Thread: Neill

Just wanted to say before anyone reads this that this isn't about being ambiguous or metaphorical like my usual stuff. (Well, it's a little metaphorical.) This piece was a monster to write. It's very close to me.

Neill

Blowing fire on paper corners
to watch the necrosis spread.
This book is in my hands. I want it to be dead.
Flakes of you in cluttered consonants,
biting through my eyes. Ready to make craters.

I can’t read those words. I can’t read those words.

All the flames, a black tongue. Nothing I can say.
Curled up with paper sketching tattoos on my wrists,
I fold over pages where you penned habitual bliss.
All was well, all was well,

all is folded now.

Between the creases, where no one can see,
you were erratic just like me, shooting up fingers
to sift through your brain, leaving holes,
everything inflamed. Baby, I have to

understand you.

I had this fire
before they pulled the plug.
I coughed up smoke-glazed lies. Everything was fine.
You laced it all in a black quilt—

Bayleigh, this is what you built. Time to chew between the threads,
time to make it dead.

We wrote this book. Over time.
I was high in ashes. And you must’ve been.
I love you. I love you.

I’m sure that you do.

You pulled those threads, so careful not to cut,
curling a collar. Taut. Baby, you are
like me now. Comatose like me.
Unweaving the binding with firework fingers.
And dead. The way that you wanted.

Shredding paper. Little flakes on fire,
painting the walls in pointed streaks,
syringe tips sucking in all that you said.
This is what you’ll be.

This is why you traded me.

Wow vary well made, great imagery its certainly making my brain itch - this one might take a few reads to fully understand its meaning, from what I can tell I think its set in a funeral of the narrators lover, being cremated with the book they wrote perhaps? I'll keep re-reading it to see what you see XD

I think the fire imagery is very well done. It weaves through the piece like clockwork. Very nice.

Thank you both for your comments. I really do appreciate it.

Chiefspider: As far as the meaning of this one goes, it's a bit of a long story. But yes, two lovers. One of them passes and the other is left with a journal of sorts that they wrote together. I'll leave the rest up to you.

well i really like this (but then i i like almost all of your work). it's a very strong piece. honestly, i don't see anything i would change, so i can't offer much of a crit on it. some of the lines / images were unclear to me, but that's ok, i liked the sensation they gave me, which is better than meaning (to me anyway) so i wouldn't change them. i especially liked the voice in this, your voice felt stronger in this, and i could see the identity of "i" clearly. very well written.

wood

Thanks, wood. I really appreciate your kind words.

...But I regret to inform you that I actually just got finished revising it a bit. Just to maybe add a little more clarity. I also did something to it that I'm still not sure about. But I guess I'll just see how people take it.

I just read this, so I don't know what you changed - but this is excellent writing, the details are just exquisite - you have a strong poetic voice - I followed what you were saying nearly linearly, but not completely, but that doesn't matter, it is the imagery, the emotion, the heartache that comes through - beautiful
---todd

Thanks Todd. You are too kind. Always enjoy hearing your thoughts.

i'm not sure what changes you made to this, it's been a few days since i read it the first time... it still reads great to me, however, i'm not sure about this line

"Bayleigh, this is what you built. Time to chew between the threads," i thought the identity of "i" in this poem was effective and complete, i'm not sure if adding the name adds anything to this, i think it sticks out oddly. that's just me. otherwise great imagery and flow, very direct emotional expression. i really like this.

wood

Well, I had the name in originally, then took it out. But then several people on another site told me that the pronouns "you" and "I" were becoming confusing. And this statement in particular is not directed at "you" in this poem. It's directed at the "I." But I still want it to read "you." So that's why the name is there--to show where this accusation is really falling. And to contrast with the other name in the poem. The title. And so the question ends up being--who really did this?

But I'm still debating it.

Hi Angel. There was a great deal to like in this piece, particularly the sincerity of feeling. I will offer you an edit, meant as suggestions only for you to consider. This is wonderful work and I offer these thoughts with respect.

cheers
J.R.

Originally Posted by Angel101

Neill

Blowing fire on paper corners
to watch the necrosis spread.
This book is in my hands, I want it to be dead.
Flakes of you in cluttered consonants,
bite craters in my eyes.

I can’t read those words. I can’t read those words.

All the flames, a black tongue. Nothing I can say.
Curled up with paper stitching tattoos on my wrists,
I fold over pages where you penned habitual bliss.
All was well, all was well,

all is folded now.

Between the creases, where no one can see,
you were erratic just like me, shooting up fingers
to sift through your brain, leaving holes,
everything inflamed. Baby, I have to

understand you.

I had this fire
before they pulled the plug.
I coughed up smoke-glazed lies. Everything was fine.
You laced it all in a black quilt—

Bayleigh, this is what you built. Time to chew between the threads,
time to make it dead.

We wrote this book. Over time.
I was high in ashes. And you must’ve been.
I love you. I love you.

I’m sure that you do.

You pulled those threads, so careful not to cut,
curling a collar. Taut. Baby, you are
like me now. Comatose like me.
Unweaving the binding with firework fingers.
And dead. The way that you wanted.

Shredding paper. Little flakes on fire,
painting the walls in pointed streaks,
syringe tips sucking in all that you said.
This is what you’ll be.

This is why you traded me.

Ah, thanks for looking at this! I don't have a problem with the word changes, really; however, the parts you cut are very significant, so I really can't take those out.

As a personal statement, I'm sure those lines are very significant. In a poem, they seem to me to be simply telling about feelings that are already being evoked by the poetry. Again, I respect your choices, but want you to understand the distinction I'm making as reader/critiquer. As such, I would disagree about the loss of significance.

cheers
J.R.

Bay, I can understand why this piece was difficult to write. Two lovers lost to a force stronger than themselves.

Your imagery is exquisitely bleak.

Blowing fire on paper corners
to watch the necrosis spread.

Perfect start!

This book is in my hands

I have to agree with JR, here. More poetic without is.

I coughed up smoke-glazed lies

I understand what you're saying here but when I read glazed the first thought that came to mind was the glazing of food. Maybe something like:

"I coughed up smoke, cloaked in gloss. Shiney lies."

You laced it all in a black quilt—

I like the contrast of "laced" and "black"!

so careful not to cut,
curling a collar.

Not only a great alliteration but again, a wonderful contrasting between "cut" and "curling". Very effective.

All in all a very well executed and moving poem. Laurie

What a gorgeous melancholy Poem--I would not change a single syllable ...Peace--Jul