Second Poem

[gemologist]

We laid out at Parc des Buttes Chaumonts
for the 30° Celsius afternoon to lick our perspiration dry
after that subway ride from Notre Dame de Lorette was so sloppy-hot!
William's navy blue-beautiful army coat contributed the only bulk
his French body could imagine while my skinny jeans sank way too tight into American me.
Snacking on Bing cherries, chewing through the now familiar Parisian cloud of nicotine,
the scene was of contentment on the hill and we approached each moment
so that the fatty liver paste and bottled water were happily our own.
In the states, a picnic of tiny strawberries and scrawny men
like this would deceive our citizenry conditioned for
portions of macho and sweets in extra large.
But next to my body, bloody with sweat, William taught me the lessons about
rich flavors and delicate moments and sexy men;
he didn't say a word.
So much I learned from my French-Irish-Catholic William O'Rorke,
boyfriend of the week!
For sometimes, I even fooled-hoped myself into thinking
that I could find his twin brother at the local Milwaukee prep school when I got home.
Jibberish is all that fooling self-hopes are, something like
the type of nothing you talk about between the French-English language barrier.

[billy]

We laid out at Parc des Buttes Chaumonts
for the 30° Celsius afternoon to lick our perspiration dry god opening that has us ready for something (after doing a google )
after that subway ride from Notre Dame de Lorette was so sloppy-hot! needs some grammar
William's navy blue-beautiful army coat contributed the only bulk brilliant image
his French body could imagine while my skinny jeans sank way too tight into American me.
Snacking on Bing cherries, chewing through the now familiar Parisian cloud of nicotine, another strong line that capture an ambiance.
the scene was of contentment on the hill and we approached each moment
so that the fatty liver paste and bottled water were happily our own.
In the states, a picnic of tiny strawberries and scrawny men some of these lines are excellent. love the use of scrawny for a stereotyped image
like this would deceive our citizenry conditioned for
portions of macho and sweets in extra large.
But next to my body, bloody with sweat, William taught me the lessons about
rich flavors and delicate moments and sexy men;
he didn't say a word.
So much I learned from my French-Irish-Catholic William O'Rorke,
boyfriend of the week!
For sometimes, I even fooled-hoped myself into thinking
that I could find his twin brother at the local Milwaukee prep school when I got home.
Jibberish is all that fooling self-hopes are, something like
the type of nothing you talk about between the French-English language barrier.

very prose poetry, very good poetry (i'm sure some will see merely as prose though) with originality and some good strong imagery at play, (which is a poetic device, and there are more in the piece) the content is solid though i think it needs some work grammar-wise, not keen on the hyphen in one place. and a backslash could used in another hyphens stead. i have to say, apart from thinking L3 needs a tidy, all i have are grammar nits. i really enjoyed reading the poem. i found it it painted a complet picture of an american in france.

thanks for the read.

[Erthona]

The only line that was problematic for me was

'something like
the type of nothing you talk about between the French-English language barrier."

That didn't really make much sense to me, maybe I am just being dense.

Also "But next to my body, bloody with sweat" doesn't really describe much of anything that I can see.

I guess you already corrected some of the things Billy notes as I did not see them.

This is well written, I'm just not sure of the purpose, as this is a well worn motif and this really doesn't seem to take it any further than movies done on the same subject from 50+ years ago.

Strictly in terms of just the writing I would give it an A in a college English class, but in terms of originality it seems lacking.

In terms of prose versus poetry, although this is smoothly written written, it is lacking any rhythmic pattern I would associate with poetry, nor does the lineation make much sense in terms of poetical breaks, and although it makes use of some poetic tropes, most good prose does so. As such this would make more sense as a part of a short story, rather than couch it in terms of poetry. Nothing wrong with that. Good prose of this nature is just as demanding as poetry.


Dale

[gemologist]

Billy and Dale -

The feedback means a lot.

Could you offer some feedback in terms of grammatical fixes? (Billy)

and Dale, I appreciate your critiques. I'm not sure where I fit into the writing space. I write a lot like this. No rhythm or order, just what I feel like - I know no better since I have had no formal instruction, and I'm working on it. It seems "prose" is quite and ambiguous term. Are you saying this is more of a shot story and less of a poem? I guess this is where it gets very subjective, but I'm happy to be hearing your or anyone else's thoughts.

[Philatone]

hello gem! a light line-by for you

We laid out at Parc des Buttes Chaumonts
for the 30° Celsius afternoon to lick our perspiration dry
after that subway ride from Notre Dame de Lorette was so sloppy-hot!..."lick" and "sloppy-hot" add a great sense of the ordinary to something that would appear to be more 'cultured'
William's navy blue-beautiful army coat contributed the only bulk
his French body could imagine while my skinny jeans sank way too tight into American me. ..."into american me" is great! the bit about the army coat was a little heavy and clunky (army coat...could imagine)
Snacking on Bing cherries, chewing through the now familiar Parisian cloud of nicotine,
the scene was of contentment on the hill and we approached each moment ..til now, there has been little action. and it is getting increasingly broad (e.g., "scene of contentment")
so that the fatty liver paste and bottled water were happily our own.
In the states, a picnic of tiny strawberries and scrawny men
like this would deceive our citizenry conditioned for
portions of macho and sweets in extra large.
But next to my body, bloody with sweat, William taught me the lessons about
rich flavors and delicate moments and sexy men;
he didn't say a word. ...nice
So much I learned from my French-Irish-Catholic William O'Rorke,
boyfriend of the week!
For sometimes, I even fooled-hoped myself into thinking
that I could find his twin brother at the local Milwaukee prep school when I got home.
Jibberish is all that fooling self-hopes are, something like
the type of nothing you talk about between the French-English language barrier.

some good lines and elements in here. at times, the lines were a tad long, though I realize for the form it may be just fine (prose poetry isn't my strong suit). it just led to interesting line breaks I wasn't always fond of. the piece is missing an action to really cling to, which makes it in danger of being forgotten I think. it's a speaker's reflection on a day at the park; i have developed little to no connection to the speaker. it's a nice, pleasant read, but I'm left with little afterwards.

[addy]

I really love this. Without the implication of conversation between the POV and the mystery boys everything was just so sensory and fun. Approaching decadent, but in a really fresh, natural way--- experiential, doesn't take itself too seriously, but still really good.

Like the others, I also did not like this line though ---"the scene was of contentment on the hill and we approached each moment"--- the sudden distance in the phrasing is puzzling, and it's the most dull and noncommittal line in the piece I think. The others I thought were pretty strong.

[billy]

We laid out at Parc des Buttes Chaumonts
for the 30° Celsius afternoon to lick our perspiration dry
after that subway ride from Notre Dame de Lorette was so sloppy-hot! this line feels like a stmbling block as far as the flow goes. maybe [Lorette, so sloppy hot, or [, we were so sloppy hot] or something else, at the moment there's something wrong with it. ( i do realize it could be all my fault )
William's navy blue-beautiful army coat contributed the only bulk
his French body could imagine[some grammar here maybe a semi colon] while my skinny jeans sank way too tight into American me.
Snacking on Bing cherries, chewing through the now familiar Parisian cloud of nicotine,
the scene was of contentment on the hill and we approached each moment maybe as instead of and
so that the fatty liver paste and bottled water were happily our own.
In the states, a picnic of tiny strawberries and scrawny men
like this would deceive our citizenry conditioned for move [like this] up a line maybe?
portions of macho and sweets in extra large.
But next to my body, bloody with sweat, William taught me the lessons about
rich flavors and delicate moments and sexy men; are some commas needed before the ands?
he didn't say a word.
So much I learned from my French-Irish-Catholic William O'Rorke,
boyfriend of the week!
For sometimes, I even fooled-hoped myself into thinking
that I could find his twin brother at the local Milwaukee prep school when I got home.
Jibberish is all that fooling self-hopes are, something like
the type of nothing you talk about between the French-English language barrier.

i did a big go through and perhaps came up wit stuff that doesn't need grammar (everyone will tell you i stink at grammar and after this you'll probably think the same )