Scraped

[TranquillityBase]

Built by the hands of a grandfather
who later disappeared
and was found preaching on a street corner
in Albuquerque,
and an uncle, of whom my last memory
was when he grasped my arm
in the daze of Alzheimers
thinking I was his son,

where I stood on the porch in a storm
and shouted “kingdom” at the lightning,
lost my virginity on a terrifying summer afternoon,
took LSD and waited all night for the milkman,
sat on the steps after seeing Ginsberg read,
writing my own Howl by candlelight.

My father and my son died in that house.
Gone now.  Demolished.  Its earth scraped clean.
Nothing left but the sky.

And remembering, I look to that sky, 
waiting patiently for my own dissolution.

[Semicircle]

Built by the hands of a grandfather
who later disappeared
and was found preaching on a street corner
in Albuquerque,
and an uncle, of whom my last memory
was when he grasped my arm
in the daze of Alzheimers
thinking I was his son,

where I stood on the porch in a storm
and shouted “kingdom” at the lightning,
lost my virginity on a terrifying summer afternoon,
took LSD and waited all night for the milkman,
sat on the steps after seeing Ginsberg read,
writing my own Howl by candlelight.

My father and my son died in that house.
Gone now.  Demolished.  Its earth scraped clean.
Nothing left but the sky.

And remembering, I look to that sky,              He looks "up" - it's more absolute.
waiting patiently for my own dissolution.

The ending would have more impact if the sky was used to ground the character after the major events of each stanza by having him look up to it; the sky remains unchanging making him feel like ultimately, little time has passed. 

The shock of the scraped clean land would shake him, but then he remembers the unchanging sky and waits for his dissolution.

Just a thought, thanks for the read
Sc.

[brynmawr1]

Built by the hands of a grandfather
who later disappeared
and later found preaching on a street corner       to be  (has a little sonics with 'Albuquerque')
in Albuquerque,
and an uncle, of whom my last memory        these two lines read a little awkwardly
was when he grasped my arm
in the daze of Alzheimers
thinking I was his son,

where I stood on the porch in a storm
and shouted “kingdom” at the lightning,              shouting
lost my virginity on a terrifying summer afternoon,
took LSD and waited all night for the milkman,
sat on the steps after seeing Ginsberg read,
writing my own Howl by candlelight.

My father and my son died in that house.
Gone now.  Demolished.  Its earth scraped clean.
Nothing left but the sky.                What kind of sky?  use modifier to provide more emotional context.  same with 'earth' in the previous line

And remembering, I look to that sky, 
waiting patiently for my own dissolution.       demolition?

Hi,
Very nice poem.  A lot packed in.  I made some basic language suggestions above.  I feel like this is the sort of poem that you should work on for a bit, let it sit and come back to it and find that next layer.
take care,
steve

[Mark A Becker]

Hello Tim, in-line suggestions, below:

The old place was built by hand
by my grandfather, who later disappeared,
only to be found preaching
on a street corner in Albuquerque.

It was the place where an uncle
grasped my arm, in a daze
of Alzheimers, thinking I was his son.
Where I stood on the porch in a storm

shouting “kingdom” at the lightning,
lost my virginity on a terrifying summer afternoon,
took LSD and waited all night for the milkman,
sat on the steps after hearing Ginsberg read,

writing my own Howl by candlelight. 
My father and my son died in that house.
Gone now.  Demolished.  Its earth scraped clean.
Nothing left but the sky. 

And remembering, as I search that opaque sky,
patiently awaiting my own dissolution.

[TranquillityBase]

The ending would have more impact if the sky was used to ground the character after the major events of each stanza by having him look up to it; the sky remains unchanging making him feel like ultimately, little time has passed. 

The shock of the scraped clean land would shake him, but then he remembers the unchanging sky and waits for his dissolution.

Just a thought, thanks for the read
Sc.

Thanks Semi,

I like the idea of having the sky repeated, maybe not after every stanza, but for sure at the beginning and then the end.  Thanks for the suggestion.

---

Hi,
Very nice poem.  A lot packed in.  I made some basic language suggestions above.  I feel like this is the sort of poem that you should work on for a bit, let it sit and come back to it and find that next layer.
take care,
steve

Thanks Bryn,

I'm not at all satisfied with the poem as it stands.  I will look for the next layer, though I'm not completely clear what you mean. I'll keep your in-line suggestions in mind for the revision.  It may change a lot.

---

Hello Tim, in-line suggestions, below:

The old place was built by hand
by my grandfather, who later disappeared,
only to be found preaching
on a street corner in Albuquerque.

It was the place where an uncle
grasped my arm, in a daze
of Alzheimers, thinking I was his son.
Where I stood on the porch in a storm

shouting “kingdom” at the lightning,
lost my virginity on a terrifying summer afternoon,
took LSD and waited all night for the milkman,
sat on the steps after hearing Ginsberg read,

writing my own Howl by candlelight. 
My father and my son died in that house.
Gone now.  Demolished.  Its earth scraped clean.
Nothing left but the sky. 

And remembering, as I search that opaque sky,
patiently awaiting my own dissolution.

Thank you Mark,

I'm thinking of removing most of the part about my grandfather/uncle, who built the house (with help I assume) and focusing on my own life there.  Those bits were something I learned later in life.  I just think it remarkable that I lived in a house built by family, that housed not only myself and my siblings, but was where I raised my own children.  And how it was so thoughtlessly razed to the ground by strangers.

Tim