01-09-2015, 04:16 AM
I really love this one, but of course, being it is in serious I'll find a few nits to pick. (just dawned on me, is that phrase about lice?)
General complaint: could use some white space...but you know I adore my white space so I may be biased.
The Wasting
Mother ghosts (loveeee the line break here)
past attic dormers
between cloaked antique furnishings
and the forgotten souvenirs (not crazy about the word souvenirs here, reminds me of a trinket you'd pick up on vacation and not a lifetime full of memories---Not sure exactly what I'd like to see instead, but you are more than capable of coming up with the right substitute. Oooo--just thought of something--since you refer just below the nibbling rats, perhaps "morsels of memories" --you know I adore assonance and alliteration.)
crated up. She’s acquiesced
to death since Father's demise,
but she is not dying, as we keep her
blood thinned with Coumadin, (perhaps use Warfarin instead of Coumadin? Not sure why I like that one better, just sounds better to my ear and has a slight mental connection with Wharf rats)
the same poison we reserve
for prowling rodents. You’d think
she’s sedated from her vacant gape,
while watching time compact (compacted? I think) into shale
on the Game Show Network. Broadcasting
signs of cultural paralysis, she is tattooed-
teenager disturbed (personally love this as is, but it could lead to a brief misinterpretation that she is a tattooed teen) and recoils from body piercings,
LED lighting and the internet. Wearing blue
hair nets, she passes time moaning of aches
through the smudged panes (adore play on pain/pane). I listen to her
recite details of doctor visits
and medical tests concluding
she is still too healthy
to join Dad any time soon.
I know I commented quite a bit on things that could be changed, but that doesn't mean it couldn't stand as is and be fantastic.
your loving bosom buddy,
melicious.
General complaint: could use some white space...but you know I adore my white space so I may be biased.
The Wasting
Mother ghosts (loveeee the line break here)
past attic dormers
between cloaked antique furnishings
and the forgotten souvenirs (not crazy about the word souvenirs here, reminds me of a trinket you'd pick up on vacation and not a lifetime full of memories---Not sure exactly what I'd like to see instead, but you are more than capable of coming up with the right substitute. Oooo--just thought of something--since you refer just below the nibbling rats, perhaps "morsels of memories" --you know I adore assonance and alliteration.)
crated up. She’s acquiesced
to death since Father's demise,
but she is not dying, as we keep her
blood thinned with Coumadin, (perhaps use Warfarin instead of Coumadin? Not sure why I like that one better, just sounds better to my ear and has a slight mental connection with Wharf rats)
the same poison we reserve
for prowling rodents. You’d think
she’s sedated from her vacant gape,
while watching time compact (compacted? I think) into shale
on the Game Show Network. Broadcasting
signs of cultural paralysis, she is tattooed-
teenager disturbed (personally love this as is, but it could lead to a brief misinterpretation that she is a tattooed teen) and recoils from body piercings,
LED lighting and the internet. Wearing blue
hair nets, she passes time moaning of aches
through the smudged panes (adore play on pain/pane). I listen to her
recite details of doctor visits
and medical tests concluding
she is still too healthy
to join Dad any time soon.
I know I commented quite a bit on things that could be changed, but that doesn't mean it couldn't stand as is and be fantastic.
your loving bosom buddy,
melicious.