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Loss
At first memory and despair are slotted
into the empty spaces. The first day
is wholly empty. Later days are cluttered.
There’s little time in which to wonder why.
(and all the time you gain the knack of faking
a smile for sympathetic passers by.)
Everyday things distract the heart from breaking.
They say “Time heals all wounds.” This is no healing
but more a case of stacking and restacking
shelves in an attempt to cover peeling
paper, or hanging pictures up to hide
the bloodstains on the wall. But this concealing,
this is the only way you can evade
the signs of loss, the scratch marks in the hall;
and though the sun will cause such marks to fade,
to be in time almost invisible,
it cannot melt your secret icicle.
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Comment by: alien - 2008-05-06 07:55
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This is real poetry, Robin. There's so much to like about this and I feel that, though this clearly comes from the heart, your obvious experience as a poet shines through in that it's not overly sentimental or pushy. It is just is.
There's a few places where I'd say you've stretched the rules of iambic pentameter to their limit - and the more I read this, the more it shows your ability. I like the heavy use of feminine endings to create an feeling of waiting or hanging on and the use of trochaic subs at the starts of some of the lines which just changes the flavour and makes the rhythm more pleasing.
Brilliant. This speaks from the heart and does it with finesse.
Thank you. |
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Sounds like you've been there. Well expressed. For the Challenge, there are a couple of small issues that might make it fit better.
At first memory and despair are slotted
into (the) empty spaces. The first day [I'd drop "the" to make the rhythm fit better.}
is wholly empty. Later days are cluttered.
There’s little time in which to wonder why.
(and all the time you gain the knack of faking
a smile for sympathetic passers by.) {Excellent way of putting it.}
Everyday things distract the heart from breaking. [instead of "everyday things" Common things would help the beats per line.]
They say “Time heals all wounds.” This is no healing [Should this be "not?"]
but more a case of stacking and restacking
shelves in an attempt to cover peeling
paper, or hanging pictures up to hide
the bloodstains on the wall. But this concealing,
this is the only way you can evade
the signs of loss, the scratch marks in the hall;
and though the sun will cause such marks to fade,
to be in time almost invisible, [the last two lines need to rhyme with "hall" or the last word in the middle line of the stanze before them.]
it cannot melt your secret icicle. |
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| yeah, great work. I love how smoothly it reads and flows. I wasn't apying attention to the rhyme just focusing on the message and the words. Then upon a second read, it becomes clear how well thought out it is. The only thing putting me off is the final line. I'm just not sure it fits. But unsure what to do there...anyway something to think about. thanks :) |
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| Your poem is touching, incredibly well-crafted, and oh so true! I can relate to every word, from beginning to end. Thank you for this wonderful piece. |
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