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10-23-2013, 12:19 PM
(This post was last modified: 11-20-2013, 09:56 AM by billy.)
It was the day birds died,
the day of departure.
Seeing you knelt on our bed,
trussed like pig on a stick
taking it boy scout style;
gave me an erection.
I was embarrassed.
Why not a Shirley Temple lie
while licking a lollipop?
It would have been sweeter
than grunts of infidelity.
I could have pretended.
The twelve bore, as snug
as Harry's hairy bollocks,
lay asleep behind its blued-steel door.
Your bore was less safe.
Harold was a 90's dose master,
the one,
the only eternal crab carrier.
I woke the sleeping weapon
blasted your two poodles;
one barrel per parody.
And departed.
minor edit with thanks to those who gave feedback.
Quote:original;
I'm Going to Your Mother's House...
It was the day birds died,
the day you, me, us departed.
Seeing you knelt on our bed
trussed like pig on a stick
taking it boy scout style;
gave me an erection.
I was embarrassed.
Why not a Shirley Temple lie
while licking a lollipop?
It would have been much sweeter
than grunts of infidelity.
I could have pretended.
The twelve bore was as snug
as Harry's hairy bollocks,
lay asleep behind its blued-steel door
your bore was less safe.
Harold was a 90's dose master,
the one,
the only eternal crab.
I woke the sleeping weapon
blasted your two poodles;
one barrel per parody.
And departed.
i used departed at the end in the hope of hooking back to the start, not sure if it works.
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It was the day birds died,
the day you, me, us departed. * nice opening metaphor, but maybe just ‘the day we departed’*
Seeing you knelt on our bed
trussed like pig on a stick
taking it boy scout style;
gave me an erection. *What an image!*
I was embarrassed. *believable reaction and shame*
why not a Shirley Temple lie *cap ‘Why”*
while licking a lollipop?
It would have been much sweeter
than grunts of infidelity.
I could have pretended. *there’s no acceptable scenario*
The twelve bore was as snug *out comes the shot gun*
as Harry's hairy bollocks,
lay asleep behind its blued-steel door
your bore was less safe.
Harold was a 90's dose master,
the one,
the only eternal crab. *this part is lost on me, perhaps clarify*
I woke the sleeping weapon
blasted your two poodles; *animal cruelty settles nothing*
one barrel per parody. *whether dark and dirty or sweet and kosher, cheating is cheating*
And departed. *of course departed ties into departed, why not use another synonym*
Billy, I like this piece. Catching a lover in the act with another is not a pleasant situation, nor is this poem!  I enjoyed the sardonic wit mixed in with the tragedy. That penultimate stanza was muddled for me. The Harry and Harold, dose master (is that a Halo reference?), the eternal crab, all lost me. They may not even benefit the poem, but that is more than likely me. I am not crazy about poodles, but their demise brings out a sociopathic behavior in your protagonist that evokes little sympathy from the reader. Nonetheless it has impact. Just some thoughts and impressions./Chris
My new watercolor: 'Nightmare After Christmas'/Chris
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it meant he always had a dose of one type or another.
harry is short for harold, i tried not to use the name twice.
i capped 'wehy'
thanks for the feedback christopher 
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(10-23-2013, 12:19 PM)billy Wrote:
It was the day birds died,
the day you, me, us departed. I don't think "us departed" works... maybe cut it to "the day we departed." I think it's stronger.
Seeing you knelt on our bed
trussed like pig on a stick
taking it boy scout style;
gave me an erection. Great imagery
I was embarrassed.
why not a Shirley Temple lie
while licking a lollipop?
It would have been much sweeter
than grunts of infidelity.Again, great imagery and description.
I could have pretended.
The twelve bore was as snug
as Harry's hairy bollocks,
lay asleep behind its blued-steel door
your bore was less safe.
Harold was a 90's dose master,
the one,
the only eternal crab.
I woke the sleeping weapon
blasted your two poodles;
one barrel per parody.
And departed.
i used departed at the end in the hope of hooking back to the start, not sure if it works.
I enjoyed this poem very much. It kind of reminds me of the poem "After School, Street Football, Eighth Grade" by Dennis Cooper.
"What I thought was an end turned out to be a middle.
What I thought was a brick wall turned out to be a tunnel."
--Tony Hoagland
"In this world where classification is key,
I want to erase the straight lines
So I can be me."
--Staceyann Chinn
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thanks for the feedback emily, i have a feeling i'll be removing the 2nd line altogether
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(10-23-2013, 12:19 PM)billy Wrote:
It was the day birds died,
the day you, me, us departed.
Seeing you knelt on our bed
trussed like pig on a stick
taking it boy scout style;
gave me an erection.
I was embarrassed.
Why not a Shirley Temple lie
while licking a lollipop?
It would have been much sweeter
than grunts of infidelity.
I could have pretended.
The twelve bore was as snug
as Harry's hairy bollocks,
lay asleep behind its blued-steel door
your bore was less safe.
Harold was a 90's dose master,
the one,
the only eternal crab.
I woke the sleeping weapon
blasted your two poodles;
one barrel per parody.
And departed.
i used departed at the end in the hope of hooking back to the start, not sure if it works.
The scene is vivid and gripping.
From "harold" to "crab", however, I am as lost as Chris was. There are perhaps many other allusive ways you can describe the guy as a drug dealer, that aren't so dense as to elude most readers. Also, to describe the shotgun as snug, to me, begs for some imagery involving the loading of the weapon.
The "day the birds died" begs for some elaboration, and my expectations are confounded once you get to the actual victims: poodles. Why poodles, and not cockatiels, or toucans, or yellow-naped Amazonians, for that matter? I suppose there is something intrinsically parodic or farcical about a poodle qua dog. If the birds at the beginning are the metaphorical birds of love, though, why not return to them instead?
The indentation of the final line is the perfect device. It accomplishes a sense of departure that is quite satisfying, particularly given what came before.
Hope that helps. It was a good read.
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(10-24-2013, 02:25 PM)jdeirmend Wrote: The scene is vivid and gripping.
From "harold" to "crab", however, I am as lost as Chris was. There are perhaps many other allusive ways you can describe the guy as a drug dealer, that aren't so dense as to elude most readers. Also, to describe the shotgun as snug, to me, begs for some imagery involving the loading of the weapon. he was a cuckhold not a gangster/drug dealer, it seems the word dose doesn't have the vd connotations it does in the uk, i'm not sure how i can remedy the proble without saying something like [syphilis master]
Quote:The "day the birds died" begs for some elaboration, and my expectations are confounded once you get to the actual victims: poodles. Why poodles, and not cockatiels, or toucans, or yellow-naped Amazonians, for that matter?
poodles because they were hers. not being a murderer the 1st person wasted the dogs instead. i did inquire about other animals he could have killed instead but the 1st person assured me they're were only two poodles in the house at the time 
Quote:I suppose there is something intrinsically parodic or farcical about a poodle qua dog. If the birds at the beginning are the metaphorical birds of love, though, why not return to them instead?
the birds were meta and not returned to because the bastards had left already :J:
Quote:The indentation of the final line is the perfect device. It accomplishes a sense of departure that is quite satisfying, particularly given what came before.
Hope that helps. It was a good read.
it all helps. i'll see if i can redo the crab line.
thanks for the feedback
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first edit up, i didn't do a massive effort as i was almost happy with it so far. thanks for the suggestions guys.
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(10-23-2013, 12:19 PM)billy Wrote:
It was the day birds died,
the day of departure.
Seeing you knelt on our bed, I think the verb (kneel) would be stronger than the adjective here. I don't even like the word. knelt. It's awful.
trussed like pig on a stick
taking it boy scout style;
gave me an erection.
I was embarrassed.
Why not a Shirley Temple lie
while licking a lollipop?
It would have been sweeter
than grunts of infidelity.
I could have pretended.
The twelve bore, as snug You should perhaps have a hyphen between twelve and bore.
as Harry's hairy bollocks,
lay asleep behind its blued-steel door.
Your bore was less safe.
Harold was a 90's dose master,
the one,
the only eternal crab carrier.
I woke the sleeping weapon
blasted your two poodles;
one barrel per parody.
And departed.
minor edit with thanks to those who gave feedback.
Quote:original;
I'm Going to Your Mother's House...
It was the day birds died,
the day you, me, us departed.
Seeing you knelt on our bed
trussed like pig on a stick
taking it boy scout style;
gave me an erection.
I was embarrassed.
Why not a Shirley Temple lie
while licking a lollipop?
It would have been much sweeter
than grunts of infidelity.
I could have pretended.
The twelve bore was as snug
as Harry's hairy bollocks,
lay asleep behind its blued-steel door
your bore was less safe.
Harold was a 90's dose master,
the one,
the only eternal crab.
I woke the sleeping weapon
blasted your two poodles;
one barrel per parody.
And departed.
i used departed at the end in the hope of hooking back to the start, not sure if it works.
That's all I've got. I like the poem. For me the hook works like you'd hoped. It's a bit on the confessional side but you've got some great, original lines in here, like the "Shirley Temple lie.."
I commend you for employing the shotgun, I've been trying to get it to work for a long time now. . .
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hehe, thanks for the feedback true, two fair points mentioned that i'l utilisz in the next feedback
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It was the day birds died,
the day of departure.
Seeing you knelt on our bed,
trussed like pig on a stick ( like a piggy- that's what would come out of in my weirdo brain)
taking it boy scout style;
gave me an erection.
I was embarrassed.
Why not a Shirley Temple lie
while licking a lollipop?
It would have been sweeter
than grunts of infidelity.
I could have pretended.
The twelve bore, as snug
as Harry's hairy bollocks,
lay asleep behind its blued-steel door.
Your bore was less safe.
Harold was a 90's dose master, ( 90's cocksman)
the one,
the only eternal crab carrier.
I woke the sleeping weapon
blasted your two poodles;
one barrel per parody.
And departed. maybe vanished
Hey Billy,
I really like this poem thanks for the read. I tossed in a few ideas for you, not sure you need them considering how far along you are with it but who knows maybee my two cents will help.
cheers
Chazz
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