She stood in dark rain
a pool of tears washes blood
into the sewer
normally an auspicious female
now forsaken
shakes in undeniable fear
self pity seeps in
like sunlight through cracked shutters
remember to close them
hope fades under her breath
on a soundless night
alone with her thoughts
and a plague of memories
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BTW i loved the line "like sunlight through cracked shutters'. Thanks for sharing!
The line "primarily an auspicious female" stopped me. What do you really want to say there?
I want to add one word at the end
and a plague of memories
The poem works strongly for me other than that.
"Formally a lucky female" or something like that would make sense...
Anyway on a personal note...I have two lovely grown children and am grateful for that and much more.
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painter’s block
Thank you for posting to The Surreal Circus.
I think strong poetry points us in a direction while still allowing room for the reader to fold in their own impressions and experiences into the verse. By doing so, you're creating a more intimate read. Of course, the exception is if you're writing deeply personal experience verse-- you don't always want readers to put their own spin on it, because the verse -is- you and -for- you. One of these days I'll get around to writing an explanation on how I view "personal verse" and "performance verse". Poems that land in Honest Poetry Critique, even if they read like personal verse to me, I tend to critique them as performance verse. I'm mentioning this so you know how I'm approaching this critique, Jen. I don't want to offend or upset you, remember this is just one amateur's opinion. :)
First off, there is a lot of potential power here. You have a subject and imagery that are going to inspire certain responses in your readers. Some of your phrases are evocative-- I especially liked "plague of memories", because in times of grief, that is exactly what memories become.
There are some minor housekeeping changes I think you could make. The lack of punctuation coupled with the seemingly random capitalization of line starts makes this one a little more difficult for the eye to follow. When you're writing about uncomfortable topics, you probably want the visual component to be as smooth as possible, because the mind is already going to be tempted to shy away -unless- you are echoing content with layout for that double whammy of "ohh, this is making me squirm and not in a happy way". Here, however, I think the effect is less that sort of squirming and more "oops, I was supposed to treat that as a new sentence". That takes mental energy away from the meat of the poem. I kind of like the lack of punctuation but I would probably also just steal all of the capital letters away too and make it read like a stream of consciousness, or something uttered all in one pained breath.
Spelling: "foresaken" should be "forsaken".
Beyond that... I'm not sure how I feel about this poem, really. Reading it, I did not feel as if I were reading something new, I did not feel emotionally engaged to the situation-- and I -wanted- to be, having been in several situations that could be described as similar. Maybe it has to some clashing imagery... sunlight is automatically counted as a positive in my mind, and having it seep through close shutters attaches nostalgia to that, but here it's yoked to self-pity, which is negative. Dark rain, flood of tears, soundless night, being alone with one's thoughts and grief... these are all common phrases, they could be plucked up and set in another poem to serve there just as sturdily, but without any spark that makes it cleverly, creatively -yours-.
I'm not sure that that makes sense, and I feel somewhat badly for dissecting this one. I wanted very much to be able to enjoy it without reservation. Sorry, Jen.
Rhythm is kinda like flow, but flow is -more- (again, going on my own perceptions here, this is something I have a more instinctual feel for. I wish I could put technical definitions to them, but I'm also still in the process of learning and it hasn't been easy for me finding words for something that operates on that level). Rhythm is the beat of the lines, the stresses and syllables, whether regular or ragged.
Flow is also that, as well as the visual flow of the words on the page, as well as the way one's eyes travel over those words, as well as how those words hang together, the intent behind each phrase, or metaphor, whether they support or detract from each other. Harmony between eyes and mind when reading, I suppose.
The housekeeping has made this, visually, a much easier poem to read. :)
like sunlight through cracked shutters
remember to close them
I feel the damp of her skin, the quiver on her lips, the chill from the rain that ripples through her, the only thing that lets her feel pass the numbing as her eyes watch the drops of blood slip between the sewer grates. Then the fear morphs and the pity washes over her more powerful than the storming water that rages around her. And the inner strength that is buried in her soul instinctively pull from its depth that twig of survival that cautions her against losing her mind to over indulgence of her pain. And then she grieves.
Today, Jen, you are the architect of captured inner beauty brought to bare in the teeth of harsh reality. And you are master of your craft.