7 Commandments My Child Should Know (after Tonya Ingram)

[tectak]

Hi nicole,
First of all,welcome. We all look forward to your views on the posters here. You have posted in the workshopping forum and so you are open to suggestions on your piece.
This is an overview having read through 7 commandments seven times...first observation? Not one commandment If you are going to use concept in a structural way then do so. As it stands, this piece struggles with its own identity and in the end, the identity loses. This reader could imagine you starting off wishing to write ten "commandments" in this cameo, running out after 5 observations and strugging to stagger to seven...a bit like God, really. and he only just managed 10...but they were commandments and not just loose thoughts.

1. I read somewhere, God said, and I think he may be right...No to the opening line.Unnecessary and unequivocally dismissive of responsibilty. Is this your work, or a translation? Begin with:
"As adults, you must fall
into those traits your parents
used, to save themselves.
When my father...."
Your poem but this is now a "commandment". You can now give your "example" to make your point. This is now the "set in stone" nature of the piece and the reader can look forward with some confidence to an interesting unfolding. As it is, there is a complete lack of cohesion...worse, the title should be reported under the Trade Description Act. It does NOT do what it says on the tin

that as adults,
we try growing into
the traits that would've
rescued our parents.
And when my father moved out Drop the "and"
I started moving.
The day my father's signature
danced across a set
of divorce papers,
my body became boat. NICE METAPHOR but will you sustain it?
These ankles retracted anchor. Ankles? Ankles? Of all the body parts that could haul anchor...ANKLES? Comedic scene of Able Seaman First Class being ordered for the first time to haul anchor....holy shit, belay that order!
I have been sailor ever since. Mascot?

2. Mental illness runs Begin with "Always leave what you love" then explain. Try to avoid trite truths...otherwise known as cliches. If you had said " Mental illness runs like wooden legs", it would at least be mildly humorous. As it is, you are not getting the juice out of this yellow lemon. We really want madness.
in my mother's family
so leaving was more like Lacks veracity on two levels. It is not your character's intent to have us believe that he "thinks" he can "leave" to escape genetic disposition. No? The character has already suitably explained why he went to sea, he had versatile ankles. This is the struggle I mentioned in the overview. Poetically, to re-invoke the unsustained metaphor, you are all at sea.
a race for my sanity.
There are days when
I wonder if schizophrenia
is what happened
when Liz stopped writing. Look, this is not funny, but you make it so. You tempt the credibility of the character's personna..."schizophrenia" doesn't happen. Shit happens. Again, there is much more you could make of this. Remember "Always leave what you love"? What's funny? It is just me, I guess. If schizophrenia took hold you would expect at least twice as many letters....but it is your fault that I have these thoughts.
When a poet stops being a poet
I guess all of that empty
silence leaves room for
the walls to start speaking.
There are days when I wander Great observation but what the hell is it doing here? This is such a disconnect it makes the piece a ramble. Omit it entirely and write another poem around it. It has no known purpose here. Help.
just to see if my feet
are as fast as they
used to be.
I used to leave what I love. Gone to L1

3. I love a lot
so I jog often.
Not for hobby,
but for healing.
Love a lot and jog often;
not as a hobby,
but to heal.

There is now a real danger that you will be seen as a poetical dilettante. This is a direct comment on the "poem". Where has the structure gone? If you want this to be seen as "poetry" it must contain some tiny homeopathic trace of the poetic elixir. Randomising everything is not going to do it. The last stanza is not even an afterthought...it is barely a thought at all. Advert for an energy drink. You need to develop this stanza to keep true to the ethos of the piece. This is a heavy subject. You cannot just jog your way out of it. Hmmm.


4. Survival is a scary thing,
especially when it means
running from what's
already been sewn into
your family genes.This is a restatement of what has gone before and stands out like a candle on a slagheap. The first line could save it. The 4th commandment:
" Be afraid of your ancestors" (Honour you father and mother....neat twist)
Your poem.Hmmm.

5. If your body ever What kind of a commandment is this? Begin with:
" Be seen to be alive" .The rest of this stanza is pizza dough with good bits on the surface...and like most home made pizzas, there is a temptation to overdo the topping. A mistake.
feels foreign,
remember home is
where the heart is Impudent cliche for serious workshopping forum. Surely you are aware of this?
so it is no worthless carcass. Sorry. You have completely lost the significance of your own poem. Not surprising as you make no attempt to plan for the future.
Call it Cathedral.
You. Holy congregation Who you...glue gone....falling apart...haiku
of bones filled to the brim
with sin but blessed
from birth.
Your skin is
nothing short of sacred.
Sanctuary.
Your muscles only grow
from being torn and rebuilt
so it makes since
for these walls to crumble
sometimes.
Destruction is a form
of creation. Trite but unsubstantiated and if it were so it would be a cliche. Your call.
And of course,
you will want to
dance atop that rubble.
Movement is a sign of life.
Let them see
you're still alive. I have absolutely no idea what this is all about but would only frazzle myself trying to fathom it. Just one question.Who is this "you" person that has suddenly put in a high profile appearance.Did you think you had formally introduced us previously.You had not. This stanza needs cutting to its core. I have the magnanimous feeling that there is chorizo in this gooey mozarella, tomato puree and anchovy paste gunge. Some pizza...some commandment

6. This life is magicA statement. Your poem. Make it in to a commandment. I'm tired.
and you come from
a long line of magicians.
We people of Black suits
and bow ties threaded
from braided chains.
We, wands for wrists,
perfect for reaching
for potions and people
and dreams.
We, top hats for teeth
perfect for abracadabra speaking
things into existence.
We, artists.
We, storytellers.
We, preachers and poets.
We, who spit spells
disguised as poems.
Poems that work like
prayers born between pews.
We, walking sanctuaries
with pews for knees. Pews? You've stated two, but then again, too pew to mention.
We who birth life. Love,
you are nothing short
of magic. If I was not well brought up I would say you are now taking the piss...but I shall say urine. I can just recall the point if this poem, but it was made long ago. Thank god I can get some relief from my indomitable sense of humour...a sailor with pews for knees hauling anchor with his ankles.Priceless. You must calm down. This is hopelessly wordy and disconnected. It is like reading several poems. Is that it?
7. The day the spine
of my father's signature
tangoed along the rubble
of a broken marriage,
my mother's hips
kissed a beat like
Stevie Wonder
was just invented. Excellent. Quite excellent. What is a nice strophe like you doing in a horrid poem like this? More of this...less of everything else.
And my God,
is it lovely. I do not know...did you ask???????
How she wears her lonely loneliness. You must check for basic errors. The whole thing is now over-excited and that is why errors creep in. Have you read this before posting or do you expect all the work to be done by the crits?
in the sway of her shoulders.
See, you come from "See" is a filler word and serves no purpose. You are actually writing prose and have no need to concern yourself with meter, flow, rhythm or rhyme...and nor do you do so, superbly. Having given up entirely on your own concept it would be churlish to bang on about anything else. See end
a long line of magicians
who don't need to be
run from or rescued.
You are not our final flare.
You are not our savior.
Just our plagiarized draft
of a poem called God. Is this the same you as the you you didn't introduce before you brought in this you? I still don't know who he/she is.
Love, if this is what
dominion means,
then Amem. Amen. Amen.

This is an unholy alliance of poorly connected thoughts and peregrinations.What metaphors there are do not serve to clarify but exist purely as devices to consume excess words. There is much to be said for "your" idea...indeed, much has already been said, but you have not so much wasted an opportunity as buried it beneath a pile of verbose vernacular. I believe strongly that if you began each stanza with a clear "commandment" then explained your thinking clearly, you would get something wonderful out of the experience....and when that happens, it is shared with the reader in a very real sense. As it stands, I felt excluded from the madness...and to a degree, for that I am grateful.
I look forward to edits and wish you well here. Remember, all is opinion.
Best,
tectak