[I've
never put much stock in rumours,
because
rumours are not true.]
Last I heard, she was under the hill, surrounded by daystars,
cablewires
for cutthroat, vocal cords twined
and
twisted around her spine like coils of rope.
Apostrophes
dug into her waist; they've been
a tad
possessive lately, you see, all tongue-in-cheek
and
rollerblading knives into her skull, because her body
is a
circus tent for all the words that have taken to haunting her.
And
the poles are crooked there, the striped canvas smeared
with
the grime that comes from living through too much,
and
living it on your own.
Last I heard--and I heard it from her, you see--
she
told me she's been writing for you, if not to you,
writing
for you, and waiting, and writing, and waiting,
and
writing and waiting and waiting and writing and I have brought
an
endless stream of acrobatting whirlwinds from her, words, but please--
careful,
she mentioned that they might concuss your soul.
Because
last I heard, her dad drove himself into a ditch and drove her
down
the aisle to her own grave and now
she's
digging up beetroot from the same soil she's buried in,
beetroot,
and lemongrass, and pressing them into shapes--
into
a new alphabet to remember you by.
And
last I heard--I swear this is true I swear
this
is true I swear I am not lying--she said,
she
said, she said you were a marksman.
she
said you would know, would understand, would help,
and
that you knew better than to bury your single selves
within
the hearts of strangers you'd already known once before.
I've
never put much stock in rumours, I swear--never,
not
since I was a kid and brushed my umbrella against the sun,
watched
the yellow dribble over the edges
and
soaked my palms in its oil.
They
gaslighted me after that, you see; they, them,
everyone
who ever fit under my umbrella
and
thought they were entitled to living there.
But I wouldn't have gone for the sun
if
they told me I couldn't touch the moon
or
its shadow.
She
isn't gaslighting you. These rumours come from her.
So
dig her up, everything she's left you, everything
she's
said, and everything she's been hurt by--
dig
her up, and help her catch her breath, and teach her
what
it means to speak again.
[Later,
they told me Icarus flew too close to the sun but I saw
that
you could touch the sun even if you didn't fly at all.
So,
gravedigger, take an umbrella.
Do
not torch your bones on the sun's evening glare--catch
their light with your tongue, swallow it,
and trade your words for their shovels.
After that, you may gaslight them.]
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139,843 Literary Works • 672,776 Reviews
Can Selfridge get an explanation?!
Man this poetry stuff is deep! Selfridge thinks those liter yogurt containers are deep but pheeewie!
Now, when I read this puppy, I think of a relationship gone sour. The gravedigger is digging a grave for the woman he used to love, but who broke his heart. He's trying to move on. But maybe this woman didn't mean to break his heart? Did she have a tragic past? One involving a bad daddy? Maybe this gravedigger shouldn't bury his feelings for her just yet.
Love the language you used.
[quote]I've never put much stock in rumours, I swear--never,
not since I was a kid and brushed my umbrella against the sun,
watched the yellow dribble over the edges
and soaked my palms in its oil.[quote]
Good stuff! Can I get this tattooed on my body?!
Keep on keepin on, fellow bro/sis.
Greetings!
Thomas here to JUDGE you, i mean, review what you have done!
I must say, i have never been one for reading poems, but what you have done here is really cool!
You provided us with such great imagery, I could easily picture what you were saying. Very well done!
"I swear this is true I swear
this is true I swear I am not lying"
^ To me it seems like you could take away one of the "I swear this is true", just sounds a tad repetitive. Unless i read it wrong?
That's all i could find, Kaos (below) looks to have covered everything.
Have a good day/night
Happy writing.
Thomas
This is Kaos here for a review!
I liked these two first lines of the poem, though they felt more of like a drifting thought inserted randomly to start the poem, and it's debatable whether you needed to put brackets around them, but it worked well nonetheless.
My main problem with this stanza or rather the whole poem is that it feels dense with the flow. I think it would help if you sorted this poem out, as it feels messy. The imagery works great with the poem though it is another thing that feels messy. This poem feels like it doesn't really have too much direction with what the poem is trying to do. It also felt like the lines needed to be cut up a bit more than they are now.
This stanza was weaker than the first one as it was repetitive at the start, parts of it work well, but others don't and that's the second line and the last line of this stanza. They just felt kind of awkward and generally just need rewording/reworking, it seems.
The first line feels a bit weak, and about the last four lines feel like there was a give up on imagery and it degrades from the rest it of it. I suggest that you read this stanza, or the whole poem even, to check for where there are kinks in the poem so that it sounds best. The last few lines and the first lines have this problem. In the first stanza, there are some problems with the flow, the second there isn't really any, and I decided to point it out here because it's most prominent so far.
Is this a line steal from my poem? If so, I feel very honored c: and you did it better than I could have!
I love this last part. Overall there are parts where it feels like a dense poem or tight but it works well with the imagery that you used other than some parts where the flow and structure was affected by this.
Wonderful poem, and if you sweeped it up with a dust pan all together it would be an even more neat, beautiful mess.
Have a great day and I hope this helped!