Clockwork

Hi!
I really enjoyed reading this!
I thought you did a grand job!
I really liked the middle part:

Saturday afternoon,
and the mail is here
sealed with wax in yellow envelopes;
slow-moving mindsare grinding away,
sucking the dust in through open nostrils,
taking notes on paper airplanesto toss away
– asleep, awake, asleep, awake.

Hi there!

Now, I absolutely love your word choice here. It's very precise, and when reading it I wouldn't remove any words, because it seems like you've carefully engineered this poem so it all fits together wonderfully. Your imagery was nice, and complemented the word choice.

One thing I will say is that in some cases, it feels like your poem is fragments of different poems put together. The first half of it is written in the same style at the second but, to me, doesn't fit with it as well as I would like. Once you bring in the central figure then everything ties together nicely, but before that you're shooting off into different directions and you need to tie down your different ideas and bring them together so that the final stanza reflects more of them rather than seeming totally separate to what was going on in the first.

Nice job!

-Amy

I really enjoyed this poem. It drew me in from the first stanza- however, I do think that a change of title may be in order; the first couple lines say right off the bat that it is not like clockwork. Perhaps it was deliberate, but I know that when I write poetry, I have a great deal finding a title. This just doesn't seem to gel with the poem; perhaps something a bit more related? I could be wrong, but these are just impressions.
Anyway, here is a complete edit:

There is something mechanical about it –
not at all like clockwork, but more like
flashing red lights
and spiked metal gears,
the sound of heavy boots on the pavement Every other line of this first stanza is quite strong, but I felt this was a little lacking- I just sort of passed over it. It didn't take away from the poem, but it didn't stand out. It feels like a sort of run-of-the-mill thing to do, describing footsteps- there is so much great imagery in here, and this line seemed average in comparison.
tapping out the morose rhythm
we've grown to love;
I pay, you'll pay, I pay, you'll pay. I agree with earendil here, I like this line. It really got me into the tone of the poem. I began to visualize characters and setting here. I find myself thinking of city backalleys and drug dealers.

Saturday afternoon, and the mail is here
sealed with wax in yellow envelopes;
slow-moving minds
are grinding away,
sucking the dust in through open nostrils, This line got to me. The attention you pay to minor detail is extraordinary, it really makes the poem.
taking notes on paper airplanes
to toss away –
asleep, awake, asleep, awake.

This house has walls perfect for bouncing sound off; This line got to me, too. I really can't say why- I wish I could. I love it, I guess that's all I can say.
he befriends the echoes with soft words –
they don't talk back.
His life is littered
with ticket stubs and minor offenses This. The imagery here is fantastic.
that crunch like dead leaves underfoot,
life surrendered, I love this ending, but I'm not too fond of this line. It feels, again, too average for this poem. It feels sort of angsty, to be perfectly honest. The next three lines are absolutely gorgeous, though. I love the repetition.
something is wrong,
something
is wrong.

neversaynikki wrote:There is something mechanical about it –
not at all like clockwork, but more like
flashing red lights
and spiked metal gears, You do this in every stanza, where you break a line in half and make it into two. While it does add some sort of effect to the line itself, it throws the poem off a bit and would probably look a bit more polished if you just kept it all as one line. Just a suggestion.
the sound of heavy boots on the pavement
tapping out the morose rhythm
we've grown to love;
I pay, you'll pay, I pay, you'll pay. Kafka said you need to change this. I beg to differ.

Saturday afternoon, and the mail is here
sealed with wax in yellow envelopes;
slow-moving minds
are grinding away,
sucking the dust in through open nostrils,
taking notes on paper airplanes
to toss away –
asleep, awake, asleep, awake.

This house has walls perfect for bouncing sound off; You're pretty good about choosing the correct words to place in your poem. That been said, the wording in this line is weak compared to the rest of the piece, along with the "they don't talk back" line.
he befriends the echoes with soft words –
they don't talk back.
His life is littered
with ticket stubs and minor offenses
that crunch like dead leaves underfoot,
life surrendered,
something is wrong,
something
is wrong.

This is a most interesting poem. I enjoyed seeing how your obviously carefully chosen words established the tense atmosphere. Here is my complete edit:

neversaynikki wrote:There is something mechanical about it –
not at all like clockwork, but more like
flashing red lights
and spiked metal gears,
the sound of heavy boots on the pavement
tapping out the morose rhythm I just love everything up to here in this stanza.
we've grown to love;
I pay, you'll pay, I pay, you'll pay. You need to change this. It really just does not work for me.

Saturday afternoon, and the mail is here
sealed with wax in yellow envelopes;
slow-moving minds
are grinding away,
sucking the dust in through open nostrils,
taking notes on paper airplanes
to toss away –
asleep, awake, asleep, awake.

This house has walls perfect for bouncing sound off;
he befriends the echoes with soft words –
they don't talk back. "Talk back" means to argue...perhaps you mean "answer?"
His life is littered
with ticket stubs and minor offenses
that crunch like dead leaves underfoot, Love this.
life surrendered,
something is wrong,
something
is wrong.