T Grief ---single space?

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T Grief ---single space?

Post  Pat on Sat Aug 03, 2013 11:50 am

                     To Grief

 

Here you come again as a full moon.

I don’t sleep when you are rich, fat, cheerful. 

And I don’t care if it is a woman thing or not: 

you keep me wide-awake night after night

when you dress in your bright white.

 

You know, it wasn’t always this way.

As I age, my lassoing of this and that

becomes less important, but I grow

more sensitive to everything:

storms, sun, people, dust,

moon.

 

And now, we are in that high-brow window

between summer and autumn:  each day

I say goodbye to life dying—

tomato plants, a butterfly, zinnias,

a brother.

.

They are leaving like shooting stars,

never to be seen or touched again.

Meanwhile, I am stuck with the caw of a crow

and the rawness in Dylan Thomas.

 

You are an unyielding neighbor,

relentlessly knocking.

No hugs, no words.

Yet. . . oh my, you may have heard me

caw.

 

Pat Durmon, 2013

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first Single Space and then reaction

Post  tsukany on Tue Aug 06, 2013 12:49 pm

To Grief

Here you come again as a full moon.
I don’t sleep when you are rich, fat, cheerful.  
And I don’t care if it is a woman thing or not:  
you keep me wide-awake night after night 
when you dress in your bright white.

You know, it wasn’t always this way.
As I age, my lassoing of this and that 
becomes less important, but I grow 
more sensitive to everything: 
storms, sun, people, dust, 
moon.

And now, we are in that high-brow window
between summer and autumn:  each day 
I say goodbye to life dying—
tomato plants, a butterfly, zinnias,
a brother.

They are leaving like shooting stars,
never to be seen or touched again.
Meanwhile, I am stuck with the caw of a crow 
and the rawness in Dylan Thomas.

You are an unyielding neighbor, 
relentlessly knocking.
No hugs, no words. 
Yet. . . oh my, you may have heard me
caw.

Pat Durmon, 2013
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Post  tsukany on Tue Aug 06, 2013 11:38 pm

Pat,

I like certain parts of your work here.  It seems that you have a powerful title, but the poem quickly turns to a confessional-style poem.  (The title suggests personification).  My suggestion would be to let it sit a while.  You have captured the emotion of the event.  Come back and weed out the elements that are not illustrations of the emotion.  I think in several places it feels like you are trying to write a poem.  I prefer the lines that are records of your experience.

I look forward to reading the next version.

Todd
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From Dennis' email

Post  tsukany on Wed Aug 07, 2013 8:39 am

To Grief
 
Here you come again as a full moon.
I don’t sleep when you are rich, fat, cheerful. 
And I don’t care if it is a woman thing or not: 
you keep me wide-awake night after night
when you dress in your bright white.
 
You know, it wasn’t always this way.                Omit You know
As I age, my lassoing of this and that                  This and that is vague--- use specifics--relationships, friendships,  emotions, etc...
becomes less important, but I grow
more sensitive to everything:                              Omit "everything" since you name them below.
storms, sun, people, dust,
moon.
 
And now, we are in that high-brow window     Omit And now
between summer and autumn:  each day
I say goodbye to life dying—
tomato plants, a butterfly, zinnias,
a brother.
.
They are leaving like shooting stars,
never to be seen, smelled or touched again.
Meanwhile, I am stuck with the caw of a crow       
and the rawness in Dylan Thomas.
 
You are an unyielding neighbor,
relentlessly knocking.
No hugs, no words.                                I don't see this quatrain as necessary  it is very "telling" 
Yet. . . oh my, you may have heard me    If you don't omit this quatrain at least omit this line.
caw.
 
Pat Durmon, 2013
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From Dewell

Post  tsukany on Wed Aug 07, 2013 8:40 am

Nice work, Pat.
Sorry about the need to greve.


I like what Dennis has done.

Here's a couple more items:

instead of the dash... maybe a semi;colon...

last stanza needs a reminder that GRIEF

is the "you" in the poem...

maybe start with..."Grief, you etc.



I love the crow, in-between summer and autumn...

raw Dylan...


I was surprised in last stanza that the moon didn't

reenter with the "caw."


Thanks for sharing... Dewell
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