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First Edit:
Sunday School
I
Wine sipped in an unlit room,
to spill any is a sin.
The bottle shapes liquid
like a good parent should.
Father, where are the others?
Father, what's that?
Questions asked like a child.
II
Silence gives answers I'd rather ignore,
darkness tries to offer absolution,
but then dreams convert to memories:
He used to leer at me.
My blonde hair flowed through his fingers
like gold at the end of a rainbow.
My tears the rain that ruined it,
their anger thunder without lightning.
The light comes on, flickering like his stutter,
salvation a lie my parents sold me
so they could buy a paper from their priest.
III
I became a snowflake
in spring,
pushed away
by god's breath,
surrounded by those
who only cared
about their descent.
The ground
where I belong.
IV
The wine burns now.
After so many years
there is staining, my hair is white,
untouched.
Unanswered prayers buried beneath grass,
their bodies rotted, unrecognizable.
More years pass before I find the right words
to tell someone about the corpses,
the ways of childhood finally behind me.
Original:
Sunday School
I
Wine sipped in an unlit room,
to spill any is a sin.
The mug shapes the liquid
like a good parent should.
“Father, is it Christmas yet?”
“Father, when is Easter?”
Old questions I'd like to think
are make-believe.
II
Silence gives answers I'd rather ignore,
darkness supports it with a devilish smile.
The light comes on, flickering like his stutter,
salvation a lie my parents sold me
so they could buy a paper from their priest.
He used to leer at me, they never noticed.
My blonde hair flowed through his fingers
like gold at the end of a rainbow.
My tears the rain that ruined it,
their anger thunder without lightning.
III
I am a snowflake
in spring,
pushed away
by god's breath,
surrounded by those
who only care
about their descent.
I will fall
and melt.
IV
The wine burns now,
the whole way down,
even worse when it comes out.
There is staining, my hair is white,
untouched.
Unanswered prayers dead in the grass,
the body dismembered, violated,
unrecognizable to loved ones.
I'm the one who found the corpse,
thought it sleeping,
played tough with the authorities
only to cry myself to sleep,
afraid to dream.
Time is the best editor.
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(11-19-2017, 05:59 AM)Richard Wrote: Sunday School
I
Wine sipped in an unlit room,
to spill any is a sin. to spill it is a mortal sin (for rhythm)
The mug shapes the liquid maybe get rid of "the" or just write "wine"
like a good parent should. maybe just write "like a parent" in this line. because parents do this, whether they intend so or not..
“Father, is it Christmas yet?”
“Father, when is Easter?”
Old questions I'd like to think
are make-believe. this part together with the questions above don´t hold meaning for me. if it is there to set up the naiveté of the young character maybe you find another way.
II
Silence gives answers I'd rather ignore,
darkness supports it with a devilish smile. ok. easter and christmas don´t really come.. the priest has a different aim anyway. (but i only understood that two stanzas further, so the word "devilish" seemed unfounded at this place)
The light comes on, flickering like his stutter,
salvation a lie my parents sold me
so they could buy a paper from their priest. "paper"? so, you mean parents educate their children to faith to gain some absolution that would save them from hell?
yes.. that happens. still doesn´t draw me into your poem as it explains things a child would only know a lot later and which are not really relevant to what happens next from the subject´s viewpoint.
He used to leer at me, they never noticed.
My blonde hair flowed through his fingers
like gold at the end of a rainbow.
My tears the rain that ruined it,
their anger thunder without lightning. i think "gold" and "rainbow" don´t fit in the atmosphere.. although they make good metaphors for faith. but i don´t have a suggestion how to go on after the second line.
III
I am a snowflake
in spring,
pushed away
by god's breath,
surrounded by those
who only care
about their descent.
I will fall
and melt. i do not think abused children would think about what exactly the others care about. or maybe they do.. but it does not add to this stanza which should be describing how the child feels. .. you might escape this problem by writing "i was" and putting it in past tense, like the above stanza.
IV
The wine burns now,
the whole way down,
even worse when it comes out. please get rid of this line, it is unintentionally comic.
There is staining, my hair is white,
untouched. though i understand how the consequences all of the above lead to white, untouched hair, it remains a little detached to me, like an analysis in a psychology book.
Unanswered prayers dead in the grass,
the body dismembered, violated,
unrecognizable to loved ones. if to loved ones, then it is unrecognizable to anyone, so you can omit "loved ones" . since i suppose it is the priest´s body it is contradictory anyway. but all this is only comments to the story i get from this poem, so may not be relevant to your intention.
I'm the one who found the corpse,
thought it sleeping, that doesn´t sound logical as it is so severely mutilated
played tough with the authorities
only to cry myself to sleep,
afraid to dream.
please don´t be offended by this harsh criticism (i still hope parts of it are useful)
i´d have no idea how to shape a story like this into a poem.. maybe it is too much to try to describe and explain at the same time. it´s a pretty difficult topic you chose here.
...
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Hey vagabond,
Thanks for the feedback. I was a bit stuck with this one and some of your comments got me thinking differently about this poem.
Greatly appreciated,
Richard
Time is the best editor.
Posts: 2,384
Threads: 230
Joined: Oct 2010
Hi Richard,
Here are some thoughts for you.
(11-19-2017, 05:59 AM)Richard Wrote: Sunday School
I
Wine sipped in an unlit room,
to spill any is a sin.--I like the "i" sounds in this opening. I guess the truth of this content of this specific line would depend on the sacramental theology of the speaker. I take from this a Catholic or (certain) Anglican view which believes that the Eucharist (holy communion) contains the real presence of Christ.
The mug shapes the liquid--mug seems like a slightly off choice to me.
like a good parent should.--This is a nice line because it joins the moment with the idea of upbringing.
“Father, is it Christmas yet?”
“Father, when is Easter?”--These questions to me feel like they introduce a problem. You are introducing a very young speaker and then juxtaposing it with a reminiscence of sorts. I think this would be stronger as one position or the other. If you wanted to you could riff 1 Corinthians 13:11-12 and you could frame these reflections through that sort of filter.
Old questions I'd like to think
are make-believe.--Not a bad sort of sequence but the earlier questions do not provide any sort of tension to make this a satisfying payoff.
II
Silence gives answers I'd rather ignore,--This line is great and would be improved with better questions.
darkness supports it with a devilish smile.--don't like the "it" here.
The light comes on, flickering like his stutter,
salvation a lie my parents sold me
so they could buy a paper from their priest.--this feels like a later reflection and suffers from it.
He used to leer at me, they never noticed.--don't like the second phrase. They never noticed is telly as opposed to showing them deliberately or stupidly not noticing.
My blonde hair flowed through his fingers
like gold at the end of a rainbow.
My tears the rain that ruined it,
their anger thunder without lightning.--I like this sequence especially this line to show the thunder sort of anger.
III
I am a snowflake
in spring,
pushed away
by god's breath,
surrounded by those
who only care
about their descent.
I will fall
and melt.--There's something really interesting about this section. I think it might have been what you were writing toward. It can stand totally on its own but it's close.
IV
The wine burns now,
the whole way down,
even worse when it comes out.
There is staining, my hair is white,
untouched.
Unanswered prayers dead in the grass,
the body dismembered, violated,--feels like one two many adjectives to me.
unrecognizable to loved ones.
I'm the one who found the corpse,--This feels like it should be the first line of the strophe or the last one.
thought it sleeping,
played tough with the authorities
only to cry myself to sleep,--I've heard this before and it loses impact. This should be ending strong but it feels like its losing steam.
afraid to dream.
Just some things to consider.
Best,
Todd
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson
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Joined: Feb 2017
hi Richard, my last critique revealed how your poem affected/troubled me, without giving a good critique, so, here goes another:
Sunday School -The title makes me think of lessons learned through church
I
Wine sipped in an unlit room, - wine or whine?
to spill any is a sin. - a warning of either impropriety or error
The mug shapes the liquid - here's what I saw as hidden personification
like a good parent should. but mug and whine seem to clash
“Father, is it Christmas yet?” - this took me back to your last poem about autism
“Father, when is Easter?” which made it confusing in my own mind
Old questions I'd like to think
are make-believe.
II
Silence gives answers I'd rather ignore,
darkness supports it with a devilish smile.
The light comes on, flickering like his stutter, -up to this point I feel the presence of the challenged child from your last poem
salvation a lie my parents sold me - troubling
so they could buy a paper from their priest.
He used to leer at me, they never noticed. - this stanza is most exceptional. I wish it could be a poem on its own.
My blonde hair flowed through his fingers
like gold at the end of a rainbow.
My tears the rain that ruined it,
their anger thunder without lightning.
III
I am a snowflake - I like that you pulled this one apart. I like the whole of it.
in spring,
pushed away
by god's breath,
surrounded by those
who only care
about their descent.
I will fall
and melt.
IV
The wine burns now,
the whole way down,
even worse when it comes out.
There is staining, my hair is white,
untouched.
Unanswered prayers dead in the grass, - I get a little confused here. Is the body of the prayer dismembered?
the body dismembered, violated,
unrecognizable to loved ones.
I'm the one who found the corpse,
thought it sleeping,
played tough with the authorities - the authorities is mystery
only to cry myself to sleep, - troubling, still
afraid to dream.
Personally the poem was a great big giant metaphor. But if we look at it simply it tells another, sadder, story. If this is a personal write
I am sorry. I hope you are okay and find healing and comfort.
-nibbed
there's always a better reason to love
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Hey Todd and Janine,
Thanks for the feedback.
As always Todd, you've got me thinking of some wonderful revisions for this one. I find it really interesting what you and Janie said about the third section because it did start out as its own poem, and then I absorbed it into this poem as it took shape.
Janine, I don't want to give too much away about the poem here, but this poem actually did start out about something else related to Autism and ended up somewhere I never intended. My son was actually diagnosed with Autism about a month and a half ago, so that has been something I've been working through in my more recent writings. However, as I worked on this poem, I realized that it had less to do with Autism and more to do with some feelings I needed to deal with. I've never been a direct victim of child abuse, so one of my greatest fears with this poem was offending anyone who has been, which is definitely not my intention. I hope some of this clears it up.
Thanks again,
Richard
Time is the best editor.
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Hi, Richard
I understand. I also spill things about my heart into my poetry, too.
A month an a half is still very fresh and it's a lot to take in. I hope
you are okay. I will be praying for you and your son.
-nibbed
there's always a better reason to love
Posts: 709
Threads: 74
Joined: Mar 2017
Hey Janine,
I appreciate the support.
Thanks again,
Richard
Hey all,
I completed an edit for this piece. I draw on Todd's suggestion about Corinthians 13:11-12, so that might explain some of the changes. I also incorporated suggestions from nibbed and vagabond. Feel free to let me know if this is an improvement.
Thanks in advance,
Richard
Time is the best editor.
Posts: 2,384
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Some thoughts on the edit.
(11-19-2017, 05:59 AM)Richard Wrote: First Edit:
Sunday School
I
Wine sipped in an unlit room,
to spill any is a sin.
The bottle shapes liquid--Bottle is an improvement on mug.
like a good parent should.
Father, where are the others?
Father, what's that?--Better questions. The addition of Father does add something. Not sure about the repetition of the title, and those still may not be the best questions. It's an improvement though.
Questions asked like a child.--The simile makes me think the speaker is older. If that isn't your intent. Maybe something like: "The timid questions of a child" or something like that.
II
Silence gives answers I'd rather ignore,
darkness tries to offer absolution,--I'm not a fan of "tries to" as I continue to look at it. darkness offers ("some modifier" I could suggest some but don't want be too leading here) absolution
but then dreams convert to memories:--Don't need "then"
He used to leer at me.
My blonde hair flowed through his fingers
like gold at the end of a rainbow.
My tears the rain that ruined it,
their anger thunder without lightning.--Their is too indistinct.
The light comes on, flickering like his stutter,--very much like this simile and image (as well as light being both literal and figurative as exposure).
salvation a lie my parents sold me
so they could buy a paper from their priest.--their or this
III
I became a snowflake
in spring,
pushed away
by god's breath,--I like this opening. You could add a creepy element to the breath (by god's breath on the back of my neck or anything intimate or showing a level of vulnerability and unease.
surrounded by those
who only cared
about their descent.--These three lines slip away from the image and become more distant. Read that as telly and less effective.
The ground
where I belong.--The self-loathing of the last two lines work.
IV
The wine burns now.
After so many years
there is staining, my hair is white,
untouched.
Unanswered prayers buried beneath grass,
their bodies rotted, unrecognizable.
More years pass before I find the right words--This is wordy and needs work. Condense
to tell someone about the corpses,
the ways of childhood finally behind me.--might be stronger if you cut "the ways"
It's a step forward. Hope the comments help.
Best,
Todd
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson
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Joined: Mar 2017
Hey Todd,
Thanks for the feedback. The ending still seems elusive. I plan on working on this later in the week.
Thanks again,
Richard
Time is the best editor.
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Hi Richard
Enjoyed this, liked the narrative structure and there are some great images.
I don't think it is quite as sharp/concise as it might be,
but the revision is an improvement on the original.
Sunday School
I
Wine sipped in an unlit room,
(perhaps 'A sip of...
also...a room of shadows?)
to spill any is a sin.
(an onanism reference?)
The bottle shapes liquid
like a good parent should.
I think there's a slight jump from L2 to L3
don't think you need 'should'.
Father, where are the others?
Father, what's that?
Questions asked like a child.
Don't think this line is necessary.
II
Silence gives answers I'd rather ignore,
darkness tries to offer absolution,
but then dreams convert to memories:
He used to leer at me.
Unnecessary
My blonde hair flowed through his fingers
like gold at the end of a rainbow.
My tears the rain that ruined it,
very good.
their anger thunder without lightning.
don't think this line quite works.
The light comes on, flickering like his stutter,
excellent.
salvation a lie my parents sold me
so they could buy a paper from their priest.
(perhaps, my belief bought them a paper...)
Good line but not sure it's in the right place.
III
I became a snowflake
in spring,
pushed away
by god's breath,
surrounded by those
who only cared
about their descent.
The ground
where I belong.
IV
The wine burns now.
(liked 'the whole way down' in the original)
After so many years
(given N's hair is white, the passage of years is sufficiently implied)
there is staining,
my hair is white,
(did wonder about 'silver' following on from 'gold')
untouched.
- I think the salvation couplet would work better here -
Unanswered prayers buried beneath grass,
their bodies rotted, unrecognizable.
The idea works, not sure about the burial metaphor for 'prayers'
(perhaps 'cries')
though it does seems slightly overwritten
More years pass before I find the right words
Not keen on the repetition of 'years', perhaps
it has taken me so long...
to tell someone about the corpses,
the ways of childhood finally behind me.
end on 'corpses' I think, this last line lacks punch.
Cut 'n paste suggestion:
I
[A sip of wine,] an unlit room,
to spill any is a sin.
Father, where are the others?
The bottle shapes liquid
like a good parent.
Father, what [is] that?
[B]londe hair flowed through his fingers,
[the] gold at the end of [the] rainbow.
[T]ears [fell as] rain, ruined [everything],
anger thunder without lightning.
I became a snowflake in spring,
pushed away by god's breath,
The light comes on,
flickering like his stutter.
II
The wine burns now
the whole way down
[and there are stains]
My hair is white, untouched.
[I buried all my prayers],
unrecogniz[ed], unanswered.
[It has taken me so long]
to tell [anyone] about the corpses.
Hope this helps
Best, Knot
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Threads: 74
Joined: Mar 2017
Hey Knot,
Thanks for the feedback. I find whenever you critique one of my poems, there's always at least one thing you say where my reaction is, "Dang, that is a good point." An example from here would be your suggestion about using silver instead of white.
Greatly appreciated,
Richard
Time is the best editor.
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