Family.

‘It’s complicated.’
Yes. It is, isn’t it I laugh.
There is such complication in hatred...
But I wash my hands
Without another word.

The fog hangs in dishevelled rags,
Pinned from wall to wall
Of the little kitchen.
Talking doesn’t do anything.

My conscience crouches alone in the corner
And screams what I could
never
voice aloud,
Wringing her desperate hands
and stamping the floor
To send tremors bouncing off of the walls.


At night, I lie in bed
And imagine what I would have told them.
I,
the imagined voice of reason.
Dreaming peace-keeper of the masses.

I wish up situations,
In which I gather the scraps of the family
And tie them in my arms.

Morning light brings little to the feud.
Only fresh resentment,
Humming with the kettle
And adding colour to the steam.

The fog droops lower than before,
Skimming the milk of my cereal.

But then it happens.

By lunch,
I needn't duck;
the fog strains on tip-toes,
unable even to reach the water jug.
From the corner
my conscience is silenced,
busy
following the exchange of unsaid words
and the few that pass their lips
are strangely powerful.

I breathe in
The crispness of the clearing air.
Laughter
makes the lamps flare
to brighten the clearing room.
The joke?
I wasn’t listening.
I am exhaling stale air.
I am laughing to myself.
As I watch the scraps
Gather themselves
And smile.

I really liked this. Really. It's totally my family.

One thing I think you might want to look at is saying something about why and how the shift between hostility and love happened. Was it somebody's initiative? Did it just happen? If it just happened, maybe say something about that, the equivalent of "the world will never know".

I really loved the imagery of the conscience in the corner. Beautiful, beautiful.

Also in stanze 4, there is a part where the only word on a line is "I". It jolted me a bit. Try adding it to the line below.

Anyway, this was absolutely wonderful and I hate to have to say something constructive about it because the little things I talked about barely matter, it's such a good poem. I really trule liked it.

-Aussie

I started this poem not expecting to like it very much for some reason, but I really did. I think in the beginning I was confused, but after a re-read I like it much better.

I think overall you should try to be a little less narrative. This is something I struggle with in my own poetry--you have to tell a story without sounding like you're telling a story. Though I think for the most part you've done well, there are still some parts that don't sound quite right, like this stanza:

The fog droops lower than before,
Skimming the milk of my cereal.
She drinks the tea and smiles.
He stays in bed.
They complain on the telephone
Or in their expressions.

All four sentences basically follow the same pattern...This happens. And this happens. In. That. Order. When you don't have fun with your syntax, your reader won't have fun reading it. I particularly dislike the last sentence; not only does it sound overly prosaic, I don't think it serves much of a purpose in this poem.

Speaking of things that could be cut! The poem has a little extra bulk. Trim the fat. Here's what I think ought to go:
[s]‘It’s complicated.’
Yes. It is, isn’t it.[/s]
There is such complication in hatred.
But I wash my hands
Without another word.

The fog hangs in dishevelled rags,
Pinned
From wall to wall
Of the little kitchen.
Talking doesn’t do anything.

My conscience crouches alone
In the corner
And screams what I
Could never voice aloud,
Ringing her desperate hands and
Stamping the floor
To send tremors
Bouncing off of the walls.
[s]But she is silent to them all.
Even to me.[/s]

[s]At night,[/s]
I [s]lie in bed[/s]
[s]And[/s] imagine what I would have told them.
I,
The imagined voice of reason.
Dreaming peace-keeper[s] of the masses[/s].

[s]I wish up situations,
Where[/s] I gather the scraps of the family
And tie them in my arms.

[s]In [/s]the morning[s],
The [/s]light brings little to the feud.
Only fresh resentment,
Humming with the kettle
And adding colour to the steam.

The fog droops lower than before,
Skimming the milk of my cereal.
She drinks the tea and smiles.
He stays in bed.
[s]They complain on the telephone
Or in their expressions.[/s]

But then it happens.
By lunch,
The fog can barely reach the water jug.
I breathe in
The crispness
Of the clearing air.
He says something.
They laugh.
I do to,
[s](Though I don’t understand the humour.)
But I wasn’t listening.
I was exhaling stale air.
I was laughing to myself.[/s]
And I watch the scraps
Gather themselves with tenderness
[s]And smile.[/s]

Sometimes in those parts I cut, you were repetitive. Take, for example, the first two lines. I think "There is such complication in hatred" is a much more interesting beginning that what's currently there, and we don't really need the part in quotes to understand what's going on. Though I cut all of "At night,/I lie in bed", if you wanted to keep that, you only have to keep one of the lines. It's usually understood that at night one is in bed, or that if one is in bed, it is night-time, or we just don't care either way.

Also, on a miscellaneous spelling note...Ringing ought to be wringing in the context of wringing one's hands.

-Colleen

This is a nice piece of work. Since Cade pointed out your errors, I don't have anything else to point out.
I loved this as it had a lot of imagery. I really like your writing style and I look forward to reading more of your work.
Keep up!

hello... this is a somewhat... belated reply to Cade's comment, as i think that it's important to highlight for anyone that might read this poem sometime. Basically, i can see from the corrections suggested in the review that i might have caused some confusion with meanings and things like that! It's not that i don't apreciate the review - i love getting reviews, especially the odd one that it as indepth and thought about as Cade's, but i really want to make a few things clear about the poem.

Firstly, the beginning few lines were meant to be sarcastic - i couldn't take a few out, as suggested, as it would change the meaning of the stanza! I don't really think that hatred is complicated. i was being sarcastic. I shall have to think about how i can change it to make it more obvious.

the second correction was sensible; i realise now that the words i used were a little over used, and i will definately attempt to reword it.

the corrections in the fourth stanza, however, are a little... strange. I can see how they would make sense after the correction was made, but if i changed it, the meaning of the stanza would be sort of... reversed in places. First off, i meant that i imagine that i can bring the family together and make things alright, but i can't. The bits about 'night' and 'in bed' are slightly unneeded, but i like them as it gives it a little more story, which is something that i will try to incorporate more.

the corrections in the sixth stanza make sense, so i will definately remove those lines.

the final stanza does need rewording. I will think about it, but i quite like the final line; i'm sort of fond of it. So i think i'll keep that.


Thanks for the reivew, though, it's given me a lot to work with.
from charlie.

I liked this a lot. A very fluid, descriptive poem, and you didn't overuse clichés, which is good.

Stanza one: Like the first person, I don't think the first two lines are really necessary, but without them, "But I wash my hands/Without another word" doesn't make any sense.

Stanza two: The only thing that bothered me about this stanza was your use of the word "do" in the last line. Wouldn't change be a better verb?

Stanza three: "Ringing" should be "wringing."

Stanza four: Cade covered everything I was going to say about it.

Stanza five:

(Changes bolded)

I dream up situations,
In which I gather the scraps of the family
And tie them in my arms.

Stanzas 6-8 were handled by Cade.

I like the flow of this very much. Everything seems a bit bleak from the way I imagine it, like a movie with an entirely gray/blue color scheme. You paint a wonderful picture with this.