Sampson Motel

[TemporaryForever]

It's a bland looking place on the outskirts of town,
the sign is missing letters and the building's run down.
Sitting at the corner of an old gravel road,
a rugged, not too friendly looking distant abode.

Built back in the 60s on a small, muddy tract,
half the deadbolts don't work and the front window's cracked.
It's a glorified shack, only seventeen rooms,
And its thick with the grey fog of cigarette fumes.

But far from abandoned, there are plenty of guests,
they drive in from the north and fly out from the west.
From the old to the young, to the meek and the great,
they all find their place on this darkened estate.

It's played host to rock stars, to artists and writers,
corrupt politicians and heavyweight fighters.
They travel for miles to this little piece of hell,
the rusty old spot called the Sampson motel.

In the small cluttered office just beyond the wood door,
you'll find the manager Wayne, he lost an eye in the war.
He's a bit rough and tumble and he's got skin cold as ice,
but if you show him respect you might get a good price.

The ice machine's broken and the power cord's frayed,
so little of elegance or fancy displayed.
The plumbing is awful and the wall paint is peeling,
and most of the souls that you'll find here are reeling.

Housekeeping doesn't do much, there's only one maid.
She smokes a cigar and wears her hair up in braids.
She won't leave you a mint or turn down the sheet,
But if you mistreat her, you're out on the street.

It's the #1 choice if you don't want to be found,
as long as you don't mind the trash on the ground.
Folks aren't too friendly here so if you come stay
Mind your own business and go about your own way.

Guests come and they go almost quick as flash,
And you can be certain they always pay cash.
In darkness they'll be, transfixed by the spell
of the rusty old spot called the Sampson motel.

[dukealien]

It's a bland looking place on the outskirts of town,
the sign is missing letters and the building's run down.
Sitting at the corner of an old gravel road,
a rugged, not too friendly looking distant abode.

Built back in the 60s on a small, muddy tract,
half the deadbolts don't work and the front window's cracked.
It's a glorified shack, only seventeen rooms,
And its thick with the grey fog of cigarette fumes. is grey necessary?  Also, should be "it's"

But far from abandoned, there are plenty of guests,
they drive in from the north and fly out from the west. *to* the west, or "out of the West?"
From the old to the young, to the meek and the great,
they all find their place on this darkened estate.

It's played host to rock stars, to artists and writers,
corrupt politicians and heavyweight fighters.
They travel for miles to this little piece of hell, "Hell" maybe (cap)
the rusty old spot called the Sampson motel. "Motel" (cap)

In the small cluttered office just beyond the wood door,
you'll find the manager Wayne, he lost an eye in the war.
He's a bit rough and tumble and he's got skin cold as ice,
but if you show him respect you might get a good price.

The ice machine's broken and the power cord's frayed,
so little of elegance or fancy displayed. this line is a little weak
The plumbing is awful and the wall paint is peeling,
and most of the souls that you'll find here are reeling.

Housekeeping doesn't do much, there's only one maid.
She smokes a cigar and wears her hair up in braids. "in a braid" for rhyme?
She won't leave you a mint or turn down the sheet,
But if you mistreat her, you're out on the street.

It's the #1 choice if you don't want to be found,
as long as you don't mind the trash on the ground.
Folks aren't too friendly here so if you come stay
Mind your own business and go about your own way. "mind" (lower case), also maybe "go your own way"

Guests come and they go almost quick as flash,
And you can be certain they always pay cash. "and" (lower case)
In darkness they'll be, transfixed by the spell first part of this line needs more bite
of the rusty old spot called the Sampson motel.

This is a good ol' song and I hear it in a country-western tone, with a voice that's shared a throat with a lot of tobacco smoke.  Atmospheric, you might say.  The variances in meter make suitable grace notes.

In basic critique, don't take the above as more than suggestions (aside from the pedantic ones about grammar/typography).  I do think it needs a little more of a climax in the second-to-last line.  As a random suggestion, "Their eyes stay wide open, transfixed by the spell."  Some other lines could stand re-work to punch them up a bit while preserving the atmosphere and rhyme scheme, but I wouldn't be at all displeased to hear this on any C&W station in the AM band.

Good lyrics!  Thanks for posting.

[Fatman Butter]

Hey,

I like the idea of this; however you do seem to have several contradictions, a bit of repetitiveness and some rhymes that feel forced. Having said that, do please realise that I am in no way an authority on poetry and all that follows is just my gut reaction to the piece

It's a bland looking place on the outskirts of town, I feel here that the second couplet should be the opening. I think it is a better feeling of introduction.
the sign is missing letters and the building's run down. Sitting at the corner of an old gravel road,
Sitting at the corner of an old gravel road, a rugged, not too friendly looking distant abode
a rugged, not too friendly looking distant abode. It's a bland looking place on the outskirts of town,
the sign is missing letters and the building's run down.
Built back in the 60s on a small, muddy tract, Regardless of line sequence. I'm unsure if not friendly looking, or if it is looking distant (I would just cut the
half the deadbolts don't work and the front window's cracked. word distant because as the story of this progresses the place can't remain distant so easiest thing to lose the
It's a glorified shack, only seventeen rooms, the confusion)
And its thick with the grey fog of cigarette fumes. Built back in the 60s on a small, muddy tract,
half the deadbolts don't work and the front window's cracked
But far from abandoned, there are plenty of guests, It's a glorified shack, only seventeen rooms,
they drive in from the north and fly out from the west. And its thick with the grey fog of cigarette fumes.
From the old to the young, to the meek and the great, Here: it can't be on a small muddy tract as you already told me it's on a gravel road. (okay over the years the
they all find their place on this darkened estate. tract could have had gravel laid...but why distract the reader, and as it seems its on a tract so that it can rhyme
with cracked I would just drop the couplet. I do like that you have rooms and fumes'
It's played host to rock stars, to artists and writers, I think the next stanza is weak. By all means let us know this run down place is busy; but put your think-cap on
corrupt politicians and heavyweight fighters. and I'm sure you'll find better. Also it defies logic that this rat-hole hotel/motel should be so busy...one reason
They travel for miles to this little piece of hell, it might be is if it were the Bates Motel as filmed by Hitchcock. (I see no reason not to rewrite on that theme.)
the rusty old spot called the Sampson motel.

In the small cluttered office just beyond the wood door, next stanza--it's played====Sampson Motel, I like.
you'll find the manager Wayne, he lost an eye in the war. But following that door & war. Then ice and price seem rushed
He's a bit rough and tumble and he's got skin cold as ice, As does the next stanza
but if you show him respect you might get a good price.

The ice machine's broken and the power cord's frayed,
so little of elegance or fancy displayed.
The plumbing is awful and the wall paint is peeling,
and most of the souls that you'll find here are reeling.

Housekeeping doesn't do much, there's only one maid. the maid could have a uniform collar and/or cuffs frayed which I think use an "attention" word more
She smokes a cigar and wears her hair up in braids. than where you have used it.
She won't leave you a mint or turn down the sheet,
But if you mistreat her, you're out on the street.

It's the #1 choice if you don't want to be found,
as long as you don't mind the trash on the ground.
Folks aren't too friendly here so if you come stay Finishing up there is what seems to me more rushed and forced lines, so my overall advice would be rework and
Mind your own business and go about your own way. edit. I really do think you have something here; but my limited experience tells me this has been written then
tweaked and you are sitting back reluctant to rip into the piece and reorganise it in order to find what it really has
Guests come and they go almost quick as flash, to offer. So don't hold back twenty, thirty or even fifty rewrites isn't unusual for a poem. Go for it and I think you
And you can be certain they always pay cash. might find a gem.
In darkness they'll be, transfixed by the spell
of the rusty old spot called the Sampson motel.

[Knot]

Hi TF,
enjoyed the read.

It's a bland looking place on the outskirts of town,
'bland' in the opening line is not much of an invitation
to keep reading.
the sign is missing letters and the building's run down.
Sitting at the corner of an old gravel road,
maybe something a little punchier that 'sitting'?
(squatting, for instance)
a rugged, not too friendly looking distant abode.
'distant' - in what sense?

Built back in the 60s on a small, muddy tract,
half the deadbolts don't work and the front window's cracked.
(you could probably lose 'and')
It's a glorified shack, only seventeen rooms,
'shack' rather messes with your rhyme scheme.
And its thick with the grey fog of cigarette fumes.
this doesn't make much sense to me I'm afraid,
and read like it's just here for the rhyme.

But far from abandoned, there are plenty of guests,
they drive in from the north and fly out from the west.
From the old to the young, to the meek and the great,
they all find their place on this darkened estate.

It's played host to rock stars, to artists and writers,
corrupt politicians and heavyweight fighters.
They travel for miles to this little piece of hell,
the rusty old spot called the Sampson motel.

these two verses are essentially saying the same thing
and I'd suggest deleting one
'darkened estate' is a really good phrase.

In the small cluttered office just beyond the wood door,
you'll find the manager Wayne, he lost an eye in the war.
maybe 'who lost' for 'he lost'?
He's a bit rough and tumble and he's got skin cold as ice,
'cold as ice' trips the cliché meter - and you repeat 'ice' two
lines further on.
but if you show him respect you might get a good price.

The ice machine's broken and the power cord's frayed,
Is it the machine's power cord?
so little of elegance or fancy displayed.
Was there ever? You've already described it as a 'gloried shack'
The plumbing is awful and the wall paint is peeling,
and most of the souls that you'll find here are reeling.
this line is quite a let down, too obviously here just
for the rhyme.

Ok. You've more than established that it is a low-class joint
and it's all beginning to feel repetitive. The narrative really
needs to be going somewhere different from where it
started, and I don't think that it does.
'Motel' in the title sets up certain expectations (I was
expecting a murder ballad or some cause célèbre)
and yet nothing actually happens.
If your focus is just going to be on the building/place,
then I think your descriptions have to be much more
vivid and ideosyncratic to keep the reader engaged.

Still, you've left this reader wanting more, which
(I'd suggest) was a good thing.


Best, Knot.

[Todd]

Hi TF, 

A few comments for you. 

On the whole, there are some fun moments in this one. That said, it's a bit long. It also probably needs to be restructured to draw in the reader (new opening). Here are a few line notes.

It's a bland looking place on the outskirts of town,--To sell this "bland" line you have to contrast it preferably in a previous stanza or the immediate next couplet. Otherwise, it isn't arresting enough.
the sign is missing letters and the building's run down.--sign's would smooth out the line and match the structure of building's. It would sound more natural.
Sitting at the corner of an old gravel road,
a rugged, not too friendly looking distant abode.--This last line just feels like filler.

Built back in the 60s on a small, muddy tract,
half the deadbolts don't work and the front window's cracked.
It's a glorified shack, only seventeen rooms,
And its thick with the grey fog of cigarette fumes.--like this image and wording

But far from abandoned, there are plenty of guests,
they drive in from the north and fly out from the west.
From the old to the young, to the meek and the great,--make your structure match "from the meek to the great"
they all find their place on this darkened estate.--solid wording on this line

It's played host to rock stars, to artists and writers,--Its no apostrophe.
corrupt politicians and heavyweight fighters.
They travel for miles to this little piece of hell,
the rusty old spot called the Sampson motel.

In the small cluttered office just beyond the wood door,
you'll find the manager Wayne, he lost an eye in the war.--who instead of he
He's a bit rough and tumble and he's got skin cold as ice,--feels a bit clunky perhaps on the second phrase "got skin cold as ice" though cold as ice isn't too surprising an idea.
but if you show him respect you might get a good price.--structure wise this could go near your opening or closer to the end.

The ice machine's broken and the power cord's frayed,
so little of elegance or fancy displayed.--fancy displayed is a bit of suspect phrasing. It feels a bit unnatural and only there to accommodate the rhyme
The plumbing is awful and the wall paint is peeling,
and most of the souls that you'll find here are reeling.

Housekeeping doesn't do much, there's only one maid.
She smokes a cigar and wears her hair up in braids.
She won't leave you a mint or turn down the sheet,
But if you mistreat her, you're out on the street.--I would be tempted to consider this as stanza 2

It's the #1 choice if you don't want to be found,
as long as you don't mind the trash on the ground.
Folks aren't too friendly here so if you come stay
Mind your own business and go about your own way.--This is a possible opening stanza.

Guests come and they go almost quick as flash,
And you can be certain they always pay cash.
In darkness they'll be, transfixed by the spell
of the rusty old spot called the Sampson motel.

Hope some of that helps.

Best,

Todd

[cloud]

I've nothing to add toward your structured rhyme scheme, as I think the others did a great job of that already.
I enjoyed your rhymes much and the imagery they produced.

But although I was diggin' the imagery, there is little substance beyond that; no essence to the poem other than it's a miserable motel. 
(At least that my limited perception could grasp.)
& I think if there's no underlying purpose to your poem other than depiction, it becomes only that - a scene, which ultimately means your poem lacks a quality of awe.
The ultimate poetry is like a bottomless pit: its depth can be pondered on if its meaningful, and perhaps offers profound insights for the mind to indulge along the way.
And maybe there's small quantifiable nuggets to ponder on, but if its not self-evident after the first couple revisions, It's lacking something crucial in my opinion.
(I guess in this case... just focus on other aspects so you don't reduce all potential to imagery)
I guess if there's nothing to take home after reading the poem, it's not a keeper, so to speak.

[cloud]

In saying all that, story and purpose manifests itself, and forced meaning just comes off as disingenuous.
That's why great art stands the test of time and captures wonder, and art with a goal disintegrates as civilization progresses its own standards.
You can often identify authenticity by how the artist/writer attempts to grasp what he's trying to convey, that's a true artist, and it bleeds through in essence and depth.

~

[HersheyKiss]

Still not the best critic i only had problem with one line.

The ice machine's broken and the power cord's frayed,
so little of elegance or fancy displayed.

Your poem flowed so beautifully well i absolutely loved it and i loved the story too. These two lines didn't quite fit in as easily. Maybe switch up your words a bit here. Outside of that i really did love it. Thank you for sharing.