On Death. 1st Edit

[billy]

First Edit

Thanks to those who left feedback, while i many not have used it all, it was all taken into consideration. i'm sure there's more edits still needed.

---

On Death.

Like everyone I have a hidden mausoleum;
a wood-wormed drawer where buried treasures dwell.
Twin Watermen lay in state,
embraced in shrouds of gold filigree.
The autopsy confirmed their demise;
exsanguinated, bled out like Halal
chicken on Eid Al-Adha.
I'd sacrificed them like a Muslim holy man;
a final stroke for each.
I never fed them but the once,
and replaced each one in turn.
Flawless in a more artisinal hand
they never marched to my tempo.
Zig and zag they went, darting
in tongues, undecipherable.
How they vexed me, left me blue-fingered
blue-thumbed and humbled.
Their sweetly etched 14 carat toes kicking page
after crumpled page to the trashcan;
pissing Prussian over white heavyweight vellum.
They died and in their death throes turned me...

Have you met my Biro?

---

original

On Death.

Like everyone I have a hidden citadel;
An ex wood-wormed drawer where treasures trove.
Twin Watermen lay in state
embraced in shrouds of fine filigree.
Upon their autopsies the worst was confirmed
Exsanguinated, bled out like Halal
chicken on Eid Al-Adha.
I'd sacrificed them like a Muslim holy-man;
a final stroke for each.
I never fed them but the once,
and replaced each one in turn.
Flawless in the right hands
they never marched to my tempo.
Zig and zag they went, darting
in tongues they spoke, undecipherable.
How they vexed me, left me blue-fingered
blue-thumbed and humbled.
Their sweetly etched  14 carrot toes kicking page
after crumpled pages to the trashcan;
pissing Prussian over white heavyweight vellum.
They died and in their death throes turned me...

Have you met my Biro?

[Richard]

Hey Billy,
I'm going to be honest here, and say that the first time I read this poem, I had no idea what it was about. However, after some rereading and googling, I understand and actually quite like this piece. I'll go into some more detail below:

On Death.

Like everyone I have a hidden citadel;
An ex wood-wormed drawer where treasures trove. -I love the image of the drawer. It's something I can quite relate to you, as my "treasure" drawer has evolved over time to include shelves. I also like the use of the word "citadel" because it sums up how we protect some random stuff.
Twin Watermen lay in state -The "Watermen" confused the heck out of me. It took some googling to realize you were talking about pens. I'm a bit ashamed to say that my knowledge of pens is lacking.
embraced in shrouds of fine filigree.
Upon their autopsies the worst was confirmed
Exsanguinated, bled out like Halal -Nice enjambment of "Exsanguinated," it's a word that is worthy of emphasis.
chicken on Eid Al-Adha.
I'd sacrificed them like a Muslim holy-man; -I like this simile. Do you mean the pens are like something a Muslim holy-man would sacrifice, or are the pens like a Muslim holy-man who is sacrificed for some reason?
a final stroke for each.
I never fed them but the once, -I like describing writing as feeding the pen. It also works well with the personification of the pens, making them sound like neglected pets who were only ever fed once.
and replaced each one in turn.
Flawless in the right hands
they never marched to my tempo. -While this metaphor is technically fine, I wonder if you could come up with something that extends the image of the pens as neglected pets?
Zig and zag they went, darting
in tongues they spoke, undecipherable.
How they vexed me, left me blue-fingered -Going back the line six of the poem, this means you had their blood on your hands here. I wonder if you could play around with that idea more?
blue-thumbed and humbled.
Their sweetly etched  14 carrot toes kicking page
after crumpled pages to the trashcan; -This is nice personification that every poet/writer should be able to relate to. 
pissing Prussian over white heavyweight vellum.
They died and in their death throes turned me...

Have you met my Biro? -I like how their death "turned" the speaker onto a different type of pen. Nice ending.

I had to work a bit to get the meaning here, and that actually made me appreciate this poem more. Overall, I like the main idea here. I just would suggest extending the metaphor of the pens as neglected pets.

Cheers,
Richard

[billy]

Thanks for the feedback Richard. i'm going to leave it a week and then do an edit. will of course take into account all you've said.

[ellajam]

Hi, billy, I like the title because it lies in wait underneath the poem, poking at it. Some notes:

On Death.

Like everyone I have a hidden citadel;
An ex wood-wormed drawer where treasures trove. Made me think of a coffin. I'd prefer it without the ex, how can something be un-wood-wormed, kills the image and I like the read better without it. I'm undecided on treasure trove, strikes as cliche though using it as an action brings a bit of whimsy.
Twin Watermen lay in state
embraced in shrouds of fine filigree. I prefer the line without "fine", filigree implies it and for me the alliteration is weak.
Upon their autopsies the worst was confirmed
Exsanguinated, bled out like Halal
chicken on Eid Al-Adha.
Enjoyed these lines, the poem is building strong images that come together, death, death, death.
I'd sacrificed them like a Muslim holy-man;
a final stroke for each.
I never fed them but the once, This is an interesting line, it takes responsibility.
and replaced each one in turn.
Flawless in the right hands
they never marched to my tempo.
Zig and zag they went, darting
in tongues they spoke, undecipherable.
How they vexed me, left me blue-fingered
blue-thumbed and humbled. Again a strong image and for me describes the many things we try unsuccessfully to control.
Their sweetly etched  14 carrot toes kicking page The carrots throw me, it's such a silly image. It puts the poem a bit too firmly into whimsy for me. It certainly says "clumsy" but I'm on the fence here.
after crumpled pages to the trashcan;
pissing Prussian over white heavyweight vellum. I love "pissing Prussian" but "white heavyweight" seems long to me.
They died and in their death throes turned me...

Have you met my Biro?
The last two lines say worlds to me, the change that happens when we definitively lose the battle and find joy in what we find when we move on.

So, fun read (which is not common with that title) and successful metaphor. Nice work, thanks for posting it.

[billy]

thanks for the feedback ella. will use what i can in the edit. to some of your points;
it an ex wood-wormed draw because when i got it had worm. before putting it in my house i had to de-worm or else everything made of wood would have been infected.

i can do something about the fine filigree. and the carrot line though

carrot is how the purity of gold is measured. fine gold would be 24 carrot [for the filigree] and 14 for the nib. but i can certainly look at it again.

once again thanks biggly for the feedback

Hi, billy, I like the title because it lies in wait underneath the poem, poking at it. Some notes:

On Death.

Like everyone I have a hidden citadel;
An ex wood-wormed drawer where treasures trove. Made me think of a coffin. I'd prefer it without the ex, how can something be un-wood-wormed, kills the image and I like the read better without it. I'm undecided on treasure trove, strikes as cliche though using it as an action brings a bit of whimsy.
Twin Watermen lay in state
embraced in shrouds of fine filigree. I prefer the line without "fine", filigree implies it and for me the alliteration is weak.
Upon their autopsies the worst was confirmed
Exsanguinated, bled out like Halal
chicken on Eid Al-Adha.
Enjoyed these lines, the poem is building strong images that come together, death, death, death.
I'd sacrificed them like a Muslim holy-man;
a final stroke for each.
I never fed them but the once, This is an interesting line, it takes responsibility.
and replaced each one in turn.
Flawless in the right hands
they never marched to my tempo.
Zig and zag they went, darting
in tongues they spoke, undecipherable.
How they vexed me, left me blue-fingered
blue-thumbed and humbled. Again a strong image and for me describes the many things we try unsuccessfully to control.
Their sweetly etched  14 carrot toes kicking page The carrots throw me, it's such a silly image. It puts the poem a bit too firmly into whimsy for me. It certainly says "clumsy" but I'm on the fence here.
after crumpled pages to the trashcan;
pissing Prussian over white heavyweight vellum. I love "pissing Prussian" but "white heavyweight" seems long to me.
They died and in their death throes turned me...

Have you met my Biro?
The last two lines say worlds to me, the change that happens when we definitively lose the battle and find joy in what we find when we move on.

So, fun read (which is not common with that title) and successful metaphor. Nice work, thanks for posting it.

[ellajam]

kar·at
ˈkerət/
noun
a measure of the purity of gold, pure gold being 24 karats.
"an ounce of 24-karat gold"


car·rot
ˈkerət/Submit
noun
1.
a tapering orange-colored root eaten as a vegetable.
2.
the cultivated feathery-leaved plant of the parsley family that yields this vegetable.

I thought it was an intentional play on the word and pictured 14 little carrots coming out of the tip.

I get the woodworm thing, maybe you can use some death to worms word instead of un.

[Achebe]

On Death.

Like everyone I have a hidden citadel;.....a cellar, or vault might be more appropriate to the subsequent image of corpses lying in state
An ex wood-wormed drawer where treasures trove.  ....although 'trovare' is a verb in Italian, isn't 'trove' a noun in English?
Twin Watermen lay in state
embraced in shrouds of fine filigree.
Upon their autopsies the worst was confirmed
Exsanguinated, bled out like Halal
chicken on Eid Al-Adha. ....nice! although I'm disturbed by the 'chicken' - it's a poor man who can't afford a camel, cow, or at the very least, a goat
I'd sacrificed them like a Muslim holy-man; ...but Eid Al Adha sacrifices are by the rank and file, not necessary holy men....why the hyphen?
a final stroke for each.  ....nicely done. The final stroke and a cup of water
I never fed them but the once,
and replaced each one in turn.
Flawless in the right hands
they never marched to my tempo. ...I like the sudden change here. The pens suddenly become animated, have a life of their own.
Zig and zag they went, darting
in tongues they spoke, undecipherable.
How they vexed me, left me blue-fingered
blue-thumbed and humbled. ....I can attest to this
Their sweetly etched  14 carrot toes kicking page ...."carat"?
after crumpled pages to the trashcan;
pissing Prussian over white heavyweight vellum.
They died and in their death throes turned me...

Have you met my Biro? ....a clever ending...but also confusing. Wasn't the main problem that the written word had a mind of its own, and the one about ink sumdging your fingers only secondary?

Nice read. Good to see you post after a while (the last one was about clutching a blue penis, as I recall...)

[billy]

me extremely bad. i did a whoopsi. i meant to spell carat [the english version] but it came out as carrot

kar·at
ˈkerət/
noun
a measure of the purity of gold, pure gold being 24 karats.
"an ounce of 24-karat gold"


car·rot
ˈkerət/Submit
noun
1.
a tapering orange-colored root eaten as a vegetable.
2.
the cultivated feathery-leaved plant of the parsley family that yields this vegetable.

I thought it was an intentional play on the word and pictured 14 little carrots coming out of the tip.

I get the woodworm thing, maybe you can use some death to worms word instead of un.

[billy]

yes it's caret
yes to the trove...except in my poem
i see your point about the chicken it just seemed the easiest thing to bleed out.
good point about the hyphen though i'm of a mind to keep the holy man, they too have to eat.
like shopping trolly's fountain pens in my hands have a mind of their own in that the ink never goes where i want it to.

i shall keep your feedback in mind when the edit comes. thanks for the thoughtful words.

On Death.

Like everyone I have a hidden citadel;.....a cellar, or vault might be more appropriate to the subsequent image of corpses lying in state
An ex wood-wormed drawer where treasures trove.  ....although 'trovare' is a verb in Italian, isn't 'trove' a noun in English?
Twin Watermen lay in state
embraced in shrouds of fine filigree.
Upon their autopsies the worst was confirmed
Exsanguinated, bled out like Halal
chicken on Eid Al-Adha. ....nice! although I'm disturbed by the 'chicken' - it's a poor man who can't afford a camel, cow, or at the very least, a goat
I'd sacrificed them like a Muslim holy-man; ...but Eid Al Adha sacrifices are by the rank and file, not necessary holy men....why the hyphen?
a final stroke for each.  ....nicely done. The final stroke and a cup of water
I never fed them but the once,
and replaced each one in turn.
Flawless in the right hands
they never marched to my tempo. ...I like the sudden change here. The pens suddenly become animated, have a life of their own.
Zig and zag they went, darting
in tongues they spoke, undecipherable.
How they vexed me, left me blue-fingered
blue-thumbed and humbled. ....I can attest to this
Their sweetly etched  14 carrot toes kicking page ...."carat"?
after crumpled pages to the trashcan;
pissing Prussian over white heavyweight vellum.
They died and in their death throes turned me...

Have you met my Biro? ....a clever ending...but also confusing. Wasn't the main problem that the written word had a mind of its own, and the one about ink sumdging your fingers only secondary?

Nice read. Good to see you post after a while (the last one was about clutching a blue penis, as I recall...)

[nibbed]

On Death.                                                                                 I like that you put a period after Death.

Like everyone I have a hidden citadel;                                       just one?!
An ex wood-wormed drawer where treasures trove.                  I want to put a kiss here, at treasures trove.
Twin Watermen lay in state                                                       I like that good pens indicate a cup of cold water
embraced in shrouds of fine filigree.
Upon their autopsies the worst was confirmed
Exsanguinated, bled out like Halal                                              not sure these four lines are all needed.
chicken on Eid Al-Adha.
I'd sacrificed them like a Muslim holy-man;
a final stroke for each.
I never fed them but the once,                                                  this may not be true or it indicates the speaker has limited sight
and replaced each one in turn.
Flawless in the right hands
they never marched to my tempo.
Zig and zag they went, darting
in tongues they spoke, undecipherable.
How they vexed me, left me blue-fingered                                  why would anyone get a waterman in blue?
blue-thumbed and humbled.
Their sweetly etched 14 carrot toes kicking page                        I actually like the misspell
after crumpled pages to the trashcan;
pissing Prussian over white heavyweight vellum.
They died and in their death throes turned me...

Have you met my Biro?                                                             cute ending, but does that mean disposable?




Hi Billy. Wild poem. I couldn't tell if it was friendly encouragement, a spouting of judgement, or an ad campaign. The metaphor seemed to target a specific audience. I thought at first it was an oasis, reading hints of cheer but then it turned into a mirage. Sorry for my grumpy critique, I'm feeling like a bitter old bag today because I ate bacon yesterday. I didn't want you to think I was ignoring your poem, though, because it deserves recognition for its cleverness. I also thought for a moment about gingerbread and how the fox was able to get him to climb to the very tip of his nose.

nibbed

[Leanne]

On Death.

Like everyone I have a hidden citadel,
an ex wood-wormed drawer where treasures trove. -- using trove as a verb makes me break out in a nasty rash.  It's just mean.
Twin Watermen lay in state -- owning just one would make me very happy for all time
embraced in shrouds of fine filigree.
Upon their autopsies the worst was confirmed:
exsanguinated, bled out like Halal
chicken on Eid Al-Adha. -- love this simile-upon-metaphor construction
I'd sacrificed them like a Muslim holy-man; 
a final stroke for each.
I never fed them but the once,
and replaced each one in turn.
Flawless in the right hands -- perhaps other/better hands or something?  Right seems odd, except as a contrast to left I suppose
they never marched to my tempo.
Zig and zag they went, darting
in tongues they spoke, undecipherable. -- I think you could get rid of "they spoke" -- the repetition against "they went" doesn't work for me
How they vexed me, left me blue-fingered,
blue-thumbed and humbled. -- great sonics
Their sweetly etched  14 carrot toes kicking page -- carat
after crumpled pages to the trashcan; -- just page here too, not pages
pissing Prussian over white heavyweight vellum. -- there's the billy twist
They died and in their death throes turned me...

have you met my Biro?

I haven't read other critiques so apologies for repeating if I have.  I only have one beautiful old pen, a Parker that my grandmother gave me for my 16th birthday, and fortunately she doesn't take cartridges -- just sucks the ink straight up and spits it out, half over my fingers, half on the page.  So anyway, upshot is, I like this a whole lot.  I've bolded a couple of spelling/grammatical fixes but as you can see, that's more or less all I've got on this one.

[shemthepenman]

Hello Billy,
this is one of those silly little middle class poems that I usually avoid... but you tricked me with the title and I managed to make it to the end. So... NB: I'm writing this on my phone, so i can't go through all the rigmarole of formatting...

On Death.

Like everyone I have a hidden citadel; —I don't have one.  
An ex wood-wormed drawer where treasures trove. —"ex woodwormed" is rubbish. In fact, the second line is not needed, at all. It's basically just a rewording of the first line, but you've seemed to want to make it incomprehensible —pretentious?
Twin Watermen lay in state —I understand pluralising Waterman, but i would question its efficacy.
embraced in shrouds of fine filigree.
Upon their autopsies the worst was confirmed
Exsanguinated, bled out like Halal —"exsanguinated" sounds to clumsy and crap for a poem—this poem. And I am almost certain it has nothing to do with the fact I had to look it up...
chicken on Eid Al-Adha.
I'd sacrificed them like a Muslim holy-man;
a final stroke for each.
I never fed them but the once,
and replaced each one in turn. —I don't really get how these two lines are connected. 
Flawless in the right hands —personally I would start the poem here and give it a different title. It remains specific but also has a certain generality of experience. It reminds me of when I got my first electric guitar and after a couple of strums declared it broken until it was pointed out that I had to learn to play it.
they never marched to my tempo. 
Zig and zag they went, darting —I have no time for these kind of line breaks. They make me want to clip poetry round the ear and say "stop being a dickhead" 
in tongues they spoke, undecipherable.
How they vexed me, left me blue-fingered —"how they vexed me"!? Mr Wilde? Although, to be fair, this is a eulogy to two gaudy fountain pens, so could be apposite.
blue-thumbed and humbled. —This line is good. 
Their sweetly etched  14 carrot toes kicking page —I would cut "sweetly etched".
after crumpled pages to the trashcan; —I know you're not American so I don't know why you would say "trashcan" and not bin.
pissing Prussian over white heavyweight vellum.
They died and in their death throes turned me... —I don't get the turned me bit. Turned you what? Into a normal person that doesn't use fountain pens! Aha, I see.

Have you met my Biro?

This was actually really nice to read. Thanks.

[billy]

thanks for the feedback Leanne and shem, it's greatly appreciated. will use what i can in the edit which will be sooner than i thought.

[billy]

First Edit

Thanks to those who left feedback, while i many not have used it all, it was all taken into consideration. i'm sure there's more edits still needed.

---

On Death.

Like everyone I have a hidden mausoleum;
a wood-wormed drawer where buried treasures dwell.
Twin Watermen lay in state,
embraced in shrouds of gold filigree.
The autopsy confirmed their demise;
exsanguinated, bled out like Halal
chicken on Eid Al-Adha.
I'd sacrificed them like a Muslim holy man;
a final stroke for each.
I never fed them but the once,
and replaced each one in turn.
Flawless in a more artisinal hand
they never marched to my tempo.
Zig and zag they went, darting
in tongues, undecipherable.
How they vexed me, left me blue-fingered
blue-thumbed and humbled.
Their sweetly etched 14 carat toes kicking page
after crumpled page to the trashcan;
pissing Prussian over white heavyweight vellum.
They died and in their death throes turned me...

Have you met my Biro?

---

original

On Death.

Like everyone I have a hidden citadel;
An ex wood-wormed drawer where treasures trove.
Twin Watermen lay in state
embraced in shrouds of fine filigree.
Upon their autopsies the worst was confirmed
Exsanguinated, bled out like Halal
chicken on Eid Al-Adha.
I'd sacrificed them like a Muslim holy-man;
a final stroke for each.
I never fed them but the once,
and replaced each one in turn.
Flawless in the right hands
they never marched to my tempo.
Zig and zag they went, darting
in tongues they spoke, undecipherable.
How they vexed me, left me blue-fingered
blue-thumbed and humbled.
Their sweetly etched  14 carrot toes kicking page
after crumpled pages to the trashcan;
pissing Prussian over white heavyweight vellum.
They died and in their death throes turned me...

Have you met my Biro?

[Wjames]

First Edit

Thanks to those who left feedback, while i many not have used it all, it was all taken into consideration. i'm sure there's more edits still needed.

---

On Death.

Like everyone I have a hidden mausoleum;
a wood-wormed drawer where buried treasures dwell. Strong opening. I don't know if "buried" works, though, because the treasures are in a drawer.
Twin Watermen lay in state,
embraced in shrouds of gold filigree.
The autopsy confirmed their demise;
exsanguinated, bled out like Halal
chicken on Eid Al-Adha. nice.
I'd sacrificed them like a Muslim holy man; I don't think "muslim" is necessary, after the halal stuff.
a final stroke for each.
I never fed them but the once, 
and replaced each one in turn.
Flawless in a more artisinal hand
they never marched to my tempo. The two lines in this sentence don't fit together very well for me.
Zig and zag they went, darting
in tongues, undecipherable.
How they vexed me, left me blue-fingered
blue-thumbed and humbled. nice.
Their sweetly etched 14 carat toes kicking page nice break
after crumpled page to the trashcan;
pissing Prussian over white heavyweight vellum. 
They died and in their death throes turned me... I like how this line could have many meanings.

Have you met my Biro?  The name of a chicken? A pen? haha, nice change of pace.

I enjoyed it, I haven't seen a poem of yours in a while, I'm glad you posted it.

[billy]

First Edit

Thanks to those who left feedback, while i many not have used it all, it was all taken into consideration. i'm sure there's more edits still needed.

---

On Death.

Like everyone I have a hidden mausoleum;
a wood-wormed drawer where buried treasures dwell. Strong opening. I don't know if "buried" works, though, because the treasures are in a drawer.
Twin Watermen lay in state,
embraced in shrouds of gold filigree.
The autopsy confirmed their demise;
exsanguinated, bled out like Halal
chicken on Eid Al-Adha. nice.
I'd sacrificed them like a Muslim holy man; I don't think "muslim" is necessary, after the halal stuff.
a final stroke for each.
I never fed them but the once, 
and replaced each one in turn.
Flawless in a more artisinal hand
they never marched to my tempo. The two lines in this sentence don't fit together very well for me.
Zig and zag they went, darting
in tongues, undecipherable.
How they vexed me, left me blue-fingered
blue-thumbed and humbled. nice.
Their sweetly etched 14 carat toes kicking page nice break
after crumpled page to the trashcan;
pissing Prussian over white heavyweight vellum. 
They died and in their death throes turned me... I like how this line could have many meanings.

Have you met my Biro?  The name of a chicken? A pen? haha, nice change of pace.

I enjoyed it, I haven't seen a poem of yours in a while, I'm glad you posted it.

Thanks for the feedback, will consider all you've mentioned in the next edit