is stronger without it
squeeze out a drop or two, let it drip down and oil
the spinning circles; add the cover, grab another,
pry it open and repeat. This is nice. It generates a good, rumbling rhythm which is suitable for the subject treated - it reads like I'm fumbling with a little chain of balls
It's a temporary freedom, slowly drying too much abstract language for me, the rest of it is very concrete, and it was suitable; this is too introspective; keep it concrete
as each hurdle and bump causes metal to grind for this reader, when there's no explicit skateboard built up, this is bewildering
in a ticking decay, wearing down the smoothness of spiral
rails that guided you, suspended, this feels a little too sinister for the subject treated
through the eerie tune of a concrete-bound bird. This line is lovely, and the imagery is lovely, and the images are strong
Line up the spacers and press down on the wheel
little silver circles sliding back into their places
spin it down the axel and tighten til it catches The last stanza is very strong up to here
on your wrench, adjusting for speed and checking
that each one rotates in time. And after that weakens considerably - I'd just end it at 'sliding back into their places'
It's a nice poem, but it would benefit from clarity. A lot of it feels like you're writing it just to be poetic, and it doesn't really suit the subject. You're not writing about, like, the Angels in the Empyrean, you're writing about changing ball bearings and the language should reflect that. If you review it again, I'd say, be ruthless and economical. Cut out anything that isn't a pure image.
It's very strong rhythmically though, that's one of its major strengths. The rhythms, like I said, often reflect the subject matter, almost in an onomatopoeia way, and it's really nice. All I really have for advice is: be much more direct with this poem. Show me exactly what it is, in no uncertain terms. There's no reason to make me play guesswork - before anything else, I want to know it's a skateboard we're talking about. The only real problem with this poem is that it tends to abstract and poeticise when the simple and concrete aren't really nailed down.
It's great, though - in those moments when it shines, it really shines. Great rhythm, great choice of words, and a great feel for image when you do it.
"Dale - cleaning my bearings is something I do on a regular basis, so I'm not sure which kind you are used to. The brand I used is called Reds (hence the color of the plastic cover), and they're intended to be opened for cleaning, revealing the bearings inside the housing. I decided to stick with it, since it fit the metaphor I was going for, but thanks for the advice!"
Never heard of that. It is my daughter who rides (I repair). When I used to ride, it was on a "sidewalk surfboard" homemade by the rider from a one inch board cut to what ever shape/size the person choose, with wheels from metal skates. The first little rock, or crack you hit meant you were stopping abruptly, and probably eating some concrete. The only trick we had was sliding sideways to stop, anything else would have split them in two.
Dale
Dale
How long after picking up the brush, the first masterpiece?
The goal is not to obfuscate that which is clear, but make clear that which isn't.
I'm thinking this might need a total re-work done on it. I was trying to work in a sense of despair, using something physical (a skateboard wearing down over time) to relate to a mental state doing the same thing, but I don't think I'm achieving that. You're totally right though, this does sound more than a little melodramatic. I think the confusion from the object itself being niche knowledge is preventing anyone from seeing past it.
bleh. I shall have to sleep on it, then return in the morning with a pair of scissors and a red pen, see if I can't salvage something good.
I'm thinking this might need a total re-work done on it. I was trying to work in a sense of despair, using something physical (a skateboard wearing down over time) to relate to a mental state doing the same thing, but I don't think I'm achieving that. You're totally right though, this does sound more than a little melodramatic. I think the confusion from the object itself being niche knowledge is preventing anyone from seeing past it.
bleh. I shall have to sleep on it, then return in the morning with a pair of scissors and a red pen, see if I can't salvage something good.
I would stick with your metaphor of anguish, as it relates to your skateboarding hobby and practice. Perhaps, don't wory so much about pleasing every reader, but more importanlty satisfy yourself. Your first stanza had me wondering what was to follow, but could be stonger to rope me in. The most effective stanzas that achieve your goal (at least for me) were stanzas two and four. The other stanzas are more technical than emotive. Taking another look, one possible edit is to place S1 after S3, thereby opening with your strongest stanza (S2). Then swop S4 for S5 to close stronger as well, like so:
Today, as you stuttered over sidewalk cracks,
the pavement revealed through the chips in your deck,
each passing pebble seemed a layer of gravel, each turn
a rusty centrifuge yanking you further
away from your teetering grip on control.
The edge of a razor blade lifts the little cap
red plastic revealing a chain of rolling orbs beneath
squeeze out a drop or two, let it drip down and oil
the spinning circles; add the cover, grab another,
pry it open and repeat.
Thick grease smears across your fingertips,
sticking to the surface and filling up the ridges;
wad a paper towel, clean away what you can,
the rest'll smear across your forehead when you
wipe your face yet again.
Line up the spacers and press down on the wheel
little silver circles sliding back into their places
spin it down the axel and tighten til it catches
on your wrench, adjusting for speed and checking
that each one rotates in time.
It's a temporary freedom, slowly drying
as each hurdle and bump causes metal to grind
in a ticking decay, wearing down the smoothness of spiral
rails that guided you, suspended,
through the eerie tune of a concrete-bound bird.
Yes, I think this is more effective, opening and closing with your strongest stanzas, grouping your technical ones and placing you biggest image in the middle. Of course, you probably have to do some fine tweeking, See what you think. Cheers/Chris
My new watercolor: 'Nightmare After Christmas'/Chris
I'm thinking this might need a total re-work done on it. I was trying to work in a sense of despair, using something physical (a skateboard wearing down over time) to relate to a mental state doing the same thing, but I don't think I'm achieving that. You're totally right though, this does sound more than a little melodramatic. I think the confusion from the object itself being niche knowledge is preventing anyone from seeing past it.
bleh. I shall have to sleep on it, then return in the morning with a pair of scissors and a red pen, see if I can't salvage something good.
I would stick with your metaphor of anguish, as it relates to your skateboarding hobby and practice. Perhaps, don't wory so much about pleasing every reader, but more importanlty satisfy yourself. Your first stanza had me wondering what was to follow, but could be stonger to rope me in. The most effective stanzas that achieve your goal (at least for me) were stanzas two and four. The other stanzas are more technical than emotive. Taking another look, one possible edit is to place S1 after S3, thereby opening with your strongest stanza (S2). Then swop S4 for S5 to close stronger as well, like so:
Today, as you stuttered over sidewalk cracks,
the pavement revealed through the chips in your deck,
each passing pebble seemed a layer of gravel, each turn
a rusty centrifuge yanking you further
away from your teetering grip on control.
The edge of a razor blade lifts the little cap
red plastic revealing a chain of rolling orbs beneath
squeeze out a drop or two, let it drip down and oil
the spinning circles; add the cover, grab another,
pry it open and repeat.
Thick grease smears across your fingertips,
sticking to the surface and filling up the ridges;
wad a paper towel, clean away what you can,
the rest'll smear across your forehead when you
wipe your face yet again.
Line up the spacers and press down on the wheel
little silver circles sliding back into their places
spin it down the axel and tighten til it catches
on your wrench, adjusting for speed and checking
that each one rotates in time.
It's a temporary freedom, slowly drying
as each hurdle and bump causes metal to grind
in a ticking decay, wearing down the smoothness of spiral
rails that guided you, suspended,
through the eerie tune of a concrete-bound bird.
Yes, I think this is more effective, opening and closing with your strongest stanzas, grouping your technical ones and placing you biggest image in the middle. Of course, you probably have to do some fine tweeking, See what you think. Cheers/Chris
