Soon.
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Byron
- Posts: 3171
- Joined: Tue Nov 26, 2002 3:01 pm
- Location: Mad House, Eating Tablets, Cereals, Jam, Marmalade and HONEY, with Albert
I have always been interested in getting drunk. Spot on Floridadoll.
From a very early age I craved the amber nectar of the falling over slowly, yet, with a certain poise, libation.
Alas, it took its toll (3 Guineas and threepence three farthing) and I was forced to wander the underworld for my sins at the bottle. And then suddenly, one steamingly damp, late summer's afternoon, as the fetid remains of another well used golden sun, escaped surreptitiously, behind the favelas of a once proud indian race, I was befriended by a small, lame, ginger haired, white skinned australian kangaroo breeder. "Have a drink mate," he roared as he slapped me vitals with a calloused hand, sheathed in a part-pair of yellow Marigold washing-up gloves. Too much to take in for my deafeatist demeanour, I wept at the sound of the roar and the offer of a drink. "No thanks," I replied, through clentched teeth. (I had been learning ventriloquism and could chat for hours through the false teeth of an elderly aunt, as I tossed the teeth from one hand to the other) "I'm off the wagon and hell bent on going straight," although the hill we were walking down was full of twists and turns, which caused me much discomfort.
The australian stopped in his tracks (he was part locomotive, part tram) and weighing me up with his jaundiced eye (his other eye was glass with tiny flickering speckles of green, with a Guinness tint) he asked me why I could behave that way. I told him of my fight against the demon 'dropping in the road for no apparent reason' juice and my torments in the underworld.
"Poor old sop," he said as he supported me (and 5 children, two cats, one mortagage) with his failing strength. "You shall be saved and I shall set you on the right road to truth, justice and enlightenment." "Bloody hell," I thought.
He pointed me in the direction of a small shop window that nearly took over the whole frontage of a small shop, across the bay. "Head in that general direction and you shall be saved," he said. So I did, and I was. THE END
Oops, I made my way to the small shop with the small, yet deceptively large window, and ventured in. I realised at once, or shortly afterwards, that the australian suffered from partial hearing difficulties, for the shop was full of ladies' nether garments of a particular type. "He has misheard me and thought I had said underwear, when I said underworld." I exclaimed to myself and a passing visitor from Mars. In this small shop, at the foot of the hills, which surrounded the bay, I was surrounded by basques. Hundreds of the things. And so the mental scarring of that dreadful ordeal, at the hands of a daft deaf australian, set me on a course to repay my shock of such a sight for the rest of my life. Ever since that day, it has been my duty to proclaim my vision of the basques by sending the vision backwards to all and sundry, who would listen to my sad tale. THE other END
From a very early age I craved the amber nectar of the falling over slowly, yet, with a certain poise, libation.
Alas, it took its toll (3 Guineas and threepence three farthing) and I was forced to wander the underworld for my sins at the bottle. And then suddenly, one steamingly damp, late summer's afternoon, as the fetid remains of another well used golden sun, escaped surreptitiously, behind the favelas of a once proud indian race, I was befriended by a small, lame, ginger haired, white skinned australian kangaroo breeder. "Have a drink mate," he roared as he slapped me vitals with a calloused hand, sheathed in a part-pair of yellow Marigold washing-up gloves. Too much to take in for my deafeatist demeanour, I wept at the sound of the roar and the offer of a drink. "No thanks," I replied, through clentched teeth. (I had been learning ventriloquism and could chat for hours through the false teeth of an elderly aunt, as I tossed the teeth from one hand to the other) "I'm off the wagon and hell bent on going straight," although the hill we were walking down was full of twists and turns, which caused me much discomfort.
The australian stopped in his tracks (he was part locomotive, part tram) and weighing me up with his jaundiced eye (his other eye was glass with tiny flickering speckles of green, with a Guinness tint) he asked me why I could behave that way. I told him of my fight against the demon 'dropping in the road for no apparent reason' juice and my torments in the underworld.
"Poor old sop," he said as he supported me (and 5 children, two cats, one mortagage) with his failing strength. "You shall be saved and I shall set you on the right road to truth, justice and enlightenment." "Bloody hell," I thought.
He pointed me in the direction of a small shop window that nearly took over the whole frontage of a small shop, across the bay. "Head in that general direction and you shall be saved," he said. So I did, and I was. THE END
Oops, I made my way to the small shop with the small, yet deceptively large window, and ventured in. I realised at once, or shortly afterwards, that the australian suffered from partial hearing difficulties, for the shop was full of ladies' nether garments of a particular type. "He has misheard me and thought I had said underwear, when I said underworld." I exclaimed to myself and a passing visitor from Mars. In this small shop, at the foot of the hills, which surrounded the bay, I was surrounded by basques. Hundreds of the things. And so the mental scarring of that dreadful ordeal, at the hands of a daft deaf australian, set me on a course to repay my shock of such a sight for the rest of my life. Ever since that day, it has been my duty to proclaim my vision of the basques by sending the vision backwards to all and sundry, who would listen to my sad tale. THE other END
"Bipolar is a roller-coaster ride without a seat belt. One day you're flying with the fireworks; for the next month you're being scraped off the trolley" I said that.
!
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linda_lakeside
- Posts: 3857
- Joined: Mon Sep 13, 2004 3:08 pm
- Location: By the sea, by the sea, by the beautiful sea..
Byron,
I understand completely. I am truly sorry for the grief I must have caused you by bringing up the terrible trauma in your life. My condolences.
btw, I have a sad tale. I posted a looooooooong post -- but there was nothing in it. Everybody laughed at me except some guy who kept trying to feed me pills while eating my biscuits. Bad day all around, sounds like. While I was under, this old guy with this really big dog took care of me, gave me pillows, took my naps for me. It was really nice of them. I wish I could send them a note or a card or a curd or a ... I don't know, but I'll find something.
Piece be with you. In part anyway.
Linda
I understand completely. I am truly sorry for the grief I must have caused you by bringing up the terrible trauma in your life. My condolences.
btw, I have a sad tale. I posted a looooooooong post -- but there was nothing in it. Everybody laughed at me except some guy who kept trying to feed me pills while eating my biscuits. Bad day all around, sounds like. While I was under, this old guy with this really big dog took care of me, gave me pillows, took my naps for me. It was really nice of them. I wish I could send them a note or a card or a curd or a ... I don't know, but I'll find something.
Piece be with you. In part anyway.
Linda
~ The smell of perfume in the air, bits of beauty everywhere ~ Leonard Cohen.
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linda_lakeside
- Posts: 3857
- Joined: Mon Sep 13, 2004 3:08 pm
- Location: By the sea, by the sea, by the beautiful sea..
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Andrew McGeever
- Posts: 905
- Joined: Sun Jul 07, 2002 10:02 pm
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Andrew McGeever
- Posts: 905
- Joined: Sun Jul 07, 2002 10:02 pm
Dear Laurie AK,
The "staircase" was by accident: my intention was to create an ever-increasing sense of anticipation. It's the writer panting, not just the lover (who had phoned an hour before). My first working title was "Anticipation", and secondly "Wet". Both had to be rejected: "Soon" is a simpler and better title.
Your remarks about the state of the door: I've thought long about this.
The conjunction "and" is used only once, and is redundant for the "unlocked and open". I'll go for "for my door will be open".
Please reply,
Andrew.
The "staircase" was by accident: my intention was to create an ever-increasing sense of anticipation. It's the writer panting, not just the lover (who had phoned an hour before). My first working title was "Anticipation", and secondly "Wet". Both had to be rejected: "Soon" is a simpler and better title.
Your remarks about the state of the door: I've thought long about this.
The conjunction "and" is used only once, and is redundant for the "unlocked and open". I'll go for "for my door will be open".
Please reply,
Andrew.
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Andrew McGeever
- Posts: 905
- Joined: Sun Jul 07, 2002 10:02 pm
Hi Andrew-
What a journey this thread turned into!!
I'm pasting your poem because it does not show up on this page of the thread....
My love will come
panting from racing
up four flights of stairs,
out of the bone-freezing rain,
not stopping to slam the taxi door,
no time to adjust the dripping fronds of hair
that coalesce with mascara round her eyes.
She won't knock,
for my door will be unlocked and open.
Taking me in her arms,
she will soak me with her love, her desire.
When her overcoat drops onto the floor
it will slide smoothly from her naked shoulders.
Not waiting to reach the bedroom,
her mouth and legs will part for me
as we fall into the flood.
Yes, my love will come.
Yeah, "for my door will be open" does fix the redundancy.
I can see you put alot of thought into the repeating "will"(s), she(s) and her(s). If you hadn't, i might try to combine the "knock" line with the "door" line.
Also, for a couple of reasons (don't ask) i edited my critique on page one. One thing still does stand out to me; the word: SLAM
It seems quite severe for what is happening and i wonder why you picked it?
Thanks for listening and sharing your great poem,
L
What a journey this thread turned into!!
I'm pasting your poem because it does not show up on this page of the thread....
My love will come
panting from racing
up four flights of stairs,
out of the bone-freezing rain,
not stopping to slam the taxi door,
no time to adjust the dripping fronds of hair
that coalesce with mascara round her eyes.
She won't knock,
for my door will be unlocked and open.
Taking me in her arms,
she will soak me with her love, her desire.
When her overcoat drops onto the floor
it will slide smoothly from her naked shoulders.
Not waiting to reach the bedroom,
her mouth and legs will part for me
as we fall into the flood.
Yes, my love will come.
Yeah, "for my door will be open" does fix the redundancy.
I can see you put alot of thought into the repeating "will"(s), she(s) and her(s). If you hadn't, i might try to combine the "knock" line with the "door" line.
Also, for a couple of reasons (don't ask) i edited my critique on page one. One thing still does stand out to me; the word: SLAM
It seems quite severe for what is happening and i wonder why you picked it?
Thanks for listening and sharing your great poem,
L
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Andrew McGeever
- Posts: 905
- Joined: Sun Jul 07, 2002 10:02 pm
Dear Byron,
I must keep the final line in the future tense. I've considered your comments (so warming and complimentary!) about "Soon", and the poem requires revision.
Maybe you and others who have made constructive criticisms can assist me in completing this piece......"poetry by committee"?....why not?...it would be a first for this board.
I haven't read "Soon", but would like to....soon.
I promise you that, when I do, I'll mention all who gave "editorial assistance" from the forum.
Andrew.
I must keep the final line in the future tense. I've considered your comments (so warming and complimentary!) about "Soon", and the poem requires revision.
Maybe you and others who have made constructive criticisms can assist me in completing this piece......"poetry by committee"?....why not?...it would be a first for this board.
I haven't read "Soon", but would like to....soon.
I promise you that, when I do, I'll mention all who gave "editorial assistance" from the forum.
Andrew.
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Andrew McGeever
- Posts: 905
- Joined: Sun Jul 07, 2002 10:02 pm
Dear Laurie AK,
Sorry for not replying to the "slam".
If someone takes a taxi, pays the cab driver, gets out of the taxi, then he/she will close the taxi door.
If, however, he/she is in a hurry to arrive at their intended destination, the door could be slammed shut (indicating urgency).
"not stopping to slam the taxi door" is someone who is beyond urgency: I could have written a line about what happened in the taxi; but that's redundancy!
Right now, I'll defend "slam", though I am open to other suggestions/improvements.
Andrew.
Sorry for not replying to the "slam".
If someone takes a taxi, pays the cab driver, gets out of the taxi, then he/she will close the taxi door.
If, however, he/she is in a hurry to arrive at their intended destination, the door could be slammed shut (indicating urgency).
"not stopping to slam the taxi door" is someone who is beyond urgency: I could have written a line about what happened in the taxi; but that's redundancy!
Right now, I'll defend "slam", though I am open to other suggestions/improvements.
Andrew.
Dear Andrew-
Good explanation...and it IS your poem
but i still have a problem with this line upon further reading. I think maybe because the action of NOT shutting the taxi door is a big stretch from what can logically be anticipated (soon) in comparison with the things the writer could surmise; from the weather the cold, the open door, those urges, etc. Divining that the taxi door does not get (slammed) shut is a stretch for me.
It would be easy to have her darting outta the taxi without including this line.
Now, you should just curse me and declare me out of your "committee."
Thanks for letting me play with your poem,
Laurie
Good explanation...and it IS your poem
but i still have a problem with this line upon further reading. I think maybe because the action of NOT shutting the taxi door is a big stretch from what can logically be anticipated (soon) in comparison with the things the writer could surmise; from the weather the cold, the open door, those urges, etc. Divining that the taxi door does not get (slammed) shut is a stretch for me. It would be easy to have her darting outta the taxi without including this line.
Now, you should just curse me and declare me out of your "committee."
Thanks for letting me play with your poem,
Laurie
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Andrew McGeever
- Posts: 905
- Joined: Sun Jul 07, 2002 10:02 pm
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Andrew McGeever
- Posts: 905
- Joined: Sun Jul 07, 2002 10:02 pm