[size=150]Sits scrunched-up and sleepless
fists poised on the bed
looks down at the woman
and makes lists in his head:
Things done and not done
things said and not said
bare midnight minutes
that are wretched and dead.
In the morning he yawns
rubs his eyes cracks a smile
then his mouth goes all crooked
and his guts fill with bile.
She stretches and wriggles
her eyelids still closed
murmurs and breathes out
and clenches her toes.
He hates without passion
loathing lazy and slack
hates each of the bones
that run down her back.
She wakes up and looks up
bedraggled, bedreamed
a face tight and tortured
by a regime of creams.
Eyes that once met
over food and good wine
meet once again now
over a surfeit of time.
She turns away, hunts her slippers
he too turns his back
and both walk like gunmen
ten steps,
turn,
attack.[/size]
Just kidding, I think it’s well done. Although it’s its own contradiction; the poem itself is the expressed passion of hatred, no? Perhaps because he’s a poet, he knows he’ll write about it after making his lists, and thus isn’t beset with passion at that time. But it’s down in there, baby, it’s in there. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.
It occurred to me that it could be tried also without them turning and attacking at the end, just walking off into the day. To me, that would imply that it’s about his realization that either the honeymoon’s over (or the power of anger to make one think it is), and what’s going on with her isn’t revealed. In fact, that’s what I thought it was about until she turned around and engaged in battle, too.
But perhaps they fell asleep last night before finishing that round of the fight…
I think if they’d just walked away, that would have been the ping of the final strand snapping. Love keels over and dies.
I wrote this about those battles you have with your love, your spouse that continue - often cold wars rather than hot - for days, weeks sometimes. For me the ending is an expression of hope, rather than of outright conflict - the fact that despite their exhaustion there is enough love left for them to be willing to exert themselves, expend energy in trying to hurt eachother more shows they are still deeply bonded at some level.
For me at least, love ends not with a bang, but with complete and utter apathy.
There are however a few spots where the rhythm gets interrupted for me, so I’ll just share and you can make your own decisions.
Sits scrunched-up and sleepless
fists poised on the bed
looks down at the woman
and makes lists in his head:
Things done and not done
things said and not said
bare midnight minutes
that are wretched and dead.
In the morning he yawns
rubs his eyes cracks a smile (Made me stop to wonder why no comma, distracting, slowed down the read rather than sped up)
then his mouth goes all crooked
and his guts fill with bile.
She stretches and wriggles
her eyelids still closed
murmurs and breathes out (between this line and the next, there seems to be one too many syllables/words; i would look to remove either out or in the next line, and.)
and clenches her toes.
He hates without passion
loathing lazy and slack
hates each of the bones
that run down her back.
She wakes up and looks up (I would remove the 2nd up, too many syllables, superfluous imo)
bedraggled, bedreamed
a face tight and tortured
by a regime of creams.
Eyes that once met
over food and good wine
meet once again now (remove the now, esp., given the next line–redundant and slows down the pace; and you prob know now is a terrible way to jump temporally)
over a surfeit of time.
She turns away, hunts her slippers
he too turns his back
and both walk like gunmen (I wasn’t sure whether to mention this one or not, it seems much more a question of style than anything else. I would consider placing a comma between walk and like, builds a tad more suspense, and makes things a bit more emphasized)
ten steps,
turn,
attack.
Hope my comments helped, I only mean the best: and I only give crictisim like this when i really like something.
Hey TUM, thanks for the crit - let’s create version 2 in your honour.
[size=167]New Love, Old Love. Mark #2[/size]
[size=150]Sits scrunched-up and sleepless
fists poised on the bed
looks down at the woman
and makes lists in his head:
Things done and not done
things said and not said
bare midnight minutes
that are wretched and dead.
In the morning he yawns
rubs his eyes, cracks a smile
then his mouth goes all crooked
and his guts fill with bile.
She stretches and wriggles
her eyelids still closed
murmurs and breathes out
and clenches her toes.
He hates without passion
loathing lazy and slack
hates each of the bones
that run down her back.
She wakes and looks up
bedraggled, bedreamed
a face tight and tortured
by a regime of creams.
Eyes that once met
over food and good wine
meet now, once again
over a surfeit of time.
She turns away, hunts her slippers
he too turns his back
and both walk like gunmen
ten steps,
turn,
attack.[/size]
I think they’re both 5’s and if you pause just for an instant after “murmurs”, it flows.
Agreed - too many up’s, but the second is necessary for movement, so “wakes” becomes enough.
Yeah, that last now is duff, but I think it still needs one, so I moved it back.
Then ending is supposed to be a quick slap in the face after the sluggish pace of the main body. So - no commas.
Thanks TUM - this is about my favourite out of all the bits and bobs I’ve done, and now it’s even better.
