I Don't Buy Tickets, But

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I Don't Buy Tickets, But

Post  Pat on Thu Oct 27, 2011 3:39 pm

I look forward to any suggestions. And I thank you, Pat

I Don’t Buy Tickets, But



If I won a million dollars, I’d not object.

More likely, I’d jump up, cry out

and hug the ground like one gone mad.

Nothing like the soft chime of a bell.





When my bent mind straightened, we’d

take a breath and fix that dent in your old

gray truck and still pray daily to keep

the holy joy found in a sleeping pond.



If I won a million dollars,

some just man, perhaps God’s shiny agent,

could be hired to take hammer and nails

and lay new shingles on our leaky roof.



I’m sure I’d still wear a sensible dress,

bear casseroles and molded salads,

keep the same banging gate

and give gentleness to the discontented.



But, here, if I won a million dollars,

I just might go demented, ignore kin,

and ride the tides with those who’d

brave my broken Picasso dreams.



Probably why I don’t buy tickets. . . .



Pat Durmon, 2011


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Pat's Offering

Post  tsukany on Sat Oct 29, 2011 8:32 am

Pat,
I like the idea of this poem. I really like a couple of your
personal images...casseroles and gray truck...leap off the page.
I get lost in several places, the God stuff seems like additional
material, inserted to take the reader somewhere...but the ending
takes me back to the title and then the poem dies, an anecdote. I
feel like you wanted more for the reader.





I
Don’t Buy Tickets, But



If
I won a million dollars, I’d not object.

More
likely, I’d jump up, cry out

and
hug the ground like one gone mad.

Nothing
like the soft chime of a bell.
(the
way this is punctuated this sentence is out of context.)

When
my bent mind straightened, we’d

take
a breath and fix that dent in your old
(the
gray truck detail is the irony I want to occur in all of the
poem)
gray
truck and still pray daily to keep
(does
anyone actually pray for the "holy joy of sleeping ponds"?
(daily?) I like the image but it seems forced.
the
holy joy found in a sleeping pond.


If
I won a million dollars,

some
just man, perhaps God’s shiny agent,
(this
entire stanza seems forced to me. Does it need to be
here?)
could
be hired to take hammer and nails

and
lay new shingles on our leaky roof.


I’m
sure I’d still wear a sensible dress,
(This
is the gravity point of the poem for me. I was hooked. I
became part of the poem...thanks)
bear
casseroles and molded salads,

keep
the same banging gate

and
give gentleness to the discontented. (This line lost me.
I felt like you tried too hard to wax philosophical)


But,
here, if I won a million dollars,

I
just might go demented, ignore kin,
(This
is how I'd end the poem...Three lines of broken dementia...no
resolution for the reader, no quatrain of completion)
and
ride the tides with those who’d

brave
my broken Picasso dreams.
(I
have no way to process "Picasso dreams" broken or
otherwise. What does this mean? I want to know, but I
have no clues for processing)

Probably
why I don’t buy tickets. . . .




Pat
Durmon, 2011
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tsukany

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Oh my! Oh my goodness!

Post  Pat on Sat Oct 29, 2011 12:08 pm

All I can think to say: Helpful to the max. I need your eyes on my work. Such good feedback.

I'll edit when I get some Taxol out of my system. Meanwhile, I'm on hold. Will then look at your poem too.

Meanwhile, know that this is helpful and I am grateful.

Pat

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