Ti- Ti- Tock
Sometimes
I sit on a brown sofa
And stare at the ticking clock
That hangs above the dark mahogany desk.
Ti- Ti- Tock.
It doesn’t sound like a clock should.
I tell the woman in the grey suit
About the dreams I have at night.
I tell her how I dream of being struck.
Not by lightening, but
By bloodied fists and metal boots.
Of how I sometimes wake up
And my skin is a strange colour.
A colour it shouldn’t be.
She looks much too calm
When she writes her notes,
Analyzing me until there’s nothing left.
She doesn’t do her job well -
The dreams have never left,
And they never will.
They’re already burrowed too deep,
Like a sickness I can’t shake.
They usually come back
When the neighbourhood lights have dimmed,
Each time with more force than the last.
More discoloured marks appear,
Painted against papery skin.
Like a masterpiece turned sour.
Sometimes the woman sets down her pen
And looks at me wordlessly -
Stirring discomfort until it becomes
A usual scent of the room;
A personal perfume that the walls wear.
From the tops of thick glasses,
The woman fixates her gaze and asks
Her usual question of the day,
Why do you think you’ve been having these dreams?
I can see it in the way she purses her
chapped lips and in the way that she squints
Her cold grey eyes, scrutinizing.
She knows they aren’t really dreams.
But she never says so.
Both of us pretend,
Like children who don’t know any better.
And so, sometimes I tell the woman about
The dreams and we both act like
Everything is okay.
Dreams are just dreams.
But they aren’t dreams, are they?
Confetti!
I wanted this to be more than just another poetic visit to a psychiatrist’s office. I wanted there to be something underlying that brought the whole picture together and into a place that I haven’t been before. And while I wasn’t sure I got that on the first read, the second time through—the read spent more critically—I felt the hints you’ve dropped here and there for the deeper picture, but it’s still quite ambiguous.
Anyway, you do a good job for your flow and measured words, placing tension where it should be and relieving stress where, obviously, it needed relieving. While I’m not huge on the disconnected nature of the first stanza, I do think it serves one purpose: a segue into the poem. So for that, I’ll understand that you placed it there. What I don’t understand is why the poem is titled after it. That’s obviously your choice, but it’s one I think may be worth reconsidering.
Now, the images of abuse that you’ve got running for you are lovely, but after you dive into this rich imagery, you pull it right back out into this bland description of a woman writing notes so you can talk about how they aren’t dreams.
So that means the harm is real.
Now. Is the harm abuse from a parent/person, or is it self-inflicted? Seeing that the narrator is very clear that he’s stricken by things, I assume it’s abuse. But the fact that it’s a psychiatrist he’s visiting leads me to believe that it’s self-harm we’re talking about. So I’m torn. One more hint. One more hint is all you need.
Also, consider freshening up how you constantly call her “the woman” throughout the piece. It gets tedious to read in such a short space.
In short: tie in your purpose, level out your show/tell, and freshen up your naming. I hope this helps, so let me know if you have questions or comments.
-Lumi
Seeing as this hasn't gotten a review yet, I thought I might do the honours? ;D.
So why don't we get this show on the road.
First off, I wanted to note on the first stanza, or more importantly, why is it there? It doesn't appear to have anything to do with the rest of the poem. I don't see a very viable connection between dreaming and therapy so it seems rather... thrown in, like you wanted to start this off sounding all profound. It came across as being unnecessary, so if it had a point, it should probably be intertwined in. If not, I would take it out completely.
Next, I want to talk about the purpose of this.
I'm quite a fan of dramatic poetry. Poetry that is open-ended. Poetry that makes the reader think or feel. That being said, did your poem make people think or feel? What was the defining point of all of this? Was there even a point? As I bury myself deeper in and try to find some of the reasons behind it as a whole, I find myself backtracking, wondering if everything I'm coming up with has even somewhat of a relevancy to the poem in itself.
Now, I could go on to try and find some form of allegory in this, or an extended metaphor for something else, but I don't suspect that's really the purpose of this. I think you stated everything you wanted to say, and because of that, I'm probably coming across as being a bit rude. So I'm sorry for that. In any case, the problem here lies under the purpose or, better yet, what lies under the words. What we're supposed to take from this as a whole.
And, quite frankly, I have absolutely no idea. I'm not even quite sure what the mood of this poem is, let alone how I'm supposed to be taking each word or line.
So my big critique of this lines under the pretenses of 'what was the reason' or, if there isn't a reason, why so much imagery into therapy and dreams? Do the dreams connect to the clock in some way, shape or form? All these things are so completely open that it feels like you wanted to start and finished before you really explained anything, which is strange because you've created quite the decent length for a poem.
Maybe this would be better as prose? You'd have more room to explain yourself, and your tone and diction is rather on the blatant side of things. If I could see more facets, I would be able to make the connections for myself but each facet connects to the next by sheer suspicion alone rather than a subtle tether that you weaved within your words. And words are vital in poetry. More vital, I fear, than in prose. One cannot simply 'fake' it when they are trying to create something truly profound in such a short amount of space.
What I really want to know is what is the purpose of this. As a reader, I couldn't discern it, and I looked quite deeply. Its sardonic, for the most part and it makes me sad whether or not that was your intention. As for the narrator and the situation, it all seems very 2D.
~Walker