The Last Friday

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    T Grief ---single space?

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    Pat

    Posts : 635
    Join date : 2011-09-12

    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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    tsukany

    Posts : 597
    Join date : 2011-05-21

    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
    avatar
    tsukany

    Posts : 597
    Join date : 2011-05-21

    Reaction

    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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    tsukany

    Posts : 597
    Join date : 2011-05-21

    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
    avatar
    tsukany

    Posts : 597
    Join date : 2011-05-21

    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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