Thread: They Should Have Sent Me for Aromatherapy

You eat up the earth
like Beluga caviar,
feeding me big spoonfuls
of baby black eggs
as if they would make
me your debutant
digested overnight.

You'd groom me
to tease a Harvard man.
You, Miss Havisham,
who'd impose pathology
with Great Expectations.

You, pan jam drum, doctor,
married Freud at Bryn Mawr,
holding your dog eat dog diploma
like a circle of Sterling roses.

You yawn your nuptial dictum
“And what do you think?”
as your veil obscures
unorthodox pits.
How your Schizophrenic
would describe your eyes,
before the Thorazine.

Pus, blood and vomit,
the colors of your jumbo hideflesh dress;
spewed after the Borderline’s Primal Scream.
After you coo “Momma’s here”
birthing yet another comatose depressive.

I disguise my mind
just to see you work
like a laborer digging
for some dirty diagnosis.

Finding no fossils,
you thrust your Phd. shovel
into your merry-go-round
therapy ground.

So, go ahead.
Oil yourself with Jasmine.
Try and break me in your bed.

My thirteen year old body
slips through your fat fingers and
off the belly of the feast gone wrong.

Doctor, lay there and writhe.
Ache for another slick, sick one.

If you'd only known,
you'd grown a stone
into a boulder.

Wow! What a doctor! Too bad. You've pulled this one nicely, Laurie. And I for one, appreciate the science and the terms that made this piece solid.

There are just a few things you might want to take another look at:

'You eat up the earth like Beluga caviar(I think you need a comma here)
...would make debutant, (I suggest you remove the comma)"

'You, pan jam drum...(I'm not so sure about the spacing in between, but reading it out seems to work for me)


Isn't this poem related to what we've previously discussed? You've brought out another chilling piece! I give you another medal of honor.

Uzo, I've taken heed of your punctuation suggestions and it does read better. Thank you. Yes, I believe we've discussed this background sometime ago. And thanks for the medal of honor. It's a ghost pendant I wear everyday. Laurie

this is intense, thick and three dimensional... very keen. you present a lot of ugliness and pain with some beauitful verse. very well done.

The patient who’d snag
the man who owned
the tracks to transfer
daddy onto him
like a blue tattoo.
Miss Havisham, you.

i'm sure what you are trying to express in this stanza, i couldn't get any visual ideals out of it, other than the blue tattoo. plus i'm not liking the wording of this. all your other stanzas flow very well, but this one feels choppy and broken.

that's my only nit. so many great lines and sharp details, so thick and real. this is awesome work.

wood

Thank you very much, wood. I think you have an ear. I wasn't quite sure about that stanza either. Something to mull over. Your keen feedback is always appreciated.

PS (later) I've re-writen the entire stanza. You certainly had something there. Thank you.

Another success. Not much to critique here; I think you've really nailed this one. Thoughts:

Originally Posted by SilverMoon

You eat up the earth
like Beluga caviar, Great intro simile
feeding me big spoonfuls
of baby black eggs
as if they would make
me your debutant
digested overnight. Very nice sounds throughout this stanza.

You'd groom me
to tease a Harvard man. I like this edited stanza. Big improvement.
You, Miss Havisham,
who'd impose pathology
with Great Expectations. The title should be italicized, yes?

You, pan jam drum, doctor, Again, your use of sound is spot on.
married Freud at Bryn Mawr,
holding your dog eat dog diploma
like a circle of Sterling roses. Have to admit, I haven't followed all of the terms and allusions so far, but they all have great sounds within this piece.

You yawn your nuptial dictum
“And what do you think?”
as your veil obscures
unorthodox pits.
How your Schizophrenic
would describe your eyes,
before the Thorazine. This is such a Dickinson stanza. Love it.

Puss, blood and vomit,
the colors of your jumbo hideflesh dress;
spewed after the Boarderline’s Primal Scream.
After you coo “Momma’s here”
birthing yet another comatose depressive. A terrifying collection of lines.

I disguise my mind
just to see you work
like a laborer digging
for some dirty diagnosis. Another powerful simile.

Finding no fossils,
you thrust your Phd. shovel
into your merry-go-round
therapy ground. And you continue the simile here, which works well. I think though, maybe this should be within the same stanza as the previous one?

So, go ahead.
Oil yourself with Jasmine.
Try and break me in your bed.

My thirteen year old body
slips through your fat fingers and
off the belly of the feast gone wrong. My favorite stanza. Great sound and excellent imagery.

Doctor, lay there and writhe.
Ache for another slick, sick one.

If you'd only known,
you'd grown me into stone. I think this is a very powerful ending. Like it very much.

Thank you, Glass. Now that I think of it "Great Expectations" should be ital.

And you continue the simile here, which works well. I think though, maybe this should be within the same stanza as the previous one?

I'll have to sleep on this one.

Have to admit, I haven't followed all of the terms and allusions so far, but they all have great sounds within this piece.

She was a Freudian therapist and graduate of Bryn Mawr. Many of the theraputic references like "Primal Scream" go back to the 70's era practice. Dangerous stuff.

Thank you for your very generous review! Laurie

You've edited this a bit from my initial read, Law. Taking it line by line:

You eat up the earth
like Beluga caviar,
feeding me big spoonfuls
of baby black eggs
as if they would make
me your debutant (although it's not incorrect as is, I'm accustomed to debutante)
digested overnight. (powerful opening, way to grab the masses)

You'd groom me
to tease a Harvard man.
You, Miss Havisham,
who'd impose pathology
with Great Expectations. (way to keep the masses you grabbed)

You, pan jam drum, doctor, (love this, my ears hurt just imagining)
married Freud at Bryn Mawr,
holding your dog eat dog diploma (very clever)
like a circle of Sterling roses. (love the alliteration)

You yawn your nuptial dictum
“And what do you think?” (can picture the fat b**** nodding and gnawing on her pen)
as your veil obscures
unorthodox pits. (fantastic image)
How your Schizophrenic
would describe your eyes,
before the Thorazine. (your inclusion of this was a wise decision)

Puss, blood and vomit, (Puss should be pus)
the colors of your jumbo hideflesh dress; (vividly gross image)
spewed after the Boarderline’s Primal Scream. (Boarderline, a play at being penned up there? if not, should be border)
After you coo “Momma’s here”
birthing yet another comatose depressive. (Freaking excellent but so sad)

I disguise my mind
just to see you work
like a laborer digging
for some dirty diagnosis. (great image and sounds here)

Finding no fossils,
you thrust your Phd. shovel
into your merry-go-round
therapy ground. (Love this)

So, go ahead.
Oil yourself with Jasmine.
Try and break me in your bed. (another jab at being an unwilling guest, yes?)

My thirteen year old body
slips through your fat fingers and
off the belly of the feast gone wrong. (oh so clever)

Doctor, lay there and writhe.
Ache for another slick, sick one. (Nice rhyme)

If you'd only known,
you'd grown a stone
into a boulder. (this is a superb ending, Law)

So there you have it, I apologize for taking the easier way out and copying but if you didn't make me want to say so much, it would be easier. So, it's your fault for writing so well, so nyah. This upset me, your piece of crap father should have never put you in that place, heartless creep. Did you ever tell the idiot he pushed a normal child over the edge?, because that's what I truly believe happened, and this piece confirms that. I'm so sorry, Law, for everything you've endured. That said, I must retreat, I feel a rant coming on. Big healing hugs, love.

Thank you, Lisa, for taking time out to review this poem as it's very important to me. This is the first time I've ever written about the experience. Four years of it, unwarrented.

But there is poetic justice. Not long after I left, her treatment facility was shut down for unorthodox "thereputic" practices. A very long, horrific list. She lost her license to practice in the state of New York but ventured onto Connecticut were she no doubt did damage in private practice.

My heart goes out to the ones who didn't make it and committed suicide while there or shortly after leaving. And a special blessing for my very good friend, Richie, who threw himself in front a train less than six months thereafter. This poem is just a mere sketch of atrocities which caused many to go over the edge.

I normally don't cozy up to the reader with such information but I suppose this here is a part of catharsis and moreso my need to give the unusual background of this poem. Thank you, readers, for bearing with me.

And, Lisa, I can always count on you to catch my misspells. Thanks for catching "Borderline" (a diagnosis) and "pus"- what an ugly word!" And thank you for pointing out aspects of the poem you liked.

And it's not a cheat copying! I do that frequently with work as does Glass. I think it's a very effective way of critique.

Thank you so and hugs back...

I have nothing to offer you but praise for this Silver. Rhythmically, you hit every beat exactly where it should have been hit. Reads like butter. Very intense. Your catharsis as a writer is a roller-coaster for the reader. Not only is it intense, but it is enticingly dense, packed with idiosyncratic imagery ("thrust your phd shovel into your merry go round therapy ground"...nobody else could have cooked that up), and brilliantly inventive metaphors that compel reading after reading. This is the best poem I've read here in a long time.

Edgewise, your appreciation of this piece (tender like a large bruise) validates my effort to turn tradgedy into art. Not to say that I write "art" but my aim is to get as close to it as possible to it. Imagery comes easily to me but getting that "beat" is something I have to work at so thank you for recognizing my labor with your finely tuned ear. Whenever I feel my writing is failing (often the case) I will always be reminded of your words. I can't thank you enough. Laurie

Hi SilverMoon. I'm going to have to echo all the accolades you've been receiving for this. I'm sorry that you apparently had to suffer in order to bring this piece into being, but the fact that you were able to make something so amazing out of your hurt probably helped somewhat. Just wanted you to know that I am insanely jealous of what you've written here, and I look forward to reading more of your writing in the future.

Thank you, Bachelorette. Coming from you this is a grand compliment. I've read your critiques and you're quite on spot with your crits. A tough taskmaster! Thanks, again. Laurie

ok, another masterpiece, and it demonstrates again that your mind is wired in marvelous and intriguing ways - you bring in all sorts of strange associations, and I mean strange in a good way - I think one could give you the assignment to write about "A Man eating an Orange", and it would become something quite extraordinary, bewitching and uncommonly brilliant when you were finished : )
Not that some of these lines are not disturbing - but they drew me in, and I held on for the ride - if you wanted your reader to participate vicariously in this, then you were successful -
---todd

todd, I go by two simple rules:

1) If you're going to write about a person crossing the street, make it compelling.

2) If you're a writer who happens to be a secluded farmer and raises chickens turn his narrow world into a place of colour, action and sometimes that of the contemplative.

"A Man eating an Orange"

Ha! I would probably turn it into a prune.

I have to give much credit to WF. Two years here, you all have helped me hone craft. I believe this place is the best schooling. I majored in English Lit and did my share of writing and was graded. Period. Then discussion in class about the topic. Never such personal attention.

Really, thank you for your appreciation of my work. Laurie