10-03-2021, 10:11 PM
(10-03-2021, 03:05 PM)Kerbonzo_beenz Wrote: Jetting through the night skyI really enjoy this monster you've created and the narrative, as far as I can discern it (it's mostly quite clear, but loses me in a couple of sections as noted). It needs more smoothing out, more regularity in the line breaks. I've just tried to make a start here on areas of the poem where I'm a bit lost or where corrections seemed needed. But overall, this one has a lot of promise and I like the ending very much.
on a large chunk of angular obsidian.
A hunched over cloak Hunched over in a cloak
billowing in the wind;
it slopes down to a plague doctors mask, what is "it"? it seems to be the cloak, which doesn't make sense to me
only,
imbedded within its users skull.
Strenuous curls of unkempt hair protrude out from under it.
Two glimmering uneven eyes
swim inside the dark reaches of the eyeholes.
Red thread interweeves throughout the beeked mouth, interweaves/beaked
Stretching and resting,
between each wispy breath. rasping instead of wispy?
Fishing poles porcupine out from the back of the obsidian vessel, I'm very interested in this "vessel" and would like more about it.
their lines following delicately behind.
Nimrod trolls through the cold wind,
but nothing seems to have snagged on the hooks yet. This is my favorite stanza, up to this point
With his leathery gloves ending in steel talons
he rummages through the tackle box
knowing that he encroaches upon the smoldering battlefields of 88. No idea what the batttlefields of 88 refers to
Pluming towers of smoke tear across the sky,
clouds of debris rest below them.
The vessel punctures inside quickly,
like a needle into a pin cushion. lost me here
Inside, visibility is limited to bright flaming embers puncturing through the veil; not sure where the veil came from
they're frozen explosions within,
slowly bursting outwards.
The figures of soldiers run across the ashen floor
moving in slow motion across the landscape,
like the villagers of Pompeii,
submerged within pyroclast. like Pompeiians submerged in pyroclast....?
The vessel exits the furling clouds of sut.
Not sparing a glance back,
Nimrod Bodfish flies away into the distance.
The lines now full with the corpses of burnt soldiers
hanging loftily behind:
their souls now safe in the doctors hands, doctor's
for now.

