CRITIC'S CORNER

[Michael Pendragon]

Since the trolls have effectively turned a poetry discussion group into:
1) a wasteland of blocked and ignored threads, and
2) "A Year of Sundays," which is published elsewhere,
I thought we might try introducing a thread made specifically for poetry critiques.

Post an original poem, and everyone else can post their thoughts on it.

(In other words, it would be doing what AAPC was created for.)

Post your poetry here:

[Ash Wurthing]

Would this include AYoS poems? Anon was interested in what people thought of their free verse...

[NancyGene]

Home Base
by NancyGene

I was born on the tracks, I am wearing tracks.
This town will rail you.
It’s a great place to live, if you don’t get killed.
A barrel of fun.

There are not many jobs, I had work last year,
the business closed down.
There are charity stores, and I get free food,
apparel--someone’s.

I would like to move on, to a golden town.
New York, here I come.
But I know no one there, could I live on hope?
Sixty-two home runs.

[Michael Pendragon]

Previously published ones, yes.

Just not those in the current issue.

[NancyGene]

It would be great to get feedback on some previously-submitted poems that were not included in the print volume.

[Michael Pendragon]

Being to-all-intents-and-purposes sports illiterate (what little I know comes from old movies: "Pride of the Yankees," "The Stratton Story," "Knute Rockne: All American," & co.). Which means that I had to look up the "Sixty-two home runs" reference.

I then had to look up Aaron Judge, to see if the poem was about him. Apart from his having joined the New York Yankees, the narrative doesn't match -- so...

The speaker is (rather unrealistically) dreaming that he can make it in NYC just like Mr. Judge.

Nor is the speaker a "Bharma Dum" like the Donkey and his Stink, as he worked until the business shut down, and doesn't appear to like living off of charity.

For me, this plays out like cynical (even bitter) reevaluation of the "American Dream." People born into poverty (and stuck there in adulthood) cling to unrealistic dreams of success, based on the one in a billion or more people who've actually made it. I love it!

As always, it's excellently written (typos and/or grammatical errors in a NancyGene poem just don't happen). The first and third stanzas end with an incomplete sentence -- but this is obviously done for effect (replicating casual speech/thought patterns).

Excellent all around.

[Michael Pendragon]

I wasn't referring to the print volume -- just the poetry posted in the current "Submissions" thread and the current monthly online issue.

The print volume is a "Best Of" (featuring reprints), and anything in it can be posted here, in other forums, submitted to other magazines, etc.

[Ash Wurthing]

On Sunday, July 23, 2023 at 6:43:41 AM UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:

You'll have to give me a free pass on being ridden on a rail outta this group, but I immediately thought Broadway musical with this poem *grin, duck and run*

[Ash Wurthing]

/ / reposted with permission from Ecthrois Grimm (Anon)-- I have permission to show their work elsewhere on the Internet and this being my favorite of their work... / /

POSTMORTEM (AYoS Sept 2021)

Everything that I choose to dissect
vivisect and dig deeper,
scalpel sharp and eyes bright with no concern for the mess or distress I'm leaving–

I analyze and anatomize
catalogue each and every scar– and then I know I must continue this extemporaneous examination.
Parting flesh from bone, muscle and tendon lovingly carved into samples and set aside to be scrutinized–
vials of bile and blood and humors
all neatly labeled for later study–
until the final pound of flesh is divulged, revealing a revelation that is, believably, nothing especially new or startling:
sticks and stones break many a bone,
but mortal wounds of tooth and tongue
remain long after the lights go out at night.
~~ecthroisgrimm

[Michael Pendragon]

This is a particularly interesting poem.

I'm assuming that the speaker is, at least ostensibly, a coroner (as opposed to a psycho killer with medical pretentions). However, the inclusion of personal (non-professional) words like "lovingly carved" make me believe that the speaker is only adopting the metaphorical guise of a coroner for poetic purposes. IOW: he is examining the emotional damages he has done to those nearest and dearest to him (most likely after their death).

A self-examination via the metaphor of one who examines (autopsies) others, is exceptionally good.

"The final pound of flesh" references "The Merchant of Venice" and, in doing so, compares the speaker to Shylock (as he examines the damage of his final vindictive blow).

"Mortal wounds of tooth and tongue" is an excellent turn of phrase (for intentionally cruel words). A "tooth" could cause a physical, even mortal, wound and by placing it before "tongue," the line first implies literally bloodthirsty physical wounds "mortal wounds of tooth," which is only modified when "tongue" makes its appearance.

I don't, however, like "revealing a revelation" -- although it is technically correct, it is too repetitive for my liking.

Overall, it's an excellent work that can be read on at least two levels and is the sort of poem that I published in Penny Dreadful.

[NancyGene]

The poem, as you suspected, is not about sports. It is a variation on the theme of hope and getting one's hope back, pulling one's self back from depression.

>
> I then had to look up Aaron Judge, to see if the poem was about him. Apart from his having joined the New York Yankees, the narrative doesn't match -- so...

No, we didn't even think of him then (or now).

>
> The speaker is (rather unrealistically) dreaming that he can make it in NYC just like Mr. Judge.

The speaker got his hope back.

>
> Nor is the speaker a "Bharma Dum" like the Donkey and his Stink, as he worked until the business shut down, and doesn't appear to like living off of charity.

Another variation, with the Great Depression mixed in with the current homelessness problem in most cities.

>
> For me, this plays out like cynical (even bitter) reevaluation of the "American Dream." People born into poverty (and stuck there in adulthood) cling to unrealistic dreams of success, based on the one in a billion or more people who've actually made it. I love it!

Yes, definitely unrealistic. He was born on the tracks and wears the tracks is a double meaning for someone who didn't have many advantages at birth, made worse by a drug problem. He thinks that if he can just change the geography, everything will change for him and he will be a success there. However, "whereever you go, there you are" is true for most people who look for a fresh start. Reality will arrive soon.

>
> As always, it's excellently written (typos and/or grammatical errors in a NancyGene poem just don't happen). The first and third stanzas end with an incomplete sentence -- but this is obviously done for effect (replicating casual speech/thought patterns).

Yes, that was what we wanted to show. We do try to proofread again and again.
>
> Excellent all around.
Thank you.

[Michael Pendragon]

[Coco DeSockmonkey]

[Michael Pendragon]

[Michael Pendragon]

[NancyGene]

On Monday, July 24, 2023 at 1:09:18 PM UTC, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> On Sunday, July 23, 2023 at 7:47:23 PM UTC-4, Ash Wurthing wrote:
> > / / reposted with permission from Ecthrois Grimm (Anon)-- I have permission to show their work elsewhere on the Internet and this being my favorite of their work... / /
> >
> > POSTMORTEM (AYoS Sept 2021)
> >
> > Everything that I choose to dissect
> > vivisect and dig deeper,
> > scalpel sharp and eyes bright with no concern for the mess or distress I'm leaving–
> >
> > I analyze and anatomize
> > catalogue each and every scar– and then I know I must continue this extemporaneous examination.
> > Parting flesh from bone, muscle and tendon lovingly carved into samples and set aside to be scrutinized–
> > vials of bile and blood and humors
> > all neatly labeled for later study–
> > until the final pound of flesh is divulged, revealing a revelation that is, believably, nothing especially new or startling:
> > sticks and stones break many a bone,
> > but mortal wounds of tooth and tongue
> > remain long after the lights go out at night.
> > ~~ecthroisgrimm
> This is a particularly interesting poem.
>
> I'm assuming that the speaker is, at least ostensibly, a coroner (as opposed to a psycho killer with medical pretentions). However, the inclusion of personal (non-professional) words like "lovingly carved" make me believe that the speaker is only adopting the metaphorical guise of a coroner for poetic purposes. IOW: he is examining the emotional damages he has done to those nearest and dearest to him (most likely after their death).
>
> A self-examination via the metaphor of one who examines (autopsies) others, is exceptionally good.
>
> "The final pound of flesh" references "The Merchant of Venice" and, in doing so, compares the speaker to Shylock (as he examines the damage of his final vindictive blow).
>
> "Mortal wounds of tooth and tongue" is an excellent turn of phrase (for intentionally cruel words). A "tooth" could cause a physical, even mortal, wound and by placing it before "tongue," the line first implies literally bloodthirsty physical wounds "mortal wounds of tooth," which is only modified when "tongue" makes its appearance.

It's also a play on Nature's "red in tooth and claw" imagery. Instead, the predator is armed with speech.

>
> I don't, however, like "revealing a revelation" -- although it is technically correct, it is too repetitive for my liking.

We also think that the instances of internal rhyming words are interruptive, and perhaps the poem doesn't need those/would be just as strong without them.

>
> Overall, it's an excellent work that can be read on at least two levels and is the sort of poem that I published in Penny Dreadful.

Yes, we like the poem too.

[Michael Pendragon]

[Ash Wurthing]

Sorry for the delay, they were away.
I finally got to show Anon your critique and they're quite pleased that you found much of interest to read in their work. That you picked up on the allusions. They worry more if their work speaks to the reader and how-- they wouldn't be satisfied with mere nod service from "real poets." Something they probably picked up from me- with their art, I wouldn't just tell them good (or bad), I would tell them exactly why.
A TY to you as well NG.

[NancyGene]

We wouldn't be satisfied either with a "good work" or "interesting" comment. If we write for only ourselves to read the material, that's fine, but it is better if others enjoy what we write too.

[Michael Pendragon]

Ditto. If the reader liked it, I want to know *why* they liked it. If they disliked it, then I want to know *why* they disliked it as well.

I want to know if the reader got what I got/intended in the poem. I want to know if they got the same tone/feeling from it as me. I want to know if they understood the symbolism/allusions/references. I want to know if they understood it on all of its levels (as opposed to a superficial reading of the narrative).

I also want to know if I've made any errors, or could have expressed something more clearly.

As NancyGene implied, poetry is a form of communication -- and communication involves more than one person. The most important thing we can do as poets is to learn how to better communicate our ideas.

[Michael Pendragon]

[NancyGene]

It's easy to just post mindless things, as some pissbums do on AAPC, but they should look at the number of reads for their posts.

[Michael Pendragon]

[Michael Pendragon]

[NancyGene]

We are quick to mark any new entries from the pissbums as spam. Their posts are never opened or considered. We don't know who they think their audience is, but it may be a readership of one.

[Michael Pendragon]

[NancyGene]

Some of the pissbum soldiers seem to have dropped out of the battle, leaving just fat and gristle.

[Michael Pendragon]

Really?

I haven't been opening any of their threads, so I've no idea which of his socks our Donkey is wearing.

[Michael Pendragon]

[NancyGene]

Sometimes a stray pissbum shows up with a thread that hasn't been hidden yet. We promptly mark it as spam--unread, unneeded, unclean.

[Michael Pendragon]

Same here.

[NancyGene]

It looks like that is happening this morning.

[Michael Pendragon]

Let's cross our fingers and hope we starve those Bharma Dumbs to death.

[Coco DeSockmonkey]

Don't feed the trolls!

*And don't forget to sign our petition to have the Columbus Georgia area Waffle Houses closed down.

[Michael Pendragon]

[NancyGene]

Isn't the Health Department already doing that? Pissbum Paradise.

[Michael Pendragon]

[Ash Wurthing]

Damned, I didn't get that memo again-- too busy letting loose with scatter shot discord-- errr, discourse.

[NancyGene]

They no longer are open 24 hours. That was our doing. It's now a simple step to get them closed down permanently. A Donkey Without Waffles is like a fish without a fin.

[Michael Pendragon]

Or a pissbum without his Ripple, or a Canuck without his bong.

[NancyGene]

Useless as a Canuck with a passport.

[Michael Pendragon]

Useless as a Canuck.

[Michael Pendragon]

[NancyGene]

Useless as a (George Dance freezes mid-sentence).

[NancyGene]

Useless as a lawn mower at 1681 Forestside Drive.

[Michael Pendragon]

Or at Pendragon Manor for that matter. I broke my lawnmower last year and am still looking for a suitable replacement. I'm looking for a working vintage mower in driving distance from my house.

[Coco DeSockmonkey]

[NancyGene]

We somehow pictured park land around Pendragon Manor, similar to Pemberley. That doesn't need mowing. If you have a lake on the estate, wear your white billowy shirt when you swim.

[Michael Pendragon]

I've always pictured a tropical jungle and a beach (complete with Tiki bar) around my house. Unfortunately, that hasn't happened yet.

[Michael Pendragon]

[NancyGene]

Maybe something out of Somerset Maugham's "Rain"/"Sadie Thompson?" Does Pendragon wish to return to colonialism?

[Michael Pendragon]

One could say that -- albeit on a far grander scale. In the modern age, I feel that having separate countries makes no sense. We should form the United Nations of the World all of which would be ruled over by the same Philosopher King. Membership in the One World government would be mandatory.

[Michael Pendragon]

[Coco DeSockmonkey]

[NancyGene]

We prefer to be a suzerain.

[Michael Pendragon]

When my reign commences, my first official act shall be to appoint you as Overlord of Canada.

[NancyGene]

We shall be a Benevolent Despot, except to those undeserving few. They must do chores and drop their drawers, be isolated from others and cling to monkey mothers.

[Michael Pendragon]

[Michael Pendragon]

[Ash Wurthing]

Amusing, in Criminal Law I was the one who said I would just cut to the chase and exile myself to St Helena-- too much trouble trying to govern humans and doomed to fail...

[NancyGene]

But you could escape from St. Helena! That's no fun.

[Michael Pendragon]

Humans can be... conditioned... to obey.

[Ash Wurthing]

Can be-- but then there's just some dogs, and donkeys, that can't be reached...

"What we've got here is... failure to communicate. Some men you just can't reach. So you get what we had here last week, which is the way he wants it... well, he gets it. I don't like it any more than you men."
-- 'Cool Hand Luke'

[Michael Pendragon]

[NancyGene]

Critical thinking.

[Michael Pendragon]

[Michael Pendragon]

[Michael Pendragon]

[Michael Pendragon]

[Michael Pendragon]

[Michael Pendragon]

[Michael Pendragon]

[NancyGene]

We need more poems on Critic's Corner, so there can actually be discussion.

[Michael Pendragon]

[Ash Wurthing]

Working on it-- my collection is still all outta sorts as I rearrange things for new layouts for a digital preprint edition.

[Michael Pendragon]

[Michael Pendragon]

[Edward Rochester Esq.]

On Sunday, July 23, 2023 at 1:21:11 AM UTC-4, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> Since the trolls have effectively turned a poetry discussion group into:
> 1) a wasteland of blocked and ignored threads, and
> 2) "A Year of Sundays," which is published elsewhere,
> I thought we might try introducing a thread made specifically for poetry critiques.
>
> Post an original poem, and everyone else can post their thoughts on it.
>
> (In other words, it would be doing what AAPC was created for.)
>
> Post your poetry here:
---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Leiningen

Some talk of war --
World War,
annihilation at its finest --
the final solution,
scorched flesh mountains
and now our children
leave their faces
inside books of learning
while all along
we disregard the ant --
the armies
chewing each other
until all battle maps
will no longer
be necessary.

ER

[NancyGene]

Ah, "Leiningen Versus the Ants!" The ants will not be denied.

[Ash Wurthing]

I haz something to say...
O for a voice like thunder!
(somebody woke up with the storm last nite, and that song from my playlist was playin')
but seriously, looking at the layout, it would work great for metal lyric, succinct and to the point, and ends with a biting curtness...
the part about school children has a dark undertone nowadays.

[Edward Rochester Esq.]

On Sunday, July 23, 2023 at 1:21:11 AM UTC-4, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> Since the trolls have effectively turned a poetry discussion group into:
> 1) a wasteland of blocked and ignored threads, and
> 2) "A Year of Sundays," which is published elsewhere,
> I thought we might try introducing a thread made specifically for poetry critiques.
>
> Post an original poem, and everyone else can post their thoughts on it.
>
> (In other words, it would be doing what AAPC was created for.)
>
> Post your poetry here:

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A Visit to Yesterday

Mom called and said he was dead
and I said "That cannot be, I just talked to him"

"No, he's gone."

"But I just talked to him."

"Please come by."

Flashback:
a green garden turtle,
a small child's rake
but enough to pierce the shell
and his legs moved in slow motion,
one eye closed, the other
in a half close.

"He's dead", I thought,
from nothing more than a child's need
to hit.

"I'll be right over."

There he was, my father covered in white, dead.

We just had supper six hours ago
and we laughed about all the silly things
growing up.

I never did tell him I killed a turtle once,
with a silly child's rake.

He would have laughed it off, telling me of once killing men,
not turtles.


We never talked deep on realties,
death never entered the conversation --
always tucked somewhere inside.

I do know his father left the family
in his care, abandoned to a mere child.

My Grandfather ran, my father has now died.

He had taken what was offered and met the challenge.

I'll visit come spring, a new member
at Calverton.

Hopefully the turtle's soul is under the Forsythia
where I buried him.

Death is so final.

ER

[Michael Pendragon]

[Edward Rochester Esq.]

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

10,000 Bottles of Beer on the Wall

So, it comes to a close,
the young bride, long dead, the brother dead,
the scam of artistic endeavor, dead
and it comes down to "glad to see
a friendly face' sent those he never met.

Bumpy ride, indeed, magical meetings,
creations of poetic conquer, false acclaims
of booze and drug free days, tied up in pages
of biography, walks around town with infinite detail --
"I took a left on Broadway, by the Gum Head Bar,
my first seeing gay men kissing."

Zu Bolton, my mentor, my young bride, missing,
my frantic search when everyone knew but me,
where that bride had gone.

No chronological list, is this, as scattered
as the days and nights of stage climbing, song writing,
everyman's artistic genius, everything touched
bringing notoriety, whispers, cat calls and Zorro
bellows.

The invention of a life not quite what you see,
the magician brewing black coffee, still answering
those that sleep, through the magic of technology,
everyone is reading the thoughts of a blurry -eyed
self-made, hero.

The years of drink, drugs, over, it was said,
clean and sober though innocent bodies lined Shadowville streets --
a new haircut, getting into every frame of every photograph
and there it was, man's best friend, a bottle of brew,
that beverage given up long ago, told by the lips
that swilled everything that was seen.

There is no moral here, only sadness --
the nights, once filled, are emptying,
the die-hard embrace more a shadow
of a man that claimed a life of ninety percent
fiction.

"Good to see a friendly face here", he said,
when all were sleeping but himself.

ER

[ME]

That’s fucking fantastic!!!!

[Edward Rochester Esq.]

On Sunday, July 23, 2023 at 1:21:11 AM UTC-4, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> Since the trolls have effectively turned a poetry discussion group into:
> 1) a wasteland of blocked and ignored threads, and
> 2) "A Year of Sundays," which is published elsewhere,
> I thought we might try introducing a thread made specifically for poetry critiques.
>
> Post an original poem, and everyone else can post their thoughts on it.
>
> (In other words, it would be doing what AAPC was created for.)
>
> Post your poetry here:
-------------------------------------------

Withdrawn

I hold in my hand the bones 
of this now barren dream --  
for the souls left behind, 
are stripped into tatters
like a well-worn flag. 

The longing 
hurts my head 
regretting all words
lashed out in anger --
each a separate side, 
at our separate tables, 
in our separate rooms.

The city wall's stand 
while i watch the hand 
that was offered, slowly withdrawn.

I am alone 
once again. 

I hold in my hand the bones 
of this now barren dream --  
the souls left behind, 
are stripped into tatters
like a well-worn flag. 

ER

[Ash Wurthing]

Made me think of the intro to a song:
"I still want 'em to eat. But they're gonna have to be at a different table."
--'Hellhounds' ~~KING 810
I haz some new music with the most excellent lyrics from Anon to send you...

[Michael Pendragon]

On Sunday, August 13, 2023 at 10:03:11 PM UTC-4, Edward Rochester Esq. wrote:

> On Sunday, July 23, 2023 at 1:21:11 AM UTC-4, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> > Since the trolls have effectively turned a poetry discussion group into:
> > 1) a wasteland of blocked and ignored threads, and
> > 2) "A Year of Sundays," which is published elsewhere,
> > I thought we might try introducing a thread made specifically for poetry critiques.
> >
> > Post an original poem, and everyone else can post their thoughts on it.
> >
> > (In other words, it would be doing what AAPC was created for.)
> >
> > Post your poetry here:
> -------------------------------------------
> Withdrawn
>
> I hold in my hand the bones
> of this now barren dream --

An exquisitely beautiful (if somewhat morbid) image! Of course beauty and death go hand-in-hand: one of the reasons that we cherish beauty stems from the knowledge that death will ultimately claim, and destroy, it. Assigning bones to something as insubstantial as a dream is a touch of poetic brilliance.

> for the souls left behind,
> are stripped into tatters
> like a well-worn flag.

This is another wonderful image, but I don't understand how it fits into the poem as a whole.

The poem appears to be about the end of a relationship (either romantic or friendly), but the above passage refers to "souls left behind" (plural). I'm guessing that the speaker is referring to *all* of the failed relationships he's had over the course of his life... but this clashes with the opening lines' reference to "this now barren dream" (singular).

I suggest rewriting the first two lines in plural so that the reader is aware that the speaker is referring to *all* of his past relationships, as opposed to his most recent one.

> The longing
> hurts my head

This could just be my personal cultural experiences coming into play, but I'm reminded of the stereotypical "stupid" character in 1940s comedies who says that thinking makes his head hurt.

I would cut these lines for two other reasons as well: 1) they're just filler, and 2) longing (usually) implies wanting someone/something that one has never had, as opposed to something that one had and lost. I suppose one can long for a past friendship/love affair, but "missing" would express the same sentiment more directly.

> regretting all words
> lashed out in anger --
> each a separate side,
> at our separate tables,
> in our separate rooms.

A good passage... if a bit of a cliché. For instance, "Separate Tables" is the name of a film (and a play) from the 1950s which is also about alienation and withdrawal. Still, the repetition of "separate" is strong -- especially as it expands from sides, to tables, to rooms (with separate houses, and separate lives being implied as the next steps in the progression).

> The city [walls] stand
> while [I] watch the hand

> that was offered, slowly withdrawn.

A nice image/metaphor using a city to represent a person, and the city walls, the psychological "walls" we build to protect us from emotional injury. "Slowly withdrawn" also indicates a hesitancy on the part of the other person, which depth, and some degree of poignancy, to the piece.

> I am alone
> once again.

This doesn't need to be said, as it's implied in the series of tattered souls left behind -- but it doesn't hurt the poem any to keep it.

> I hold in my hand the bones

> of barren dreams -- [pluralized to correspond to "souls"]

> the souls left behind,
> are stripped into tatters
> like a well-worn flag.

The repetition of the opening passage (the strongest in the poem) is welcome, as it allows the reader to re-interpret these lines in accordance with the failed relationships that the speaker has left in his wake.

As per usual, nicely done.

> ER

[Ash Wurthing]

On Monday, August 14, 2023 at 11:37:19 AM UTC-4, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> On Sunday, August 13, 2023 at 10:03:11 PM UTC-4, Edward Rochester Esq. wrote:
> > On Sunday, July 23, 2023 at 1:21:11 AM UTC-4, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> > > Since the trolls have effectively turned a poetry discussion group into:
> > > 1) a wasteland of blocked and ignored threads, and
> > > 2) "A Year of Sundays," which is published elsewhere,
> > > I thought we might try introducing a thread made specifically for poetry critiques.
> > >
> > > Post an original poem, and everyone else can post their thoughts on it.
> > >
> > > (In other words, it would be doing what AAPC was created for.)
> > >
> > > Post your poetry here:
> > -------------------------------------------
> > Withdrawn
> >
> > I hold in my hand the bones
> > of this now barren dream --
> An exquisitely beautiful (if somewhat morbid) image! Of course beauty and death go hand-in-hand: one of the reasons that we cherish beauty stems from the knowledge that death will ultimately claim, and destroy, it. Assigning bones to something as insubstantial as a dream is a touch of poetic brilliance.
> > for the souls left behind,
> > are stripped into tatters
> > like a well-worn flag.
> This is another wonderful image, but I don't understand how it fits into the poem as a whole.
>
> The poem appears to be about the end of a relationship (either romantic or friendly), but the above passage refers to "souls left behind" (plural). I'm guessing that the speaker is referring to *all* of the failed relationships he's had over the course of his life... but this clashes with the opening lines' reference to "this now barren dream" (singular).
>
> I suggest rewriting the first two lines in plural so that the reader is aware that the speaker is referring to *all* of his past relationships, as opposed to his most recent one.

Best part, excellent opening and closing piece
But mebbe, if I may be so bold to play with your words...

I hold in my hand the bones

of my now barren dream -- Anon says - of this, my now barren dream
*and* the souls left behind,

are stripped into tatters
like a well-worn flag.

> > The longing
> > hurts my head
> This could just be my personal cultural experiences coming into play, but I'm reminded of the stereotypical "stupid" character in 1940s comedies who says that thinking makes his head hurt.

Still an entertainment and societal trope. Also people often say that thinking of failures and sorrows makes their head hurt.

[Edward Rochester Esq.]

---------------------------------------------------------------------


Cat Cries

There is a spot down by the canal
where green pungent water kisses cat feet;
their owners searching for rodents
that have moved into the dark corners
of rotted pilings.

They aren’t there to collect the rent,
but to stare at those squatters,
who stare back, knowing their black dot eyes
just might be seeing the end.

There is a bar down by that canal
and in dark corners a quiet mumble
can be heard between the slow steel grind
of passing tankers overfilled with coal.

A television crackles some small talk
from big mouths on how it all should be --
Christian values having bitten the dust
and point fingers at those that disagree
as a commercial break tells you how to keep it up
making the little women more than happy
to cook a roast for the king of the sheets.

In harmony, cat cries come through the window --
seems it was a good night for hunting.

ER

[Ash Wurthing]

(rough draft)
When provoked, by the pen we're spurred
our intention tempered by the written word
undeterred by the tongue's dulled sword
~~AshWurthing

[Michael Pendragon]

[Coco DeSockmonkey]

[Michael Pendragon]

[Coco DeSockmonkey]

[Michael Pendragon]

[Michael Pendragon]

The perfect opening, filled with dark, vivid, and mildly disturbing imagery.

> They aren’t there to collect the rent,
> but to stare at those squatters,
> who stare back, knowing their black dot eyes
> just might be seeing the end.

I like the comparison of the rats to squatters (a certain "General" springs to mind), as it brilliantly draws on, combines, the aversion many of us have for both species.

> There is a bar down by that canal
> and in dark corners a quiet mumble
> can be heard between the slow steel grind
> of passing tankers overfilled with coal.

This stanza skillfully echoes passages from the opening one to symbolically connect the rats with the patrons of the bar.

> A television crackles some small talk
> from big mouths on how it all should be --
> Christian values having bitten the dust
> and point fingers at those that disagree
> as a commercial break tells you how to keep it up
> making the little women more than happy
> to cook a roast for the king of the sheets.

I'm not sure how the media messages relate to the cats, except insofar as they prey upon the fears and desires of the viewers. Even so, the patrons are nowhere near as frightened as the rats, and the commercials don't pose the immediate threat of their feline counterparts.

> In harmony, cat cries come through the window --
> seems it was a good night for hunting.

More excellent imagery -- although one wonders if the cats would still cry after the bellies have been filled from their successful hunt.

> ER

All-in-all this makes for a very good read, that falls just a bit short of its potential.

[NancyGene]

We also like the use of "black dot eyes," rather than "beady little" or a similar description.

> > There is a bar down by that canal
> > and in dark corners a quiet mumble
> > can be heard between the slow steel grind
> > of passing tankers overfilled with coal.
> This stanza skillfully echoes passages from the opening one to symbolically connect the rats with the patrons of the bar.
> > A television crackles some small talk
> > from big mouths on how it all should be --
> > Christian values having bitten the dust
> > and point fingers at those that disagree
> > as a commercial break tells you how to keep it up
> > making the little women more than happy
> > to cook a roast for the king of the sheets.
> I'm not sure how the media messages relate to the cats, except insofar as they prey upon the fears and desires of the viewers. Even so, the patrons are nowhere near as frightened as the rats, and the commercials don't pose the immediate threat o f their feline counterparts.

The feral cats don't need the commercials to act upon the message.

> > In harmony, cat cries come through the window --
> > seems it was a good night for hunting.
> More excellent imagery -- although one wonders if the cats would still cry after the bellies have been filled from their successful hunt.

There are different cries for different circumstances.

>
> > ER
>
> All-in-all this makes for a very good read, that falls just a bit short of its potential.

We see this in looking at types of ships that transport coal:

Name Deadweight Tonnage Cargo
Capesize 180,000 Iron ore, coking coal
Panamax 82,000 Iron ore, coking coal, thermal coal, grain
Handymax 58,000 Thermal coal, grain, salt, cement, steel
Small Handy 28,000 Steel, cement, grain, ore
HandySandy 400 lbs Pissbums, loiterers

https://www.mol.co.jp/en/iroiro_fune_e/ships/01_bulk.html

[Michael Pendragon]

[Michael Pendragon]

[Michael Pendragon]

On Friday, August 18, 2023 at 10:40:22 AM UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:

HandySandy certainly handles a lot of... cargo.