Routines: Poem 1

[CholSerp]

Routines: Poem 1

I clock out from White Digital Media Group where I write B2B copy and walk to my sedan. I ignite the car, tune it to Jazz 88 and drive to the reserve. I change into my running clothes and the woods breathe me in and breathe me out. I drive home and am greeted by my folks, their tenants and our animals: chickens, dogs, a cat and cockroaches.
 
Mom is in bed, often with pain from a car accident, or sleeping with the TV turned up to block noise. At 10 PM, she will get up and dress for work: the blue top and black bottom Walmart uniform. Her husband watches the salacious mock court TV show, Caso Cerrado, in the living room.
 
The Guatemalan tenants eat and talk in the kitchen. Everyone says buenas tardes. I check to see what mom’s left for dinner and eat standing up. I wash my dishes, throw them on the drainer and retire. In my bedroom, I denude and form an arc at my desk over a book. Later, I straighten up and wrap myself in sheet and blanket. Nube curls up behind me and I shut my eyes.
 
Through the night I am a linen hung on a clothesline in an open space. Dreams and nightmares blow against me. I remember past loves, act out taboos, repeat trials and am visited by ghosts. I wake as if bursting from under water. I inhale and look around. All things are in their place. I push the covers off and throw my legs over the edge of the bed.
 
 

[ellajam]

Hi, welcome to the Pen.

I can see from the title that the heart of the poem is supposed to be in the details but you haven't found a way to make the narrator's routine any more interesting than my own. Some notes below.

Routines: Poem 1

I clock out from White Digital Media Group where I write B2B copy and walk to my sedan. I ignite the car, tune it to Jazz 88 and drive to the reserve. I change into my running clothes and the woods breathe me in and breathe me out. I drive home and am greeted by my folks, their tenants and our animals: chickens, dogs, a cat and cockroaches.
I am confused by the drive, change clothes, drive sequence. The "woods breathe me in" line caught my interest but it wasn't sustained.

Mom is in bed, often with pain from a car accident, or sleeping with the TV turned up to block noise. At 10 PM, she will get up and dress for work: the blue top and black bottom Walmart uniform. Her husband watches the salacious mock court TV show, Caso Cerrado, in the living room.

The Guatemalan tenants eat and talk in the kitchen. Everyone says buenas tardes. I check to see what mom’s left for dinner and eat standing up. I wash my dishes, throw them on the drainer and retire. In my bedroom, I denude and form an arc at my desk over a book. Later, I straighten up and wrap myself in sheet and blanket. Nube curls up behind me and I shut my eyes.
Denude was an odd choice for me.

Through the night I am a linen hung on a clothesline in an open space. Dreams and nightmares blow against me. I remember past loves, act out taboos, repeat trials and am visited by ghosts. I wake as if bursting from under water. I inhale and look around. All things are in their place. I push the covers off and throw my legs over the edge of the bed.
The first line of the dream has great potential but what follows gave me nothing, here's where some details might have helped but all I get are general statements.

I know this is a pretty lightweight critique for the Serious forum but it's all I've got, maybe someone else can be of more help. I hope you enjoy the site.

[CholSerp]

Hi, welcome to the Pen.

I can see from the title that the heart of the poem is supposed to be in the details but you haven't found a way to make the narrator's routine any more interesting than my own. Some notes below.

Routines: Poem 1

I clock out from White Digital Media Group where I write B2B copy and walk to my sedan. I ignite the car, tune it to Jazz 88 and drive to the reserve. I change into my running clothes and the woods breathe me in and breathe me out. I drive home and am greeted by my folks, their tenants and our animals: chickens, dogs, a cat and cockroaches.
I am confused by the drive, change clothes, drive sequence. The "woods breathe me in" line caught my interest but it wasn't sustained.

Mom is in bed, often with pain from a car accident, or sleeping with the TV turned up to block noise. At 10 PM, she will get up and dress for work: the blue top and black bottom Walmart uniform. Her husband watches the salacious mock court TV show, Caso Cerrado, in the living room.

The Guatemalan tenants eat and talk in the kitchen. Everyone says buenas tardes. I check to see what mom’s left for dinner and eat standing up. I wash my dishes, throw them on the drainer and retire. In my bedroom, I denude and form an arc at my desk over a book. Later, I straighten up and wrap myself in sheet and blanket. Nube curls up behind me and I shut my eyes.
Denude was an odd choice for me.

Through the night I am a linen hung on a clothesline in an open space. Dreams and nightmares blow against me. I remember past loves, act out taboos, repeat trials and am visited by ghosts. I wake as if bursting from under water. I inhale and look around. All things are in their place. I push the covers off and throw my legs over the edge of the bed.
The first line of the dream has great potential but what follows gave me nothing, here's where some details might have helped but all I get are general statements.

I know this is a pretty lightweight critique for the Serious forum but it's all I've got, maybe someone else can be of more help. I hope you enjoy the site.

Hello Ella, 

Thank you so much for reading my poem and putting your two cents in! Your comments are helpful. 

I have a couple of questions. Can you tell me more about why the starting sequence is confusing?

And can you expand on what you mean by "breathe me in and breathe me out" not being sustained? 

Hope you can help. And once again, thank you!

[ellajam]

Hi, welcome to the Pen.

I can see from the title that the heart of the poem is supposed to be in the details but you haven't found a way to make the narrator's routine any more interesting than my own. Some notes below.

Routines: Poem 1

I clock out from White Digital Media Group where I write B2B copy and walk to my sedan. I ignite the car, tune it to Jazz 88 and drive to the reserve. I change into my running clothes and the woods breathe me in and breathe me out. I drive home and am greeted by my folks, their tenants and our animals: chickens, dogs, a cat and cockroaches.
I am confused by the drive, change clothes, drive sequence. The "woods breathe me in" line caught my interest but it wasn't sustained.

Mom is in bed, often with pain from a car accident, or sleeping with the TV turned up to block noise. At 10 PM, she will get up and dress for work: the blue top and black bottom Walmart uniform. Her husband watches the salacious mock court TV show, Caso Cerrado, in the living room.

The Guatemalan tenants eat and talk in the kitchen. Everyone says buenas tardes. I check to see what mom’s left for dinner and eat standing up. I wash my dishes, throw them on the drainer and retire. In my bedroom, I denude and form an arc at my desk over a book. Later, I straighten up and wrap myself in sheet and blanket. Nube curls up behind me and I shut my eyes.
Denude was an odd choice for me.

Through the night I am a linen hung on a clothesline in an open space. Dreams and nightmares blow against me. I remember past loves, act out taboos, repeat trials and am visited by ghosts. I wake as if bursting from under water. I inhale and look around. All things are in their place. I push the covers off and throw my legs over the edge of the bed.
The first line of the dream has great potential but what follows gave me nothing, here's where some details might have helped but all I get are general statements.

I know this is a pretty lightweight critique for the Serious forum but it's all I've got, maybe someone else can be of more help. I hope you enjoy the site.

Hello Ella, 

Thank you so much for reading my poem and putting your two cents in! Your comments are helpful. 

I have a couple of questions. Can you tell me more about why the starting sequence is confusing?

And can you expand on what you mean by "breathe me in and breathe me out" not being sustained? 

Hope you can help. And once again, thank you!

My pleasure.

" and drive to the reserve. I change into my running clothes and the woods breathe me in and breathe me out. I drive home"
I can follow it better now, I thought the N lived at the reserve, changed, ran, then I couldn't see why he was driving again. I guess there's a place at a nature preserve to change, I hadn't originally thought of that. In a poem full of detail I guess I need a few more.

"the woods breathe me in and breathe me out."
What I meant was this was the first line that caught me, that had what I read poems for, it was something I could feel and it got my imagination going. By "not sustained" I mean nothing further in the poem kept me at that interesting place.

Sorry I wasn't clearer, and hopefully someone else will give you a view of their read.

[porcelain bones]

I clock out from ... try 'of', instead 'from' White Digital Media Group where I write B2B copy and walk to my sedan. I ignite the car, tune it to Jazz 88 and drive to the reserve. I change into my running clothes and the woods breathe me in and breathe me out ... just say "breathe me in and out", great line though. I drive home and am greeted by my folks, their tenants and our animals: chickens, dogs, a cat and cockroaches. ... I agree with the above commenter, you should change "I drive home" to simply "at home I am greeted...", but come up with something better than greeted.
 
Mom is in bed, often with pain from a car accident ... "from that", otherwise it sounds like she's always getting in car accidents, or sleeping with the TV turned up to block noise ... say something more interesting like "drown out the rabble" (from life's monotony, maybe?), instead of "block out the noise". At 10 PM, she will get up and dress for work: the blue top and black bottom Walmart uniform. Her husband watches the salacious mock court TV show, Caso Cerrado, in the living room. 
 
The Guatemalan tenants eat and talk in the kitchen. Everyone says buenas tardes. I check to see what mom’s left for dinner and eat standing up. I wash my dishes, throw them on the drainer and retire. In my bedroom, I denude and form an arc at my desk over a book. Later, I straighten up and wrap myself in sheet and blanket. Nube curls up behind me and I shut my eyes. ... instead of denude be more allusive, something like "my clothes drop to the floor", but not that. Getting changed can be incredibly poetic, if treated correctly.
 
Through the night I am a linen hung on a clothesline in an open space. Dreams and nightmares blow against me. I remember past loves, act out taboos, repeat trials and am visited by ghosts. I wake as if bursting from under water. I inhale and look around. All things are in their place. I push the covers off and throw my legs over the edge of the bed. ... scrap everything after the first line. The initial metaphor is great, but the rest does not have the final punch you are looking for and ends up feeling like a bit of a wet sock after that first line.

[QDeathstar]

I liked this. I found the chopped language as a utinsel for setting the tone. I'm not sure if you meant it or if your not totally fluent in English (very few are), but it worked. I think the paragraph form is OK, the flow is nice and the words are relatively simple so it's not difficult to get through.

you have paint a picture here, but in poetry most are looking for meaning. I feel like you were going somewhere in the third stanza but just gave up and tacked on a "the end". Consider adding depth to the poem.

Routines: Poem 1

I clock out from White Digital Media Group where I write B2B copy and walk to my sedan. I ignite the car, tune it to Jazz 88 and drive to the reserve. I change into my running clothes and the woods breathe me in and breathe me out. I drive home and am greeted by my folks, their tenants and our animals: chickens, dogs, a cat and cockroaches.
 
Mom is in bed, often with pain from a car accident, or sleeping with the TV turned up to block noise. At 10 PM, she will get up and dress for work: the blue top and black bottom Walmart uniform. Her husband watches the salacious mock court TV show, Caso Cerrado, in the living room.
 
The Guatemalan tenants eat and talk in the kitchen. Everyone says buenas tardes. I check to see what mom’s left for dinner and eat standing up. I wash my dishes, throw them on the drainer and retire. In my bedroom, I denude and form an arc at my desk over a book. Later, I straighten up and wrap myself in sheet and blanket. Nube curls up behind me and I shut my eyes.
 
Through the night I am a linen hung on a clothesline in an open space. Dreams and nightmares blow against me. I remember past loves, act out taboos, repeat trials and am visited by ghosts. I wake as if bursting from under water. I inhale and look around. All things are in their place. I push the covers off and throw my legs over the edge of the bed.
 
 

[Achebe]

Routines: Poem 1

I clock out from White Digital Media Group where I write B2B copy and walk to my sedan. I ignite the car, tune it to Jazz 88 and drive to the reserve. I change into my running clothes and the woods breathe me in and breathe me out. I drive home and am greeted by my folks, their tenants and our animals: chickens, dogs, a cat and cockroaches. 
 
Mom is in bed, often with pain from a car accident, or sleeping with the TV turned up to block noise. At 10 PM, she will get up and dress for work: the blue top and black bottom Walmart uniform. Her husband watches the salacious mock court TV show, Caso Cerrado, in the living room. ....
 
The Guatemalan tenants eat and talk in the kitchen. Everyone says buenas tardes. I check to see what mom’s left for dinner and eat standing up. I wash my dishes, throw them on the drainer and retire. In my bedroom, I denude and form an arc at my desk over a book. Later, I straighten up and wrap myself in sheet and blanket. Nube curls up behind me and I shut my eyes.
 
Through the night I am a linen hung on a clothesline in an open space. Dreams and nightmares blow against me. I remember past loves, act out taboos, repeat trials and am visited by ghosts. I wake as if bursting from under water. I inhale and look around. All things are in their place. I push the covers off and throw my legs over the edge of the bed.
  

I liked 'the woods breathe me in and breathe me out' - very descriptive. 
Overall, a readable piece....but:

1) About the overall poem, I am bothered by its lack of a point. Descriptions of unrelated activities are fine up to a point, but after the third stanza I begin to wonder where you're going with this. Some sort of unity would be good. For instance, the poem could end with you clocking in to work - each day therefore being  a carbon copy of the other.
2)  Why mention Guatemalan? Unless there's some undertone to it that I don't understand, it's useless information.  
3) Do they really say buenas tardes at night?

[billy]

aside from the title there's a mundane feel about and it seems to be purposeful. that said it didn't pull me in enough to want to keep reading it; though i stayed the course.
i think i read it as prose even though it has poetic devices [could do with a few more] and this spoiled it as an out and out poem for me.

I ignite the car, tune it to Jazz 88 and drive to the reserve.
so you set fire to the car, turn the radio on and drive it away.  i know exactly what you mean but ignite catches me out and makes me stop to think if it's a good enough word choice. i like the reserve as it gives me a sense of where you live and adds depth for caso cerrado later on, unless reserve just means home.

after reading it a few times i'm noticing all the I's which would stand out even more in a shorter lined version; both versions would need less I's

the woods breathe me in and breathe me out there's a solid image here, the woods in a way giving you life

Mom is in bed, often with pain from a car accident things like this need an image or else it's just a non poetic story

Through the night I am a linen hung on a clothesline in an open space. this is what i mean by an image [a suggestion would be a piece of linen]

in general i'd like to see less wordage and more imagery, good to see you posting poetry and feedback, welcome to the site.

Routines: Poem 1

I clock out from White Digital Media Group where I write B2B copy and walk to my sedan. I ignite the car, tune it to Jazz 88 and drive to the reserve. I change into my running clothes and the woods breathe me in and breathe me out. I drive home and am greeted by my folks, their tenants and our animals: chickens, dogs, a cat and cockroaches.
 
Mom is in bed, often with pain from a car accident, or sleeping with the TV turned up to block noise. At 10 PM, she will get up and dress for work: the blue top and black bottom Walmart uniform. Her husband watches the salacious mock court TV show, Caso Cerrado, in the living room.
 
The Guatemalan tenants eat and talk in the kitchen. Everyone says buenas tardes. I check to see what mom’s left for dinner and eat standing up. I wash my dishes, throw them on the drainer and retire. In my bedroom, I denude and form an arc at my desk over a book. Later, I straighten up and wrap myself in sheet and blanket. Nube curls up behind me and I shut my eyes.
 
Through the night I am a linen hung on a clothesline in an open space. Dreams and nightmares blow against me. I remember past loves, act out taboos, repeat trials and am visited by ghosts. I wake as if bursting from under water. I inhale and look around. All things are in their place. I push the covers off and throw my legs over the edge of the bed.
 
 

[/i][/i]

[Mattp]

CholSerp - hey, so a couple of points. Firstly I'll reiterate a statement already made that this reads more like prose than poetry. As far as prose goes I don't mind it, but I can't shake the impression this isn't a finished piece - it reads more like a beginning of something, like you're setting the stage for a story. If you added a few paragraphs, or more, after what you have I'd certainly read it.

Potential here. Thanks for the read,

- Matt

[zorcas]

The previous comments lead to this conclusion: you've written a poem  with no apparent point so we get mostly a listing of routines none of which are remarkable. Imagine if the next day someone asked how yesterday had gone and you told them  what you put into the poem: they'd die of boredom. If you reread the poem carefully you might see that the only original description of anything is in the last stanza and discover that none of what precedes it has any bearing. Indeed, you sent this in long before it was ready. Ask yourself, "'What do I want to say?" Then say it in as few words as possible. Once the path is clear, embellish, decorate and explain, never getting off the path you chose.