NICU, For Dominic Edit #2.1

[Animal Riots Activist]

NICU, for Dominic   Edit #1
You breathe, we hold ours ready for a fall; --unlike others, I really have no qualms with this first line or it's rhymed pair. w/r/t the rest of the sonnet it fits and is quite a strong start.
we watch you lifted from your mother's womb
and exhale as we hear a raucous bawl.
I count the possibilities of doom --upon reading this a couple of times I've gone back and forth about my feelings on this enjambment. I feel like it works in that the lines/rhyme pairs of a sonnet should be subtle and flow together. However, the steady canter of the rest of the poem almost seems to be broken by this enjambment, like a heart murmur. I don't think that's necessarily bad, but I do think it needs to be a conscious decision whether to enjamb or not (that isn't to say it may not be a decision you have already deliberated over, but I'm just pointing it out)
upon your toes, my abacus; shifting lines
of monitors and regulators beep
their sharp cacophony of vital signs. --really nice three lines here.
You dance the limbo of sedated sleep,
machines to graph the mysteries of dreams. --"Mysteries of dreams" throws me off here; seems a tad cliche and a tad redundant (dreams are already mysterious). I know you've changed this from your previous edit, but I don't think its there quite just yet. I actually like you're first draft version better from a poetic stand point, but that too suffers from abstraction.
I travel lines along plump palms, your future grand
achievements, sweet affairs and daring schemes,
your secret strengths revealed in each small hand.
You'll be the death of us or deepest pride,
like any other child, just multiplied. --very strong ending.

Really great work Miss Ella, just needs some minor tinkering.

Hi, ARA, I can't thank you enough for your time and helpful comments. You've helped me realize how much trouble I'm really in.
I thought removing the "and triumph" from below "I count the possibilities of doom" would soften the impact of using two lines (which I tell myself is different from unsuccessful enjambment), but I think I'm in the same place. I am trying desparely to hold onto "toes, my ababcus" but having moved it off the end of the line there's not much room to count unless I use the line above.  What to do, what to do...
Mysteries seems to be problematic, when you say you prefer the first draft, although it also was too abstract, did you mean the whole or were you referring to the mystery, mysteries line?
Again, thanks for your arrows to the weak points and and your encouragement to keep banging my head against this particular wall.

Hey Ella, glad I could help! I really don't think you're in trouble at all. In fact I think in a poem as emotionally charged as this, only needing minor tinkering by the first edit is fantastic and quite the achievement.

I definitely think "toes my abacus" needs to stay. It's undoubtedly a very tough phrase to use in IP, but lets be honest, its far too good of a line to cut. Maybe something like:

I count the possibilities of doom;
your toes [act as] my abacus. Shifting lines

Still enjambed there, but the semicolon really does a bit to separate it into a not quite so enjambed feeling. I know 'act as' isn't in IP and even worse--just like the phrase 'are like'--it turns an awesome metaphor into a still awesome, but somewhat less awesome simile. I think definitely don't use either of those but maybe play around with the words in the brackets? Like I said, I don't think the enjambment (or the word abacus and it's associated metric "land mine" ) are not necessarily a bad thing as a murmur in the poem. In fact I think you could go many ways and continue to struggle more to fix it, or find a way to draw even more attention to it, or just leave it as it is.

I do think mysteries is the shared problem, but I was referring to "graphing flares" in cahoots with mysteries as abstract. Unfortunately, I don't have any productive ideas for improving this one, sorry...

Man. Sonnets are like wind sprints for poets. Just keep fighting the good fight.
-Em

[tectak]

NICU, for Dominic   Edit #1

Hi ella.
Late coming and pedantic to boot. I think this is a keeper once you have edited out the  first line error of  holding breathe
You breathe, we hold ours ready for a fall;
we watch you lifted from your mother's womb Of course, who else's womb would it be? Missed opportunity to enhance the drama of a caesarean (you did say lifted from the womb) by considering the physiological rather than the parental...so " We watch you lifted from the gaping(ravaged, outraged, ripened etc. Loads of possibilities) womb.
and exhale as we hear a raucous bawl. Unless there is a football match in progress nearby I would drop the indefinite article in favour of "your"
I count the possibilities of doom
upon your toes, my abacus; shifting lines Finely expressed but not glorified by the enjambment. You could end the line and sentence with "...abacus. "
of monitors and regulators beep
their sharp cacophony of vital signs.
You dance the limbo of sedated sleep,
machines to graph the mysteries of dreams. Structurally wonky sentence. Read it out loud. You think you wrote something else
I travel lines along plump palms, your future grand
achievements, sweet affairs and daring schemes,
your secret strengths revealed in each small hand.
You'll be the death of us or deepest pride,
like any other child, just multiplied.

Good work. Mission accomplished

NICU, For Dominic.  Original

Your first breath holds ours frozen, after all
the weeks you grew inside your mother's womb,
arriving early with an anxious bawl.
I count the possibilities of doom
and triumph on your toes, my abacus,
as monitors and regulators beep
and flash your vital signs. You mildly fuss
then slip back into artificial sleep;
your dreams a mystery of graphing flares.
I trace fine lines on palms, your future: grand
achievements, escapades, sweet love affairs...
your secret strengths read in each tiny hand.
Although our place does not dictate our worth,
we cannot earn the luck or curse of birth.

[/b]

[ellajam]

NICU, for Dominic   Edit #1

Hi ella.
Late coming and pedantic to boot. I think this is a keeper once you have edited out the  first line error of  holding breathe
You breathe, we hold ours ready for a fall;
we watch you lifted from your mother's womb Of course, who else's womb would it be? Missed opportunity to enhance the drama of a caesarion (you did say lifted from the womb) by considering the physiological rather than the parental...so " We watch you lifted from the gaping(ravaged, outraged, ripened etc. Loads of possibilities) womb.
and exhale as we hear a raucous bawl. Unless there is a football match in progress nearby I would drop the indefinite article in favour of "your"
I count the possibilities of doom
upon your toes, my abacus; shifting lines Finely expressed but not glorified by the enjambment. You could end the line and sentence with "...abacus. "
of monitors and regulators beep
their sharp cacophony of vital signs.
You dance the limbo of sedated sleep,
machines to graph the mysteries of dreams. Structurally wonky sentence. Read it out loud. You think you wrote something else
I travel lines along plump palms, your future grand
achievements, sweet affairs and daring schemes,
your secret strengths revealed in each small hand.
You'll be the death of us or deepest pride,
like any other child, just multiplied.

Good work. Mission accomplished

NICU, For Dominic.  Original

Your first breath holds ours frozen, after all
the weeks you grew inside your mother's womb,
arriving early with an anxious bawl.
I count the possibilities of doom
and triumph on your toes, my abacus,
as monitors and regulators beep
and flash your vital signs. You mildly fuss
then slip back into artificial sleep;
your dreams a mystery of graphing flares.
I trace fine lines on palms, your future: grand
achievements, escapades, sweet love affairs...
your secret strengths read in each tiny hand.
Although our place does not dictate our worth,
we cannot earn the luck or curse of birth.

[/b]

Thanks, Tom, good points all that I will put to use, especially thankful for the womb comment, so right.

Abacus at the end, it has no rhyme, maybe a "uous" word, like ambiguous, or maybe calculus. I might try to work something out. Stinks when your best line stinks.

[Municipal Alchemist]

This is a beautifully written sonnet, one that flows naturally within the form without drawing to much attention to the structure. My strategy here is to recommend some small changes to words that I think help with clarity/sentence structure without sacrificing the form. If you feel they're too much of a departure from what you want, that is totally your call. Hope it helps! This is a deeply emotional and delicate poem (quite like its topic), so I'm trying to keep those aspects intact. It's lovely to read.

NICU, for Dominic   Edit #1


You breathe, we hold ours with ours held ready for a fall;
we watch you lifted from your mother's womb
and exhale as we hear a raucous bawl.
I count the possibilities of doom
upon your toes, my abacus; (shifting) lines I'm not sold on shifting. It fits the tone, but is a little confusing in the narrative.
of on monitors and regulators beep
their a sharp cacophony of vital signs. "their" feels to harsh for an unstressed syllable
You dance the limbo of sedated sleep,
machines to graph the mysteries of dreams.
I travel trace the lines along plump soft palms, your future grand "plump" should be unstressed, soft is also stressed, but the assonance with "palms" disguises that a bit more
achievements, sweet affairs and daring schemes,
your secret strengths revealed in each small hand.
You'll be the death of us, or our deepest pride, I'm not a parent, but I think any child is both. Revel in the contradiction! But is it a contradiction? A parent's pride comes from their child surpassing them, taking their place as they move into the world.
like any other child, just but multiplied.

That ended up being more edits than I thought! This is my own stylistic take on your poem, using what you had as a guide, so approach it only as an interpretation.

[ellajam]

This is a beautifully written sonnet, one that flows naturally within the form without drawing to much attention to the structure. My strategy here is to recommend some small changes to words that I think help with clarity/sentence structure without sacrificing the form. If you feel they're too much of a departure from what you want, that is totally your call. Hope it helps! This is a deeply emotional and delicate poem (quite like its topic), so I'm trying to keep those aspects intact. It's lovely to read.

NICU, for Dominic   Edit #1


You breathe, we hold ours with ours held ready for a fall;
we watch you lifted from your mother's womb
and exhale as we hear a raucous bawl.
I count the possibilities of doom
upon your toes, my abacus; (shifting) lines I'm not sold on shifting. It fits the tone, but is a little confusing in the narrative.
of on monitors and regulators beep  
their a sharp cacophony of vital signs.  "their" feels to harsh for an unstressed syllable
You dance the limbo of sedated sleep,
machines to graph the mysteries of dreams.
I travel trace the lines along plump soft palms, your future grand "plump" should be unstressed, soft is also stressed, but the assonance with "palms" disguises that a bit more
achievements, sweet affairs and daring schemes,  
your secret strengths revealed in each small hand.
You'll be the death of us, or our deepest pride,  I'm not a parent, but I think any child is both. Revel in the contradiction! But is it a contradiction? A parent's pride comes from their child surpassing them, taking their place as they move into the world.
like any other child, just but multiplied.

That ended up being more edits than I thought! This is my own stylistic take on your poem, using what you had as a guide, so approach it only as an interpretation.

Hi, and thanks so much for taking the time with this one.
L1: I fear I agree with tectak that the whole you breathe/we hold (breath) doesn't work, it needs a rewrite, thanks for trying to make it work.
L5: Thanks for the comment on shifting, it may be one of the problems there, I'll think on it.
L6: Yes to the change to "on", good one. Same with the change for L7.
L10: It's a stinker but pivotal, thanks for adding your two cents, I need all the help I can get with it. Did you mind the extra foot?
L13: Nice change.
L14: I originally had but and changed it to just, I'll rethink it.

So, those are my impressions of your impressions. I love going into an edit with all that Pigpen ammo, for me the differing views really help me figure out what the hell I'm really trying to say (tho sometimes my head just keeps spinning). I appreciate your clear input and hopefully will put it to good use.

[Municipal Alchemist]

This is a beautifully written sonnet, one that flows naturally within the form without drawing to much attention to the structure. My strategy here is to recommend some small changes to words that I think help with clarity/sentence structure without sacrificing the form. If you feel they're too much of a departure from what you want, that is totally your call. Hope it helps! This is a deeply emotional and delicate poem (quite like its topic), so I'm trying to keep those aspects intact. It's lovely to read.

NICU, for Dominic   Edit #1


You breathe, we hold ours with ours held ready for a fall;
we watch you lifted from your mother's womb
and exhale as we hear a raucous bawl.
I count the possibilities of doom
upon your toes, my abacus; (shifting) lines I'm not sold on shifting. It fits the tone, but is a little confusing in the narrative.
of on monitors and regulators beep  
their a sharp cacophony of vital signs.  "their" feels to harsh for an unstressed syllable
You dance the limbo of sedated sleep,
machines to graph the mysteries of dreams.
I travel trace the lines along plump soft palms, your future grand "plump" should be unstressed, soft is also stressed, but the assonance with "palms" disguises that a bit more
achievements, sweet affairs and daring schemes,  
your secret strengths revealed in each small hand.
You'll be the death of us, or our deepest pride,  I'm not a parent, but I think any child is both. Revel in the contradiction! But is it a contradiction? A parent's pride comes from their child surpassing them, taking their place as they move into the world.
like any other child, just but multiplied.

That ended up being more edits than I thought! This is my own stylistic take on your poem, using what you had as a guide, so approach it only as an interpretation.

Hi, and thanks so much for taking the time with this one.
L1: I fear I agree with tectak that the whole you breathe/we hold (breath) doesn't work, it needs a rewrite, thanks for trying to make it work.
L5: Thanks for the comment on shifting, it may be one of the problems there, I'll think on it.
L6: Yes to the change to "on", good one. Same with the change for L7.
L10: It's a stinker but pivotal, thanks for adding your two cents, I need all the help I can get with it. Did you mind the extra foot?
L13: Nice change.
L14: I originally had but and changed it to just, I'll rethink it.

So, those are my impressions of your impressions. I love going into an edit with all that Pigpen ammo, for me the differing views really help me figure out what the hell I'm really trying to say (tho sometimes my head just keeps spinning). I appreciate your clear input and hopefully will put it to good use.

I didn't even notice the extra foot! so my answer is that it's fine.

[ellajam]

Well, I've thrown this up against the wall of critique again and as usual I'm not sure if I improved it or cut the best bits. I'm still having fun with it, thanks again to all of you who poke each edit for me.

[Todd]

I really like the choices you've made here ella:

Caul, lacerated womb, peaking, pulling out the sweet affairs in place of boyish pranks (it seems more real to be envisioning childhood and not adulthood so soon). This may be at a point when you should let it sit again to see if you're still happy with it all. Here are my call outs and suggestions (not many at this stage):

NICU, for Dominic   Edit #2

We wait as you are lifted from your caul
and held above her lacerated womb,
then exhale when we hear your raucous bawl.
I count the possibilities of doom
upon your toes, my abacus; peaking lines--While peaking is a much better content word than shifting was, this line reads rough to me. The poem loses its cadence here. You may be trying to fit too much into the line. I love the content this is more of a how does it sound when you read it out loud issue to me.
on monitors and regulators beep
a sharp cacophony of vital signs.--Maybe substitute the "a" for an "in" 
You dance the limbo of sedated sleep,
machines to graph the flutter of your dreams.
I trace your palm, declare your future grand,
our dreams for you of boyish pranks and schemes--Your using dreams quite a bit. I like the dreams schemes internal rhyme, but there's one dreams too many here for me.
are tightly held in each small grasping hand.
You'll be the death of us, our deepest pride
like any other child, but multiplied.

Just some thoughts as you trudge through revisions.

Best,

Todd

[ellajam]

I really like the choices you've made here ella:

Caul, lacerated womb, peaking, pulling out the sweet affairs in place of boyish pranks (it seems more real to be envisioning childhood and not adulthood so soon). This may be at a point when you should let it sit again to see if you're still happy with it all. Here are my call outs and suggestions (not many at this stage):

NICU, for Dominic   Edit #2

We wait as you are lifted from your caul
and held above her lacerated womb,
then exhale when we hear your raucous bawl.
I count the possibilities of doom
upon your toes, my abacus; peaking lines--While peaking is a much better content word than shifting was, this line reads rough to me. The poem loses its cadence here. You may be trying to fit too much into the line. I love the content this is more of a how does it sound when you read it out loud issue to me.
on monitors and regulators beep
a sharp cacophony of vital signs.--Maybe substitute the "a" for an "in" 
You dance the limbo of sedated sleep,
machines to graph the flutter of your dreams.
I trace your palm, declare your future grand,
our dreams for you of boyish pranks and schemes--Your using dreams quite a bit. I like the dreams schemes internal rhyme, but there's one dreams too many here for me.
are tightly held in each small grasping hand.
You'll be the death of us, our deepest pride
like any other child, but multiplied.

Just some thoughts as you trudge through revisions.

Best,

Todd

Thanks, Todd, that damned abacus, I can't seem to make it work. I still have a problem not hearing it with a second stress so the line always sounds awkward to me no matter what I do. I'll see what happens when I come back to it. Line 9 I've tried of and a, I'll give in a tryout. I was thinking that his dreams vs ours might let me use it twice, but maybe I'll see if I can use something else.

Thanks so much for your time and efforts with this.

[Mark A Becker]

Hello ellajam-

Since I have a great affinity for syllabic poems I noticed right away the 10 count/line in this one, with the exception of L.5 which ends with "...peaking lines."  I would have to think this that L.5 having an 11 count is a mistake, since I can see many ways to make L.5 equal 10 syllables.

Syllabic poems are hard to write, and there is a tendency to force things.  I know this, because I've written several syllabic poems.  In my older age (or from craziness/laziness) I now find that having a line or two that doesn't measure perfectly is perfectly OK.  That said, I will always have a really good reason for breaking my own syllabic count, by calling attention to the rogue line(s).

L.5 seems to contain 11 syllables for no reason except as an oversight.  Hopefully I won't read other responses after I finish mine, and come to realize that this is not intended as a syllabic poem.  If you got 10 per line by sheer coincidence I'd be very surprised.

I must say that you've done an excellent job with the rhymes, as they fall in place nicely for me.  

The only real problem I have with your poem is the very end, and I'm not sure what to suggest now that you're on EDIT 2.  I get that you are conveying the added (multiplied) responsibility/purpose that a new child brings, but I'd love see "only multiplied" as addition magnified into multiplication, instead of multiplication that subtracts from my enjoyment of this poem.  For me (and I stress "for me") those last words may rhyme nicely, but they separated me from the new child just as I was welcoming him to the club.

This unfortunately occurs (for me, again) after the wonderful description of childbirth that is being shared.  Perhaps it's that I am one of eight kids, that I have such a strong reaction to any child being singled out as tops.  I have been in the childbirth scene myself, and I do admit the overwhelming feeling of adoration that accompanies it.  Still, I must admit to feeling un-invited at the end of your poem.

All of that said, I love the snippets such as "..I count the possibilities of doom" and "...declare you grand".  I would not comment on your poem unless it struck me as one to comment on, and despite any (actually minor) misgivings, this poem, like any other child, is a wonderful new addition. Or edition...  

Thanks,
...Mark

[ellajam]

Hello ellajam-

Since I have a great affinity for syllabic poems I noticed right away the 10 count/line in this one, with the exception of L.5 which ends with "...peaking lines."  I would have to think this that L.5 having an 11 count is a mistake, since I can see many ways to make L.5 equal 10 syllables.

Syllabic poems are hard to write, and there is a tendency to force things.  I know this, because I've written several syllabic poems.  In my older age (or from craziness/laziness) I now find that having a line or two that doesn't measure perfectly is perfectly OK.  That said, I will always have a really good reason for breaking my own syllabic count, by calling attention to the rogue line(s).

L.5 seems to contain 11 syllables for no reason except as an oversight.  Hopefully I won't read other responses after I finish mine, and come to realize that this is not intended as a syllabic poem.  If you got 10 per line by sheer coincidence I'd be very surprised.

I must say that you've done an excellent job with the rhymes, as they fall in place nicely for me.  

The only real problem I have with your poem is the very end, and I'm not sure what to suggest now that you're on EDIT 2.  I get that you are conveying the added (multiplied) responsibility/purpose that a new child brings, but I'd love see "only multiplied" as addition magnified into multiplication, instead of multiplication that subtracts from my enjoyment of this poem.  For me (and I stress "for me") those last words may rhyme nicely, but they separated me from the new child just as I was welcoming him to the club.

This unfortunately occurs (for me, again) after the wonderful description of childbirth that is being shared.  Perhaps it's that I am one of eight kids, that I have such a strong reaction to any child being singled out as tops.  I have been in the childbirth scene myself, and I do admit the overwhelming feeling of adoration that accompanies it.  Still, I must admit to feeling un-invited at the end of your poem.

All of that said, I love the snippets such as "..I count the possibilities of doom" and "...declare you grand".  I would not comment on your poem unless it struck me as one to comment on, and despite any (actually minor) misgivings, this poem, like any other child, is a wonderful new addition. Or edition...  

Thanks,
...Mark

Hi, Mark, thanks so much for taking the time to read and comment. I am aiming for iambic pentameter here, so the 10 syllables comes from the five feet, or five stresses. That AB-a-cus will be the death of me, I put it in when I was mispronouncing it as AB-a-CUS. I've moved it but cannot get myself to ditch it. I may have to wait for a revelation to make it work.

I am not fully satisfied with the ending couplet either, "only multiplied" is lovely, I'll have to see what I can do there.

Again, welcome to the Pig Pen, hope you enjoy it.

[MHenry]

Hi, ellajam,

I am new here and still learning my way around the site.
This is newest poem of yours I could find in my clumsy search.
But you acknowledged my hello post, so I sought you out.

Your poem turned out beautifully. The final title is wonderful. The poem is touching and tender without being cloying. It clearly describes the fear and trepidation parents of a premature child must feel.

I do have one quibble...I realize the contraction of you are into you're is a meter/syllable thing, but I like you are better for this piece. You're is the only contraction in the poem, it comes at a crucial point in the poem, and it feels out of place to me.

Quibbles aside, I love the poem.

Song For An Early Bird (edit 2.3)


As pulse rates spike you're lifted from your caul
and held above a lacerated womb;
we exhale when we hear your raucous bawl.
I count the possibilities of doom
upon your toes, my abacus; barbed lines
on monitors and regulators beep
a sharp cacophony of vital signs.
You dance the limbo of sedated sleep,
machines to graph the flutter of your dreams.
I trace your palm, declare your future grand,
our hopes for you of boyish pranks and schemes
are tightly held in one small grasping hand.
You'll be the death of us, our deepest pride
like any other child, but multiplied.




NICU, for Dominic   Edit #2.2

We wait as you are lifted from your caul
and held above her lacerated womb,
then exhale when we hear your raucous bawl.
I count the possibilities of doom
upon your toes, my abacus; barbed lines
on monitors and regulators beep
a sharp cacophony of vital signs.
You dance the limbo of sedated sleep,
machines to graph the flutter of your dreams.
I trace your palm, declare your future grand,
our hopes for you of boyish pranks and schemes
are tightly held in each small grasping hand.
You'll be the death of us, our deepest pride
like any other child, but multiplied.



NICU, for Dominic   Edit #2

We wait as you are lifted from your caul
and held above her lacerated womb,
then exhale when we hear your raucous bawl.
I count the possibilities of doom
upon your toes, my abacus; peaking lines
on monitors and regulators beep
a sharp cacophony of vital signs.
You dance the limbo of sedated sleep,
machines to graph the flutter of your dreams.
I trace your palm, declare your future grand,
our dreams for you of boyish pranks and schemes
are tightly held in each small grasping hand.
You'll be the death of us, our deepest pride
like any other child, but multiplied.


NICU, for Dominic   Edit #1


You breathe, we hold ours ready for a fall;
we watch you lifted from your mother's womb
and exhale as we hear a raucous bawl.
I count the possibilities of doom
upon your toes, my abacus; shifting lines
of monitors and regulators beep
their sharp cacophony of vital signs.
You dance the limbo of sedated sleep,
machines to graph the mysteries of dreams.
I travel lines along plump palms, your future grand
achievements, sweet affairs and daring schemes,
your secret strengths revealed in each small hand.
You'll be the death of us or deepest pride,
like any other child, just multiplied.


NICU, For Dominic.  Original

Your first breath holds ours frozen, after all
the weeks you grew inside your mother's womb,
arriving early with an anxious bawl.
I count the possibilities of doom
and triumph on your toes, my abacus,
as monitors and regulators beep
and flash your vital signs. You mildly fuss
then slip back into artificial sleep;
your dreams a mystery of graphing flares.
I trace fine lines on palms, your future: grand
achievements, escapades, sweet love affairs...
your secret strengths read in each tiny hand.
Although our place does not dictate our worth,
we cannot earn the luck or curse of birth.

[ellajam]

Thanks so much for reading and commenting, MHenry. I'll take a look at that first line again, it's my most recent edit when someone told me "we wait" was weak and I may have screwed up.

I have a more recent one that I won't point you to because I have plenty of great crit on in and got halfway through an edit then stalled. Maybe this will push me to get it done so you'll have something fresh to crit.

Oh, and if you click on a user name you go to their profile and can click on a list of their threads or posts, same with your own.

Aaand, putting on my mod hat, it's a good thing you had that quibble or it would have been better as a PM, in this forum we ask for a thorough critique. You'll get the hang of it, just read the guidelines for each forum.

[Sparkydashforth]

I wasn't around to follow the progression of this poem from the original post to its
latest incarnation, but that seems perfect to me.  So this is not an edit,
more a round of applause.

[ellajam]

I wasn't around to follow the progression of this poem from the original post to its
latest incarnation, but that seems perfect to me.  So this is not an edit,
more a round of applause.

Much appreciated although we try to keep straight applause out of the workshops. You can redeem yourself by giving me an opinion of the current first line vs the one before it.

[kolemath]

quite a lovely meditation of birth

Song For An Early Bird (edit 2.3)


As pulse rates spike you're lifted from your caul
and held above a lacerated womb; i think 'my' would be more intimate than 'a'..expecially since you use i and we in the poem
we exhale when we hear your raucous bawl.
I count the possibilities of doom
upon your toes, my abacus; barbed lines the enjambment is a bit strange here. i guess toes can be barbed lines though
on monitors and regulators beep
a sharp cacophony of vital signs.
You dance the limbo of sedated sleep, love 'dance the limbo' many implications here
machines to graph the flutter of your dreams. lovely contrast to life and machines
I trace your palm, declare your future grand, fortune told
our hopes for you of boyish pranks and schemes
are tightly held in one small grasping hand. tightly and grasping are redundant 
You'll be the death of us, our deepest pride
like any other child, but multiplied. the couplet is the weakest part for me. it feels biblical, go forth and multiply adam and eve. this works. i guess the lovely imagery of the quatrains just outperforms the abstraction of the couplet. what is deep pride? probably want a comma after pride and no comma after child. othewise some readings might connect death and multiplied.

anyways. lovely it is.

[ellajam]

Thanks so much, kole, for taking the time and for your useful comments, my response below.

quite a lovely meditation of birth

Song For An Early Bird (edit 2.3)


As pulse rates spike you're lifted from your caul
and held above a lacerated womb; i think 'my' would be more intimate than 'a'..expecially since you use i and we in the poem

Yes, I've had issues with that pronoun, even when it was her or your readers think the N is the mother. Although that's not what I had in mind I gave up and in and tried to just let them think what they want with "a". I'll think on it.

we exhale when we hear your raucous bawl.
I count the possibilities of doom
upon your toes, my abacus; barbed lines the enjambment is a bit strange here. i guess toes can be barbed lines though

That's not enjambment, it's my inability and finally refusal to get a sonnet line to hold what I want to say. Sorry it bothered you, that will take a lot if energy to rethink, I'll probably pass at this time but will hold it for the future.

on monitors and regulators beep
a sharp cacophony of vital signs.
You dance the limbo of sedated sleep, love 'dance the limbo' many implications here
machines to graph the flutter of your dreams. lovely contrast to life and machines
I trace your palm, declare your future grand, fortune told
our hopes for you of boyish pranks and schemes
are tightly held in one small grasping hand. tightly and grasping are redundant 

I like the two together, one action is the adult and the other the babe, one holding, one grasping which to me are slightly different. That said, two adjectives in one line, neither of which may be necessary, is probably one or two too many.

You'll be the death of us, our deepest pride
like any other child, but multiplied. the couplet is the weakest part for me. it feels biblical, go forth and multiply adam and eve. this works. i guess the lovely imagery of the quatrains just outperforms the abstraction of the couplet. what is deep pride? probably want a comma after pride and no comma after child. othewise some readings might connect death and multiplied.

Agreed, the last two lines are not strong enough. Ugh, still work to do, why didn't I just delete the newb posts that bumped this?  
Much appreciate the read.

anyways. lovely it is.