Ranahan

Spoiler

Don't worry, guys. This one's actually normal (no special formatting or whatever), so I won't have to post it as an attachment. Dig in.

If you ask me, I'll tell you about the wife of a railroader,
of the sunspot deserts and wheel pumpin',
brakin' and the smell of the trail, like the oil stains on her coal racks.
"Ain't she a beauty?" he once said, coal-burnin' and sweat steppin'
against the caboose.
I loved Mama's skirt-raised track-jumpin', the way the train
steamrolled past her and the wind tugged at her skinny blouse.

I met little Josephine today. We sat there, feet danglin' o'er the headway
like rust across the main rail.
I was supposed to catch her, but her bow only drifted away—

I'd been scared o' the dark, of her wheels lurchin' me forward,
and I've learned not to trust them gun-flailin' cow-punchers.
They come like the water goes,
like little Josephine lyin'
on the coal-burnt tracks.

And we'd been to the city, me an' her.
We saw the freedom bein' dusted behind cracked store windows
and the hat-shaded passers-by
with their dark suits and unwrapped umbrellas.
So we walked in, pennies clanging, buttons twisting—
I bought one of them paperbacks and she bought
a cigar.
As if she didn't have enough smoke in her life.

What happened to that musty train station
Jim an' Josephine an' me used to buy bubblegum,
used to blow and drift away at?
Or were those just stories we told, sitting 'round the campfire
at night and burning our tongues on the metal.
I would sit next to her, arm around neck and vulture callin'
until we fall.

Kafka, Kafka. . . Are you sure you're thirteen? I'm stunned at the poetry you make. It's so effortless, each time. ^-^ Not fair. I really liked this:

I bought one of them paperbacks and she bought
a cigar.
As if she didn't have enough smoke in her life.

You put yourself in the shoes of a person years ahead of you in even the littlest details. Love it. Great work. Excuse me for not having much critique to give. I guess I'll just leave this as one of those non-helpful reviews. 0_o But that's a burden I can live with!

-Smy ^-^

Hi! I'm curious, what was your insperation for this poem? It's very unique in many ways; the topic, the way you tell the story, and the story itself. I'm with SmylinG- are you sure your 13?

Okay now the gramar stuff. Overall, you might want to work on smoothing out your lines. Some are long and others are short, which isn't necessarily a problem (lots of poems are like yours), but it might flow better if you try to balance your lines

I am a little comfused about this part

I loved Mama's skirt-raised track-jumpin', the way the train
steamrolled past her and the wind tugged at her skinny blouse.

I met little Josephine today. We sat there, feet danglin' o'er the headway
like rust across the main rail.

Who is the story about? At first I thought your character was telling about his mothers life, then I wasn't sure. Maybe he is telling his mother's story from his fathers perspective?

You need to fix the spacing

On the range, everyone

learns to cool their hands before taking the reins.

Just get rid of the extra line.

Also, maybe it's just me, but I didn't understand this part

and the rails will curl up and murmur- thrice I dipped and rose

Really not sure what you are talking about there. You might want to make that more clear.

Other than that, your gramar is impeccable! You don't have any problems with capitalization, line splits or spelling.

This is a very, very good poem! It is well thought out, your gramar is great, your topic is interesting and your style is unique.

Sage

Kafka, I don't believe I've ever given you a full review, maybe I have, but here it is nonetheless.

Kafkaescence wrote:Don't worry, guys. This one's actually normal (no special formatting or whatever), so I won't have to post it as an attachment. Dig in.

Which will also change expectations.

If you ask me, I'll tell you about the wife of a railroader,
of the sunspot deserts and wheel pumpin',
brakin' and the smell of the trail, like the oil stains on her coal racks.
"Ain't she a beauty?" he once said, coal-burnin' and sweat steppin'
against the caboose.
I loved Mama's skirt-raised track-jumpin', the way the train
steamrolled past her and the wind tugged at her skinny blouse.

This is all of the poem I need to highlight and review. There is a fundamental problem in this piece found in the beginning lines that ruins my ability to really move along with the premise you desire. "If you ask me"? Well why should I? That's a prose beginning. In poetry you just show, you just state; the speaker is used to be open, but not acknowledge the audience anymore than is necessary (your words in the poem should be able to compensate by being illustrative). And do you realize the what you've created here? Prose poetry that doesn't realize it's almost 100% Prose. What's worse, your slang (which is forced, lay off dat y'here?) is abrupt and only proves my point. It's not poetic but an attempt to create a fluid personality behind this speaker...mhm, and then they start going about the wife of a railroader and there's a weak attachment to either a real woman or a train.

See now, this idea seems great at first--> "I will write about a railroad(er) worker in his voice and his life and relate his most valued thing/person in life: train/wife, and then use imagery of the train and the station..." and then you do this and I'm bored Kafka. In poetry you present a new feeling to typical ideas of objects, etc. In poetry you show, and do not tell a premise from beginning to end. If you do, you're writing prose. In fact, look at how you use imagery and your lines; prototypical sentences, my man.

Now to your imagery, this is another element of the poem which slaughters it.

I loved Mama's skirt-raised track-jumpin', the way the train
steamrolled past her and the wind tugged at her skinny blouse.

Think, think, think. Done? First, stop the "-", you don't have a good reason and you do not represent speech that way, right now it's just added nonsense in reading this poem. Which is what this poem is meant to be, because if this is read, the speaking voice becomes flayed between "Yessah Isa slang dat ward sah" (which is accurate of Black English in the south, though not as prevalent as it was) annnd then "I loved Mama's skirt raised track jumpin' "...you're intermixing proper English with an apostrophe in effort ta' sound real man, but what you really do? You rob the words of emotion, of the power they could have had, the personality inside of the speaker.

I feel a distinct lack of emotion in this piece Kafka, throughout the beginning, which is ironic considering your premise. But let's look at where you get things right, shall we?

I would sit next to her, arm around neck and vulture callin'
until we fall.

On the range, everyone

learns to cool their hands before taking the reins.
I learned how fast the cattle scurry 'round
when I set loose on them, how the oxen die on the first hit.
The grass will yellow, and the drag riders will fade away,
and the rails will curl up and murmur—
thrice I dipped and rose.
Now I am the blazing sun on the horizon.

I included the last line of the second to last stanza for a reason: being to show you the transition from prose trying to be poetry, to actually writing something resembles poetry. The speaker here stops using the poorly crafted voice, they present tangible, honest description that feels interesting to read, dare I say fun after sifting through the earlier stanzas. Your description here is much clearer and forward in exactly what is aimed to the reader, but by now it doesn't matter. Your final line, which aims to seal the poem, is flat. And also, you need to find a better way to tie the title and this line together.

So Kafka, this isn't a bad piece of writing, but it suffers from how you sculpted, how the language attempts to be slang but instead stumbles about and at worst, makes it harder to read, uses imagery that doesn't give the piece the spark it needs until much, much too late, and doesn't realize it's prose for the better part of the poem. The attempt was good, but I see you having tendencies somewhat like I have: you play with form to the detriment of content. And this kills emotion Kafka. Why is this obvious? Because by the end of the poem, I have no meaningful connection to the speaker at all. He's just a kook that told me a story, not poetry, not a revelation which makes my mind scream and my body melt. Still, it was a good effort.

Hope this helps.

This was really very nice... I literally loved it... where did you get the idea for writing something like this???