Did the bird you tell us of—
the stork—lose our stardust
to the ocean, leaving glimmers
that might just be the moon's?
What if we boil seawater?
My teacher taught us
we get salt that way. Is
it the same with stardust?
If it's not, then can we please
at least go to the rocks where
we could find him gasping,
sprawled, contorted in his clumps
of bloody tufts, and bring
that poor bird home to patch him up?
If not, it's fine. Just stay in bed
and we will bring you
chocolate, hugs, and tissues.
Edit 4: The Stork's Whereabouts
Did the bird you tell us of—
the stork—survive the sea-spit
bellows of an ocean tossing
in the torment of the sky's
lightning lashes?
Did our once-swaddled stardust
dissolve in salty splashes, leaving
glimmers I might've mistaken
for the moon's?
What if we boil seawater?
My teacher taught us
we get salt that way.
Is it the same with stardust?
If it's not, then may we please
at least go to the rocks where
we could find him sprawled,
contorted, gasping in his
soggy clumps of crimson tufts,
and bring that poor bird home
to patch him up?
If not, it's fine.
Just stay in bed
and we will bring you
chocolate, hugs, and tissues.
Edit 3: The Stork's Whereabouts
Though that stork is down and broken
with its silken blanket carried far
along the ocean's breath, and stardust
has blended and dissolved with salt,
won't there always be a bird
to give us that joy already given?
And if that swaddle has been blown too far,
and our stardust can't be boiled out of water,
may we at least go where that poor bird
pants and labors on the stone
in his soggy clumps of crimson tufts,
and bring him home for us to patch him up?
If not, it's fine.
Just stay in bed--
we will bring you
chocolate, hugs, and tissues.
Edit 2: The Stork's Whereabouts
Though that stork is down and broken
with its silken swaddle
of stardust in the ocean's breath,
won't there always be a bird
to give us that joy already given?
And if that cloth has seen ocean spilling
from the cliff,
in stormy rips of currents
that our precious stardust rode,
may we please at least go to the shore
where that poor bird labors on the stone
in his soggy clumps of crimson tufts,
and bring him home for us to patch him up?
If not, I understand.
Just stay in bed-
we will bring you
chocolate, hugs, and tissues.
Edit 1: The Stork's Whereabouts
Though that stork is down and broken with its silken swaddle of stardust in the ocean's breath as a sodden glimmer and a released farewell-handkerchief, won't there always be a bird to give us that joy already given? And if that cloth has seen the ocean spilling from the cliff, in stormy rips of currents that our precious stardust rode, may we please at least go to the shore where that poor bird labors on the stone in his soggy clumps of crimson tufts, and bring him home for us to patch him up?
If not, I understand. Just stay in bed- we will bring you chocolate, hugs, and tissues.
Original: For the Sixth Though that stork is down and broken with its silken swaddle of stardust in the ocean's breath as a drowning twinkle and a released farewell-handkerchief, won't there always be a bird to give us that joy already given?
And if that cloth has seen the ocean spilling from the cliff, in stormy rips of currents that our precious stardust rode, may you please at least go to the shore where that poor bird labors on the stone in his soggy crimson tufts, and bring him here for us to patch him up?
If not, I understand. Just stay in bed- the four of us will bring you chocolate, hugs, and tissues.
(08-30-2017, 03:20 PM)alexorande Wrote: For the Sixth
Though that stork is down and broken
with its silken swaddle
of stardust in the ocean's breath I really like the imagery, thinking of a stork riding through a hurricane to deliver a baby
as a drowning twinkle I can't fit this line, like snuffing out a flame, twinkle a star drowning in space?
and a released farewell-handkerchief,
won't there always be a bird
to give us that joy already given?
And if that cloth has seen the ocean spilling
from the cliff,
in stormy rips of currents
that our precious stardust rode,
may you please at least go to the shore who is 'you'
where that poor bird labors on the stone
in his soggy crimson tufts, and bring him here
for us to patch him up? This phrasing throws me off, i want to leave off 'up' but the patch sounds weird
If not, I understand.
Just stay in bed-
the four of us will bring you
chocolate, hugs, and tissues. I picture a dad and three kids takingcare of a pregnant mother, thus the storm of labor, the unborn child would be the sixth.
Interpretation of first look of the title without reading the body: A poem about waiting for a baby to come. Perhaps it will be a newlywed couple on their first child.
Interpretation after reading the body: Perhaps it is about infertility. It is still about a couple perhaps, but it is a little darker in theme than I initially thought. The man is consoling the woman, after once again being unsuccessful in becoming pregnant.
(08-30-2017, 03:20 PM)alexorande Wrote: The Stork's Whereabouts
Though that stork is down and broken
with its silken swaddle
of stardust in the ocean's breath - Stardust makes another appearance. I'm assuming Stardust is the unborn child. After all, life originated from stardust. I think that is what you are going for here and I quite like it. I don't like starting this line with "of" (perhaps "silken swaddle, stardust in the ocean's breath").
as a sodden glimmer - Sodden as in saturated? Does this mean the glimmer is faint and soaked over or full bodied and bright? My guess is the former, but I'm not entirely sure.
and a released farewell-handkerchief, - This is too long to go without any punctuation for me. I'm finding it hard to read with any sort of flow.
won't there always be a bird
to give us that joy already given? - This strophe to me is saying the narrator still is hopeful and trying. The stork did not make it this time, but there will be plenty more opportunity.
And if that cloth has seen the ocean spilling - Consider cutting "the" here.
from the cliff,
in stormy rips of currents
that our precious stardust rode,
may we please at least go to the shore
where that poor bird labors on the stone
in his soggy clumps of crimson tufts, - Beautiful imagery of a bleeding, wounded stork. Soggy, crimson, clumps all take my mind one place (a period or maybe even miscarriage).
and bring him home for us to patch him up? - The narrator is asking (perhaps desperately) if there is anything they can do to have their stardust survive/delivered to them.
If not, I understand.
Just stay in bed-
we will bring you
chocolate, hugs, and tissues. - Consoling the fretting mother. I like how you use the cliche here. It is a unique perspective, so makes the chocolates/tissues thing is quite fresh in my opinion.
I am getting a dark vibe from this poem. My interpretation is this poem is about miscarriage or losing a carried child. There is some indication that you are describing the grieving process (depression, denial, and bargaining are ones that I can specifically point out). It is a beautiful and sad piece of writing. Good work.
I've always wanted to live in a world where it's okay to pronounce both L's in my name.
