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Threads: 2
Joined: Apr 2015
My original poem I believe was moved to Novice and is titled Senior Year. I hope its okay that I chose to post the next draft as a new thread. The poem is rather long and putting two versions together would be unbearable. I also haven't figured out how to make the "read more" option in a thread.
Thank you for any critique!!
-SH
Senior year
1.
Father breaks the shower faucet
for the third time this month.
Sirens of rage summon
the hollowed form of Mom.
He throws a wrench
at her face, or her chest
Iron on tile rings so loud, unholy
That noise becomes her wedding bells.
Mom's body slams
against a wall or a door,
The thump is dead
it mocks her.
My sister leaps on the spot,
legs still crossed
on the bedroom floor.
She is not met with iron tool
but my stare,
of both embarrassment and pity.
Fear left on vacation,
panic is barely noticeable.
Angry words, drunken slurs
are nothing less than habitual.
Imagining the firm handshake
my father once showed me,
I seize the bathroom door.
Stand toe to toe with Goliath,
I have come with neither slingshot nor stone.
He is the Tsunami that devastated Thailand.
We are precariously built structures in his path.
2.
The blue Subaru shifts,
submits under father's hand,
just as mom has done so many nights.
The car lurches backward,
a diagonal course.
Those marks will scar the grass
for years
Sunday, 4:01pm
Mom's vocal cords have seized,
her body hugs the memory
of father's driver's seat.
The warmth of blacktop
a better husband
than father could ever be.
3.
I cringe at the drone.
The officer's voice
mixes so irritatingly
with the phone's
electrical buzz.
Shallow breaths,
automated responses,
I cannot forget tonight
I open the French door
the familiar suction
seems less carthartic tonight.
My bare feet tango
missing deck boards;
Another project mom thought
could fix father.
She is a part of the blacktop now.
The sun illuminates her umber hair,
the grey strands bow toward the light.
Will I be that beautiful when
the cool March breeze is the only
thing, in this world,
willing enough to touch my skin
Posts: 2,360
Threads: 230
Joined: Oct 2010
Hi again Scarlett, let me touch some on the revision. One way you can do a read more is use the link function and name the link in the details something like this:
Original Thread Here
Here are some comments on the revision:
(05-17-2015, 01:33 AM)scarlettehale Wrote: My original poem I believe was moved to Novice and is titled Senior Year. I hope its okay that I chose to post the next draft as a new thread. The poem is rather long and putting two versions together would be unbearable. I also haven't figured out how to make the "read more" option in a thread.
Thank you for any critique!!
-SH
Senior year
1.
Father breaks the shower faucet
for the third time this month.
Sirens of rage summon
the hollowed form of Mom.
He throws a wrench
at her face, or her chest
Iron on tile rings so loud, unholy--I'm going to suggest a way to build your imagery with figurative language. I'm just going to illustrate these two lines. Consider carrying this idea through the poem. There's more I could say, but let's start with one thing you can focus working on. Maybe,
Iron on tile rings like an unholy bell
like her wedding bells
Compare the lines, make changes as necessary. I think this is the stage you need to do so that you can layer some meaning into the poem. It needs to be more than, then this happened, and then this.
That noise becomes her wedding bells.
Mom's body slams
against a wall or a door,
The thump is dead
it mocks her.
My sister leaps on the spot,
legs still crossed
on the bedroom floor.
She is not met with iron tool
but my stare,
of both embarrassment and pity.
Fear left on vacation,
panic is barely noticeable.
Angry words, drunken slurs
are nothing less than habitual.
Imagining the firm handshake
my father once showed me,
I seize the bathroom door.
Stand toe to toe with Goliath,
I have come with neither slingshot nor stone.
He is the Tsunami that devastated Thailand.
We are precariously built structures in his path.
2.
The blue Subaru shifts,
submits under father's hand,
just as mom has done so many nights.
The car lurches backward,
a diagonal course.
Those marks will scar the grass
for years
Sunday, 4:01pm
Mom's vocal cords have seized,
her body hugs the memory
of father's driver's seat.
The warmth of blacktop
a better husband
than father could ever be.
3.
I cringe at the drone.
The officer's voice
mixes so irritatingly
with the phone's
electrical buzz.
Shallow breaths,
automated responses,
I cannot forget tonight
I open the French door
the familiar suction
seems less carthartic tonight.
My bare feet tango
missing deck boards;
Another project mom thought
could fix father.
She is a part of the blacktop now.
The sun illuminates her umber hair,
the grey strands bow toward the light.
Will I be that beautiful when
the cool March breeze is the only
thing, in this world,
willing enough to touch my skin
There's more I can say, but I don't want my main point to be lost in the noise.
Best,
Todd
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson
Posts: 294
Threads: 4
Joined: Sep 2013
The last stanza is truly brilliant and the best part of the entire poem. Everything leading up to it is just narrative, albeit illustrative at times, it could be so much stronger. (more show, less tell in other words. I know it is a crit cliche, but that's what #1 & #2 need.)
Speaking of which, why is this broken into three sections? I personally only do that if the poems could stand alone, but have a train of thought linking them. Here it seems to be more like chapters in a book, and I find it a bit distracting...but that could just be me.
Overall there is a lot to like here. The punctuation needs cleaning up...I haven't read the other thread so I don't know what has been suggested... but
in the last stanza, L2 and L3 shouldn't be a comma, it should be a semi colon or period. And the last sentence should end in a question mark.
Posts: 54
Threads: 22
Joined: Dec 2014
(05-17-2015, 01:33 AM)scarlettehale Wrote: My original poem I believe was moved to Novice and is titled Senior Year. I hope its okay that I chose to post the next draft as a new thread. The poem is rather long and putting two versions together would be unbearable. I also haven't figured out how to make the "read more" option in a thread.
Thank you for any critique!!
-SH
Senior year
1.
Father breaks the shower faucet <--I might change some of the "mother" and "father"s to other words like my mother or her or him or my father, partly to decrease repetition and partly to decrease the formal tone.
for the third time this month.
Sirens of rage summon
the hollowed form of Mom.
He throws a wrench
at her face, or her chest
Iron on tile rings so loud, unholy <--period here?
That noise becomes her wedding bells.
Mom's body slams
against a wall or a door,
The thump is dead <--period? May be more "bite" if you separate the last lines onto two sentences.
it mocks her.
My sister leaps on the spot,
legs still crossed
on the bedroom floor. <-- how does she leap and have her legs crossed? im a bit confused
She is not met with iron tool
but my stare,
of both embarrassment and pity.
Fear left on vacation,
panic is barely noticeable.
Angry words, drunken slurs
are nothing less than habitual. <-- love these last 4
Imagining the firm handshake
my father once showed me, <--again, think of changing my father
I seize the bathroom door.
Stand toe to toe with Goliath,
I have come with neither slingshot nor stone.
He is the Tsunami that devastated Thailand. <--capitalized tsunami? Dont get it
We are precariously built structures in his path.
2.
The blue Subaru shifts,
submits under father's hand,
just as mom has done so many nights.
The car lurches backward,
a diagonal course.
Those marks will scar the grass
for years
Sunday, 4:01pm <-- i remember the first one having way too many times, but if this is the only one its a bit disorienting. I would think of adding back one of the ones in the beginning
Mom's vocal cords have seized,
her body hugs the memory
of father's driver's seat.
The warmth of blacktop
a better husband
than father could ever be.
3.
I cringe at the drone.
The officer's voice
mixes so irritatingly
with the phone's
electrical buzz. <-- love the commonplace-ness of that detail
Shallow breaths,
automated responses,
I cannot forget tonight <--period?
I open the French door
the familiar suction
seems less carthartic tonight. <--sp
My bare feet tango
missing deck boards;
Another project mom thought
could fix father.
She is a part of the blacktop now.
The sun illuminates her umber hair, <-- umber or amber?
the grey strands bow toward the light.
Will I be that beautiful when
the cool March breeze is the only
thing, in this world, <-- i dont think you need the commas here
willing enough to touch my skin <--question mark here
Loved the first version, love this one too. Thanks for the read.
Sometimes I feel like writing poetry and sometimes I watch Netflix. No judging.
Posts: 8
Threads: 1
Joined: May 2015
I think you your description is on point, however this is most of the substance of the poem--description. It seems merely a narrative for most of the parts. The last stanza is something you should try to emulate throughout the rest of the poem, because it truly captures the significance, the reason why the speaker is, well, speaking.
That being said, you have a lot of potential in this. Keep going! 
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