09-14-2021, 10:31 PM
I'll be back to say more later, but I love the "Beast of impact" sections (stanzas 2-4).
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A while back I took an online lesson in revising poems, and one of the many wise things the teacher said was that often the real poem is somewhere in the middle of a completed text. I think that's the case with this poem. So I'm going to mainly comment on those stanzas.
300 feet per second is, I know, the speed of pain
as it travels thru the body on its way to the brain
but a breaking heart is witness to a fear coming faster
when sorrow’s Beast of impact charges reinless, without master. this ending seems forced.
My breathing’s getting deep. I seem to need more breath. see if you can avoid repeating breath
I’m fighting back the tears where they exit from the jets.
I feel the quaking gallop of that Beast’s pounding beckon
leaping, lunging closer to me, 300 feet per second.
Then Bam! comes the “crash” and my tears gush forth
as they stream down rippling in a saline sad froth. froth implies bubbles in the tears, which seems unnatural
For my sorrow is a smash-up, a shattering of parts,
cracked pieces blown-off from my now broken heart. something besides "broken"
I think these stanzas could stand on their own as a poem. So that's my 2 cents.
TqB
****************************************
A while back I took an online lesson in revising poems, and one of the many wise things the teacher said was that often the real poem is somewhere in the middle of a completed text. I think that's the case with this poem. So I'm going to mainly comment on those stanzas.
300 feet per second is, I know, the speed of pain
as it travels thru the body on its way to the brain
but a breaking heart is witness to a fear coming faster
when sorrow’s Beast of impact charges reinless, without master. this ending seems forced.
My breathing’s getting deep. I seem to need more breath. see if you can avoid repeating breath
I’m fighting back the tears where they exit from the jets.
I feel the quaking gallop of that Beast’s pounding beckon
leaping, lunging closer to me, 300 feet per second.
Then Bam! comes the “crash” and my tears gush forth
as they stream down rippling in a saline sad froth. froth implies bubbles in the tears, which seems unnatural
For my sorrow is a smash-up, a shattering of parts,
cracked pieces blown-off from my now broken heart. something besides "broken"
I think these stanzas could stand on their own as a poem. So that's my 2 cents.
TqB