The last bite of chicken lies
wet on the floor,
growing colder as
we throw barbed taunts,
defiant challenges
with our eyes.
Seconds tick by...
I bubble,
broiling up
like the
congealed mass
on yesterday's linoleum.
Fire burns bright
in indignation
"How could you do that?"
Dead poultry don't tell no tales.
Neither does your daughter.
And flung chicken makes me miss you even more.
There is a new poetry hangout in town by the name of d'Verse ~Poet's Pub. Tonight they are hosting Meeting the Bar: Critique and Craft with a big theme, namely big topics, ie. death, life, grief, suffering, etc., but the suggestion is to come at it from a less than blatantly direct angle. The thrust of the night is to offer honest, helpful and informative critiques of other poets work. I read a few pieces and am going to explore a few more before hitting the hay, but thought I would add a poem of my own.
You tell me the theme. If you can't get it, that lets me know that more work is needed. I welcome your two cents worth. Thanks for visiting!
dead poultry wont tell no tales...hahaha...that line def lightens the emo, if that was your intent...really like the second stanza, it has nice touches and gives a great visual...think that if you want to drive your point home i would reswizzel that line...
ReplyDeleteHello—
ReplyDeleteThis is an interesting poem. You have done a great job of setting the scene. The tension in the room is palpable. The second stanza works really well for me, I can almost hear the clock ticking on the wall.
I would strip out a couple of the superfluous words that aren’t adding much to the meaning of the poem as I think that would tighten up the piece just a bit. Please feel free to disregard these suggestions if they don’t work for you;
[The] last bite of chicken lies
wet on the floor,
growing colder [as]
we throw barbed taunts,
defiant challenges
with our eyes.
Seconds tick by...
[I] bubble,
broiling up
like the
congealed mass
on yesterday's linoleum.
Fire burns bright
in indignation
"How could you do that?"
Dead poultry don't tell no tales.
Neither does your daughter.
[And] flung chicken makes me miss you even more.
I found the last stanza to be inaccessible in terms of your intent, I was not able to connect the dots between the first two stanzas and the last. Perhaps you might want to write a tad more detail into the ending to tie it all together.
I enjoyed reading this, thanks for linking up.
You asked for a theme. Before I tell you my take, I want to say that even if you get many different ideas, I don't think it necessarily means the piece needs more work. If you touch people in ten different ways with the same words, is that a bad thing?
ReplyDeleteBecause I feel like I've been in scenes so similar, to me this speaks of divorce. I was there again.
I was thinking the same thing as Patti - sounds like you are doing the single mom act which is so terribly hard I imagine. I can barely survive being a mom with a spouse some days. blessings to you and thanks for the write.
ReplyDeleteI think I know you (& said child in poem) too well to be able to critique this in an unbiased way. Knowing you all, this poem makes perfect sense to me and the theme is obvious (I won't give it away for everyone else though). That said, looking just at the poem, the 3rd stanza is a lot wordier than the first two and I would like to see it cut back in order to balance better with the others. That's my two cents :)
ReplyDelete