Retired. Never an obligation 3,777 times…minus two or three thousand more (when a zealous-whatever programming made me) before MY lobby saved the rest, thanks to response with consideration and generous reply to put up with me.
I get a hang up on stats and what’s right. Blame baseball historians. Apparently, I can’t hear the societal norm above the NOISE IN MY HEAD! WHAT? Oh…you were saying?
Nicely percepted notion about the powers of Motherhood to give them wings from heaven. The analogy does well to show how these miracle woman manage to care for their loved ones.
I did see some technical errors, if you don't mind my pointing out. This stanza has a problem with the tense...
When mothers seem to be all places at once,
their wings carried(carry) them. I had this hunch...
...Unless you want to reword to show past tense for how they got there...
...when(after) I thought I saw Momma in three different ways,
being (in) nine different places on three sep(a)rate days...
Would suggest removing 'but' from start of this line...
...but Motherwings come from Heaven above...
That particular stanza was imaginative and gave a visual feel to this notion of how Moms get their wings and for what. I liked that bit about get whomped by one of those wings, too. A nice lighthearted moment.
Also liked the narrative, giving more of a child voice to the piece, but in a way a parent could understand or relive in a child's imagination.
Very intensely written moment etching with fingers on a frosty window pane.
Evocative the way you pull emotions from the touch of the hot fingertips. It's something I never considered or imagined when tracing my digits along the icy glass.
Very descriptive and original and there is connection, a realization of something deeper than just the surface that has been scratched. The mention of 'frosty dreams' might suggest a memory carved out in that moment...of what I'm not certain. But I think the poem goes more to the expression of that discovery, maybe like serendipity, or nostalgic reflection...but has a numbing effect in the end.
Some great metaphors, too. The ice as 'chilly sugar' and the scrawlings as 'winter hieroglyphics,' suggesting a coded message.
I don't know if I can decipher the rest and you may have to fill me in, or set me straight if I have veered off course with this illuminating piece of prose.
Brian KC
PS - I don't believe I've reviewed you before and I see you joined around the same time as me. Hope to visit your port to take in more of your work.
Nice bit of personification and wonder if someone has been reading Keats. In the 9th grade no less.
You're new to Writing.com I see and had to give you a review with a welcome. Are you from England then?
This is the type of poetry I can appreciate and for one so young when written, it impresses me. Nicely meted out to read smooth with rhyme scheme that nicely punctuates the lines.
You aptly cover the seasons in the open. You have the metal bird battling elements in next stanza and finish with the revelation of that rooster's value.
You create a connection with the weathervane on a deeper level. Just as Keats would. I think this deserves much merit and hope others take time to appreciate the structure and content because it sings true.
Nice work! Can only imagine what else you may have to offer since this poem's construction.
An original metaphor for searching for love like gold in someone's heart.
That whole first stanza stood out and captured my interest, especially with the ending line waiting for the appearence of that twinkling smile.
What also brought flavor was 'grubstake romance.'
At the ending, I wonder if it really is a metaphor. It almost reads like this person went off in the hills to actually pan for gold, followed by the comparison of the gold they find to the one who spurned their advances.
The hardships of seeking true love may be greater than the trouble to discover that glimmer of gold in the hills?
This poem is laden with subtle images that if I wanted to pry deep might work as an allegory or maybe a parable.
I get the sense of loyalty from these animals with their relation to each of the characters. Each person seems to die alone, silently, with no help but the faithful beasts that lay down and die too. For lack of purpose, without those leaders, these servitile subjects lay to waste as well.
The poem seems to have a drive, but it catches from time to time with maybe a few missing syllables to help a line here and there.
Content is excellent, and with a hammered out meter to help the flow of the read, this would be superb.
But you know, as a parent, I'm singing to my children all the time. Nursery songs and lullabys mostly. But we are a musical bunch, so we pretty much sing wherever we go. We even gather around Mom while she plays the piano in our frontroom.
Some people might sing in church or a choir. How about with those headphones strapped on in your room or private space? Some people can sing at work, depending on the atomosphere. I worked in a music store, and we pretty much sang when we felt like it. But mostly, out of the way, and not in front of customers.
Such a forlorn, deep and honest expression of feeling with this poem.
One thing can bring back so much memory, like the music box. I lot of emotions were poured into this one. And yet it left me wanting more, to sense the physical presence.
The feelings are easy to connect to. I would like to envision the feelings as the relate to the one who haunts.
Great use of imagery with this poem, Gabriella! I enjoyed how you set this up visually. I could get the feel of looking a great distance down to view those cars as ants.
I had never heard of 'macadam' and had to look it up on line. I like finding new words this way and find that it added a great deal of flavor to this piece.
I loved how you ended that first stanza with the pages of a book, signifying the passing of the days similar to a fairy tale, I thought.
I also liked the bit of irony in the end, that one has to labor to get out of paradise by shoveling this snow. The only thing that snagged for me was describing the wind as 'scorching.' I tried to imagine the sun radiating this much heat after a snowstorm, but the only thing I can imagine in winter is intense, blinding light amid this blanketed landscape.
There is much at work here and a great bit of story telling through showing the reader the scene.
Very descriptive and imaginative piece that was a nice bit of storytelling to relate how the son murders mom in cold blood.
I don't know if you drew from a real story to paint this picture, but it was very effective and yet a bit raw and in need of refining like the repetitive use of clouds in lines three and four.
You should add a label for the young readers: Kids, don't try this at home.
I could envision him streaking across that room in rage, this bearded psychopath. Nicely ended with that creepy scene where he is finally calm as Mom's blood pools on the floor.
I think this is more than comparison, the son becomes the storm. Nice work!
This reads like a lyrical monologue with a strong rhyme scheme making for a pleasing read.
Cautionary tale that reminds me of something like Yeats. My memory of his work may be foggy, though.
It has that ominous feel, the warning almost like a threat. Someone will pay you back for what you did when you least expect it. Trying to get inside of the head of this person, I suppose.
The way it's written, it came across like lyrics and had that sing-songy feel and reminds me of the stuff my Mom would recite when I was a kid. Perhaps, something akin to the Irish poets.
Well worded dialogue and something that gave me pause to wonder about to whom this would be directed.
The telling is clear but the lack of showing kept me from visualizing what is being talked about. It is strong prose, but would like to see this explored further with some tangible details to bring all this to light for the reader.
This poem, despite its depressing theme, has a lyrical feel that reads well.
The title 'Damned...' made me think this would take the subject matter over the edge. But it is very clean, calm and somber. Like something muttered under one's breath.
The emotions are delivered well and some metaphors add to the sensory effect. It does tell more than it shows and the metaphors only wrap around words, and thought this could be explored deeper.
The narrator is no doubt affected by life, by something that is untangible to the reader, who might be able to relate to the emotion, but not the plight of the person.
All in all, this E-rated offering does not offend in making some clear objectives known.
Ah, let Clement Moore spin in his grave. This is fun stuff!
Came to check you out since Nancy pointed me toward your port.
I love that you threw Hitler and Nixon on that sleigh team. That part about killing all the children struck me, too! And within an E-rated poem at that. I get a kick in the shins if I dare mention beer or cigarettes, let alone killing someone figuratively!
This flowed as well as the Moore classic. Very nice work!
This is chock full of visual imagery. I imagine a child alone during a play of some kind, fearful of public exposure and the audience's response.
There is a lot at work that is far above childlike, an adult recollection of a time that is seared in one's memory. Something unshakeable because of its lasting, unnerving affect upon the child.
The most stunning line to me was 'My fear is a mirror.' That is an excellent way of showing those emotions and the introspection when reflecting the mounting anxiety.
The last stanza I had difficulty interpreting, but if I were to take a stab at it...I would say that this moment on stage becomes awkward, but somehow the heart provides the lyrics, maybe the words to urge oneself on. The percussion perhaps helps the performer, the drowning out, masking just enough of the effort so the fear of being alone, and not the only voice, eases the unsettled young actor.
Wasn't quite sure what to make of 'shattered room,' and thought this might suggest the audience and how they react...and then waiting for that curtain like relief. I hope I didn't overanalyze it. I'm prone to do that.
Congratulations on being recognized as a Rising Star at Writing.Com! A very compelling piece of writing!
Before I got to the ending, I began wondering myself why so many questions? Some of these were tying up thematically before it continued on. There is so much to consume and wonder about in this world. This poem could go on forever with the many unanswered questions of life.
But as some of the questions speak to beliefs, the moral majority, it seem logic is flawed. One that I thought of and would add to the list is why is nudity banned from television when violence is so much worse, and gets promoted without any ethical remorse? From shows about murder and exploitation to advertisements for video games where the objective is to kill ruthlessly or be killed, it all doesn't belong in our living rooms when children are watching, yet there it is.
Liked the flow of this poem making for a comfortable read. The theme is something many can relate to, and brings up a lot of questions about the leadership in our country. Something we may never understand, but as a country we are coming to the realization something is wrong. And giving the democrats majority in both the house and senate in the November election sent a very strong message that ended the long awaited demise of Rumsfeld.
I think that was done to get the heat off, but the people need to keep voicing their opinion to have an affect on world diplomacy today.
You've got it half right in my estimation. No one should be allowed to make someone feel this way. And I would think it a guilty pleasure to be able to rub one's new found glory in their faces. But for moral reasons, it wouldn't be fair.
There is a lot at work here with this poem, and I think some things threw me just a bit like...
...And cry a little more
Reach under my bed
Wishing I was dead
I wasn't sure what reaching under the bed meant here. My first inclination was to think something was hidden under there...something that could be used to get back at the tormentors.
I think a lot is not clear about what provoked the insults and what changed that led to success. And why would someone who is successful even bother to take the time to think about being vindicated for something that happened in the past. What about looking at it as the motivation to strive to be better that made one a success?
I would say the poem is the mere fantasy of a person assuming future success that could be used to clout those that pushed them aside.
There are some value issues here that could be addressed to make for an even stronger appeal to the reading audience, who, by the way, want to be compassionate and on the side of the person who has been wronged.
Interesting use of directives to the reader that makes one want to read on to see where all this wisdom is leading. In a round about way, I think it is about enjoying the simple things in life, connecting with what is real. I didn't find this to have an overwhelming theme or something extremely thought provoking. But in its simpllicity, it speaks to common values and to not be a stranger but a part of this world. Contact with nature, with people and any other elements seems to be essential to shedding that stranger image.
The pace and read of this poetic tale is quite charming as it playfully plays out. Great storytelling that I'm sure appeals to people of many ages. I was surprised by the ending with all the build up. I thought the type of poem I was reading would impart a bit of wisdom, a moral, or some clever finish. That would be the only thing lacking in an otherwise delightful read.
I don't know what this draft will lead to. But, from that description of the subject, I'm intrigued.
Are you suggesting implanting this nanotechnology into a human to manipulate emotion, etc.? Kind of like what anti-depressants might do, or the like?
I've been kidding my wife with the direction of technology, it won't be long before she is assisting doctors with implanting chips into the heads of people to be used as a computer or cell phone or MP3 player. Just think, you never have to leave you. Everything can be operated by voice command. Cosmetic surgery is just a tip of the iceburg for doctors looking for more ways to make a buck! And if something doesn't function properly, you send you in for repairs!
By I digress, stem cell research and cloning are more likely to happen before my crazy notion.
I think sometimes it takes the movie to inspire one to read the novel.
The novel in its entirety is easier to appreciate because it allows the reader to conjure their own movie adaptation in the mind.
Sadly, the art of cinema has difficulty capturing the imagination of one person and stifles the vision.
One movie that I appreciated having read the novel beforehand was The House Of Sand and Fog. The book was brilliantly written by Andrus Dubos. He had a hand in adapting the book into a script for the movie adaptation, which was brilliant on a different level and gave life to the characters almost as I had imagined them...in a satisfying way because they become real.
The ending of the film was different and gave me more to think about between the novel and movie endings. Thanks to DVD, I got to see the alternate ending, which was the original, allowing me to visualize how the book actually ended.
You create some evocative imagery with your description of the advancing night and the mood it induces for the writer.
Such a smooth read and well metered to give those words extra flavor.
The night seems to be that temptress, something welcomed and not feared. The various metaphors all work to give personification to that which we cannot see but imagine has a hold on us, stirring one's soul.
Nicely done.
Brian
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