Amen

[Philatone]

V.3 adjusted L3, changed title to Amen (thanks to tec)

Tonight, the doorway frames a still of you,
asleep in silence waiting to be snapped
to recall a table splayed with sweet potato,
graces pressed through joined hands, a chorus of Amen.
I missed that word, flying over Appalachia;
the last strum of a collapsing arpeggio
before a meal. Amen is something to be shared,
regardless of belief, like small talk, fish, or bread.
When absent, its weight hangs in the air,
a spent chandelier burned by the switch.
Once the first roll is sliced, the plates fill
and glasses empty, it feels too late
to claim, like an apology, or
even worse, regret.





V. 2 adjusted L2 and L3
adjusted last 3 lines slightly (thanks to billy and addy)

Tonight, the doorway frames a still of you, asleep
in silence waiting to be snapped by footsteps.
I want to hear of a table splayed with sweet potato,
graces pressed through joined hands, a chorus of Amen.
I missed that word, flying over Appalachia;
the last strum of a collapsing arpeggio
before a meal. Amen is something to be shared,
regardless of belief, like small talk, fish, or bread.
When absent, its weight hangs in the air,
a spent chandelier burned by the switch.
Once the first roll is sliced, the plates fill
and glasses empty, it feels too late
to claim, like an apology, or
even worse, regret.



V. 1
Tonight, the doorway frames a still of you, asleep,
unaware of my weight uncoiled at your side.
In the silence of what will blur into memory,
I want to hear of a table splayed with sweet potato,
graces pressed through joined hands, a chorus of Amen.
I missed that word, flying over Appalachia;
the last strum of a collapsing arpeggio
before a meal. Amen is something to be shared,
regardless of belief, like small talk, fish, or bread.
When absent, its weight hangs in the air,
a spent chandelier burned by the switch;
when the first roll is sliced, the plates fill
and glasses empty, it feels too late
to claim, like an apology, or
even worse, regret.

[billy]

Tonight, the doorway frames a still of you, asleep, not sure it needs the penultimate comma, nice image to open with.
unaware of my weight uncoiled at your side. i'm surmising here, wouldn't you be outside the room looking in at her? it doesn't feel clear enough
In the silence of what will blur into memory, the transition is very weak and comes off as jarring to read, it also screams out that the next line be a separate stanza or statement
I want to hear of a table splayed with sweet potato, i can't see much wrong from here on apart from:
graces pressed through joined hands, a chorus of Amen.
I missed that word, flying over Appalachia;
the last strum of a collapsing arpeggio here, i think a period would help
before a meal. Amen is something to be shared,
regardless of belief, like small talk, fish, or bread.
When absent, its weight hangs in the air,
a spent chandelier burned by the switch;
when the first roll is sliced, the plates fill
and glasses empty, it feels too late
to claim, like an apology, or
even worse, regret. and a strong finish

there's a hell of a lot to like about this geoff. it feels a bit off conceptually at the beginning but i don't think that's a big problem really.
some of the images are good and so is the mid poem speech on amen (i felt it was great) the poem conveyed the purpose of a good amen and how if not said at the right time, it doesn't work. i'm also taking it as a metaphor for leaving things in general till it's to late.

thanks for the read

[addy]

A nice piece Phil. Probably one of your most thoughtful and moving pieces.

Tonight, the doorway frames a still of you, asleep,
unaware of my weight uncoiled at your side.
In the silence of what will blur into memory, Agree with billy. I immensely enjoyed the rest of your poem, but this transition kind of lets it down. I'm left still struggling to make the connection between the opening (which is beautiful in its own context) and the following passages (which is beautiful in the new context it breaks into, how personal it gets)
I want to hear of a table splayed with sweet potato,
graces pressed through joined hands, a chorus of Amen.
I missed that word, flying over Appalachia;
the last strum of a collapsing arpeggio
before a meal. Amen is something to be shared,
regardless of belief, like small talk, fish, or bread. Very insightful
When absent, its weight hangs in the air,
a spent chandelier burned by the switch;
when the first roll is sliced, the plates fill
and glasses empty, it feels too late
to claim, like an apology, or
even worse, regret. Really like this ending... but I had trouble reading it out as a sentence since it got a bit long and unwieldy by the end.

[Philatone]

billy
thanks for calling out the shift of place in the opening; have no idea how that skirted by me. will address. I'll see what I can do to adjust the opening 3 lines. Thanks for the time


addy
similarly, thanks for reinforcing the comments on the opening. will make some changes. I'll also see what I can do about creating a break in the close; I agree completely. I appreciate your feedback

[tectak]

V. 2 adjusted L2 and L3
adjusted last 3 lines slightly

Tonight, the doorway frames a still of you, asleep
in silence waiting to be snapped by footsteps.
I want to hear of a table splayed with sweet potato,
graces pressed through joined hands, a chorus of Amen.
I missed that word, flying over Appalachia;
the last strum of a collapsing arpeggio
before a meal. Amen is something to be shared,
regardless of belief, like small talk, fish, or bread.
When absent, its weight hangs in the air,
a spent chandelier burned by the switch.
Once the first roll is sliced, the plates fill
and glasses empty, it feels too late
to claim, like an apology, or
even worse, regret.



V. 1
Tonight, the doorway frames a still of you, asleep,
unaware of my weight uncoiled at your side.
In the silence of what will blur into memory,
I want to hear of a table splayed with sweet potato,
graces pressed through joined hands, a chorus of Amen.
I missed that word, flying over Appalachia;
the last strum of a collapsing arpeggio
before a meal. Amen is something to be shared,
regardless of belief, like small talk, fish, or bread.
When absent, its weight hangs in the air,
a spent chandelier burned by the switch;
when the first roll is sliced, the plates fill
and glasses empty, it feels too late
to claim, like an apology, or
even worse, regret.

Hi phil,
It would be churlish to pick away at this beautiful piece...like photoshopping a Constable!
I can still see phil in the content but not in the construction. This is a departure from your normal "style" and amen to that. I like it very much.
To me, there are only issues between what you can "see"in your head and what you submit to the page. As usual, the impression of profundity is there but sometimes the translation into poetic visualisation seems to be unsophisticated, as if the translator had a limited vocabulary to work with. Please take this the right way. What it means is that your ideas seem to overwhelm your ability to pin down the words. Given the choice I would prefer ideas over words but this is poetry!
In the first few lines you create an image which is complete and easily assimilated by the reader. I am contented by this and have a good feeling.....I am confident that this is my kind of poem......but then you seem to hurry and stick in a quick fix that just leaves me stuck to the words. "....waiting to be snapped by footsteps" is shifting the concept just too suddenly. "Framed," a "still" and "snapped" cannot be misconstrued. They are terms used in photography......Kodak Brownie, even....but where do you get the expression "snapped by footsteps" from? Unless Footsteps is the butler, I am cast adrift.....if mixed metaphors is where we are at!
The rest is pure philatone with wickedly off-centre descriptive leaps ( splayed with sweet potato) and great transitional leaps of sentiment from the flight over the Appalachians to the unpicked arpeggio to the slicing of a (bread?) roll in one (thanks erthona) Ginsbergian breath. (If reading out loud, of course. The punctuation is refreshingly present!)
I sometimes ask a friend or two to read my stuff out loud. I choose those who despise poetic endeavour and promise each time that this one will change their mind. It never does, but they are brutal in their infuriatingly simplistic criticism of even the tiniest inclusion of poetic licence. I note their comments and sometimes I even act on them.........as you should here. Or not.
The chandelier and switch bit is still up there with A Whiter shade of Pale but not quite into Blinded by the Light!
Work that out you clever bastard!
Loved it,
Best,
Tectak

PS. A better title would be AMEN! IMO

[Philatone]

tec

valid points raised again. I thank you for your comments. I have adjusted the "snapped" line, and I think it keeps even more in tune with the 'photograph' imagery. I have to apologize, what was given before truly was a quick fix and didn't get my inspection as heavily as it should have. That being said, this later form is only here because it felt right to me, and was entirely deliberate.

agree with comments on the title as well; was something I was debating.

thanks again

[billy]

i never botherted with v2 cos i wasn't here to, v3 i'd say has wrapped this bugger up and put it to bed. it flows really well maybe the chandelier line is a tad heavy but that really is a tiny nit. because it does work. the title change works. nothing left to say except...well done....you thought i were going to say amen didn't you ?

[tectak]

V.3 adjusted L3, changed title to Amen (thanks to tec)

Tonight, the doorway frames a still of you,
asleep in silence waiting to be snapped Just one picky bit here. "snapped to recall" does not make sense. Do you want to punctuate after "snapped" and begin the next line with " I recall a table...." or are you sugesting that the image of "the still of you" suggests a table splayed with sweet potato.....or potatoes? A clarification is probably not what YOU want but the imagery makes ME want to get the truth from you.
to recall a table splayed with sweet potato,
graces pressed through joined hands, a chorus of Amen.
I missed that word, flying over Appalachia;
the last strum of a collapsing arpeggio
before a meal. Amen is something to be shared,
regardless of belief, like small talk, fish, or bread.
When absent, its weight hangs in the air,
a spent chandelier burned by the switch.
Once the first roll is sliced, the plates fill
and glasses empty, it feels too late
to claim, like an apology, or
even worse, regret.





V. 2 adjusted L2 and L3
adjusted last 3 lines slightly (thanks to billy and addy)

Tonight, the doorway frames a still of you, asleep
in silence waiting to be snapped by footsteps.
I want to hear of a table splayed with sweet potato,
graces pressed through joined hands, a chorus of Amen.
I missed that word, flying over Appalachia;
the last strum of a collapsing arpeggio
before a meal. Amen is something to be shared,
regardless of belief, like small talk, fish, or bread.
When absent, its weight hangs in the air,
a spent chandelier burned by the switch.
Once the first roll is sliced, the plates fill
and glasses empty, it feels too late
to claim, like an apology, or
even worse, regret.



V. 1
Tonight, the doorway frames a still of you, asleep,
unaware of my weight uncoiled at your side.
In the silence of what will blur into memory,
I want to hear of a table splayed with sweet potato,
graces pressed through joined hands, a chorus of Amen.
I missed that word, flying over Appalachia;
the last strum of a collapsing arpeggio
before a meal. Amen is something to be shared,
regardless of belief, like small talk, fish, or bread.
When absent, its weight hangs in the air,
a spent chandelier burned by the switch;
when the first roll is sliced, the plates fill
and glasses empty, it feels too late
to claim, like an apology, or
even worse, regret.