Jackie, Blank Options

[Guest_Kathy_*]

REVISION#3 Sorry, I can't make up my mind about that line. Had to change it back.


. .


JACKIE

That little fellow, Jack, can hardly wait;
he'll soon be five; we'll walk with him to school.
Each day he waits for us, "See ya!" he says
and waves, he lifts his brows and tilts his head
in Polynesian style. He's just so sweet!

Jackie little Jackie-down-the-street.

The men are in the river side by side,
their bodies bright with sparkles as they wade
a long slow march, the ripples dance and shine,
and no-one speaks... I watch the shadows grow
until they reach like fingers that would hide

down inside the river by the pipe.

There's an awful cry, the postman stoops
and snatches, boiling up the water where
a child comes swinging out in fountain gouts
that stream in rivers down his little arms
spread out like Jesus' arms upon the cross.

Jackie, little Jackie-down-the-street.

Then suddenly the air is full of sound;
the women on the bridge let out a wail
that's crying on and on and I can see
the shape of it go spreading like a stain,
I see it beating like a wounded gull

flying up the river past the pipe.

Now Jackie's on the claypan by the bank.
His father sucks his mouth and spits a flood.
We stand and watch him press on Jackie's chest
and darkness grows around. We breathe the cold
but Jackie doesn't breathe; he doesn't move.

Jackie little Jackie-down-the-street.

Doc Tommo's car spins arcing in a skid;
he runs and kneels, he fingers Jackie's throat
and looks into his eyes. "It's way too late,"
the Doctor says. "Give up. It's over, Sid.
Give up I said! He's dead! He's bloody dead!"

Jackie little Jackie-down-the-street.

His father picks him up in his big arms
and holds him close against him wordlessly.
We watch him trudging slowly up the hill
and Jackie's mother follows heavily,
and everything is still now as I sit

down above the river on the pipe

where Jackie fell and hit his head. He sank.
But no-one said a thing. They ran away
because they got a fright. Oh how I wish
we never took him with us after school
to fish, and play the way he did today

half across the river on the pipe.




Kathy Earsman


I don't think I have posted this. Couldn't find it anywhere, so hopefully it is new to you. It's also quite old, written in a child's voice because it's a memory.

REVISION #2

That little fellow, Jack, can hardly wait.
He'll soon be five; we'll walk with him to school
because we pass his house. "See ya!" he says
and waves, he lifts his brows and tilts his head
in Polynesian style. He's just so sweet!

Jackie little Jackie-down-the-street.

The men are in the river side by side,
their bodies bright with sparkles as they wade
a long slow march, the ripples dance and shine,
and no-one speaks... I watch the shadows grow
until they reach like fingers that would hide

down inside the river by the pipe.

There's an awful cry, the postman stoops
and snatches, boiling up the water where
a child comes swinging out in fountain gouts
that stream in rivers down his little arms
spread out like Jesus' arms upon the cross.

Jackie, little Jackie-down-the-street.

Then suddenly the air is full of sound;
the women on the bridge let out a wail
that's crying on and on and I can see
the shape of it go spreading like a stain,
I see it beating like a wounded gull

flying up the river past the pipe.

Now Jackie's on the claypan by the bank.
His father sucks his mouth and spits a flood.
We stand and watch him press on Jackie's chest
and darkness grows around. We breathe the cold
but Jackie doesn't breathe; he doesn't move.

Jackie little Jackie-down-the-street.

Doc Tommo's car spins arcing in a skid;
he runs and kneels, he fingers Jackie's throat
and looks into his eyes. "It's way too late,"
the Doctor says. "Give up. It's over, Sid.
Give up I said! He's dead! He's bloody dead!"

Jackie little Jackie-down-the-street.

His father picks him up in his big arms
and holds him close against him wordlessly.
We watch him trudging slowly up the hill
and Jackie's mother follows heavily,
and everything is still now as I sit

down above the river on the pipe

where Jackie fell and hit his head. He sank.
But no-one said a thing. They ran away
because they got a fright. Oh how I wish
we never took him with us after school
to fish, and play the way he did today

half across the river on the pipe.




Kathy Earsman



REVISON #1

That little fellow, Jack, can hardly wait
to walk with us to school; he'll soon be five.
Each day he waits alone, "See ya!" he says
and waves, he lifts his brows and tilts his head
in Polynesian style. He's just so sweet!

Jackie little Jackie-down-the-street.

The men are in the river side by side,
their bodies bright with sparkles as they wade
a long slow march, the ripples dance and shine,
and no-one speaks... I watch the shadows grow
until they reach like fingers that would hide

down inside the river by the pipe.

There's an awful cry, the postman stoops
and snatches, boiling up the water where
a child comes swinging out in fountain gouts
that stream in rivers down his little arms
spread out like Jesus' arms upon the cross.

Jackie, little Jackie-down-the-street.

Then suddenly the air is full of sound;
the women on the bridge let out a wail
that's crying on and on and I can see
the shape of it go spreading like a stain,
I see it beating like a wounded gull

flying up the river past the pipe.

Now Jackie's on the claypan by the bank,
his father sucks his mouth and spits a flood.
We stand and watch him press on Jackie's chest
and darkness grows around. We breathe the cold
but Jackie doesn't breathe; he doesn't move.

Jackie little Jackie-down-the-street.

Doc Tommo's car spins arcing in a skid;
he runs and kneels, he fingers Jackie's throat
and looks into his eyes. "It's way too late,"
the Doctor says, "Give up, it's over Sid,
give up I said ! He's dead! He's bloody dead!"

Jackie little Jackie-down-the-street.

His father picks him up in his big arms
and holds him close against him wordlessly.
We watch him trudging slowly up the hill
and Jackie's mother follows heavily,
and everything is still now as I sit

down above the river on the pipe

where Jackie fell and hit his head. He sank.
But no-one said a thing. They ran away
because they got a fright. Oh how I wish
we never took him with us after school
to fish, and play the way he did today

half across the river on the pipe.





ORIGINAL

Jackie.

That little fellow, Jack, can hardly wait.
He'll soon be five, he'll walk with us to school;
each day he waits for us, "See ya!" he says
and waves, he lifts his brows and tilts his head
in polynesian style. He's just so sweet!

Jackie little Jackie-down-the-street.

The men are in the river side by side,
their bodies bright with sparkles as they wade
a long slow march, the ripples dance and shine,
and no-one speaks... I watch the shadows grow,
until they reach like fingers that would hide

down inside the river by the pipe.

There's an awful cry, the postman stoops
and snatches, boiling up the water where
a child comes swinging out in fountain gouts
that stream in rivers down his little arms
spread out like Jesus' arms upon the cross.

Jackie, little Jackie-down-the-street.

Then suddenly the air is full of sound;
the women on the bridge let out a wail
that's crying on and on and I can see
the shape of it go spreading like a stain,
I see it beating like a wounded gull

flying up the river past the pipe.

Now Jackie's on the claypan by the bank,
his father sucks his mouth and spits a flood.
We stand and watch him press on Jackie's chest
and darkness grows around, we breathe the cold,
but Jackie doesn't breathe, he doesn't move.

Jackie little Jackie-down-the-street.

Doc Tommo's car spins arcing in a skid;
he runs and kneels, he fingers Jackie's throat
and looks into his eyes. "It's way too late,"
the Doctor says, "Give up, it's over Sid,
give up I said ! He's dead! He's bloody dead!"

Jackie little Jackie-down-the-street.

His father picks him up in his big arms
and holds him close against him wordlessly.
We watch him trudging slowly up the hill,
and Jackie's mother follows heavily,
and everything is still now as I sit

down above the river on the pipe

where Jackie fell and hit his head. He sank
but no-one said a thing. They ran away
because they got a fright. Oh how I wish
we never took him with us after school
to fish, and play the way he did today

half across the river on the pipe.

[heartsong7]

Oh Kathy, What a sad, sad song. This is a real story?
The meter flows so well that I barely noticed the verses are blank.
I can't find much to pick at but was slowed a bit here:
He'll soon be five, he'll walk with us to school;
each day he waits for us, "See ya!" he says
meter bumps a bit for me... and "us" appears twice in that short span.
consider: he's waiting every day and, shouting, "See ya",
he waves with lifted brows and tilted head
in polynesian style. He's just so sweet!

I'll be back.
Sue

PS... just to say, I think my suggestion may sound too 'grown up' to be a child's voice...
but I think you can fix the bump and retain that simplicity.

[Mary Boren]

Kathy, this is very powerful. I love the simplicity of the child's voice against such a tragic backdrop. And how like a child to try and take on the weight of responsibility. I'll come back to it when I'm in a more somber mood. -M.

[AMETHYST]

Well now ... Kathy ... At first, I read it. Then I read it again. Then I read again. Each time hoping the goosebumps and swelling teary eyes would allow me to read it with an open mind and see something to offer for critique. After 7 reads - I cannot bypass the idea of how well this is written and how powerfully, yet how delicate you've offered it.

I just reread it again, and if you don't mind I will go stanza to stanza ... I have some minor suggestions for very small, miscellaneous revisions, but otherwise ... I cannot get over how dramatic this is and yet, reads like a fairytale. Which I guess is much easier to disgest such a terrible experience.

Hugs, Liz

Jackie.

That little fellow, Jack, can hardly wait.
He'll soon be five, he'll walk with us to school;
each day he waits for us, "See ya!" he says
and waves, he lifts his brows and tilts his head
in polynesian style. He's just so sweet!

Jackie little Jackie-down-the-street.

The opening stanza is perfectly misleading. It introduces the innocence of the child and sets the reader up for a growing of age story. A child about to begin school, making friendships etc ... the innocence of childhood. I too think that the line Sue mentions could be improved, and the 'us' repeat might be too close, but in both aspects us is important, as it specifies it is with the narrator that he will walk to school and he waits for them specifically. So ... I cannot offer an alternative at this time, but will be putting some thought to it.

The men are in the river side by side,
their bodies bright with sparkles as they wade
a long slow march, the ripples dance and shine,
and no-one speaks... I watch the shadows grow,
until they reach like fingers that would hide

down inside the river by the pipe.

Strong imagery, L2, 'with sparkles as they wade' this scene comes out with a punch. A powerful turn about, from S1. L4, sets a graphic scene in the readers mind. The loudness of silence as if a mass of people are holding their breath - awaiting to exhale. This is the image that stirs in my mind. No nits.

There's an awful cry, the postman stoops
and snatches, boiling up the water where
a child comes swinging out in fountain gouts
that stream in rivers down his little arms
spread out like Jesus' arms upon the cross.

Jackie, little Jackie-down-the-street.

Again. The images are graphic. Powerful. Emotional. I especially felt the use of 'boiling up the water' is profound. The image of the child laying lifeless body arms hung out from his body, as Jesus upon the cross. Very powerful imagery. Excellent skill in 'showing' and not telling. Such talent! :)

Then suddenly the air is full of sound;
the women on the bridge let out a wail
that's crying on and on and I can see
the shape of it go spreading like a stain,
I see it beating like a wounded gull

flying up the river past the pipe.

L4, I wasn't sure what the shape of it meant. The shape of the boy? But then the follow through of spreading like a stain sort of leaves me a bit confused... I sort of lost my place of what was being revealed here. Perhaps it is the women's despair ...

Now Jackie's on the claypan by the bank,
his father sucks his mouth and spits a flood.
We stand and watch him press on Jackie's chest
and darkness grows around, we breathe the cold,
but Jackie doesn't breathe, he doesn't move.

Jackie little Jackie-down-the-street.

Excellent detail. '...the claypan by the bank' L2, vivid and striking. L4, perhaps as darkness grows around ..."

Very powerful final lines here ... "but Jackie doesn't breathe, he doesn't move.' so final, so filled with conviction.

Doc Tommo's car spins arcing in a skid;
he runs and kneels, he fingers Jackie's throat
and looks into his eyes. "It's way too late,"
the Doctor says, "Give up, it's over Sid,
give up I said ! He's dead! He's bloody dead!"

Jackie little Jackie-down-the-street.

Again the emotions drive the reader. The sounds through out every stanza are BRILLIANT!

His father picks him up in his big arms
and holds him close against him wordlessly.
We watch him trudging slowly up the hill,
and Jackie's mother follows heavily,
and everything is still now as I sit

down above the river on the pipe

L4, perhaps as Jackie's mother follows heavily,/
and everything is still ... now as I sit

Again. Forcefully driven imagery and detailed scenary. Showing, not telling. Moving and emotional.

where Jackie fell and hit his head. He sank
but no-one said a thing. They ran away
because they got a fright. Oh how I wish
we never took him with us after school
to fish, and play the way he did today

half across the river on the pipe.

What a very, very powerful poem. The voice is perfect. The underlying excitement in fear of a child is expressed strongly here. Kathy ... I am bowing my head and heart to you and your talents. WOW...

[Michelle]

Hello Kathy, this so sad and you’ve told the story well. It brought a tear to me and that tells me just how talented a poet you are. Really a wonderful poem and very well executed. I've offered a couple of things for you to consider, but mostly I offer my praise and admiration for your poem and your talent.

That little fellow, Jack, can hardly wait.
He'll soon be five, he'll walk with us to school;
each day he waits for us, "See ya!" he says
and waves, he lifts his brows and tilts his head
in Polynesian style. He's just so sweet!

>>>Great opening. I think that switching the order of phrasing would enhance the first few lines. Something like this:

That little fellow, Jack, can hardly wait
to walk with us to school; he’ll soon be five.
Each day he waits for us, "See ya!" he says
and waves, he lifts his brows and tilts his head
in Polynesian style. He's just so sweet!


Jackie little Jackie-down-the-street.

The men are in the river side by side,
their bodies bright with sparkles as they wade
a long slow march. The ripples dance and shine, >>> you might consider a sentence break here.
and no-one speaks... I watch the shadows grow,
until they reach like fingers that would hide

down inside the river by the pipe.

There's an awful cry, the postman stoops
and snatches, boiling up the water where
a child comes swinging out in fountain gouts
that stream in rivers down his little arms
spread out like Jesus' arms upon the cross. >>>I’m think ‘wide’ instead of ‘out’ would keep the meter anchored better. I’m not sure what is correct, but I pronounce Jesus’ as Jesuses. If that is correct, you might want to rephrase for meter.


Jackie, little Jackie-down-the-street.

Then suddenly the air is full of sound;
the women on the bridge let out a wail
that's crying on and on and I can see
>>I think that ‘a wail that’s crying on and on’ is kind of like saying the same thing twice
the shape of it go spreading like a stain,
>>>this would be stronger if you were more specific - tell us what ‘it’ is in this line - I would say ‘grief’- but that is my own thoughts
I see it beating like a wounded gull

flying up the river past the pipe.

Now Jackie's on the claypan by the bank,
his father sucks his mouth and spits a flood.
We stand and watch him press on Jackie's chest
and darkness grows around, we breathe the cold,
but Jackie doesn't breathe, he doesn't move.
>>>This is an excellent stanza, just superb imo.

Jackie little Jackie-down-the-street.

Doc Tommo's car spins arcing in a skid;
he runs and kneels, he fingers Jackie's throat
and looks into his eyes. "It's way too late,"
the Doctor says, "Give up, it's over Sid,
give up I said ! He's dead! He's bloody dead!"
>>>This one too, is intense - I wouldn’t change anything here

Jackie little Jackie-down-the-street.

His father picks him up in his big arms
and holds him close against him wordlessly.
We watch him trudging slowly up the hill,
and Jackie's mother follows heavily,
and everything is still now as I sit

down above the river on the pipe

where Jackie fell and hit his head. He sank
but no-one said a thing. They ran away
because they got a fright. Oh how I wish
we never took him with us after school>>>this line seems a bit bumpy metrically
to fish, and play the way he did today

half across the river on the pipe.


Respectfully,

Michelle

[Guest_Kathy_*]

Sue, you wrote:

Oh Kathy, What a sad, sad song. This is a real story?

Yes, it is a real story. I went back about 2 1/2 years ago, and stood under the trees where Jackie was. Those trees are much taller now, but the river looks the same. The bridge is older and dirtier. The pipe is still there.

The meter flows so well that I barely noticed the verses are blank.

That's the brilliant thing about blank. It's probably why Shakespeare chose to write all his plays in it.

I can't find much to pick at but was slowed a bit here:
He'll soon be five, he'll walk with us to school;
each day he waits for us, "See ya!" he says
meter bumps a bit for me... and "us" appears twice in that short span.
consider: [i]he's waiting every day and, shouting, "See ya",
he waves with lifted brows and tilted head
in polynesian style. He's just so sweet![/i]

I certainly take that on board. He did say "See ya!" though. That makes a spondee, but I think its OK here because it emphasises the call, and since its the only actual touch to Jackie, its important.

PS... just to say, I think my suggestion may sound too 'grown up' to be a child's voice...
but I think you can fix the bump and retain that simplicity.

Puts her finger to her brow and thinks.................

Thanks, Sue

[Guest_Kathy_*]

Well, as usual, Liz, you have moved and impressed me with your crit. I hardly know what to say.
Except ALL TRUE! All true!

Jackie.

That little fellow, Jack, can hardly wait.
He'll soon be five, he'll walk with us to school;
each day he waits for us, "See ya!" he says
and waves, he lifts his brows and tilts his head
in polynesian style. He's just so sweet!

Jackie little Jackie-down-the-street.

The opening stanza is perfectly misleading. It introduces the innocence of the child and sets the reader up for a growing of age story. A child about to begin school, making friendships etc ... the innocence of childhood. I too think that the line Sue mentions could be improved, and the 'us' repeat might be too close, but in both aspects us is important, as it specifies it is with the narrator that he will walk to school and he waits for them specifically. So ... I cannot offer an alternative at this time, but will be putting some thought to it.

Thanks Liz. You are right. We all expected that for Jackie. Actually, he was called 'Huckie' (Huki) sometimes, which is his name in Moari. It was a natural place to start. I appreciate your analysis, and will consider that line.

The men are in the river side by side,
their bodies bright with sparkles as they wade
a long slow march, the ripples dance and shine,
and no-one speaks... I watch the shadows grow,
until they reach like fingers that would hide

down inside the river by the pipe.

Strong imagery, L2, 'with sparkles as they wade' this scene comes out with a punch. A powerful turn about, from S1. L4, sets a graphic scene in the readers mind. The loudness of silence as if a mass of people are holding their breath - awaiting to exhale. This is the image that stirs in my mind. No nits.

At this time the narrator (me) didn't know what was happening. So this is a haiku-like observation of the scene.

There's an awful cry, the postman stoops
and snatches, boiling up the water where
a child comes swinging out in fountain gouts
that stream in rivers down his little arms
spread out like Jesus' arms upon the cross.

Jackie, little Jackie-down-the-street.

Again. The images are graphic. Powerful. Emotional. I especially felt the use of 'boiling up the water' is profound. The image of the child laying lifeless body arms hung out from his body, as Jesus upon the cross. Very powerful imagery. Excellent skill in 'showing' and not telling. Such talent! :)

Shucks. I can still see it. Did 'the postman' bother you? I changed that just before I posted it. It's meant to show that this was a small community were even a child knew who belonged to whom, who did what, and so on.

Then suddenly the air is full of sound;
the women on the bridge let out a wail
that's crying on and on and I can see
the shape of it go spreading like a stain,
I see it beating like a wounded gull

flying up the river past the pipe.

L4, I wasn't sure what the shape of it meant. The shape of the boy? But then the follow through of spreading like a stain sort of leaves me a bit confused... I sort of lost my place of what was being revealed here. Perhaps it is the women's despair ...

It is. It's odd, but I used to see things like that. The wail seemed to take shape. The combined sound of many voices was compelling. For sure, once heard never forgotten. Actually, even now the hair raises on the back of neck, my eyes fill at once with tears as I remember it. And yes, I still see how the sound, embodiment of grief that it was, seems to be concrete. ie Take form.

But its interesting that that bit confused you. I wonder if anyone else knows what I mean?

Now Jackie's on the claypan by the bank,
his father sucks his mouth and spits a flood.
We stand and watch him press on Jackie's chest
and darkness grows around, we breathe the cold,
but Jackie doesn't breathe, he doesn't move.

Jackie little Jackie-down-the-street.

Excellent detail. '...the claypan by the bank' L2, vivid and striking. L4, perhaps as darkness grows around ..."

Yes, 'as' is better. Thanks.

Very powerful final lines here ... "but Jackie doesn't breathe, he doesn't move.' so final, so filled with conviction.

Doc Tommo's car spins arcing in a skid;
he runs and kneels, he fingers Jackie's throat
and looks into his eyes. "It's way too late,"
the Doctor says, "Give up, it's over Sid,
give up I said ! He's dead! He's bloody dead!"

Jackie little Jackie-down-the-street.

Again the emotions drive the reader. The sounds through out every stanza are BRILLIANT!

Really? Thanks, Liz.

I remember how shocking the doctor's words were. He was known for his straight talk. But actually, even though they were brutal, they were motivated by his deep involvement with the people. Jackie's father would have kept going.... Doc Thompson stopped him.

His father picks him up in his big arms
and holds him close against him wordlessly.
We watch him trudging slowly up the hill,
and Jackie's mother follows heavily,
and everything is still now as I sit

down above the river on the pipe

L4, perhaps as Jackie's mother follows heavily,/

I think you are right. Though it was and...and....and.... for me as a child. But technically, probably 'as' is better. But 'as' seems indifferent, somehow. Like she followed AS WELL in some insignificant way but I can still see them going up the hill alone-together like melting people bent down by heaviness.

and everything is still ... now as I sit

Again. Forcefully driven imagery and detailed scenary. Showing, not telling. Moving and emotional.

where Jackie fell and hit his head. He sank
but no-one said a thing. They ran away
because they got a fright. Oh how I wish
we never took him with us after school
to fish, and play the way he did today

half across the river on the pipe.

Hang on, have to go....will be back
What a very, very powerful poem. The voice is perfect. The underlying excitement in fear of a child is expressed strongly here. Kathy ... I am bowing my head and heart to you and your talents. WOW...

[Guest_Kathy_*]

Liz, I can't tell you how much this crit means to me. It is the strongest affirmation I have ever had as a poet.

It makes a big difference.

[Guest_Kathy_*]

Michelle, thank you so much for this.

Hello Kathy, this so sad and you've told the story well. It brought a tear to me and that tells me just how talented a poet you are. Really a wonderful poem and very well executed. I've offered a couple of things for you to consider, but mostly I offer my praise and admiration for your poem and your talent.

Wow.

That little fellow, Jack, can hardly wait.
He'll soon be five, he'll walk with us to school;
each day he waits for us, "See ya!" he says
and waves, he lifts his brows and tilts his head
in Polynesian style. He's just so sweet!

>>>Great opening. I think that switching the order of phrasing would enhance the first few lines. Something like this:

That little fellow, Jack, can hardly wait
to walk with us to school; he'll soon be five.
Each day he waits for us, "See ya!" he says
and waves, he lifts his brows and tilts his head
in Polynesian style. He's just so sweet!

You have just given me the solution. Thank you.

Jackie little Jackie-down-the-street.

The men are in the river side by side,
their bodies bright with sparkles as they wade
a long slow march. The ripples dance and shine, >>> you might consider a sentence break here.
and no-one speaks... I watch the shadows grow,
until they reach like fingers that would hide

down inside the river by the pipe.

I wanted to stretch this time out, slow everything down. 'a long slow march' is structured with 'slow vowels' (there's an article about them by me, in Education,) the caesura plus the commas continue the slowness, and so does ..... It's meant to suspend time. I'm not sure what you mean by 'a sentence break.' Divide the stanza? Or a full stop? I want it to be continuous though, like stream-of-consciousness, and a full stop here would interrupt the ripples/silence/shadows ---- pipe connection.


There's an awful cry, the postman stoops
and snatches, boiling up the water where
a child comes swinging out in fountain gouts
that stream in rivers down his little arms
spread out like Jesus' arms upon the cross. >>>I think 'wide' instead of 'out' would keep the meter anchored better. I'm not sure what is correct, but I pronounce Jesus' as Jesuses. If that is correct, you might want to rephrase for meter.

Jesuses! Hahaha! Nope. It's Jesus. The apostrophe is silent. At least it is here.

'wide': I don't mind if 'out' isn't as strong, meter-wise, as 'wide'. The two 'out' should resonate, but only subliminally, and I want the reader to go quickly through this bit because it is shocking. The first 'out' has strong emphasis, the second is weak relative to 'spread' and 'like' so they run together rapidly.

Jackie, little Jackie-down-the-street.

Then suddenly the air is full of sound;
the women on the bridge let out a wail
that's crying on and on and I can see
>>I think that ‘a wail that’s crying on and on’ is kind of like saying the same thing twice
the shape of it go spreading like a stain,
>>>this would be stronger if you were more specific - tell us what 'it' is in this line - I would say 'grief'- but that is my own thoughts
I see it beating like a wounded gull

flying up the river past the pipe.

Mmmm. The Moari make this sound. I think its called 'ululation.' It isn't a short sound. 'Aoae' is the sound of grief. Can you imagine that? (aye oo aye ee) The voices are blended, breath after breath, rising and falling, trembling, flying through the air, beating......... continuous and penetrating... ' crying on and on' shows the sound in a small way, and I hope you can see the narrator's child-like reaction to it.

Now Jackie's on the claypan by the bank,
his father sucks his mouth and spits a flood.
We stand and watch him press on Jackie's chest
and darkness grows around, we breathe the cold,
but Jackie doesn't breathe, he doesn't move.
>>>This is an excellent stanza, just superb imo.

Thank you.


Jackie little Jackie-down-the-street.

Doc Tommo's car spins arcing in a skid;
he runs and kneels, he fingers Jackie's throat
and looks into his eyes. "It's way too late,"
the Doctor says, "Give up, it's over Sid,
give up I said ! He's dead! He's bloody dead!"
>>>This one too, is intense - I wouldn’t change anything here

Thank you again.

Jackie little Jackie-down-the-street.

His father picks him up in his big arms
and holds him close against him wordlessly.
We watch him trudging slowly up the hill,
and Jackie's mother follows heavily,
and everything is still now as I sit

down above the river on the pipe

where Jackie fell and hit his head. He sank
but no-one said a thing. They ran away
because they got a fright. Oh how I wish
we never took him with us after school>>>this line seems a bit bumpy metrically

Bumpy?

we NEV/er TOOK/ him WITH/ us AFT/ter SCHOOL/

Respectfully,

Michelle


Respectfully, I thank you one more time.

K

[Michelle]

Hi Kathy, I can see the stresses now. Thank you. I wasn't stressing the 'with' in your line. Again, a great poem.


Michelle

[Mary Boren]

Oh Kathy, this one really stayed with me. I found my my mind replaying the scene, with "Jackie little Jackie-down-the-street" echoing through my consciousness throughout the day and night. After saying I'd come back in a somber mood, and doing so, I am unable to even come close to saying what's on my heart for this child and the deeply empathic poetess, nurse, wife, mother, and friend she became. But you know.

About the poem: Yes, what Liz said.

Love,

Mary

[Guest_Kathy_*]

Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

[Peterpan]

Hello!

This is an amazing poem. You have painted the picture with 'musical' clarity! Such a sad, sad story.

I am coming in late, so I cant find much to crit. Thank you for sharing it.

PP

[laryalee]

Oh Kathy,
reading this again made me realize how the images
and story had stayed with me...
A powerful poem, and now, tidied up a little more...
it's truly memorable.

Now stop hiding your talent, girl...sent it out somewhere!

:)
Lary

[Guest_Kathy_*]

Thank you, PP and Lary.

Lary, my block to sending things away seems to be weakening, I'm glad to say. Maybe I'll send something soon. Thanks for your encouragement.

I've just noticed that this line is one beat short:

There's an awful cry, the postman stoops

Any suggestions? I've started with a strong stress, but can't think of anything that wouldn't weaken the emphasis of the line. ????

K

[Guest_Kathy_*]

I have tinkered with this this morning, hoping to improve it. I guess its ready.

There are an awful lot of 'he' in the first stanza, but its sole purpose is to introduce Jackie, so that's OK, I hope. As is the rhyme between the last line and the first refrain. Meant to resonate, link, and strengthen, so it lasts, but away in the background. (Subliminally.)

There is a line that's trochaic, or maybe it's a headless iamb, eh? Anyway, to add an offbeat at the beginning would weaken the impact of the line, so I have left it.

Thanks for all your votes. I am touched.

K

[AMETHYST]

Hi Kathy,


I took this final revision and updated your IBPC thread. I love the poem and wish you all the luck with it in the competition...

HUGS, Liz

[Guest_Kathy_*]

Thank you Liz.

[AMETHYST]

Jumping ....

I am excited and anxious for this to be read by others and have the audience it deserves... We have some great poetry on board...

Hugs and night, night ... I've got to get to sleep!

[AMETHYST]

Everyone Give a Round of Applause, as Kathy's Poem "Jackie" took 3rd Place in the June IBPC Competition!