on the displacement of freshwater flowers

listen:
it is not the dark we are afraid of, so much as
the way it endeavors to drown our bodies and their
shadows. i fear light the same, though you seem to love it;

this morning i stood with my face turned to the sun—
second floor, the jasmine flowers spreading underneath,
monsoon clouds creeping in above. the world was white, and
white, and white. there were tears in my eyes, and there was
someone to my right. there were words in my throat, but they
caught on the light. i could have reached a hand, but the heat
pinned it down. our shadows must have lain parallel across the
worn red tiles, pale and doomed never to cross.

it is not that i do not love you, please understand. i think you
are too fond of fire, and often i think myself water. i choke when we touch.
i think up my stories in the bruised and mottled obscurity of rainy nights,
the ones you would take away. why is it, you ask, that i won’t talk to you?
the scent of jasmine rises from under our feet, and i wonder how to
answer, without making it hurt. if i look back, it’s because i want to be
sure our shadows are still there. you named me for a river flower; when

the sky split open with rain, i was there. isn’t this what
you wanted? the both of us, stark and bold lines caught between land,
water and sky?

don’t answer. don’t take my hand. please let this be enough.
i just don’t want to cry anymore.

Hi Jagged,

This was really beautiful. I loved it so much. You use language expertly. The opening lines instantly drew me in and the pause after "listen" was very effective. I was intrigued by the opening theory on darkness and loved the beautiful descriptions of the second stanza, especially the repetition of "white". I loved the rhyme of "right" and "light".

I loved "I often think myself water."

My only quibble is that I'd try to make the final two lines more visual, or at least the last line. Instead of saying "I just don't want to cry anymore" can you suggest crying through imagery, and an aversion to it through imagery?

An absolute pleasure. I wish that I could better express how much this touched me but I think I'm still reeling from this a little.

Please feel free to p.m me if you have any questions, or if you have any more poetry which you would like critiqued. I would be only too happy to take a look.

Hope this helps,

Jas

This is amazing and beautiful. I like it a lot and enjoyed reading it.

Jagged,

Why did you feel the need to ruin everything that was building and growing so beautifully in this poem with that absolutely horrendous closing line? Seriously?

Hello precious one!

I am here with a review. I’m glad you linked me to this, because it’s as lovely as I remember it being. You have the handle of monologue narrative very well. We’re propelled through the poem on the advice of your narrator, always moving forward, cresting each issue and sailing back down to the rocks below. Your narrator’s pain is clear and moving, the voice and tone perfect for all of the emotions you’re throwing at us. I would almost say I don’t have any qualms, except that I do.

I am agreeing with the general populace about your ending line. I don’t think it is a particularly bad one, but I do think that you can do much better than what you have at the moment. Personally, I’d put a simple “please” there. The repetition thumps it home to the heart, and would be seen as plaintive and heartbreaking to your reader. Just the right amounts of sorrow, hope, and fear to keep your reader wanting more of her.

The second thing is punctuation. For the moment, I don’t feel that the lack of capitals is doing anything particular for the poem. Disregard if you intended it to signify something (like the loss she is feeling, or the need for loss).

On the whole this is a very good poem and I love that you post these gems for me to read and adore.
Thank you for the read.

Horrible ending, black bird? "Listen: i just don’t want to cry anymore."

A person can only say so much, what do we all hear when we really listen, and how much is lost up to translation? Give it a name, and ride the drift of what flows behind, close a door in a house and another will open? Maybe if it wasn't such a piece, but I think it is rational work, running backwards in slow motion. Maybe a 'Donnie Darko' moment? Nostalgia in the morning, baby!

There is an art to "bad endings" (or what ever anybody wants to call it), plus grammar and punctuation are rules meant for breaking or the taking and I'm quite sure jagged is aware of this and has the skill and practical ability to apply that in her own writing. ??? Or am I just wildly off here?


"this morning i stood with my face turned to the sun—
second floor, the jasmine flowers spreading underneath,
monsoon clouds creeping in above. the world was white, and
white, and white."

Parallel lines have a lot in common. But they never meet. Ever. You might think that's sad. But Every other form of lines meets once, and then drifts apart forever. Which is pretty sad, too.

"i think up my stories in the bruised and mottled obscurity of rainy nights,
the ones you would take away."

Every time I read it, it solidifies even more... I had to read it carefully, literally. I was afraid of allowing myself to interpret it too personally and lose any value to you in my response. Might have already done that, but as my first critique back at tyws I'm not holding myself up as any kind of glass or scope.

The only part I would have any rendition with is "don't answer." but I had to find a beef somewhere, right? >>

Stick to what you're doing, there's a rawness you capture that's original work. I cant wait to see more?

By the way, fantastic title, Jagged! Missed reading you.

-M.