The Little Red Book

17?? You must have been a very interesting 17 year old

 

Interesting is a polite way of saying fucked up. At the time , I felt so alienated and alone in the world. A real crazy. Like I was the only one who saw the reality of it all.

Now, I realise that there are many more of us. We are still a minority but we can be active. We can fight the apathy in our daily lives. Strive at least to improve our personal worlds. When there are enough personal worlds being improved, they will take over. A power beyond the realities we are forced to endure as destined. We will dance amongst the stars, slide down crescent moons and revel in the harmony that was always there, the one we helped unveil.

 

happy thoughts

 

Your poems make me feel all fluttery..

Look forward to seeing more!

 

I *think* this is about religion... it speaks of guilt, innocence lost, promises of salvation unmet.

Did I get it? LOL..

 

I really do love your poetry, it flows really well and evokes powerful emotion, I do hope you keep on writing forever

Much love,
Emelia

 

Wow red, I'm flattered, you made me squeee. Thanks for the plug!!

I got two different vibes upon reading this at separate times.

At first, I got the atmosphere and the impression of an old home, an old family with a history, and secrets which are kept hidden and protected from the new generations. The second time around, I got a more political vibe from words like "guilt", "innocence", "protection", and even "copper-minted wishes" (which by the way is a great image). To me it sounds like you're describing the bubble wrapped, cushy, oblivious American life. Although the references to Italy/Roman do throw me off a bit, but then again, maybe I could connect it to...the American "empire"? It's interesting how you bring back the golden rays once again at the end, perhaps it's a cycle or a rebirth?

 

I like this but I hate what it makes me think of. This reminds me of a Catholic mass and the dogma... incense, guilt, weekly ranson, and "promises of protection"... were you an alter boy or did you know one? I didn't get the silver staircase that is unveiled... unless you mean like a Stairway to Heaven (I love that song)... "eve" in this meant "evening" to me but again, wasn't sure that's what you meant. At sunset... at the end of something (the end of a life - word golden brings to mind "golden" age)... visible once more... hope perhaps? Eve as in the fall of Eve in the Adam and Eve story? That doesn't seem right. choking clouds...

okay, at first I'm thinking poor alter boy... but I think you reached back in history... of the Roman Catholic tradition of seeking $$ for forgiveness in order to avoid hell and find the stairway to Heaven... so for a price (vs. actions/behaviors) you get to to see the golden rays of sunset...

Very effective and very accessible to the reader, more complex like you mentioned but still very accessible so that it is enjoyable.

 

Thanks guys for all your insights and comments.

Peace,
A.

 

I want to explain a little about what I was trying to achieve here and maybe get some more ideas for improvement. The poem was born from a memory of the old lady whose house my mother used to clean. I always felt unreasonably smothered and restricted there.
But when I started writing, it reminded me of other stuff. The guilt of a Catholic. We clutch at their comfort blanket which in turns smothers our childhood(morning) innocence and freedom of choice in adulthood(afternoon). The collection plate at church takes our copper coins and prayers, to fatten the bishops in Rome, promising to reveal the stairway to heaven escaping the guilt of original sin(eve, maybe choking clouds does not work so well here. but I was struggling to keep with the smothering theme). And in death, we finally attain the innocence that was hidden from us since childhood.
It's not a perfect poem and I am very grateful for all of your help. I will work some more on it.

Peace,
A.

 

:behead: The Test

In torturous silence
The hands edge ominously onward,
Feeding pressure cooker air
That fan blades fail to stir.

Heads down, straining under burdens
They struggle to bear,
Concentrated rows of children
Plot their escapes
With graphite scratches
And stolen glances.

In shuffling silence,
They approach the master
Faces etched with terrified anticipation.

Heartless, unmoved,
He shreds their paper ambitions
With a blood-red handheld sabre,
Scarring futures and branding failures,
Ignorantly unaware of his own.

________________________________________________


This is most definitely a work in progress. Any comments/criticisms/suggestions for improvement will be gratefully received.

Peace,
A.

edit : I have reworked the ending and have re-posted the new version below.

 

More htan happy to oblige.

It's really a terrific scene until teh last stanza. I think besides that last part it's all great, near perfect I'd say.

The first 2 lines are great. The third really just doesn't strike me as the excitement I think you were going for. You need a more shocking weapon. Plus bloodred handheld just didn't mesh well together. Maybe blood rusted would sound better?

Line four is good but I feel like you need a line inbetween that and the final line. Maybe a short metaphorical description of said scar. Maybe a color. Maybe something like "painting black unfettered skin".

The the final line needs to be redone. "Ignorantly" just doesn't sound good and doesn't mesh well with any of the other words in this stanza. It's almost as if it's too blunt. Maybe oyu want to end on a blunt note, but try something either a little more blunt, like a semi out of the blue statement, or a little more metaphorical. Right now unfortunately you hit right inbetween the two and fail to deliver.

Thanks for the read,
Hypo.

 

Thanks for your insight. I really appreciate this sort of constructive criticism. Since I posted this, this morning, I have been endlessly working and reworking the final stanza. I too had a feeling that it just was't right. I will re-post the edited version below.

Once again, your help is much appreciated,
Peace,
A.

 

:behead: The Test

In torturous silence
The hands edge ominously onward,
Feeding pressure cooker air
That fan blades fail to stir.

Heads down, straining under burdens
They struggle to bear,
Concentrated rows of children
Plot their escapes
With graphite scratches
And stolen glances.

In shuffling silence,
They approach the master
Faces etched with terrified anticipation.

Heartless, unmoved,
He shreds their paper ambitions
Ruthlessly slashing his blood-stained sabre,
Scarring futures and branding failure.

When all have been despatched,
He surveys the carnage,
Piles of slaughtered dreams
And disfigured hopes.

In lonely silence,
He sinks to his knees,
Swamped by remorse,
Wracked by the guilt
Of his own ineptitude.

________________________________________________


This is still a work in progress. It kept me awake till 4am last night and I've already changed it numerous times today.
Although, I am much happier with this ending, I'm still interested to hear what you all might think. All comments/criticisms/suggestions for improvement will still be gratefully received.

Peace,
A.

 

I'll give it a look a little later when I have more time, hope all is well with you.

 

Much MUCH better. You really strengthen the whole piece up by fixing that last part and adding another stanza.

However lonely doesn't sound right. Maybe "lonesome" is hte word you are looking for? "Loathsome" would work too.

Have you thought about maybe changing the name? You have a recurring theme of silence here and you might want to add something like that into the title. Maybe add something in parentheses. LIke... "The Test(Silent Fight)" or "The Silence(Testing Sanity)".

 

It seems like you wavered a bit… first the master is this evil almost surreal being, then you gave him a heart at the end…. I like that he has a heart at the end (and that he is just an unfeeling ineffective asshole, but if you want this truly evil person, then he would sink to his knees in relief to have the class over and get away from all those little “failures”.

In torturous silence
The hands edge ominously onward,
Feeding pressure cooker air
(wasn’t sure feeding was best word here, not sure if it worked with clock hands moving above…)
That fan blades fail to stir.

Heads down, straining under burdens
They struggle to bear,
Concentrated rows of children
Plot their escapes
(wasn’t sure Plot was best word here, Imagine their escape - ? okay, maybe plot, not sure)
With graphite scratches
And stolen glances.

In shuffling silence,
(I wondered about adding something here to indicate the passing of time… The hour has ended/In shuffling silence/…)
They approach the master
Faces etched with terrified anticipation.
(I would drop anticipation…Faces etched in terror, or leave it but have Terrified faces etched with anticipation… can’t give you the rationale… just liked it better)

Heartless, unmoved,
(I would change this part completely….based on your last stanza, see comments there… perhaps “Appearing heartless, unmoved”
He shreds their paper ambitions
Ruthlessly slashing with his blood-stained sabre,
(I would include “with” and change this to “carelessly” slashing with his blood-stained saber – again to give a clue to last stanza… he is not cold-blooded – just uncaring)
Scarring futures and branding failure.
(I would flip these, progression from bad to worse case “Branding failure and scarring futures”

When all have been despatched, (sp – dispatched)
He surveys the carnage,
Piles of slaughtered dreams
(I would drop “piles”)
And disfigured hopes.
(not sure disfigured is best word here – but not bad, just wondered if there might be some other word…)

In lonely silence,
He sinks to his knees,
Swamped by remorse,
Wracked by the guilt
Of his own ineptitude.
(this is good… I almost wonder if now at the end he doesn’t have a flash back to his own “master” who has made him who he is today – this failure/disfigured teacher?)

By the way, I like the title…The Test.

I really did love this once I started working on it with you. I know you wanted serious critique... so don't be upset with me - I worked it like it was my own cause I like you and I want you to go write more of those stories in your journal. :drool:

 

Hey, just read the first version you posted again and see now more clearly what you were aiming for. So would use "appearing heartless..., carelessly slashing". It wasn't your first version where he was "evil" it was in the rewrite where the master took on this evil. Isn't this fun? haha! I read another post on another forum and a woman there was indicating that she has a hard time after she finishes a poem because she feels empty somehow. I didn't get that. I generally feel relief, then I realized that's probably because I work so hard on every single one of them and sometimes for months before I feel they are completely finished and so I'm in total relief. So hang in there... I can see that you are totally in work mode now on these in a very serious way. You have great ideas and I love your work. I do want more stories. Vetty

 

Vetty214, you are without a doubt one of the most helpful posters on this entire forum. I'm extremely happy to have found this place. I haven't been motivated to write this frequently in years.

The poem itself was a reflection on last Thursday at school, when I had to test and grade my wonderful barefoot children. A terrible day that left me emotionally exhausted and extremely unsure of my effectiveness as a teacher.

Today, however, was a great day that helped put it all behind me and I am now looking forward positively to next semester.

Thank you to all who read my poems,
Help me improve,
And generally increase the pleasure in my life.
Peace,
A.

 

I'm glad you feel positive about my feedback. Thank you for the compliment. I imagine that you are too hard on yourself and you are a wonderful teacher to those barefoot children. You might write a poem about bare feet... You must see amazing things everyday. I'm glad to hear parts of that... looking forward to more. Vetty