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brooke · Joined: 26 Feb 2007 Posts: 12 Location: Perth

Since I had no takers I am being incredibly brave and/or stupid and posting one below. Please be kind but constructive in your criticisms. I want to know specifically if it sounds too feministic and cruel. Thanks in advance.

Really

Really, what happened to me?
That I became a man’s machine.
Open beneath cruel sunshine
Exposed in a field.
That someone should see my heart for what it is.
A whir, whir, whir.
A thud, thud, thud.
The beatings of a fuel-run centre.
Vibrating loudly, lonely.
Forever thud-thudding till my death.

And really, after years of subservient service,
After days, and months of plowing your fields
Of feeding the gaping hole that be your mouth,
Why does not my whirring
Mutiny?
Why will it not leave me?
Alone, to die in peace
In vengeance to life again
My only come-uppence to see how my life could have been.

Really, must my eyes be filled with a future
Of sand and still more barren land.
When my metallic frame still longs for open seas and brighter days.
Instead my eyes, they glaze,
Over with indecency
I dare not cry for fear of rust.

Really must I be imprisoned, like a ticking parcel,
Padded for safety,
An implosion of mimicry
I wallow in the mud that I have tracked in.
My sarcasm does ingredient
the days I spend waiting.
Waiting, my whirring heart a concert
A gentle background to the grinding down
Of me

Really must I age beneath you
As you ride me into the soil,
Make me a woeful guest
In the best of your houses
The shine has long gone from my exterior
Replaced by the mute taste
Of such gentle, gentile confinement.

My days will play over
The past remembered,
Of the heart that once beat in love and in time
Beat love, love not thud, thud
A heart that thrived on devotion, not indifference.
In deference to that unknown high power within.

Really, will I be a skeleton in your back yard?
The sun glinting off my old bones, my deflated dreams.
Our children playing over the corpse of me.
The power to corrupt or create beauty.
To make from nothing a something,
To plow or to please.
Really.

tttime · Joined: 18 Feb 2007 Posts: 23 Location: Western Austrlaia

I hope you don't mind me commenting, in terms of constructive critism I can't offer you any, for my knowledge of poetry is minimal but I enjoyed your reflections and the use of parellels.

Good on ya for putting it out there
_________________
absolute amature writer. well have to start somewhere.

Amy · Joined: 15 Feb 2007 Posts: 14

Hi, I really enjoyed your poem. It made me think, and that's the goal of writing, isn't it - to get readers thinking!

I don't believe that it is too feministic at all, and I don't think you have overdone the 'cruel' angle. There has to be a certain amount to make us, the reader, feel.

Its been a while since I've written any poetry so I'm I little rusty, so I might be completely wrong here: I'm not sure about the title. I just don't know if the word 'really' is working. To me, it's detracting from the rest which is powerful.

Could you explain why you wanted to use this word? Is there some importance behind it?

brooke · Joined: 26 Feb 2007 Posts: 12 Location: Perth

I used Really so it was more conversational, more like I'm posing a question, or maybe a disbelief at the situation I wrote about.

I like shorter titles that link to the actual poem so readers can feel what they are about to read. Thank you for reading it. I'm glad you enjoyed it, might go into the yes pile! Razz

Amy · Joined: 15 Feb 2007 Posts: 14

I read your poem again with your comments in mind, I see what you mean, and it does work except for the first 'really' (first paragraph). Have a read and pretend you're talking to someone - it doesn't sound right to me. Just my two cents worth.

Not sure about the line 'My sarcasm does ingredient' (4th paragraph). Is this right? Confused

I still think it's great and belongs in your 'yes' pile. Very Happy

brooke · Joined: 26 Feb 2007 Posts: 12 Location: Perth

Thanks for your help Amy. I wasn't actually going to change anything about it really, just wanted to know if it was readable! I take my inspiration from Bates, he believed the mood was more important than plot or character and I really just wanted to invoke that here.

With the line 'My sarcasm does ingredient, the days I spend waiting,' I was implying that the protagonist was feeling cynical, bitter, sarcastic, which adds to the general experience. Just in a more flowery way.

Twiggy · Joined: 08 Jun 2007 Posts: 34 Location: Australia

Coming late to this, can I put in my two penn'orth?
This is poetry. I'd like to see each line start in lower case, as this is an informal sort of poem. The suggestions I'd like to make are as follows, with comments in brackets and suggestions in square brackets. (I tried first to use different colors, but that's a bit time consuming!) I haven't tried to make it grammatically correct, as poetic licence doesn't demand that, but I have altered some punctuation. Hope ity gives you some ideas to work with.

Really, what happened to me?
That I became a man’s machine.
Open beneath cruel sunshine
Exposed in a field.
That someone should see my heart for what it is.
(Do you wish those sentences to be abrupt, or to flow? Different atmospheres are created.)

[Really, what happened to me,
that I became a man’s machine,
open beneath cruel sunshine,
exposed in a field?
That someone should see my heart for what it is?]
(I've put line endings in lower case as befits the informality of the style, and altered the punctuation.)

A whir, whir, whir.
A thud, thud, thud.
The beatings of a fuel-run centre.
Vibrating loudly, lonely.
Forever thud-thudding till my death.
(I don't know if you prefer these short statements, or would prefer to use commas so that it flows more. I've left them as they are for now.)

[A whir, whir, whir.
A thud, thud, thud.
The beatings of a fuel-run centre.
Vibrating loudly, lonely.
Forever thud-thudding till my death.]

And really, after years of subservient service,
After days, and months of plowing your fields
Of feeding the gaping hole that be your mouth,
Why does not my whirring
Mutiny?
( Just replacing line beginnings with lower case.)
[And really, after years of subservient service,
after days, and months of plowing your fields
of feeding the gaping hole that be your mouth,
why does not my whirring
mutiny?]

Why will it not leave me?
Alone, to die in peace
In vengeance to life again
My only come-uppence to see how my life could have been.

(Here I've removed the question mark altogether, as it either interrupts the flow or, if repositioned, seems irrelevant. And corrected uppance.)

[Why will it not leave me
alone, to die in peace,
in vengeance to life again,
my only come-uppance to see how my life could have been.]

Really, must my eyes be filled with a future
Of sand and still more barren land.
When my metallic frame still longs for open seas and brighter days.

[Really, must my eyes be filled with a future
of sand and still more barren land.
when my metallic frame still longs for open seas and brighter days?]

Instead my eyes, they glaze,
Over with indecency
I dare not cry for fear of rust.
(I don't like the separation of 'glaze' and 'over')

[Instead my eyes, they glaze over
with indecency.
I dare not cry for fear of rust.]

Really must I be imprisoned, like a ticking parcel,
Padded for safety,
An implosion of mimicry

[Really, must I be imprisoned,
like a ticking parcel,
padded for safety,
an implosion of mimicry?]

I wallow in the mud that I have tracked in.
My sarcasm does ingredient
the days I spend waiting.
Waiting, my whirring heart a concert
A gentle background to the grinding down
Of me

[I wallow in the mud that I have tracked in.
My sarcasm does ingredient
the days I spend waiting.
Waiting, my whirring heart a concert,
a gentle background to the grinding down
of me.]

Really must I age beneath you
As you ride me into the soil,
Make me a woeful guest
In the best of your houses

[Really, must I age beneath you
as you ride me into the soil,
make me a woeful guest
in the best of your houses?]

The shine has long gone from my exterior
Replaced by the mute taste
Of such gentle, gentile confinement.

[The shine has long gone from my exterior
replaced by the mute taste
of such gentle, gentile confinement.]

My days will play over
The past remembered,
Of the heart that once beat in love and in time
Beat love, love not thud, thud
A heart that thrived on devotion, not indifference.
In deference to that unknown high power within.

[My days will play over,
the past remembered,
of the heart that once beat in love and in time.
Beat love, love, not thud, thud.
A heart that thrived on devotion, not indifference,
in deference to that unknown high power within.]

Really, will I be a skeleton in your back yard?
The sun glinting off my old bones, my deflated dreams.
Our children playing over the corpse of me.
The power to corrupt or create beauty.
To make from nothing a something,
To plow or to please.
Really.
(Here again I'm not sure whether you wish abrupt sentences, or more of a flow! But I suggest Smile

[Really, will I be a skeleton in your back yard?
The sun glinting off my old bones, my deflated dreams?
Our children playing over the corpse of me?
The power to corrupt or create beauty,
to make from nothing a something,
to plow or to please.
Really.]
Is that final 'really' an exclamation, or a statement?