I hate to call him a firecracker because
all he shares is the noise
and the hot red glare
but I remember with a not fond twinge when
I was younger
and he threw the small red sticks, already fizzling in warning,
to my heels
and upon a makeshift stage
I jerked along in a startled dance
as the grass grew red with
torn paper like torn trust;
dark, rippling, crinkling.
Later, I scooped handfuls
of that pyrotechnic gore from the grass
and raised my hands to my head
seeing only the sweet slivers of green along the rest
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137,690 Literary Works • 672,059 Reviews
Some of the words seem a little out of place, but that has been mentioned in previous reviews. Also, it seems to be a little unbalanced. As in I feel like the transitions are not smooth between one idea to another. But sometimes that can be purposely done to create confusion. Using conjunctions can help with this and putting commas in the right places also do so. The rhythm of the poem is a little off but with practice and through the reading of other poems that will be automatically corrected.
Though I understand it could very much also represent irregularity of the narrator of the poem. Perhaps it drives us to think of their mental state by what they have experienced. All in all, I don't specialise in non - rhyming poems so I cannot be an ultimately trustworthy judge in this matter.
keep on writing.
Hello!
I keep reading this, and I'm not exactly sure what's going on, but I'll do my best.
I enjoyed the first stanza. I understood it (or at least I think I did). I like those two small connections between the fire crackers and the father. The words used to describe this part are very effective. I was a little confused at the use and placement of "all he shares." Maybe that was just me though.
I had to reread that part a few times to understand. Maybe a hyphen is needed here between not and fond? Maybe you could find an antonym for fond and just stick that there?
The third line of this stanza sticks out a bit too much for me, but that's minor.
This also confused me a bit (I know, I know, I'm easily confused. Sorry)
I actually pictured that this person was on a real stage all of a sudden, and "jerked" is a very expressive word, that I'm not sure fits this place as well as it could have. I think I'm just being picky, actually.
My confusion must be because I've never actually seen how firecrackers work. I thought you were talking about the kind that go into the sky, but I keep rereading this and I'm pretty sure this one is staying on the ground. "
I liked the "torn trust" part. I didn't even see it the first time through. Maybe you could put some sort of emphasis on it some how? Give it its own line maybe.
Also, here I was imagining that the grass was literally changing its color, growing in red. Or maybe blood made it red. I think "glowed" might be a better term?
I really don't understand the last stanza at all, probably because of my extremely limited experience with firecrackers. I think you're referring to that ashy stuff that gets left behind...
I think its the last line most of all. What are these "sweet slivers of green?" Grass? What are their importance? I really wish I knew how this tied into the rest of the poem.
I think this poem was really effective in general though.
I loved your word choice, and I enjoyed the story and the emotion that was so obvious.
Your writing style makes every moment seem important and significant. It makes me happy. ^_^
Great job as always, keep writing!
~fortis
fortis,
I'm actually glad you had to reread the "not fond twinge" part, it was supposed to confuse you slightly. The entire poem is supposed to almost seem like a reflection on a happy childhood memory until you realize that it isn't happy at all, really.
These firecrackers are small one that you light, toss, and they pop on the ground in a flash of light and surprisingly large noise, just to clear that up. THey're wrapped in red paper which tears into shreds and litters all about.
I'll try to emphasize the trust part, thanks
The last stanza was literally about picking up all of the little red paper shreds left behind, but instead of seing the bad, the destruction, the red, I saw the green (yes, grass), the life, the good.
I know, it is a poem that is difficult for the reader to connect to because it is personal and I make all sorts of comparisons that only I get, and that is something I am trying to work on, but my poetry writing is so much a personal catharsis for myself that it's hard, because I just can't manage the emotion factor of poetry otherwise.
Aha. That makes a lot of sense, thank you.
The rest of the poem just seemed so terrible that I guess I couldn't see that hope at the end.
And I get that last part. Poetry sometimes has to be confusing, and that's okay. I enjoy being confused by beautiful words most of the time. c: