Rhapsody Ecstacy

~I'm not sure if it's clear enough what this one is about.....I like it for some reason, but I'm not sure if it's any good either so anyone with any tips on how to improve this I'd love you forever~

The line of black umbrellas, a funeral procession
of tight lips, of clicking heels against
the chipped stone teeth of the old man's smile-
arthritic fingers creaking as
he conducts the ceremony.

Swaddled in dirt, I lie, watching the spirits
that came in on the night's sour breath-
tongues flap like umbrellas in the wind, opening
and closing.

They all come from
the same place, the where smoke curls
from the chimney, loses itself
in the moonlight, and
you can't see the stars for the
streetlights' smug, electric glow.

When it ends,
they think
I’ll follow them to Styx,
where they disappear like stars
closing in slumber-
where night catches
them up, like the wind
rips off the ghosts hanging
on the old woman’s
laundry line.

They try to take me
with them, but I curl inside
of myself, watch them leave,
black umbrellas collapsed stars
on the horizon.

I shrug off my dirt garments,
succumb to a stronger pull, one
that will take me away
to where smug electric glow fades,
becomes stillness .

I liked it, but then I'm not entirely sure what it was about. It was too long though, for me, I felt like the idea and meaning were dragged out. If I knew what you were writing about, what the meaning behind it all was, it might make more sense. But then we all know that a poem that must be explained isn't a very good poem. Heh. It was a bit hard to understand, but you had some good imagery (though in places, repeated. Like "sourness", that bothered me.). I think if you took what ever central meaning you had and pulled it together, tighter, then it might make more sense. Er. If I'm making any sense, hah.

Suzanne wrote:I liked it, but then I'm not entirely sure what it was about. It was too long though, for me, I felt like the idea and meaning were dragged out. If I knew what you were writing about, what the meaning behind it all was, it might make more sense. But then we all know that a poem that must be explained isn't a very good poem. Heh. It was a bit hard to understand, but you had some good imagery (though in places, repeated. Like "sourness", that bothered me.). I think if you took what ever central meaning you had and pulled it together, tighter, then it might make more sense. Er. If I'm making any sense, hah.

making perfect sense to me lol- yah, mmkay, i'll definitely work on pulling it together tighter- i thought the meaning behind it would probably be a problem...anyways thanks so much!!!

I'm... lost. Each stanza makes enough sense in itself, but altogether, it's a bit confusing. Though from here:

When the funeral is over,
they think I'll go with them.
The old man's wrists are flying faster,
fingers snapping,
sour breath catching up the spirits
as it comes to an end.

^from here on, I think I get it. It's just getting there that's rather daunting.
Word-choice wise, it's good, just the combination of those words that poses difficulties.

Sucking in, I nurse at the breasts of the
woman, her prune skin
draped loosely over a frame weathered
and mapped out
by sailors cursing blue their fate;

slowly, her Appalachian-curves
and mustang eyes
draw them in and they lose themselves,
become lost somewhere
in her creases.

These spirits are the sailors,
lured by the siren's
ivory flesh and electron lips-
like the old woman, they sit listening
to their rocking chairs creak,
listening to
the tv static and the voices in it-

^ These stanzas, while they have nice imagery, seem rather random and randomly placed in the general scheme of the poem.

If you want to discuss it more in depth, let me know; I'd be happy to help ^_^ I'm just not sure what to comment on, right now.

-Amelia

thank you so much for your help!!

Amelia wrote:I'm... lost. Each stanza makes enough sense in itself, but altogether, it's a bit confusing. Though from here:

When the funeral is over,
they think I'll go with them.
The old man's wrists are flying faster,
fingers snapping,
sour breath catching up the spirits
as it comes to an end.

^from here on, I think I get it. It's just getting there that's rather daunting.
Word-choice wise, it's good, just the combination of those words that poses difficulties.

Sucking in, I nurse at the breasts of the
woman, her prune skin
draped loosely over a frame weathered
and mapped out
by sailors cursing blue their fate;

slowly, her Appalachian-curves
and mustang eyes
draw them in and they lose themselves,
become lost somewhere
in her creases.

These spirits are the sailors,
lured by the siren's
ivory flesh and electron lips-
like the old woman, they sit listening
to their rocking chairs creak,
listening to
the tv static and the voices in it-

^ These stanzas, while they have nice imagery, seem rather random and randomly placed in the general scheme of the poem.

If you want to discuss it more in depth, let me know; I'd be happy to help ^_^ I'm just not sure what to comment on, right now.

-Amelia