Her Son (version 2)

[Tina (Firefly)]

Scarlet, not crimson.
The same color as his mother's hair.
His blood seeped like a dead cardinal-
a tiny pool of sorrow feathering the grass.
No sound. Only frozen shade.

When he died, sunsets stopped.
I can only breathe at dawn -
quick sniffs of morning air have to last
a whole day. What can I do
with the remainder
of a boy's death?













VERSION 1
Scarlet, I think. Not crimson.
The same shade as Mother's hair.
I'm pretty sure his blood was the color
of a backyard cardinal, dead of sorrow.
I felt the raw wetness sticking to my eyes,
fingernails, elbows mixed with garden grass.
When he died, it ended sunsets.
I could only breathe at dawn, then quick sniffs
of morning air had to last the whole day.
What can I do with the remainder
of a boy's death?

[mfwilkie]

A strong poem, Tina.

What if you opened with something like:

I remember scarlet. Not crimson.
The same shade as Mothrer's hair.


Scarlet, I think. Not crimson.
The same shade as Mother's hair.

I think its language is weakest in these lines:

I'm pretty sure his blood was the color
of a backyard cardinal, dead of sorrow.
I felt the raw wetness sticking to my eyes,
fingernails, elbows mixed with garden grass.

When he died, it ended sunsets.
I could only breathe at dawn, then quick sniffs
of morning air had to last the whole day.

A thought here:

What can I does one do with the remainder
of a boy's death?

Maggie

[LynnDoiron]

T -- I read both versions, and really like Version 1 best; it seems more genuine, less 'poem' while being more poem because of the connection it makes to/with me as I read.

VERSION 1
Scarlet, I think. Not crimson.
The same shade as Mother's hair.
I'm pretty sure his blood was the color
of a backyard cardinal, dead of sorrow.
I felt the raw wetness sticking to my eyes, [not crazy about sticking my eyes; but I felt the raw wetness is superb]
fingernails, elbows mixed with garden grass.
When he died, it ended sunsets. [When he died, sunsets ended.]
I could only breathe at dawn, then quick sniffs
of morning air had to last the whole day.
What can I do with the remainder
of a boy's death? [Just me playing, but perhaps consider: Of a boy's death, what / can I do / with what's left?]

there you go, girl. round file at your pleasure! lynnie

[Ron Wallace (Scotshawk)]

Hey, Tina, how's the South holding out? I really like Lynn's ideas with this poem, but I'd keep your ending lines as they are. You've done some strong work here, Lady. Ron

[Jonathan Morey Weiss-Namaste47]

Strong imagery, T. I like your current version, and agree with Ron about keeping the last line as it was. Very sorry, as it seems like someone you knew.

[mfwilkie]

Tina,

I miss the backyard cardinal in your revision, and I agree your version one is the stronger of the two.

What about:
only frozen silence? Then you could use the same shade of hair
which is a stronger phrase.

These small ones are toughtest, but I think you're getting there.

Maggie

[LeoVictorBriones (poetremains)]

I know I’m late to the show here. But hey being rude is not the same thing on the west coast as in the deep and snowy south.

Here are my suggestions.

Make the title more mysterious. Drop her son and use the first line…

Scarlet, not crimson.

The same color as his mother's hair.
His blood seeped like a dead cardinal-
a tiny pool of sorrow feathering the grass.
No sound. Only frozen shade. (great line)

When he died, sunsets stopped (feels a tiny cliché, drop)

When he died, I could only
breathe at dawn. My quick sniffs
of morning air had to last
a whole day. What else could I do
with the remainder
of a boy's death?

Hope this is helpful or constructive or encouraging or what ever that word is??

[Sherry Thrasher]

How I do like this poem. It leaves me melancholy. I recall the death of a teenage boy here in town. His mother was a friend of my sister in law. Unfortunately, he went to pass a car and ran head on into another. Both he and his passenger were instantly killed. I remember that his mother was ironing the shirt that he was to be buried in and my sister in law offered assistance only to be told no as the mother said "this is the last thing that I will be able to do for Nathan." I remember feeling the tragic sense of loss. Your poem brings that back to me.

I agree with Leo on the title. Her son, seems weak when weighed against the poem itself. Also, "dead" cardinal could be reworked in my opinion. Perhaps another word. You have such strong images here. I'm also wondering about "sunsets" stopping and why you didn't choose sunrise.

Again, terrific work.

Sherry

[MojoElvis]

It has been for to long for me....

but here I am finding my thru these white on gray or is it grey pages, either way I found me a gem, I can always tell because the verse always beckons me to read several times , over and over , quickly at first and then resting on each line pausing to ponder...

I am left with to things.. no wait three,

1st what difference does it make scarlet or crimson,,,, both are powerful and really equally poignant...

2nd the breath that this poem takes away...

and finally the power in the remainder of a death... your final line, I kept saying should it not be.... memory... or remembrance... then I said how powerful is the remainder, it is forever... and I truly saw the pain... no I felt it and therein lies greatness of your poem

[Ken_Nye]

Hi,Tina. Trying to make m fingers work this morning so I cant tell you hiow struck I was by this poem. Many poople have commented and made some good observations and suggestions. You have used some that have improved what was already a powerful piece. I, too, preferred version 1 to 2, but 3 is the best. Now, don'ttouch it.

Ken

[determinedtofail]

Hi Tina,

Sorry for your loss. The poem as a whole makes me think; reflective, sad, dealing with loss, and moments of depression. From my own experiences the following are some thoughts I had after reading this poem. These comments may be helpful or not to this poem. All depends on what mood you are going for.

You could add to what you have somehow, by incorporating the elements of a rising sunset and the tired heat or sweat from the day as it approaches the warmest part, to express a sense of reluctant positivity; i fell this would give the poem more balance. A lot of peotry we read depends on our mood, and great poems I find soemhow can be experienced from a number of moods.

Thanks for Sharing,

---Shawn

[LeoVictorBriones (poetremains)]

His blood seeped like a dead cardinal-
a tiny pool of sorrow feathering the grass.
No sound. Only frozen shade.

When he died, sunsets stopped.
I can only breathe at dawn -
quick sniffs of morning air have to last
a whole day.

What can I do
with the reminder that scarlet, not crimson.
Was the same color as his mother's hair.

[determinedtofail]

Leo, wow, you picked that up really quick. I wonder what Tina thinks?;D

Take care,

Shawn

[Ron Buck (halfshell)]

you know you are close when everyone has a little something to ponder.

Scarlet, not crimson.
The same color as his mother's hair.
His blood seeped like a dead cardinal-
a tiny pool of sorrow feathering the grass.


When he died, sunsets stopped.
I can only breathe at dawn -
quick sniffs of morning air have to last
a whole day. What can I do
with the remainder. (?)

Is it a question or a statement... I don't think the last line of both stanza are necessary...

mebbe they are...

powerful stuff... I tip my cap

tidings
ron

[Tina (Firefly)]

You have each given me some wonderful suggestions and various ways to interpret this. I particularly like Ron Buck's ending of 'what can I do with the remainder? I will have much more time in a week or so, and will return to work on this. Thanks for the interest..and by the way, this is not a personal experience.

[ramadevi]

Glad this is fictional, TINA. THE EMOTIONAL ELEMENT IS SO STRONGLY CONVEYED, ONE ASSUMES IT STEMS FROM INNER DEPTHS OF EXPERIENCE!

oops capslock!

A very powerful poem. i like some of the ending suggestions, and i know you are thinking on it, so will not add another. Also love Leos title suggestion. i strongly agree that the title must change.

Kudos for a very striking poem. Visually stunnning.

Warm Regards,
rama devi