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[David Nelson Bradsher]

James, my old friend, I hope all is well with you, and what a distinct pleasure to see your name come up.

This one has some length, so with your permission, I'd like to take some time with it.

There won't be anything of real significance, of course, because there never is. Your tetrameter is always spot-on, but maybe I can at least offer some attractive alternatives, just as a pair of fresh eyes.

[James.H.Oldfield]

As always it would be most welcome David.

This particular piece is one I've been wrestling with for over a fortnight (a very rare occurrence for me, as we've discussed in the past I tend to pen most of my work, even longer pieces, in a single sitting). This is actually the fourth total rewrite, and I'm still not sure I'm happy with it...

Thanks in advance, anyway -James

[mfwilkie]

James,

I've gone through some of this with suggested changes to rev up the tone and images and increase the pace of reading the styalized language. And I've changed the syntax of the Voice.

Have to run but I'll be back to finish later tonight.

Nice to see your work again.

Maggie






So much dust, it fills
Layers of dust deny me air
and cloaks the window to of my room;
the/day's tainted sunlight finds me here,
but, weakened, cannot lift
left weak beneath the heft of gloom.

My dreams forgot, lest hoping harms, * Not sure what you mean in this line, James.
I wake as if I'd never slept.
and I wipe the dust mote with open palms
and but all the filth I touch is kept.

Yet, gazing out, I almost smile
to see the world move on outside,
for hours I watch and, all the while,
lament the darkness where I hide.

But that this is not a the world for me,
despite my soul’s undoubted compulsive lust,
and so I step away and see
I move away, choose not to see
as pain enhances my disgust
, once more cloaked in dust.

*

I’ve been asleep again it seems
for twilight marks the day’s demise,
it draws a curtain on my lost dreams
and ushers night to on weary eyes.

My room is as I saw it last
(at least once sleepy focus falls),
the shelves bear relics of my past,
love's dog-eared photos stain the walls.

And on the floor a man is sprawled,
or what remains when men pass on,
I cannot think, now, what he’s called,
but with his death my life is gone.

I sigh, a deep soul-searing sigh,
and make my way towards the sink;
if I’ve no tears with which to cry
at least I might be drowned in drink…

*

I’ve been asleep again it seems,
I wake slumped in a kitchen chair,
and in my head a man still screams;
I only hope to keep him there.

So this is how my life turned out,
a mix of ways to hide my crime?
If just I’d chose another route…
My thoughts of pity stall this time.

Across the table two more eyes
are staring, boring, to my soul;
I know they wouldn’t bear my lies
yet still weave words that might console:

“It’s not…” I start, but sounds are slurred,
the drink has tied my tongue within,
and maybe this should be preferred,
I’d hardly know where to begin.

“I’m sorry”, I succeed to say,
and train my eyes upon the face;
in fright I turn myself away,
then turn right back, in meek disgrace.

My brother’s ghost looks near alive,
unflinching at his sibling’s state,
a smile the best he can contrive
to somehow mask undoubted hate.

“Just sit”, he says, before I’ve moved,
as if he saw what I might do,
“I see the flat has not improved
since I moved on and left it you”.

“Whilst you, my brother, seem far worse”
at this he gives a mirthless laugh,
its timbre dry and somehow terse,
as if it tears his heart in half.

“You…” he wails, at least he tries,
the word’s engulfed in choking pain,
and, head in hands, at last he cries
the tears too potent to contain.

And I, once more, am at a loss,
how might a wraith, in truth, be soothed?
For want of choice I reach across
and all my darkest fears are proved:

His spectral shape seems kin to mine,
to touch, just like the world around,
and as I see my untouched wine
at last I see who’s on the ground.

My corpse was felled, not by a blow,
but by a mind to clutch the that longed for dirt.
I splayed myself and then let go
of all my carefully nurtured hurt.

Until I woke to never wake,
my great revenge on knowing Death,
and only here does my mistake
breeze past me with that my final breath.

For Death cared not about my tears,
he’d just as soon have seen me smile,
yet I took loss and moulded fears,
my brother resting all the while.

A Dear Brother, who you gave up his your rest
to meet me in my own defeat,
who you found me, filthy, badly dressed,
my body sprawled stilled by life's mystique. across my feet .

And now, my palm within his own
And with my palm held in your own
he gently ushers me to rise,
my thoughts, it seems, are all well known,
for pity floats in tear-filled eyes.)

I see my body on the floor,
as, with the world, it fades away,
but it is part of me no more
than fading stars are part of day.

*

I do awake just one more time,
another landscape in my sight,
each side a group of people climb,
the mourners left, the dead all right.

[mfwilkie]

Re-thought the opening, James.

Layers of dust deny me air
and choak the windows in my room;