Friday, November 14, 2008

Blind Review Friday

Blind Review Friday.

The author shall remain anonymous (unless they chose to divulge themselves in the comments.)

Those commenting are also welcome to remain anonymous if they wish.

Incendiary comments will be removed.

If you would like your piece thrown to the wolves send it to with "Workshop the hell out of this poem" as the subject line.

You may have noticed we missed last week's submission. We were away from interent access cruising on the Nile. But today we return to the series.

Before sleep

A certain death versus
an existence dabbling
with the lower fragments
of the poverty line

My government
and My parents
made the obvious choice

I am 9,
and I wash dishes
with gutter water
as a part time job
A chemical factory
employs me
for more hours though

Everyday is an era
ups, downs, pushes
and shoves and slaps
from knowns and unknowns.
Crevices of my heart
are now filled
with a shaky jelly
of fear and pain

But (smiles) little whiffs
of joy do come
in childish and childlike fashion,
scattered in occurrence
and reminding,
me of my age.

I dream
of a time
when I don't worry about
the lost innocence
of the boys at the factory

But something immediate
scares my sleep tonight

My father,
feverish forever
ordered me to please the insides
of this monstrous black car
where two gentlemen
blow their horns

I know how
I know why

The generation
you are proud of,
is full of knowledge.


Anonymous said...

this is not the full poem!!!

michael salinger said...

fixed -

cut and paste error - my apologies.

Anonymous said...

Cool... the first time I read this, I kind liked it, but wasn't exactly sure where it meant to go. Now that I see the complete poem, I think it's very good. I wonder if we're all not in some way/shape/form that girl in the monstrous black sedan. At least I've been her.

Geoffrey A. Landis said...

Hmmm. I have mixed feelings about this one. It doesn't really seem to come together into a coherent whole, but given the title, "Before sleep," I guess I have to interpret it as the random thoughts passing through the poet's mind before falling asleep, so it makes sense that they're not fully coherent. A lot of good lines and good images here.

I have a problem with one or two lines. For example, in

"I am 9,

"girl" reads as a direct address to a presumed listener, but I can't quite see it, and it doesn't make sense in the context of falling asleep. ("I am nine, girl," really doesn't seem the right voice, either-- nine year olds don't speak that way, although I suppose a much older person speaking, in the pre-dream state, as if he or she were nine might conceivably use that diction.)


The poet doesn't invent. He listens. ~Jean Cocteau