Moon Beg

[Vincent Turner]

Your stubborn, far reaching light
exposes the absence of her pillow.
At this high-wire hour as cats
traipse broken gutters, and roads
settle into silent occasional murmur
I am stirred into recollecting the early years.
When a thread of her hair
brushing against my neck
would excite my tender senses.
When pillow talk- the savoured nightcap
that followed the greedy act
solved world debt and slammed
the latest fashions.
Such simplicity!
as though the clump-worry world
Was sieved so fine, only the raw
Requirements remained.
Pie-eyed on love’s toxic cocktail
we courted the idea of everlasting-
whispering sweet Je t’aime’s
like newbie porn stars.
You were but a dirty voyeur,
goofing around the window sill
ogling our animal ways.
What now!
Only the dust of her
existence remains, sometimes
when a breeze slips through the house
she snow’s me. What now! A mere
gathering of half empty perfumes-
Half empty for she is fully gone.
In the shuffle of silent wanderings
down hectic streets packed
with happy folk it is your brother-
That other intrusive ogre
who showers the town with silliness,
with hyperactive, back sweating,
anger-tanked energy.
Why offer me her un-bruised pillow.
Why concentrate your light
only on this room, Go taunt
the crazy, go romance the black
planets of cats eyes, go spill
yourself across luscious lakes-
Leave me to bury my shadow
It is as ready as I to sleep.

[Suzanne]

I'm a fan.



I like the building frustration.
The line breaks were interesting and I mean interesting as in: interesting.


The emotion portrayed is the kind that makes people throw things across the room.


Do you write prose? Write the book that you might have brewing. Your poems always feel like a taste of a larger story.

Yep, I'm a fan.

Enjoyed it.
Suzanne

[David]

Moon Beg. Is there a bit of Irish in that?

Anyway, there are some very nice lines in here, but it's a bit long for my taste at the moment. I think a concentrated version of this would be very powerful.

Then again, there is something to be said for the more leisurely approach, so perhaps it's just my problem.

Cheers

David

[Vincent Turner]

Thanks Susanne ( sorry about the incorrect spelling of your name... certain letters on the keyboard are not working for example my favourite animal is a ebra.)

the line breaks were unintentional so I am glad the work for you. Yes there is a book in there somewhere, when time finds me, maybe I will give it a go.... not much chance at moment with the new baby and all!!!

David thanks for the feedback.

Yes it is a little to long, I suppose this was intentional as I have not attempted a poem for some time.

Moon beg... not sure if there is Irish influence or not.

sorry all for my inactivity here. We had a new arrival last month, and poetry has taken a back seat as you can imagine.

Best Regards

Vincent

[stuartryder]

Yes I liked parts of it too - I guess, the beginning and end sections. I do think it rambled on a bit in the middle, and some bits were perhaps a bit trite. I'll come back to it though - I did enjoy the read.

Cheers

Stuart

[Arian]

It started with a bit of jar for me, but only because anything to do with the moon that's 'far reaching' puts me in mind of Larkin's...

The hardness and the brightness and the plain
Far-reaching singleness of that wide stare

But that's an aside.

I wouldn't say it's too long. I think it's fine - it evokes a nice sense of loss, mixed with anger and regret very well. Some fine and original sequences - I particularly liked:

When pillow talk- the savoured nightcap
that followed the greedy act
solved world debt and slammed
the latest fashions.

On the other hand, I think it could be tidied up. The punctuation could be smoother, I'd argue, and there are occasions when your commitment to originality is rather too awkwardly in-your-face (but that's a commendable thing really - better than not trying to be original!). And I'm tempted to agree with stuart that there are hints of triteness (not in expression, but in sentiment) in parts of it.

But much of this is merely carping. Overall, I think it's very good - a stone's throw from being an anthology piece.

Cheers
peter

[Ros]

Congrats on the new arrival, Vincent! I'm surprised you're managing to string 3 words together.
I enjoyed this a lot - but agree it could be tidied. Some phrases seem a little odd - 'would excite my tender senses.' and 'she snow’s me.' (no apostrophe!) and I'm not sure about the title. Very good.

Ros

[stuartryder]

Hello -- couple of bits where I thought the expression was a bit trite...

When a thread of her hair
brushing against my neck
would excite my tender senses.

This is so "normal" I found it off-putting. You maybe aimed for that contrast. I could understand that, but found it wanting.

A mere
gathering of half empty perfumes-
Half empty for she is fully gone.

I really liked the first two lines but the third one is far too explanatory and basically doesn't need to be there.

That other intrusive ogre
who showers the town with silliness,
with hyperactive, back sweating,
anger-tanked energy.

This passage reads like showboating; and the anger in it overshadows some of the very good phrases around it. ("hectic streets packed with happy folk", "Why concentrate your light".)

Cheers

Stuart

Your stubborn, far reaching light
exposes the absence of her pillow.
At this high-wire hour as cats
traipse broken gutters, and roads
settle into silent occasional murmur
I am stirred into recollecting the early years.
When a thread of her hair
brushing against my neck
would excite my tender senses.
When pillow talk- the savoured nightcap
that followed the greedy act
solved world debt and slammed
the latest fashions.
Such simplicity!
as though the clump-worry world
Was sieved so fine, only the raw
Requirements remained.
Pie-eyed on love’s toxic cocktail
we courted the idea of everlasting-
whispering sweet Je t’aime’s
like newbie porn stars.
You were but a dirty voyeur,
goofing around the window sill
ogling our animal ways.
What now!
Only the dust of her
existence remains, sometimes
when a breeze slips through the house
she snow’s me. What now! A mere
gathering of half empty perfumes-
Half empty for she is fully gone.
In the shuffle of silent wanderings
down hectic streets packed
with happy folk it is your brother-
That other intrusive ogre
who showers the town with silliness,
with hyperactive, back sweating,
anger-tanked energy.
Why offer me her un-bruised pillow.
Why concentrate your light
only on this room, Go taunt
the crazy, go romance the black
planets of cats eyes, go spill
yourself across luscious lakes-
Leave me to bury my shadow
It is as ready as I to sleep.

[Vincent Turner]

Hi Stuart.

Thanks for the input.

When a thread of her hair
brushing against my neck
would excite my tender senses.

Yeah, I get you, a little to Mills and Boon. Will work on changing it.

A mere
gathering of half empty perfumes-
Half empty for she is fully gone.

I wonder, do you mean its explanatory as you get the impression, the bottles are half empty because she is gone and will not be used again, as I was not going in that direction, I suppose I was referring to the narrators outlook, pessimistic etc half empty, not half full as they might be if she was alive. I am not suggesting you are, I am just curious.


That other intrusive ogre
who showers the town with silliness,
with hyperactive, back sweating,
anger-tanked energy.

Think I got a little carried away here, although i was trying to capture the silliness that comes with summer, the energy and the boil of rage that rises in people etc. Might need to trim it down some though.

Thanks again to you all, I will work on trimming it some.

And I think the title will go, I was a desperate grab at something, and at present does not sit right with me.

Regards

Vincent