Lynda

[heslopian]

for my mother

One day I may return to the place I first remember knowing you,
near as it is to my current dwelling.
Just to stare at the door and wonder if the fireplace still works,
if the spare bedroom now has one bed,
not the bunk and single it did when we were a Young Family.

The memories I have are like a blooper reel of pain,
in which the actors don't fumble and laugh,
but scowl at each other's mistakes.
Hatred filling the silence between lines.
You, mum, hissing at me from your nest on the floor,
holding a textbook I failed to learn,
while dad watched like a sad servant,
a disembodied face hovering over your shoulder.
The ghost and the insect, glimpsed through the doorway,
as I retreated to the room I shared with my older brothers.

There have been times when I've wished I could return to that place,
that time frozen like a lost mountaineer,
and murder you all with four bullets.
Avenging babe among the wreckage.
But I look at you now as you rot among
your faded chairs, stained nick-nakcs,
Betty Boop more rough edged than a car mechanic,
and love blossoms from the soil of hate,
the stinking carcass you've become.

[Aish]

for my mother

One day I may return to the place I first remember knowing you,
near as it is to my current dwelling.
Just to stare at the door and wonder if the fireplace still works,
if the spare bedroom now has one bed,
not the bunk and single it did when we were a Young Family.

The memories I have are like a blooper reel of pain,
in which the actors don't fumble and laugh,
but scowl at each other's mistakes.
Hatred filling the silence between lines.
You, mum, hissing at me from your nest on the floor,
holding a textbook I failed to learn,
while dad watched like a sad servant,
a disembodied face hovering over your shoulder.
The ghost and the insect, glimpsed through the doorway,
as I retreated to the room I shared with my older brothers.

There have been times when I've wished I could return to that place,
that time frozen like a lost mountaineer,
and murder you all with four bullets.
Avenging babe among the wreckage.
But I look at you now as you rot among
your faded chairs, stained nick-nakcs, I believe this should be spelled 'knickknacks'.
Betty Boop more rough edged than a car mechanic,
and love blossoms from the soil of hate,
the stinking carcass you've become.

This is mighty painful, Jack.

[billy]

for my mother

One day I may return to the place I first remember knowing you, is 'one day' needed?
near as it is to my current dwelling. for me this line feels unnecessary
Just to stare at the door and wonder if the fireplace still works, i love this line and the image
if the spare bedroom now has one bed,
not the bunk and single it did when we were a Young Family. is the surname of the family Young? if not it should be young

The memories I have are like a blooper reel of pain, blooper reel for me feels awkward, would something like "slapstick reel" or something else?
in which the actors don't fumble and laugh,
but scowl at each other's mistakes.
Hatred filling the silence between lines.
You, mum, hissing at me from your nest on the floor, great image
holding a textbook I failed to learn,
while dad watched like a sad servant,
a disembodied face hovering over your shoulder.
The ghost and the insect, glimpsed through the doorway,
as I retreated to the room I shared with my older brothers.

There have been times when I've wished I could return to that place,
that time frozen like a lost mountaineer,
and murder you all with four bullets. a good line, i keep asking myself, why 4 bullets.
Avenging babe among the wreckage.this line doesn't seem clear to me.
But I look at you now as you rot among
your faded chairs, stained nick-nakcs, (it's either knick-knack or nick-nacks, with or without the hyphen) a powerful line
Betty Boop more rough edged than a car mechanic,
and love blossoms from the soil of hate, would 'or' work better than and?
the stinking carcass you've become.

a fairly powerful poem jack with good narrative. just the few nits which i don't see as anything major. i enjoyed the read and the hardness of it.

thanks for the read

[heslopian]

The surname of the family is Heslop Young Family is capitalised because it refers to a cliche, a phrase often used. Thanks for your feedback and kind words Billy.

[billy]

i's so used to removing the poem from the poet that i forgot
that you usually write about self, sorry jack.
can't say i've heard of the cliché or that it felt cliché
but i liked the poem anyway

[kath3]

I had an ouch relationship with my father.
Funny/interesting how often this happens >>> and love blossoms from the soil of hate.

I believe and is important, as it's a statement.
Thank you as always Jack

[Todd]

Hi Jack,

This is a painful piece. It feels like its meant to grab you and ring you out. I don't have many nits but the ones I do have I'll share. Here are some comments for you:

for my mother

One day I may return to the place I first remember knowing you,--lines this long make you strain for breath as you read them it makes me wonder if that is deliberate intent on your part to mimic an interenal strain
near as it is to my current dwelling.
Just to stare at the door and wonder if the fireplace still works,--optionally, you could do a break after wonder
if the spare bedroom now has one bed,
not the bunk and single it did when we were a Young Family.

The memories I have are like a blooper reel of pain,--I would consider cutting of pain. You don't need it the next few lines demonstrate that it's painful
in which the actors don't fumble and laugh,
but scowl at each other's mistakes.
Hatred filling the silence between lines.--I like this
You, mum, hissing at me from your nest on the floor,--hissing is a nice touch, and nest is ironic
holding a textbook I failed to learn,
while dad watched like a sad servant,
a disembodied face hovering over your shoulder.--great image
The ghost and the insect, glimpsed through the doorway,
as I retreated to the room I shared with my older brothers.

There have been times when I've wished I could return to that place,
that time frozen like a lost mountaineer,--frozen and mountaineer work well together
and murder you all with four bullets.
Avenging babe among the wreckage.--not sure you need this line it tends to take away the impact of the previous line. You may want to insert a strophe break after bullets to place a pause and allow for the moment of reflection of the next line
But I look at you now as you rot among
your faded chairs, stained nick-nakcs,
Betty Boop more rough edged than a car mechanic,--nice detail
and love blossoms from the soil of hate,
the stinking carcass you've become.--you could also optionally cut hate and drop of down to the beginning of this line.

This is strong work Jack. It's painful, ironic...I liked what you did here. Hopefully, some of the comments will be helpful.

Best,

Todd

[Wildcard]

I really enjoyed reading this. It was shocking to me, but also powerful . . . it made me feel powerful. I can't relate in any real way to the story, but I can definitely relate to the pain and the desire to feel free of the past.

I thought 'blooper reel' felt a little misleading. Would compilation serve?

Very inspiring stuff, sir.