Thread: Harvesting Implosions

the force of which propels
a series of bodies
into the air

EXT. PARK - NIGHT
The car sits across the street
from the baseball field

Marik smoking a cigarette,
public access, foreclosures
in a week old local paper

or an explosion, 262 dead
meditative defragmentation,
(“But of course”)

Sunday comes --
“Some incantation some
Violet assumption, some, some…

Ion,” he put simply
with a smirk, class, over
life in session

& he finds -- well, we find --
formerly -- the one known as
Marik, looking down, all sullen

INT. OFFICE - DAY
A hollowing, where everything leaves,
even a leaf is on leave

wondering, who says “Get up”
who says “Go” & how
could one listen so blindly?

“Hey, you -- yeah, you? How’d
you get in here? Authorized
persona only, thank you --”

The Quiet now approaches
The East, like how one approaches
a stranger

a shoulder, tap, rapt
thought, dream fodder
caught in the in-between

it is difficult waking up
when you wake up
amidst perfecting a memory

or a scene, a fellow in a coat
carrying a gun & a smoke
EXT. FALLING WATER - SUNSET

Stephen, this stanza has to be one of my favorites.

The Quiet now approaches
The East, like how one approaches
a stranger

Now this is very interesting but I wonder if it works to the benefit of your poem. Each stanza seems to read like a stanza on its own without connecting to the next. This poem is definetely worth the effort of tweeking, creating more of a flow without eliminating the sharpness.

I don't know if this was your intention but I'll give it a shot.

EXT. PARK - NIGHT
The car sits across the street
from the baseball field

While Marik smokes a cigarette,
public access, foreclosures
in a week old local paper

Just two words make the connection.

As it stands it's a bit abstract but I think you can bring the reader in with you via some changes. Thanks for the read. Laurie

I think that for me, this one takes a few reads to make all the connections. I love the title, it fits perfectly. Good work stephen!

I hope this makes sense. My husband ( also a writer ) often writes poetic prologues to his stories. That's what this reads like to me, a sweetening of the pot. It possesses an air of political, social commentary, mystery, and such. But more than anything, a much more involved story.

It is so rare to find a poem that reads like a script in the manner you have it laid out. The breaks into each new verse are wonderful and give it a dramatic pacing both in the literary sense and in the sense of physical action. It's a nicely syncopated piece.
or an explosion, 262 dead
meditative defragmentation,
(“But of course”)
Now that's a line to chew on. This is a poem that will keep me thinking for quite a while. Please keep it up!

Thank you for all of your comments. What's funny is, I hated this poem when I finished it -- but every time I reread it I find that it does work, somehow -- primarily structurally. Any other thoughts...?


stephen

Right, I'm saying this because I know you'll not cry. I liked it, the structure, the fragmentation, the tone, the half-questions and half-answers (often not matching up), but somewhere in there, something made it come across as a little "pretentious". Now, having read your work over the years, I do know that's not you, or generally how you write, but something just doesn't ring true. Maybe it's because you are a past master at making people nod and think "yes, I know that feeling/thought/moment" without being overly clever. I found myself reading this and thinking it would have been improved if it wasn't so...

I know that's not a useful thing to add, but I can't put my finger on it. I like it, I want to love it, but something just makes me hold short of that.

I'd guess that you've worked on this a little too much (I might be wrong), whereas some of your best work was very loose, very free-flowing and held an immediacy that underlined it was a thought, a moment in time, a natural occurrence. Maybe that's it; it doesn't read as natural for me.