Finger in the Dust

I've been thinking about the fifteen poems I wrote for NaPo a lot lately and I thought I'd post a few. This was the first, can you help me make it better? *Updated with a more recent version, old one in the spoilers below.*

Finger in the Dust

I could close the curtains
and they didn't shrivel at my touch
or fall, dissolve and fray,
like patch-work snowflakes, into dust -
and birthday candles.

I could hear my children
and they didn't lie so still,
their faces marked by poppy heads
that grew and settled in the pores;
still beautiful.

I could fold their smiles
to fill the weighted hour-glass,
while they slept, but now they sleep,
and time has passed.

There was a stain, on the carpet,
by his chair.
Red on white, strawberries and cream.
All gone.

I hoped their hands would always fit my palm
but not like this, reserved in nursery bliss
with only smoke to breathe.

_____________________
Not entirely sure on some of the changes as most were to please my teacher but I'll perhaps take another stab at it later.

Spoiler

#1 Finger in the Dust

I could close the curtains
and they didn't shrivel at my touch
or fall, dissolve and split
like hair-line fractures of the flesh
(and birthday candles).

I could hear my children
and they didn't lie so still,
their faces marked by rose-bud moss
that grew and settled in the pores
(still beautiful).

I could fold their smiles
to fit in threads of lullaby dreams
that resonated at my touch, my breath.

There was a stain, on the carpet
(by his chair).
I used to wish it gone -
oh how it lingered, falsely strong.
I hoped their hands would always fit my palm
but not like this, reserved in nursery bliss
with only smoke to breathe.

'Lo there, Gahks here to review your work!

For something you must have written out fairly quickly, this is not a bad start. It definitely shows promise.

The beginning is a bit too slow for me in terms of setting up the poem. You need to start with a good hook to pull in the reader: I like arresting images, but odd word choices can work too. So instead of the rather roundabout opening you currently have:

"I could close the curtains
and they didn't shrivel at my touch..."

We could use more images:

"The curtains slid through my hand
like notes down a piano,
and they didn't shrink at my touch."

(Oh, and try not to start with I. It places more emphasis on 'you,' the speaker, and shifts it away from what's happening!)

The anaphora is an interesting idea, but as you start with I, it loses its potential. See my note above. You could repeat verbs from the same lexical field (so we might have sliding, gliding, flowing, falling, unravelling, unwinding) instead of the sentence structure, thus making the repetition a bit more subtle.

Overall, I think if you were just more direct and active with your language, the poem would really benefit.

Hope this helps!

Gahks

This poem, as with the other one of yours I commented on, is completely pleasing to me. My one suggestion would be to take out the parentheses. To me, they seem out of place and awkward, and the poem would be just as nice if you took them out and, here and there, replaced them with commas and dashes.

This is really interesting. I didn't completely understand it but the imagery and the language still had an effect on me. For me it conveyed a deep sense of loss and longing and from this I guess that the theme is death.

I like the way you used the bracketed words and to me they seemed like the narrators afterthoughts and I thought this was very effective. It is strangely beautiful and I enjoyed reading it.

I didn't completely understand it either, but it was definitely deep and had a strong feel to it. I didn't see any grammatical or spelling errors! I agree with Zone that it is strangely beautiful. I didn't really see anything wrong with it, sorry.
-tgirly

KITTEH. I didn't see this until now. Don't kill me! >.> <.<

Okay! So I read this, and HOLY CRAP. This is such a creepy poem, m'dear! I am not sure what happened, but it sounds like this lady might have killed off her family?!?!?!? Or maybe just her children! EEK. Or maybe they're just dead? It sounds like they died in a fire or something though, because the title implies that they are dust... maybe she was the one to start the fire? Or! Maybe they were cremated and she did kill them in some other ghastly form? It definitely sounds like this is the mother though. And once you cremate everything, things get smaller, so that would imply that their hands are little enough to fit in hers? EW. That would be gross... though admittedly it would make sense. Meh. I kind of wonder at this poem. >.>

Of course, um... I could be completely misreading it. I admit this. I have a morbid imagination. But at the same time, this is a reeeeeeeeeally freaky poem and I don't quite like it, for the same reason I don't like William Faulkner's "A Rose For Emily." But I could be wrong there too.

I am probably over-thinking this poem too much. Yes.

In any case... I hope my perspective helps? I have no idea how to improve the poem... just know that it weirds me out with its implications. O_o

xD I suppose I should add in some sort of explanation and at some point I need to dig out the newer version since I made a few changes to this for class. But basically, Snoink wasn't too far off the mark.

1. The narrator is the mother.

2. Her children died in a fire.

3. No she didn't kill them but I was going for a creepy effect so maybe I went over-board there. I was thinking more that she felt guilty for not being able to save them and that she was regretting all the times she'd wished they'd always be children and always be at home with her, since now they don't get the opportunity to grow up.

Hahah! Now I feel a little less creepy! This is good! XD

You should definitely post the new version!

There we go, I've put the newer version in

Even though this poem isn't very long, it sends a poignant message that for me, touched me in a way that I could relate to..