Thread: Involuntary

Involuntary

I was a boardwalk spectator
the first time. Just taking
in sandcastles grain by grain.
I liked the time bomb architecture
and the way the waves looked
when they picked the rooms apart
with white powder teeth.

I wanted my own room where the sand
got irate. I brought tools for constructing
in almost-tide, little beads of salt clotting my
eyes and piles. I put up wet walls with my tongue
and blew them sturdy. Then higher walls for higher
tides and dead-body-stiff doors with holes for hinges.
And I hoped I wouldn’t notice. My room was a sandcastle
without nerves or an exoskeleton, and I had wet feet when I left.

There was thunder the next time; electric ocean nipping my doorbell.
I let it touch my bed. Involuntarily shaved my skin in the castle to be open
and unhinged. It was a hungry wave that pulled me off the beach to be burned.
I liked the smell of my dirty body, and the way my veins were like blown up tunnels.
I liked that I was the seasoned feed for everything, and how I was the only conquering one

the last time.

The line play, I had trouble with. I initially thought the length was representative of some growing enlightenment of aging, but I'm not sure.

I loved this poem through the first two stanzas. You created such a perfect image of your beach and the child. "Time bomb architecture" is solid!

But I felt lost in the last stanza. I felt like the piece took too strong a surreal turn. Maybe that's just my love for simpleness haha. But I don't know - I prefered the peace of the first two stanzas.

My room was a sandcastle
without nerves or an exoskeleton

The enjambment didn't quite separate the elements enough for me here, how about,
"My room was a sandcastle,
no nerves or exoskeleton existed"?

just a thought.

I agree with Squalid about "Time bomb architecture", there were a couple of others as well "Where the sand got irate" was one.

Thanks so much, guys. I'm definitely going to give this one a hard edit, so all opinions are welcome. I will say, however, this poem is most definitely not about the beach, which is why it took that turn at the end. But I need to work with it more.

Angel, superb imagery as usual. I particularly liked:

The bolded - I very clearly see the white tipped waves rushing to the shore. Now, the second line had me a little puzzled.

the way the waves looked
when they picked the rooms apart
with white powder teeth.

Your last poem. "Tracing" carried me along with you. I will never forget how brilliantly you connected the first stanza with the last. I would look to this poem of yours as an example of engaging writing. A little obscure, here.

I would love to read your re-write. I think you could turn this into a real prize! Laurie

I will do some explaining on this one because I'm honestly stuck here. I can't get over my need to hide the point of what I'm writing. Could use some advice.

This poem is about two things: drug addiction and how fragile life is. I picked the beach for the metaphor because I associate the beach with these things personally because of what I've experienced. The sandcastle is the life we build. Memories. Work. Everyone we love. All piled into one construction. The thing of it is that one mistake. One wave. One trip or stumble. They can bring the whole thing crashing down. With addiction, at least for me, there's (there was) this sort of satisfaction living dangerously (close to the waves). And it picks everything you've built apart. It get worse and worse, and it's like...you don't even realize it. You're so caught up. Until one day you wake up and you're buried in an ocean you can't get out of and everything you've worked for your entire life is gone. Just like that.

The structure of this is a lot of things. Building your castle and losing it so suddenly. The growth of addiction. It's also a trapezoid. The top and bottom are parallel, and even though the end is larger, they're still heading in the same direction.

I do know at least one thing this poem is missing and will edit, but I'm just not sure how to get over my clarity thing.

I think that it depends on who you are writing your poetry for. If for oneself, then clarity to others doesn't matter so much. We all interpret a poem differently and find our own meanings in the lines, anyways. But if you are trying to get a message across to others, then you may need to work on clearer images. That doesn't mean you have to spell it out, most of us like to dig a little for the meaning.

Finding that balance, where the reader is intrigued enough to keep reading, but not getting frustrated or bored because it's making no sense to them whatsoever, or is simply too complicated. Well, that's a talent we are all striving for Angel.