Bittersweet

[brianedwards]

Bittersweet
[tab][/tab]by Suzanne and Brian


1.
He sees an empty glass, she thinks it full,
ignores the lacy lattice-work of dregs
that, like a web too softly spun and frail
to catch a fly, betrays its purpose. Dread
begins its many veiled dance: she flits
about him like a pencil round a sum
uncertain where to make her mark; her next
attempt to infiltrate his night with sun.

He's seen her see his empty glass and turn
her thoughts to harmonising hope with need.
She thinks in nouns. He's desperate for a verb.
Or better yet another drink. He nods
his head, a paddle plunged into a river
The barman pulls another pint of bitter.


2.
The barman pulls another pint of bitter.
She steps in near, watches the amber foam
tip off an empty glass and then slither
across the antique oak and kindle hope;
a quick reflex could intercept his pint
direct the evening's course, make him aware
the night rewards the day if handled right.
She contemplates his mood, adjusts her chair.

Somewhere beyond the laughter of the room
each circled sum she'd penciled falls in place.
The night is young, she sees it's not yet doomed;
the web's not spun, the fly has not escaped.
She thinks in verbs, he's desperate for a noun
he grabs the glass before it makes a sound.


3.
He grabs the glass before it makes a sound
excuse to not make conversation, moves
a little closer to the bar. His hands
have chronicled his forays into love,
anthologized the disappointments too
and even as they curl around his drink
ostensibly at rest, the urge to tease
from them another line's all he can think.

Perhaps if she could take his hands in hers,
caress and coax some meaning from their lines
a cloud might slice the moon of her own verse;
like a razor sweetly opening her eye
his smile reveals the truth of her she'd hidden:
the aim is not to write but to be written.


4.
The aim is not to write but to be written
like laughter is embraced behind closed doors
and radiates life's pleasures, so within
the memory, a place to fall is stored.
He wants to be alone, his shoulders say
though shifting feet reveal a restless stance;
to stay and talk or simply walk away
from all she hates about this tangled dance.

Perhaps if he would take her in his arms,
forget their recent past and reach across
to still the clanging bells of her alarm.
But flesh can't compensate for what's been lost:
there'd be no change, about that she's now sure.
A taxi's called, the bar was not the cure.


5.
A taxi's called, the bar was not the cure
because the patient's been misdiagnosed:
he craves the scalpel; she's in search of Lourdes,
and like an amputated limb, no nurse
or nun can mend an absence so profound:
the faithless find no comfort in a prayer,
placebos only fool a willing mind.
Her taxi comes. They go their separate ways.

As if awaking on a hill alone
and pale, he loiters, trying to recollect
the fog dismantled by the streetlamp's glow:
unfinished drinks and unsmoked cigarettes,
his notebook silent as a winter oak.
A cab pulls to the kerb. He'd rather walk.


6.
A cab pulls to the kerb. He'd rather walk
fog-muffled paths, hush questions never asked
and stifle rhymes and lines that were just talk.
The dread he'd feared has circled and come back
reminding him of how she caught his eye-
before the glass was caught; she flashed a smile
but in her eyes the light he let inside
his shadowed life was gone, it burned a while.

The closing of a door cuts stagnant air
and echoes in the streets upon the hill.
The space between them is no longer where
they'll reconcile or merge the things they feel.
Her black cab's clocking time, they will not meet,
she's paused to see the lighted city streets.


7.
She's paused to see the lighted city streets
slip into something comfortable, and seeks

a metaphor in how the sodium
divides the passive dark, the tedium

of bus-commutes and dog-walks elevated
by this union of the seldom celebrated;

but light's too soft a slipper for his feet
and dark too coarse a cloth for one as sweet

as her. He's gone. No last minute reprieve,
no ring-tap on the window, no appeal.

She's not the night whose marriage to the day
survives on light and dark in equal dose,

she's light and dark, sweet and sour. The fool:
he saw an empty glass. She thinks it full.













~

[Mic]

Well done you two - this is just wonderful. Really really good.

Mic

[Nash]

Well, you two are just showing off now. You just couldn't resist the lure of that sonnet crown.

Absolutely outstanding piece.

Gobsmacked,
Nash.

[brianedwards]

Wow! That was quick! Thought this beast might take a while to get some responses. Many thanks to you both.

Nash, would it be showing off even more to say we actually had this "finished" in time to post to the competition. All my fault we didn't post it sooner - I could faff with this one forever. Shoulda listened to Suzy and just posted the darn thing. Oh well, great to hear you guys enjoyed it.

B.

[Ros]

You making a habit of this?

This feels very personal, somehow. Well done both, it's very good. I was wondering what you'd done with Suzanne. Where has she disappeared to?

Ros

[brianedwards]

You making a habit of this?

I can do. Wanna write another?

[Ros]

You making a habit of this?

I can do. Wanna write another?

OK.

[brianedwards]

Game on!

[Suzanne]

Thank you Mic, Nash and Ros. Wonderful to leave you gobsmacked Nash!

Ros, it feels personal? Lol. Well, hmmm, no surprise as B is to Bitter and S is to Sweet, no?

I am trying to sweeten B up, but he's hard to catch. Won't take the medicine without a fuss.
I'm glad it's been well received. I think we were nearly done before the Comp even officially began.

A passion for writing? Who? Us?
I enjoyed the intensity and B kept me wanting keep up with him and do better.
A great learning experience on many levels.


Thanks for finally posting it Brian, you footdragger, you.
Next time, let's do it on a mountain top without the bar props.
Who knows what could happen?

Thank you.
Warmly,
Suzanne

[David]

Well done you two indeed. Good work. Ambitious too. Although I must say it strikes me as being very Brian, but with definite flashes of Suzanne.

Cheers

David

[Arian]

I don't know which of you is responsible for

She thinks in nouns. He's desperate for a verb.

- perhaps it's a joint effort. Either way, a great line.

And there's quite a few more I admire, too. For me, though, this

She's paused to see the lighted city streets
slip into something comfortable,

is the highlight of the piece.

Personally, my admiration for the piece is for its richness with individual lines and images, rather than its success as a coherent whole. Still, a worthwhile exercise for both writer(s) and reader(s). Good stuff.

peter

[Suzanne]

Thanks David and Peter,
Brian wrote the odd sonnets and I wrote the even.

And while I admit bending into Brian's tips in some phrasing, the balance of voice was pretty equal. He was helpful with his guidance and without destroying his bad-ass reputation, he even handled me gently. I, on the other hand, was stubborn and impatient. I recognize his voice is stronger but I'd like to imagine I held my own. I surely enjoyed the process.

Those pleasing lines you mentioned, Peter, were written by B and the excellent "the barman pulls another pint of bitter" is also his. He made it look effortless, I worked hard... And it was me! who kept the meter inline. Lol.

Good to hear from you.
Suzanne

[Nash]

Just for reference, I got that you were writing alternate sonnets, and I imagine that you wrote alternate couplets too in that final bit?

[Arian]

the excellent "the barman pulls another pint of bitter"

It's good to see you active again, Suzanne. I confess, of all the nice lines in the piece, I struggle to see the particular appeal of this one.

Cheers
peter

[brianedwards]

Me neither Peter!

Thanks all. If the poem does lean towards a more Brian-ish mood, that's definitely more to do with my pig-headedness than any weakness of Suzy's part. She's a tough cookie and a good sport.

B.

[Suzanne]

Lol.

I can imagine you both, a puzzled "what?" on your faces.
But I stick to what I said. I thought the timing, rhythm and meaning was smooth and interesting. Granted, it's not clever words but I thought it excellent placement.

Me? A tough cookie, B? Lol. I guess I've graduated then from being "precious"...

I've still got that soft center thing going on though
and you've defineately got that extreme temperature fluctuation glitch
so it's best you keep a safe distance.

Nope, Nash, he wrote that good stuff alone. (damn.... Lol)

Suzanne

[nar]

Oh jings, I'd like to have been a fly-on-the-PM when that was written.

Nice one, you two.

Kindest,

- Neil

[Basnik]

Hi both,

I really enjoyed this, brilliant stuff, inspiring. It's so easy to let the odd serviceable but dull line into a sequence like this, but it is all really strong, imho.

The only word that held me up was 'amber' for the amber foam - all those crass beer ads from the 80's spoiling my reading! (is the foam amber anyway - I'm more of a real ale fan tbh.)

But I am quibbling and this sequence does not deserve a quibble, just praise and thanks.

Rich

[brianedwards]

Many thanks Neil and Rich.

B.

[OwenEdwards]

Bravo!

[Suzanne]

Yes, thanks, Neil, rich and Owen.
Let's do it again, B. Where are you?

Suzanne

[brianedwards]

I'm here. Ready to go again S?

B.

[Suzanne]

Yes.

[Suzanne]

B.

Two years to write an opening?
Where'd you go? What was the theme again?

Ready...



Don't call me Suze.
Suzy

[Suzanne]

Ready. Come on.