The Last Friday

The Last Friday is a poetry editing group. Once a month, we post a poem and then offer feedback to the other poems on the Forum. We're a friendly but honest group. We value each other deeply and desire for every poet to be published or become famous.


    I am taking another shot at this, hoping two more people

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    Pat

    Posts : 648
    Join date : 2011-09-12

    I am taking another shot at this, hoping two more people

    Post  Pat on Thu Jan 28, 2016 8:40 pm

    will read this version (edit copy 101!)   Show, don't tell:  I know, I know.  : )  I forget, I forget.

    Considering Change

    "What's happening here?" she ask men
    conferring behind her office building.

    The one in a black tie weighs a dark reply.
    Her feet suddenly sense shifting ground.

    Turns out the men can cut down
    the bountiful shade trees.

    Slowly, she walks back to the door
    leading to a room where she

    counsels sufferers to let go of weights,
    remove veils, put out flaming pain.

    There, she too sighs,
    then a long breath follows

    as her heart unknots while saying
    goodbye to cottonwoods.
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    tsukany

    Posts : 605
    Join date : 2011-05-21

    I like this too

    Post  tsukany on Fri Jan 29, 2016 4:58 am

    Pat

    I like this version.  I am still not quite satisfied as I leave the poem.  It seems that the last two stanzas still "tell."  

    I think you could return to the metaphor you've set up beautifully.  How is the persona's "heart" like the cottonwoods?  Lead the reader to that discovery.

    Pat

    Posts : 648
    Join date : 2011-09-12

    Yes! I see. . . .

    Post  Pat on Fri Jan 29, 2016 7:42 am

    She is steadfast and bountiful too. . . . hmmmm.   That's telling, of course.  I'll need different words, but I think I hear the idea.  Thank you for this.

    Dennis 20
    Guest

    Cutting reply

    Post  Dennis 20 on Fri Jan 29, 2016 8:36 am

    Pat,  I like the picture you are establishing. Can you make it more where the person has to take some of their own medicine.  I think that is hinted at heavily toward the end.  I don't like the "turns out..." lines. It is too telling. Something more like "His reply cut to the quick" or some picture where you use the hewing, sawing, chopping, words that would hint at what is going to happen.  The last line could incorporate the thought or picture or even words of "fallen cottonwoods."  A good poem that show a picture of grief that hits the person who helps people deal with it.  A taste of their own medicine.  The irony of that is a great picture.

    Dewell H. Byrd

    Posts : 363
    Join date : 2012-01-05
    Age : 87
    Location : Central Point, OR

    CONSIDERING CHANGE

    Post  Dewell H. Byrd on Fri Jan 29, 2016 1:02 pm

    Pat,  Definitely improvement, gets better each read... I Enjoy Tribute Poems!  Write a few myself,
    other person is usually thrilled.
    I think Dennis wrapped up every detail needed to polish this piece.  I especially like the cutting, shock-of-falling ideas.  The cutting of urban trees is a common problem out here and "tree huggers", maligned, serve a real purpose in spite of their methods: "Bundy-Burns"...

    Good work.  Dewell

    Pat

    Posts : 648
    Join date : 2011-09-12

    You guys are amazing.

    Post  Pat on Fri Jan 29, 2016 3:47 pm

    You are giving me exactly what I need.  Thank you.  You didn't know this, of course, but Judy is on a C-Pap machine for breathing and she uses crutches to get around (horse accident long ago crushed ribs and ankle issue.)  Also, very smart and wise.  But You are so on target.  I had no idea where this poem was going.  Just knew I needed your confronting me, guiding me, stopping me.  Thank you. I may not be through, but it's a heap better than it was!   (Grandkids are coming and I am limited while they are here, so I've been after it.)

    Considering Change

    (For Judy)

    "What's happening here?" she asks men
    conferring behind her office building.
    The one in a black tie weighs a dark reply.

    Her feet suddenly sense shifting ground.
    Cut to the bone, she turns, understanding
    they can chop down all the cottonwoods.

    Slowly, she walks back to the door,
    leading to a room where she counsels
    sufferers to let go of weights,

    remove veils, put out flaming pain.
    There her grief turns into sighs.
    Soon, the saws, the fall, brokenness.

    Heaviness in her bones.
    Out the window, she gazes on trees,
    leaves looking down.

    Departures.  Utterly alone.
    Hard winter coming.
    Goodbyes to be said.

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