His Shoes

Eight years gone by.
Eight years he's been gone.
Eight Christmases.
Eight New Years.
A man has a coin holder.
It pops open like his did.

A man has his hands.
Another his voice.
One dances a little girl
atop his shoes.

None are him.

Those are his hands,
but not his watch.
That is his voice,
but not his face.

Those are his shoes--
the child is not me.

His chair is gone.
His clothes are gone.
His smells are gone.
But he is with me.

I close my eyes and
dance on his shoes.

Hi Via,

I really enjoyed this.

I'd put "have" before the first "gone by".

I love the little images you use like the coin holder.I really love;
"One dances a little girl
atop his shoes."

I'd put "that's" before watch so you don't still feel the plural in the line from "those."

I really like the second to last stanza (or the last stanza before the couplet?. The repetition of "his" and "gone" are very effective. I'd change the last line in this stanza as I think it's a little weak.

I love the last two lines, they're beautiful and powerful.

Hope this helps.

Jas

Uh...You have some grammatical errors. But, otherwise, this is great! This piece justified the reason why I prefer reading Dramatic Poetry here in YWS.
- - - - - - -
"It pops open like his did."

Shouldn't it be "It pops open like he did."? 'Did' is not a noun and you can't use a personal pronoun like 'his' with it.
- - - - - - -
Overall, I like your poem. ^_^

I feel like this could be something more.

Spoiler

Via wrote:Eight years gone by.
Eight years he's been gone.
Eight Christmases.
Eight New Years.

I don't like the choice of New Years and Christmas. Not because I wanted Easter and St. Patricks Day, but because I felt as though these holidays were stand-ins for something with more emotional depth. See, I know what Christmas means to me, but what does it mean to the narrator? Consider something more like; "Eight summer trips to Cape May/Eight times painting the boat" What I think this does is helps us understand the missing person more, as well as the narrator. As it is, this could be anyone. It needs to be someone.

A man has a coin holder.
It pops open like his did.

What's a coin holder? I wikipedia'd it and got nothing. I google'd it and got a billion different types. Pick something more specific, I think.

A man has his hands.
Another his voice.
One dances a little girl
atop his shoes.

I had a little comprehension problem with "One dances a little girl", but I got over it. Consider, but don't necessarily rephrasing that to make it clearer.

Here's my bigger question. Where are these men? Where is the narrator seeing these men who look like, or remind her of this missing man? I think it's important. 'A man on the subway has his hands/Another man in the bookstore has his voice'. Maybe that's not the answer, but I don't like these ethereal men who happen to be like the missing man. I think I have the story of this poem correct, no? If I'm not picking up on something, tell me and I'll get back to it.

None are him.

This struck me as being more neutral than 'They are not him.'

Those are his hands,
but not his watch.
That is his voice,
but not his face.

This is alright. Instead of face, can it be glasses? It seems we're talking material things here. (watch/shoes.)

Those are his shoes--
the child is not me.

And suddenly, I want to know more about what happened when the narrator danced on his shoes.

His chair is gone.
His clothes are gone.
His smells are gone.
But he is with me.

My least favorite stanza of the bunch. I think this is where you let us down. I want some blood on the page here- something to take home with me, an image, a realization... something dynamic. Instead, you retreat back into etheral, generic, repetitions. We've heard this before. Blood on the page, blood on the page, blood on the page!

I close my eyes and
dance on his shoes.

See if you can cut the 'close my eyes and', and still have it make sense to you.

Now, there's a lot I don't know about this poem. And I think you need to go deeper with this. You need to give us some more detail- perhaps if this is a father, a grandfather, an uncle? And then, you need really do better on the ending, and give us something concrete to take here.

Now, I skipped the 'competency test' here, because I know you're a writer of high calibre, and so I tried to hold you to a higher standard here. I know you can really make this thing kick.

Caaaaaanada,

Smorg pretty much struck the nail on the head. I agree -- I feel that this could be developed into more. The close repetition in the beginning kind of sticks out, and I'm not recommending the disposal of it. I feel that because it's such thin fodder up there, perhaps fattening it up might cushion it a bit?

I'm tangled in a love-hate relationship with the narrative style of it -- I don't usually favor straightforward 'telling' in poetry, because, more than ever, it's the time to be poetic, but here, it added a simplistic charm. Some of it could stand to go, I assume, but that raises the question of which parts (and dear, that might gobble the poem down whole...?).

However! As I read this the first time, the first thing that popped into my mind to aid this was transitioning images, dear. I think a few would boost the flow of this and carry us to the end on a smoother sled.

Danke for the read. I never tire of Via-writing.

June