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Edit 1
A faucet drips
like the clock's tick.
A domino hits,
bass tones emit.
Like clockwork he sleeps
while he sits to watch T.V.
while he walks around floor one
while he eats peanut butter and sugar bread with crushed snickers sprinkled
while he reads silently
and they talk quietly
as I write
I realize we are all cogs
caught in the gears
of this ticking time-bomb
that when it blows
decimates only our own.
Like clockwork its chaotic
when the clock don't work.
When time stops sanity
becomes lost in this glass box.
It doesn't take much,
a single press of the T.V. set,
a slam of a drawer,
a false claim,
or a spill on the floor
then BAM!
Gears grind as blood flies.
Sometimes they live,
sometimes they don't.
A faucet drips.
Original
A faucet drips.
Dominos smack tables,
voices of bass notes
hold aggressive tones.
Masters of calisthenics, card games,
fisticuffs and commissary
recipes call for cautionary
measures in every endeavor.
A faucet drip's
echo brings order
to chaos, or composition
in improvisation.
Puddles of blood,
because a "hello"
is more than "hello"
to those who didn't know.
A faucet's drip
distracts me, or us.
Or them, I must refer
due to color of skin.
Pen to paper,
eyes to paper,
heart to paper
keeps me living.
A faucet drips.
Crit away
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For me, the poem begins and ends with these two stanzas.
A faucet drip's
echo brings order
to chaos, or composition
in improvisation.
Puddles of blood,
because a "hello"
is more than "hello"
to those who didn't know.
There is a melody to these that I love.
Everything else reads like just random statements to me. I see the “routine” of it all and how the poet keeps his sanity and his ass intact by writing, so in that sense it works, but in the end, it leaves me shrugging my shoulders and wanting to know more about the puddles of blood and those who didn’t know.
TB
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Brow,
thanks for the feedback. I actually tried to keep it as general as possible in this one just to see if any part at all would spark interest. The fourth stanza is definitely the most powerful of the six but I was always told not end two lines on the same word... I guess i'll find out if thats ok or not too  thanks again,
mike
Crit away
I like the list and the different types of things that are being compared. You could start the first few lines a little bit more interesting. Try starting off with something more exciting. I think some of the details that are listed throughout the stanza seem a little bit receptive or nonessential. I understand that is the theme here but I think you should eliminate a few.
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On the surface this is a poem describing a group of rather rough characters who seem to be playing in the recreation area of a prison.
I suppose “a faucet drips” is an expression to give the impression of time slowly passing. Unless we are to imagine men in a cloakroom or other place where there would be taps then I suggest a better metaphor might be found. For example “a pendulum swings”.
Because there only seems to be the threat of violence perhaps “Puddles of blood” is a bit strong. Perhaps “Fear is felt” would be enough and more realistic?
Perhaps the word “refer” in stanza 5 might be exchanged for ”assume”.
Finally the ending seems to suggest that the poem is not about an outside situation, but suggests it is about you finding a reason to write. Was that your intention?
Overall, the poem creates a vivid and easily imagined scene and so is generally IMHO a well written piece. Perhaps a change of metaphor here and there and toning down “Puddles of blood” would improve matters?
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(01-04-2016, 12:32 PM)Weeded Wrote: A faucet drips.
Dominos smack tables,
voices of bass notes These 2 lines are clumsy. More words than meaning. Like you're trying too hard to find a poetic way of saying "men argue"
hold aggressive tones.
Masters of calisthenics, card games,
fisticuffs and commissary
recipes call for cautionary
measures in every endeavor. This strophe, a single sentence, seems to want to say 2 different things. Read it carefully.
A faucet drip's
echo brings order
to chaos, or composition
in improvisation. I have a hard time believing the echo of a faucet's drip could bring order to chaos. Did you mean that it quiets the prisoner's mind?
Puddles of blood,
because a "hello"
is more than "hello" tense issue here. You need "is/don't" or "was/didn't"
to those who didn't know.
A faucet's drip
distracts me, or us.
Or them, I must refer
due to color of skin. Confusing
Pen to paper,
eyes to paper,
heart to paper
keeps me living.
A faucet drips.
Hey Weeded. Been enjoying your progress in general. Still some remnants of rap here but marked improvement. Also, I have no problem with lines ending on the same word provided it is done deliberately, with purpose, and not used to force rhyme or meter.
Paul
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Hey , nice poem.
Having said that I am going to make a number a stylistic to grammatical suggestion/edits, which of course you can take or leave. Many are to help the pace of the poem. I'm not saying mine are better, just trying to give you a different viewpoint and something to think about. Once again a lot of this is purely stylistic in nature.
Best,
dale
_________________________________________________________________________________________
A faucet drips.
Dominos smack tables,
voices of bass notes
hold (sound) aggressive tones. (can't hold a tone in this sense, could be bass notes hold aggression)
Masters of calisthenics, card games,
fisticuffs and commissary
recipes call for cautionary
measures in every endeavor.
(Masters of calisthenics,
card games, fisticuffs
and commissary recipes
call for cautionary
measures in every endeavor.)
A faucet drip's
echo brings order
to chaos, or composition
in improvisation.
(Echo of a dripping faucet
brings order to chaos
and composition
in improvisation.)
Puddles of blood,
because a "hello"
is more than "hello"
to those who didn't know. (tense? was-didn't or is-don't)
A faucet's drip (it's plural, not just one drip)
distracts me, or us.
Or them, I must refer
due to color of skin.
(The dripping distracts:
me; us; them
a division based
on the color of skin)
Pen to paper,
eyes to paper,
heart to paper
keeps me living. (I like this way of saying mind your own business and you will stay alive)
A faucet drips.
Possibly "A faucet drips..."
_______________________________________________________________________________
Dominoes was one of the few games of that type which my strict Southern Baptist upbringing allowed me to play (touching a deck of cards was shacking hands with the devil), but it was always a quite affair, no one ever talked except to note the scoring or to tally up the total. The difference between how I learned to play and how the black guys played was not all that different from the "White Baptist Church" I went to, and the "Black Baptist Church" that I got to go to once a year. Once a year there would be an exchange of preacher's between the two churches. None of today's rappers had anything on Brother Longmire, the Black preacher. I don't know if there is such a thing as a "Holy Spirit" or not, but if there is he had it in him. He was a beauty to behold. Had I been allowed to attend his church growing up, I might still be going to church, but I wasn't. I was forced to worship (be) in that tomb of a church that had the huge Roman colonnades at the front where no sound was heard except the drone of the preacher's voice or the off tune singing of the same hymns Sunday after Sunday. No Skinnerian conditioning could have been any better to make sure I would never be able to play with the black guys talking loud, slamming the bones, slapping hands and not ev'n a nickle for me, let alone quarter spoon!
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.
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Julius,
Thanks for the feedback. My intention with this piece was i guess to express my thoughts on everyday life in jail. Its a chaotic environment, yet somehow there's order. Theres also control. I'll take your ideas into consideration when i revise, thanks again.
Tiger the Lion
Thanks for the feedback, ill definitely keep working at it!
Erthona,
I appreciate the change in viewpoint, its always refreshing to see. I like what you did with most all the lines too ha. But your upbringing sounds similar to mine, my then-18 year old sister used to go to Black Baptist where my mom would take us to Catholic. I was very shocked the first time my sister took me to her church, but i never wanted to go to that boring Catholic mass again (until i found out that most Baptist sermons are about 2-3hrs in length haha)! But ive never heard of Brother Longmire, ill youtube him tho hehe. Thanks again for the feedback,
Mike
Crit away
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(01-04-2016, 12:32 PM)Weeded Wrote: A faucet drips.
Dominos smack tables,
voices of bass notes
hold aggressive tones. Agree with earlier; should not be hold, but sound.
Masters of calisthenics, card games,
fisticuffs and commissary
recipes call for cautionary
measures in every endeavor. I get what you're doing with the line counts, but the break in comissary recipes is too awkward. Better a division suggested earlier, which, to repeat: "Masters of calisthenics, / card games, fisticuffs, / and comissary recipes / call for cautionary / measures in every endeavor." Never forget the Oggsford comma.
A faucet drip's
echo brings order "A faucet drip's / echo": I get the play with verbal sound here, but the thought sound is too awkward; caught me off guard, and in this poem, I don't think that was warranted. Nevertheless, I like the general idea in this stanza; perhaps remove "or", for smoothness.
to chaos, or composition
in improvisation.
Puddles of blood,
because a "hello"
is more than "hello"
to those who didn't know. The image is in the present; the action that brought it up, in the past. At least that's how I got it; I could see it as being seen as an error, too. Stick with what you favor.
A faucet's drip The change here, from faucet drips to faucet's drip, is better than in the last stanza.
distracts me, or us. me, us, them should flow; the periods and ors break it, for me. Here's my take:
A faucet's drip
distracts me, us -- them,
due to color of skin.
Or them, I must refer
due to color of skin.
Pen to paper,
eyes to paper,
heart to paper
keeps me living. Like this stanza.
A faucet drips. Good, round, end.
If I ever go to prison (which I hope I won't), this could be a game -- base a series of verses on a faucet's drip, faucet drip, faucet drips, faucet drip's----
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I'm unsure why you have different lines for the echo of a faucet's drip and just a regular ole' faucet's drip. Is there something special about the echo that distinguishes it from the sound a regular drip makes? Why does the echo bring order but the non-echo drip distracts people?
I understand that you're playing around with the wording, but there doesn't seem to be any reason for it in the poem. To me, a routine is doing the same thing over and over, not different things every time.
I do like the theme of the poem, I especially like the imagery at the end of a prisoner writing this very poem to keep himself sane. In that sense, I think this is a good job - just needs work around the edges.
-BW
drivingbothfeetondash
Unregistered
The image of faucet dripping, specifically in a prison is powerful and evokes sentiments of disdain. My disdain is not towards the inmates, how could one have disdain for a man that plays dominos? Rather my disdain is towards the government because the dripping faucet speaks volumes about the commonly held notion of a prison being place of reform. How can we trust these stewards with humans if they cant repair a simple faucet.
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I haven't got around to editing this one, but I apologize on this late reply. Anyway,
Notch,
Thanks for the feedback. That was an error in S4, thanks for catching that I didnt even notice.
BW,
You bring up a very good point. Im honestly not sure why, upon reflection it looks like me doing what I do best, be faux-poetic ha. I think thats one of the things I was trying to convey in this one which was the main inspiration for the piece; how can an environment where all your choices are made for you and one is forced to live in the most mundane of routines be so un-routine(not sure if thats a word, but you know what I mean). Its something im still having trouble answering so I guess I just need to further my thought process before I can effectively convey what I wish. Thanks so much for that, you really got me thinking!
Feetondash,
Theres much worse things when it comes to living conditions in a jail besides a leaky faucet haha. I didnt want that to be the focus of this one but I imagine if I did write a poem about it it'd be disgusting, lol. Thanks for your thoughts tho!
mike
Crit away
i like the essence of what this poem is the struggle of jail and surviving everyday by writing and i only have one minor gripe about the hello is more than hello for you who didn't know line as it seems a little out of place to me as a casual reader but i feel it could easily be rephrased to sound fine.
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Grim,
Thanks for the feedback, I went ahead and pretty much rewrote this one, I felt like nothing held together really in the original.
mike
Crit away
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Interesting title. I especially enjoyed the first stanza. The tough consonant sounds compliment each other nicely.
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Mack,
Thanks for the feedback, and welcome to the forums. Don't be afraid to comment on anything you don't like
mike
Crit away
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"A faucet drips
like the clock's tick.
A domino hits,
bass tones emit."
I love the rhythm. Nice work
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