The headless here
dream only of heads
and hands
the hands that held them
last
the hands
that once belonged
to mothers
and to murderers
alike

the same hands
that cut out coupons

plunged them
into the rancid holdings
of forgotten water

caressed the
newspaper-clipping
photographs of funerals

and burned down staircases
they buried
us under

and
the night is
a burned retina
that refuses to blink

is the galaxy of murdered days
weeks years lifetimes
roosting in the belly
of the beast
that sat at the table beside you
those long years
and called itself time;

is the endless parade that
you swallow
between breaths

is the prayer flung
out
into the throat of night
like a cat's forlorn cry,
a last petition for
dear god please.

and the night -
it goes on and on
with its sprawling,
whispering
past the daffodils
too dumb to know
winter isn't past
them yet
too wise
to turn aside
the nourishment
of old bones

et - i love sincerely riding upon this carpet. message well delivered and plugged in.


for me the capitalisation in the 1st stanza does not work, and in fact understates what you actually want to emphasise. hmm?

while i know you want to gain some momentum & rhythm with the oft repeated 'little' words like 'and' and 'the' i think the piece would cut home cleaner with a few less of them....perhaps

so stanza 2 could perhaps look something like:



The headless
dream only of heads
and hands
hands that held them
last
the hands
that once belonged
to mothers
and to murderers
alike
hands
that cut out coupons
and plunged them
into rancid holdings
of forgotten water
caressed
newspaper clippings
photographs of funerals
and burned down staircases
buried
under





...jus something for you to use or reject as you see feel fit. love you brother.

the first 'stanza' is actually just the title, and not meant to be read as part of the body of the poem, but it all pasted in like that - but there's no way you would know that - my bad. thanks, by the way, i'll see what I can do with the rest of it and the little words

ahhhh...k

So much depth of raw emotion in this, touches long numb buttons in my heart...

I misread your

'the endless parade that
you shallow
between breaths'

as

the endless parade that
you swallow
between breaths

I just awoke, likely still half asleep...
perhaps not even a suggestion, a subconscious deviation

Thanks for letting us weigh in, Chris.
Cheers, Mary Ann

hey cat! I love the tension between the mother/murderer images - comfort,fear,love,danger - very effective. I too had the same concern as wylde about the opening, so thanks for clearing it up. i don't quite understand the "endless parade that / you shallow / between breaths" part... shallow just doesn't work as a verb for me.

can't wait to see more of this!

You didn't misread, Mary ann - I can't type! It should be 'swallow'.

K - Thanks. That stanza (see note above lol) is referring to the sort of endless events of every moment that march over us; and we take it because we have to. I fear this one is heading toward a coal mine fire - what seems like a great idea at three in the morning, hyper caffeinated and on Nyquil with flu . . . later on, not so much

Tee-hee! Subliminal, my dear Watson.
Sixteen oz. double mocha lattes'
give me my very best poetry.

ET..this piece made me very emotional. It's at once raw and eloquent, brutal and tender, cathartic but with no real resolution. The use of language screams instant classic. I loved it.

My only critique would be this..some minimal, strategic punctuation might improve cohesion a bit. I'll give suggestions if you want.

Otherwise, this is brilliant.

Yes, Fogglethorpe, I would appreciate that actually

Ok. Thanks for indulging me. Here is a suggestion:


The headless here
dream only of heads
and hands,
the hands that held them
last,
the hands
that once belonged
to mothers
and to murderers
alike,

the same hands
that cut out coupons,

plunged them
into the rancid holdings
of forgotten water,

caressed the
newspaper-clipping
photographs of funerals,

and burned down staircases
they buried
us under;

and
the night is
a burned retina
that refuses to blink,

is the galaxy of murdered days,
weeks, years, lifetimes
roosting in the belly
of the beast
that sat at the table beside you
those long years
and called itself time,

is the endless parade that
you swallow
between breaths,

is the prayer flung
out
into the throat of night
like a cat's forlorn cry,
a last petition for
dear god, please.

And the night -
it goes on and on
with its sprawling,
whispering
past the daffodils
too dumb to know
winter isn't past
them yet,
too wise
to turn aside
the nourishment
of old bones.

LOVE it. Thank you!