Here is my long awaited (if not anticipated) entry in this month's Word & Question. For the rest of the entries, visit the lovely Lindsay over at Very Sleepy People.
I fear I have mixed metaphors. I know what I'm trying to say, but question the marketability of this word I would give you. Inconsistent throughout, I never waver from the resolution to use exactly the wrong word.
When whiskey sooths the aching heart
And blues like storm winds howl and sigh
A longing for domestic arts
Or artless trust to walk beside
Is lightened by a choir's praise
And tulips fresh from cool spring rains
Bloom from death, and give away
Instead of grabbing at the reins
And though consolations pass
As flowers fall to rise again
They leave their mark upon the grass
Each petal soft with hopeful stains
Word: domestic
Question: When do the tulips bloom?
+JMJ+
ReplyDeleteWhiskey again? ;-) You'll have an anthology (if not an album) soon!
The poem really comes into its own when you get to the part about the tulips. I love your ending, particularly the last line. What a perfect reflection of the nature of consolation, which is at once as fleeting and as enduring as true beauty.
I don't know what to say about this one, but I'm pretty sure that's a reflection on me, not your poem. I understand (and agree with) Enbretheliel's comment, but the only reaction I had was "sad." (By which I mean that the story you're telling is sad, not that your poem is a sad attempt!)
ReplyDeleteNow that I'm at a computer that won't eat my comments grumble grumble grumble :
ReplyDeleteI really like this poem. Partly because of the way each line connects the both the line before and the line after, but in separate ways that make each line distinct while blurring them together. But I suspect the main reason I like the poem is that it very successfully combines sound, rhythm, and meaning towards the same purpose more than any other poem of yours I've read, really pulling the entire work together.
That is not to say your other works have not been good, but I find this one exceptional.
i get the feeling of hope. love the last line too.
ReplyDeleteThanks everyone.
ReplyDeleteE, someday I'll learn guitar and sing the Catholic blues. Or you could write and play the guitar parts and I'll learn to blow harp and sing.
Ellen, yes it was a bit sad, though the sadness was hidden, and hopeful. Or at least, I tried to make it so.
J, I wish I could claim skill and wit in the structuring of my poem, but I fear it fell out quite on its own. Personal experience taken to a bit of hyperbolic length.
V, the last line was my favorite. It is inspired by a friend's writing style, but I think I made it my own thing.