Reflections (3rd revision)

[determinedtofail]

Reflections 3rd Revision


To stains.
To condensation.

To reflections of myself
vanishing like the frosty brew-
someone has knocked out my good hand,
melting now
on the green tongue of time.

There are secret walls that eavesdrop
like a feather coated in smoke.

Walls with liver spots,
scared, bleeding walls-
that time is tasting with her green tongue:
Walls that long to be touched,
Walls that reach for my hands.

Steps with worn edges
prefer a certain rhythm from my feet.

A sapient percussion
A movement that pushes back,
out my kneecaps
into alleyways and through corridors,
where my footsteps echo back

as ancient puddles drip and call my name.


Reflections (first revision)


To stains.
To condensation.
To reflections of myself:
vanishing like the spilled frosty brew-
someone has incidentally
knocked out of my unsuspecting good hand,
melting now on the green tongue of time.

There are secret walls that eavesdrop
like a feather coated in smoke.
Walls with liver spots,
scared, bleeding walls-
that time is tasting with her green tongue:
Walls that long to be touched,
Walls that reach for my hands.

There are steps with worn edges
that prefer a certain rhythm from my feet.
A sapient percussion
borrowed from a flapping rug.

A movement that pushes back,
out my kneecaps
into alleyways and through corridors,
where my footsteps echo back to me
like ancient puddles.
that drip and call my name.




Reflections Original Version


To stains,
To condensation,
To reflections of myself,
Vanishing like the spilled frosty brew,
That some inadvertent stranger,
Has knocked out of my unsuspecting good hand,
Melting now on the green tongue of time.

There are secret walls, that eavesdrop.
Like a feather coated in smoke.
Walls with liver spots,
Scared, bleeding walls,
That time is tasting with her green tongue.
Walls that long to be touched,
Walls that reach for my hands.

There are steps with worn edges,
That prefer a certain rhythm from my feet.
A sapient percussion,
Borrowed from a flapping, slithering rug.
A movement that pushes back,
Out my kneecaps,
Into alleyways, and through corridors,
Where my footsteps echo back to me.
Like ancient puddles,
That drip and call my name.

[Marion Poirier]

Shawn this poem has some great imagery. It would
flow better without the initial caps with the exception of
the last two lines in the second stanza. I also think that
Walls would make a more interesting title.
You could cut down slightly on the modifiers
as strong imagery does not require a lot of adjectives.

Since I am a minimalist, I think the poem would be stronger
without S3 that could be a poem in itself - (about steps).
Keep your eye on the sparrow.
Poets often try to say too much in one poem IMO.

I like the green tongue of time in the first stanza;
however, it seems redundant in S2; could work with a
different modifier. It's a poem with good potential.

Welcome to EP!
Marion

To stains,
To condensation,
To reflections of myself,
vanishing like the spilled frosty brew,
That some *inadvertent stranger, *(I'd replace
this with another modifier to convey your intent more clearly.)
Has knocked out of my unsuspecting good hand,
melting now on the green tongue of time.

There are secret walls(,)that eavesdrop(.)
like a feather coated in smoke.
The walls have liver spots,
scarred, bleeding walls(,)
that time is tasting with her greengangerine tongue:
Walls that long to be touched,
Walls that reach for my hands.

There are steps with worn edges,
that prefer a certain rhythm from my feet.
a sapient percussion,
borrowed from a flapping, slithering rug.
A movement that pushes back,
out from my kneecaps,
into alleyways(,) and through corridors,
where my footsteps echo back to me.
like ancient puddles(,)
that drip and call my name.

[determinedtofail]

Marion,

Thanks for the input on my poetry. Very useful hearing other's perspectives. I've been debating about my use of prepositional phrases lately. On one hand I like for each line to be a poem in itself, on the other I agree with the minimalism, it does get a bit overflowing and can stop the flow of the poem.

I made some alterations. I kept the first two lines, and tried to use it as a toast a time between friends. I was thinking of parties I go to and often times during the night's event my heart often wanders me away into some alley, stairs, or place I've never been.

I had the forgetful, scared (I only wrote scared with implications and trusted the readers mind to also add the word scarred), and shakiness traits that comes with old age and that are so apparent in empty nursing home hallways. I see walls and steps and anything old; man made that has a wabi sabi/poetic feel to it that not everyone notices; much the same way.

I was also thinking of pain and the coping mechanism of touch/empathy, the higgs field, impermanence, evolution, instinct, and our green temperate rainforest out here in the NW eating everything, weathering, and the ambivalence of time. (Without the rain the is no green, so I left out gangrene, but may search for a different phrase on your suggestion)

So I agree maybe I had too many elements going through my head when I wrote this. I chiseled it down a little and may do so more. Your comments were very helpful, going to think some more about them. After ruminating a little on your suggestions, here is what I have so far.

Reflections II the Revenge

To stains.
To condensation.
To reflections of myself,
vanishing like the spilled frosty brew-
some inadvertent stranger
knocked out of my unsuspecting good hand,
Melting now on the green tongue of time...

There are secret walls that eavesdrop
like a feather coated in smoke.
Walls with liver spots,
scared, bleeding walls,
that time is tasting with her green tongue:
Walls that long to be touched,
Walls that reach for my hands.

There are steps with worn edges,
that prefers a certain rhythm from my feet.
A sapient percussion,
borrowed from a flapping, slithering rug.
A movement that pushes back,
out my kneecaps

(When I go down steps I think of the particles between my feet and the steps that react and push back, Slow or fast the kinetic energyy feels like it wants to jump OUT my kneecaps, so I left I the word FROM. Just currious, what do you think of when walking on steps???),

into alleyways and through corridors,
where my footsteps echo back to me.
Like ancient puddles....
That drip and call my name.

[Marion Poirier]

Shawn, this flows much better now that you have
removed most of the initial caps. I am pressed for time
at the moment, but I will get back to your revision.

The easiet way for a reviewer to compare a revised
version is for the author to go back to the original post
and place the revision first - the original
after it. In the subject area at the top, type
the new title with revision or version 2 after the title.
Post your response to the reviewer separately.

I think you will get more reviews this way though
the reviews have dropped off since we all lead
such busy lives.

Is The Revenge your new title?
I don't think it is particularly relevant and ambiguous,
rather than mysterious.
Simple titles work best IMO. My former suggrestion
was not the best either as a title should add
something to the poem - not repeat what is
in it.

I'd be interested in knowing what other's think
since my perspective is undoubtedly biased by my
own style.

Nice to see you posting here.

Marion

[Marion Poirier]

This is much better, Shawn, except for the title change.
You are too heavy handed on comma's and on the
word that - the latter can often be eliminated.
I question your use of iinadvertent again. I think you
mean that a stranger inadvertently knocked a
drink out of your hand - not inadvertent stranger -
I've been taught to use adverbs sparingly so would
use another adjective with stranger. My interpretation
being this act was unintentional. I particularly
like these evocative lines.
The repetition of green tongue is OK on rethinking -
this is an example where the repetition works IMO.
It can either weaken or strengthen a poem - here
the repeated phrase is not over-done.

M

This is what I mean by the way revisions
are usually posted - not that it is set in stone.
You can go to original post (if you want to)
and post your revision first like the following:

The Revenge (Title Change) Version 2

To stains.
To condensation.
To reflections of myself: (colon)vanishing like the spilled frosty brew-
some inadvertent careless stranger
knocked out of my unsuspecting good hand,
melting[ now on the green tongue of time...period

There are secret walls that eavesdrop
like a feather coated in smoke.
Walls with liver spots,
scared, bleeding walls(,) no comma
that time is tasting with her green tongue:
Walls that long to be touched,
Walls that reach for my hands.

There are steps with worn edges(,) no comma
that prefers a certain rhythm from my feet.
A sapient percussion(,) no comma
borrowed from a flapping, slithering rug.
A movement that pushes back,
out my kneecaps

(When I go down steps I think of the particles between my feet and the steps that react and push back, Slow or fast the kinetic energyy feels like it wants to jump OUT my kneecaps, so I left I the word FROM. Just currious, what do you think of when walking on steps???),
Yes, it's better- also change that to I
into alleyways and through corridors,
where my footsteps echo back to me(.)(no period)
like ancient puddles....no ellipses
that drip and call my name.



Reflections (Original)

To stains,
To condensation,
To reflections of myself,
Vanishing like the spilled frosty brew,
That some inadvertent stranger,
Has knocked out of my unsuspecting good hand,
Melting now on the green tongue of time.

There are secret walls, that eavesdrop.
Like a feather coated in smoke.
Walls with liver spots,
Scared, bleeding walls,
That time is tasting with her green tongue.
Walls that long to be touched,
Walls that reach for my hands.

There are steps with worn edges,
That prefer a certain rhythm from my feet.
A sapient percussion,
Borrowed from a flapping, slithering rug.
A movement that pushes back,
Out my kneecaps,
Into alleyways, and through corridors,
Where my footsteps echo back to me.
Like ancient puddles,
That drip and call my name.


Shawn Austin 1-23-2009
-------------------------------------------

[determinedtofail]

Marion,

Thanks you very much for your advice and suggestions, they help my poetry to be more successful.

I kept someone has instead of someone had in the first stanza, because I wanted to convey that this spilled frosty brew situation is universal. It is happening with the word now every 3 seconds around the world. I thought has a few lines then the word now functions better than the combination had melted to try and convey my meaning. Though I think you are right, it may not sound as well as it could; maybe even a little silly.

Forgive me; I kept the words like and that in the final two lines, though, maybe I'll change my mind on that later??

I kept the word:

that prefer a certain rhythm from my feet.
instead of I,

because inanimate objects having a sense, was a big element that I was going for with this poem. Now that I think of it, maybe the core element.

Oh, reflections II the revenge was my poor attempt at humor. Movie sequels often use the word revenge.

Thanks again.

---Shawn

[alfredo]

I believe this piece exceptional. If mine I would not touch it anymore. It’s very very good.

[determinedtofail]

Alfredo, thank you for you coments. A memeber at my poetry group suggested that the word SLITHERING did not go with the flow of this poem. I think I agree with them and shall make a final adjustment there.

Alfredo, I enjoyed reading your poem Forgive Me and how you personify nature. Marion made two useful suggestions.

[mfwilkie]

Hi Determined,

Welcome to the neighborhood. If it doesn't bother too much, we use our regular names here.

Have been reading this since you posted it. And looking at you revision tonight, I pulled out the nits of excessive language that were bothering my ear and it seemed to work itself into a
repeatable form that lets your images work for the poem.

Maggie

To stains.
To condensation.

To reflections of myself: vanishing
like the spilled brew someone has incidentaly
knocked out of my good hand, melting now
on the green tongue of time.

There are secret walls that eavesdrop
like a feather coated in smoke.

Walls with liver spots,
that time is tasting with her green tongue:
walls that long to be touched,
walls that reach for my hands.

Steps with worn edges
prefer a certain rhythm from my feet.

A sapient percussion
borrowed from a flapping rug.
A movement that pushes back,
into alleyways and through corridors

where my footsteps echo in ancient puddles.

[Ron Wallace (Scotshawk)]

Interesting, I like the heart of the work quite a lot. I do like Maggie's breaks and enjambsments quite a bit as well; they seem to smooth out a path for me.
I also realy like her suggestions for cuts, especially in the "walls" stanza. This is well done regardless of any trimming. Welcome aboard by the way. Ron

[Ken_Nye]

Shawn, it would be inappropriate for me to welcome you to EP because I have been away from the site for over a year. But I was a member for a number of years and know a number of people here. They are an eternally helpful group of people and darn good poets. They also become friends. I am only jusst this evening timidly trying to slip into the stream of reviews as if I hadn't been gone for a year.

I must confess that I did not have a clear idea of what this poem was about until I read yoiur comment above abouit parties. (If you stick around, you will find that I'm not a very reviewer -- weak on concrete suggestions of wayis to make poems better.

Ken Nye

[determinedtofail]

Wow Maggie! I think your suggestion flows really well. It's shape appeals to the eye. Interesting how just by breaking the lines as you did and trimming it helps to, as Ron stated, smooth things out.

I decided on keeping some of my words in the second stanza. They may clutter the poem a little, but always like to include my personality in the poem. I do see what you mean though, about excessive language bothering the ear. Hope to find the right compromise some day..

Thanks to all (Ron, Maggie, Marion, and Ken) for welcoming me. Nice place you have created here. I am starting to be more aware of my tendency to over use modifiers, and getting your perspectives is very helpful in this regard. I was thinking about that subject when making my last two poems. Now the hard part, actualy practicing good habits.

I'm still learning about enjambment and the effect it has. A member of my poetry group talked about this and I had to ask her what it was. (I have a lot to learn)

Thanks Again,

Shawn

[Marion Poirier]

Shawn, I have a few more suggestions for you to
consider - to take or leave.
IMO you elaborate and explain too much, but I do
like your style only I'd tone it down, having been
at both ends of the spectrum - we need to strike
a balance between too much and too sparse -
this is an acquired skill - takes time and patience.

Excellent revision so far.
Marion

To stains.
To condensation.

To reflections of myself:
vanishing like the spilled frosty brew-
someone has incidentally
knocked out of my unsuspecting good hand,
melting now on the green tongue of time.

Here's an example of wasted or redundant words.
It is understood that the brew is spilled - IMO
accidentally would fit better here - or else leave it
alone - too much explanation weakens a poem.

There are secret walls that eavesdrop
like a feather coated in smoke.
I can't connect this simile to the poem.
Walls with liver spots,
scared, bleeding walls-
that time is tasting with her green tongue:
Walls that long to be touched,
Walls that reach for my hands.

Steps with worn edges
prefer a certain rhythm from my feet.

A sapient percussion
borrowed from a flapping rug.
Also unnecessary explanation here as you explain in following
lines.A movement that pushes back,
out my kneecaps
into alleyways and through corridors,
where my footsteps echo back

as ancient puddles drip and call my name.

[determinedtofail]

Thanks everyone!!

[ramadevi]

Nice to meet you. What a gifted pen - WOW!

I think you've taken the suggestions and done major revisions to produce this polished piece.

The only suggestion i have is to repeat the idea that using green tongues twice is not preference.

if this were mine, I'd trim that line from

that time is tasting with her green tongue:
to
that time is tasting:

Kudos. A fine work!

Impressive!


Warm Regards,
rama devi

[Marion Poirier]

Shawn, IMO the poem has been polished into a gem.
I do like Rama's suggestion. IMO the first time you
use that phrase, it is striking; if it were a longer poem
it could bear the repetition - though after the revisions
it was considerably shortened - clearer and concise.

Though on the other hand as my teenager tells me,
Auntie, you've got to think outside the box.

Therefore, I am slowing crawling outside the box
and thinking of more possibilities.

Regards,
Marion