A Lament

[Lizzie]

Edit 1

I grieve for the shorn-short grasses
       that wanted to seed,
       and for the dandelions
       that won't witness
       their hair turning white.
       Life presses and pressures
       them up toward the blades.
       Every month or so, we make the choice:
       to neuter the grass.

I grieve for the thistles, the clover, the saplings
       whose cycle is again rebuffed.
       They would have provided
       shade and shelter
       from my curious children
       and other predators.
       Every month or so we make the choice:
       the land will remain barren.

I grieve for the tree-dwelling caterpillar,
       with yellow and orange tiger stripes
       and gentle porcupine spines.
       My children ecstatically worshiped it,
       then dropped and crushed it underneath
       pudgy-pink, innocent feet –
       its life as short as their attention spans.

I grieve for the red shed next door,
       decomposing on foreclosed property.
       A fallen gutter, a broken window –
       time is pressing down on it,
       pressuring it into the dirt.
       Moss has overtaken its roof;
       the earth owns its title.

I grieve for the fallen orange Popsicle
       diminishing in the shredded grass
       like decay captured in time-lapse film.
       We wash it with the garden hose,
       eroding its purpose like chalk-soft rock,
       while my hungry 2-year-old melts into tears.

---

Original version (titled "A Lament")

I grieve for the shorn-short grass
       that wanted to seed,
       and for the dandelions
       that won't witness
       their hair turning white.
       I grieve for the nature pressing, pressuring,
       whose cycle is again rebuffed.
       I grieve for the thistles, the clover,
       the yellow flowers, the mushrooms
       that would have grown,
       provided habitat and food,
       shade and shelter –
       for rabbits, fawns, snakes, spiders –
       from my curious children
       and other predators.
       Every month or so, we make this same choice:
       to neuter the grass.

I grieve for the tree-dwelling caterpillar,
       with yellow and orange tiger stripes
       and gentle porcupine spines.
       My children explosively worshiped it,
       then dropped and crushed it underneath
       unknowing and innocent feet.
       Its life was as short as their attention spans.

I grieve for the red shed next door,
       decomposing on foreclosed property.
       A fallen gutter, a broken window –
       time is always pressing down on it,
       pressuring it into the dirt.
       Moss has overtaken its roof;
       the earth owns it now.

I grieve for the orange-fallen Popsicle
       diminishing in the shredded grass
       like decay captured in time-lapse film.
       We wash it with the green garden hose,
       eroding it like chalk-soft rock, while my
       2-year-old melts into red-faced tears.

[aschueler]

Very nice. I have some thoughts but will come back. Consider this a place setter...

[Achebe]

Hi lizzie - the line endings are abrupt, and upset the rhythm of what should be a mood piece. Eg the second last line, where the 'my' produces an unsatisfactory enjambment.
This is one pome that I feel would benefit from rhyme and some form of meter, however irregular.
At present it's just prose.

[QDeathstar]

Not a serious crit, but overall I find this to be more of a brain-storm poem than I real poem. Eg, you kept writing to bring out more ideas, but never made the appropriate cuts.

The poem has some great imagery, I especially enjoyed the last stanza's first few lines.

However, it is hard to see how everything fits together, beyond a list of things. You move toward increasingly unnatural things that you lament (the grass, a bug, a cabin, an artificially flavored popcycle) but the reason for that isn't clear, if there is one.

I also find the last line of the first stanza to be strange. I mean, if we are just talking about mowing the lawn most people do that more than once a month. It kind of conjures up a period/ovulation image and I'm not sure you were going for that.

[ellajam]

Not a serious crit, but overall I find this to be more of a brain-storm poem than I real poem. Eg, you kept writing to bring out more ideas, but never made the appropriate cuts.

The poem has some great imagery, I especially enjoyed the last stanza's first few lines.

However, it is hard to see how everything fits together, beyond a list of things. You move toward increasingly unnatural things that you lament (the grass, a bug, a cabin, an artificially flavored popcycle) but the reason for that isn't clear, if there is one.

I also find the last line of the first stanza to be strange. I mean, if we are just talking about mowing the lawn most people do that more than once a month. It kind of conjures up a period/ovulation image and I'm not sure you were going for that.

Thanks, P, that brings a whole other level to the read, interesting.

I'm not ready to crit yet either. I'm enjoying the imagery and emptiness, but off the bat "while my
2-year-old melts into red-faced tears." didn't sit well and hasn't settled in on subsequent reads. The toddler will skip away at the first distraction no matter how heartbroken he is in the moment, and I don't think the N will.

[Quixilated]

Hello Liz,

I very much enjoyed reading this. Here are some thoughts, but if I’ve completely misunderstood, just know it’s not you, it’s me. Grasping the true or more subtle meaning of poems is still in the “under construction” phase of my sojourn here.

The first half of the poem reads like an environmental/conservation piece, a sort of “stop torturing nature and let it breathe” which gears the reader to read the rest of the poem with that mindset, which then makes parts of the following stanzas seem strange and out of place.

I read it several times before I decided this was not a lament about “what humans are doing to nature” but simply a lament about lamentable things. For if this were about nature being tortured, then the third stanza would not be a lament, but a cheer of victory as nature breaks down the man-made and fills it with moss and bugs, and takes back its turf. Also, if this were a conservationist poem, the final stanza about the Popsicle would be out of place.

When I made the adjustment and focused solely on the lamenting of things, I discovered that everything fit together just fine, and not only did I like the poem, but could identify with it. There are so many little grievances all around, destruction, loss, the ending of a thing. The trouble is, you almost need to give a hint at the beginning that this is what’s going on (or maybe not if I’m the only one who struggled with that), because there are so many environmental indicators it’s really hard to see past that at first.

If I’ve completely misunderstood and it IS a lament about nature specifically, then the bit about the barn and the Popsicle should probably be cut or reworked. Though I like them in their own right and would be sorry to see them go, and the Popsicle line could almost stand alone as its own short poem.

Anyway, a few comments on specific lines below.

A Lament

The other three stanzas are all about the same length, whereas this first one is twice as long. Perhaps this is part of the reason I attributed greater importance to this first part and read all the others as sub-categories of this first theme. You could easily cut this in two, you even have an “I grieve” line right in the middle. This would lessen its weight and make it more even in length and in subliminal significance.

I grieve for the shorn-short grass
       that wanted to seed,
       and for the dandelions
       that won't witness
       their hair turning white. Love this bit about the dandelions.
       I grieve for the nature pressing, pressuring,
       whose cycle is again rebuffed.
       I grieve for the thistles, the clover, Recommend a paragraph break here.
       the yellow flowers, the mushrooms
       that would have grown,
       provided habitat and food,
       shade and shelter –
       for rabbits, fawns, snakes, spiders –
       from my curious children
       and other predators.
       Every month or so, we make this same choice:
       to neuter the grass. Personal preference, if you do cut this in two, I would put these last two lines at the end of the new first stanza, right before “I grieve for thistles etc.” And then you'd probably need a new closer for the new second stanza.

I grieve for the tree-dwelling caterpillar,
       with yellow and orange tiger stripes
       and gentle porcupine spines.
       My children explosively worshiped it, "explosively" seems the wrong word, it moves the violence too soon. The image is too violent and renders the crushing anticlimactic after.
       then dropped and crushed it underneath
       unknowing and innocent feet.
       Its life was as short as their attention spans. I like this.


I grieve for the red shed next door, Me too. Not that one, but all the dilapidated in general. They seem so forlorn. I love this stanza.
       decomposing on foreclosed property.
       A fallen gutter, a broken window –
       time is always pressing down on it,
       pressuring it into the dirt.
       Moss has overtaken its roof;
       the earth owns it now.


I grieve for the orange-fallen Popsicle not sure a hyphen is what you want here
       diminishing in the shredded grass
       like decay captured in time-lapse film. Love this line/image
       We wash it with the green garden hose,
       eroding it like chalk-soft rock, while my
       2-year-old melts into red-faced tears.

Hope something in all this ramble helps a little.

--Quix

[Lizzie]

Thanks for the comments so far! It looks like a statement of intent might be in order:

I intended this to be a lament for things that don't get to fulfill their purpose, whether they never existed, died too early, were neglected, etc.

The ovulation reference was very intentional. I guess we don't mow our grass often compared with other people!

I feel like you got it, Quix

[Todd]

Hi Lizzie,

I was in the middle of commenting and got called away. Here is some feedback for you.

A Lament  --Fairly generic forgettable title. I'd give this some more thought.



I grieve for the shorn-short grass--I like shorn-short. It makes me think of grass with grazing animals.
       that wanted to seed,--This personification of the grass is interesting in that you assign the want to the grass instead of the speaker.
       and for the dandelions
       that won't witness
       their hair turning white.
       I grieve for the nature pressing, pressuring,--I don't think pressing, pressuring adds much to the line.
       whose cycle is again rebuffed. --This line lets us in on the issue unnatural cultivation vs leaving nature to grow wild.
       I grieve for the thistles, the clover,--While I can follow the sentiment of the lines I do not like any "I grive" found as anything other than what leads a section. I think this works better with just one of those per section. I didn't call that out above but I mean this note for that line as well.
       the yellow flowers, the mushrooms--Yellow flowers might be better stated as a specific flower or flowers choice.
       that would have grown,
       provided habitat and food,--the next line sounds good for its alliteration. This one though just feels too flat...like you are giving me needed information but not moving me.
       shade and shelter –
       for rabbits, fawns, snakes, spiders –--I didn't mind the listing of plants above but its starting to feel like just a collection of nouns.
       from my curious children
       and other predators. --The other makes this line really nice.
       Every month or so, we make this same choice:
       to neuter the grass.--I like neuter the grass. It fits the theme and is evocative language.


I grieve for the tree-dwelling caterpillar,
       with yellow and orange tiger stripes
       and gentle porcupine spines.--wonderful detail here.
       My children explosively worshiped it, --love the phrasing and content here.
       then dropped and crushed it underneath
       unknowing and innocent feet.--This last part from underneath on is a little too wordy.
       Its life was as short as their attention spans.--probably don't need the was. Though I realize that may be more technically proper.


I grieve for the red shed next door,
       decomposing on foreclosed property.
       A fallen gutter, a broken window –
       time is always pressing down on it, --Now we've moved to created things in disrepair. I think you can remove is always and have a better line.
       pressuring it into the dirt. --I see your repetition of pressing and pressuring. I think it works here.
       Moss has overtaken its roof;
       the earth owns it now.


I grieve for the orange-fallen Popsicle
       diminishing in the shredded grass
       like decay captured in time-lapse film.--This is a nice image.
       We wash it with the green garden hose,--I don't know if green really adds anything.
       eroding it like chalk-soft rock, while my--I like eroding and chalk-soft rock 
       2-year-old melts into red-faced tears.--Might be stronger without red-faced. I do like the ending though.

I hope the comments help some.

Best,

Todd

[Todd]

I don't why the text is so big where I commented on the title. Please don't read anything into that.

[Lizzie]

I don't why the text is so big where I commented on the title. Please don't read anything into that.

I get it dude, you hate my title!

It was the Laundry Line poem that you said you'd come back to.

[Todd]

I don't why the text is so big where I commented on the title. Please don't read anything into that.

I get it dude, you hate my title!

It was the Laundry Line poem that you said you'd come back to.

I just did.

[Lizzie]

(I originally had the edit in a separate thread because I was new and didn't know what I was doing. So, I've copied the critique from that thread and put it here so that I could blend the two threads.)

Billy wrote: so much to like with this one, some of the observational imagery is almost palpable, i think some of the shorter words could be removed without damaging the poem but they don't really interfere with the reading. pressing and pressure used twice felt like the only real thing i'd advise trying to do something wit. other than that it was a solid read with some great micro imagery.

Edit 1

I grieve for the shorn-short grasses great ess'
       that wanted to seed,
       and for the dandelions
       that won't witness
       their hair turning white.
       Life presses and pressures
       them up toward the blades.
       Every month or so, we make the choice:
       to neuter the grass.

I grieve for the thistles, the clover, the saplings
       whose cycle is again rebuffed.
       They would have provided
       shade and shelter
       from my curious children
       and other predators.
       Every month or so we make the choice:
       the land will remain barren.

I grieve for the tree-dwelling caterpillar,
       with yellow and orange tiger stripes
       and gentle porcupine spines.
       My children ecstatically worshiped it,
       then dropped and crushed it underneath
       pudgy-pink, innocent feet –
       its life as short as their attention spans.

I grieve for the red shed next door,
       decomposing on foreclosed property.
       A fallen gutter, a broken window –
       time is pressing down on it,
       pressuring it into the dirt.
       Moss has overtaken its roof;
       the earth owns its title.

I grieve for the fallen orange Popsicle
       diminishing in the shredded grass
       like decay captured in time-lapse film. lines 1 to 3 are my favourite image.
       We wash it with the garden hose,
       eroding its purpose like chalk-soft rock,
       while my hungry 2-year-old melts into tears. while this image ties in so closely to the one of decay