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Repatrition, A Problem Poem |
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May 13 07, 12:12
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Babylonian

Group: Gold Member
Posts: 88
Joined: 7-March 07
From: United States
Member No.: 409
Real Name: Brenda Nixon Cook
Writer of: Poetry
Referred By:Sampo

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Hi All,
I am afraid I am bringing my problem poem over here, it is one I have revised more times than I can count and well I still don't like it. Originial (a mourner a snowglobe....)) concept was to to tell the story from different viewpoints...and I used the "snowglobe" and the "shake of the snowglobe" to switch scenes...a concept I have been pretty vested in...so I continued to hit my head on the brick wall...but still not working....so in the last version I got rid of the snowglobe..and the shake and just told the story...not sure if it working...or if I lost somathing in the translation..
The funeral itself is based on real and imagined events. The military elements and the history are from the story of my uncle..who was recently repatriated...the winter scene, the setting....a blend of imagination and a conglomeration of several funeral.....
I have placed both versions here...I am curious-a poll..which version a persons prefers...and for what ever version is preferred..honest crit would be greatly appreciated.
I am vested in this poem...because of its content...because of my family...I am however bullet proof at this time...I want it to be right....so feel free to rip it up. if that is what it needs.....
:) brenda
Repatriation (not a draft-an alternative concept)
Snow flakes fall at the cemetery the mourners are matchsticks dipped in white.
Gun shots slice the air, A middle aged man,in grey mourning clothes, tenses and relaxes 21 times.
Tin soldiers, in military blues stand at attention. A postage sized flag drapes the coffin The flag covers bones without form. Flesh and cells sloughed off in a Vietnamese rice field. A B-52 bomber lost and then found,his life for his country. My family on the six o'clock news.
My cousin sits in the front row. He was still a boy, not quite a man when his father went down. I remember the boy without a father solemn and sad, except with us.
A surogate big brother, torturing us girls the way big brothers do. Camping trips where he woke us by pulling a single hair from our leg,hiding a rubber hose under our sleeping bags and screaming snake.
Under the family tent, I stand; watching the military honor guard. Their faces carved in stone, razor sharp, blotched,beautiful, black sometimes brown, and sometimes white.
They are folding the flag, in a symphony of quick, sharp, movements. Wrist snaps, guns tap, pure and precise, anesthetized and sterile.
My cousin stands at the coffin and reaches into his pocket and pulls out the silver bracelets bearing his father name. One for every year he was lost laying them atop the trianlge of red, white and blue. The sun reflects off the silver throwing rainbows in the snow.
He whispers in the wind:
Mom it took 30 years,I brought him home.
My mind drifts to thoughts of Iraq I wonder how many more times this task will be performed for a fallen soldier. How many young boys will grow up without thier fathers.Lifes sinew, blood and bone behind the evenings casualty statistics.
Taps begin to play, the remains of life are slowly lowered beneath the snow.
The snowflakes,fully developed crystalline lattices dance above my head. I watch them fall,position myself so that one delicate prism falls on the bridge of my nose. Uniquely beautiful it slowly dies from the heat of my body
A scene in a snow globe, a funeral, a mourner suspended in time
I hold the snow globe to my ear like a shell from the sea Notes of amazing grace dance in my ear.
Shake
Snow flakes fall at the cemetery the mourners are matchsticks dipped in white.
Gun shots slice the air, threaten the glass in my hand. A middle aged man,in grey mourning clothes, tenses and relaxes 21 times.
Tin soldiers, in military blues stand at attention. A postage sized flag drapes the coffin The flag covers bones without form. Flesh and cells sloughed off in a Vietnamese rice field. A B-52 bomber lost and then found,his life for his country. My family on the six o’clock news.
Shake
My cousin, a middle aged man, sits in the front row. He was still a boy, not quite a man when his father went down. I remember the boy without a father solemn and sad, except with us.
A surogate big brother, torturing us girls the way big brothers do. Camping trips where he woke us by pulling a single hair from our leg,hiding a rubber hose under our sleeping bags and screaming snake.
Under the family tent, I stand; watching the military honor guard. Their faces carved in stone, razor sharp, blotched,beautiful, black sometimes brown, and sometimes white.
They are folding the flag, in a symphony of quick, sharp, movements. Wrist snaps, guns tap, pure and precise, anesthetized and sterile.
My cousin stands at the coffin and reaches into his pocket and pulls out the silver bracelets bearing his father name. One for every year he was lost laying them atop the trianlge of red, white and blue. The sun reflects off the silver throwing rainbows in the snow.
He whispers in the wind:
Mom it took 30 years, he is home.
My mind drifts to thoughts of Iraq I wonder how many more times this task will be performed for a fallen soldier. How many young boys will grow up without thier fathers.Lifes sinew, blood and bone behind the evenings casualty statistics.
Shake
Taps begin to play, the remains of life are slowly lowered beneath the snow.
The snowflakes,fully developed crystalline lattices dance above my head. I watch them fall,position myself so that one delicate prism falls on the bridge of my nose. Uniquely beautiful it slowly dies from the heat of my body.
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Replies
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Jun 3 07, 15:41
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Group: Gold Member
Posts: 3,822
Joined: 3-August 03
From: Florida
Member No.: 10
Real Name: Elizabeth
Writer of: Poetry
Referred By:Lori Kanter

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Ok ... the continued critique - In my opinion, I think the first point inwhich I've already critiqued is a part I and can stand on it's own-as the ending line, leaves the reader with a revelation and connection to the context at the start. Now I would begin this following as Part II. QUOTE My cousin sits in the front row. He was still a boy, not quite a man when his father went down. I remember the boy without a father solemn and sad, except with us.
L2, gives me two opposing images. When I read 'he was still a boy' this brings to mind a child, anywhere from 10 - 13yoa ... while, not quite a man' gives me someone who is entering into manhood, but not there yet, such as someone 15-16 or 17-18 years of age. Either way, one or the other is required, as both makes it wordy... So is this young man a older teen or a man coming into his teens... ???
I'll continue my thoughts with him coming into his teens, as that to me is more striking.
My cousin sits in the front row. He was but a boy when his father went down.
I remember him -- that boy without a father, solemn and sad, With us, he was different.
A surogate big brother, torturing us girls the way big brothers do. Camping trips where he woke us by pulling a single hair from our leg,hiding a rubber hose under our sleeping bags and screaming snake.
Under the family tent, I stand; watching the military honor guard. Their faces carved in stone, razor sharp, blotched,beautiful, black sometimes brown, and sometimes white.
I would blend these above 2 stanzas to make the transition from his sitting to his stand by the coffin.
Perhaps ...
I stand beneath the family tent, watching the guards, their faces carved stone and razor sharp.
Memories over flow my mind of my cousin, like a surogate big brother- in his mischievious ways, torturing us girls. On camping trips he'd wake us with a pulled hair from our leg. Once, he hid a rubber hose under our sleeping bags and screamed snake.
They are folding the flag, in a symphony of quick, sharp, movements. Wrist snaps, guns tap, pure and precise, anesthetized and sterile.
My cousin stands at the coffin and reaches into his pocket and pulls out the silver bracelets bearing his father name. One for every year he was lost laying them atop the trianlge of red, white and blue. The sun reflects off the silver throwing rainbows in the snow.
Perhaps ...
He stands near the coffin, pulls out a cluster of silver bracelets from his pocket - bearing his fathers name; one for every year he was MIA - laid them atop a triangle of red, white and blue.
They fold the flag in a symphony of quick, sharp, movements. Wrist snaps, guns tap, pure and precise, anesthetized and sterile.
Sun reflects the silver, as rainbows in the snow.
He whispers in the wind:
Mom it took 30 years,I brought him home.
My mind drifts to thoughts of Iraq I wonder how many more times this task will be performed for a fallen soldier. How many young boys will grow up without thier fathers.Lifes sinew, blood and bone behind the evenings casualty statistics.
Taps begin to play, the remains of life are slowly lowered beneath the snow.
The snowflakes,fully developed crystalline lattices dance above my head. I watch them fall,position myself so that one delicate prism falls on the bridge of my nose. Uniquely beautiful it slowly dies from the heat of my body
This point I will get to later on, a suggestion of beginning another part here...
A scene in a snow globe, a funeral, a mourner suspended in time
I hold the snow globe to my ear like a shell from the sea Notes of amazing grace dance in my ear.
Shake
Snow flakes fall at the cemetery the mourners are matchsticks dipped in white.
Gun shots slice the air, threaten the glass in my hand. A middle aged man,in grey mourning clothes, tenses and relaxes 21 times.
Tin soldiers, in military blues stand at attention. A postage sized flag drapes the coffin The flag covers bones without form. Flesh and cells sloughed off in a Vietnamese rice field. A B-52 bomber lost and then found,his life for his country. My family on the six o’clock news.
Shake
My cousin, a middle aged man, sits in the front row. He was still a boy, not quite a man when his father went down. I remember the boy without a father solemn and sad, except with us.
A surogate big brother, torturing us girls the way big brothers do. Camping trips where he woke us by pulling a single hair from our leg,hiding a rubber hose under our sleeping bags and screaming snake.
Under the family tent, I stand; watching the military honor guard. Their faces carved in stone, razor sharp, blotched,beautiful, black sometimes brown, and sometimes white.
They are folding the flag, in a symphony of quick, sharp, movements. Wrist snaps, guns tap, pure and precise, anesthetized and sterile.
My cousin stands at the coffin and reaches into his pocket and pulls out the silver bracelets bearing his father name. One for every year he was lost laying them atop the trianlge of red, white and blue. The sun reflects off the silver throwing rainbows in the snow.
He whispers in the wind:
Mom it took 30 years, he is home.
My mind drifts to thoughts of Iraq I wonder how many more times this task will be performed for a fallen soldier. How many young boys will grow up without thier fathers.Lifes sinew, blood and bone behind the evenings casualty statistics.
Shake
Taps begin to play, the remains of life are slowly lowered beneath the snow.
The snowflakes,fully developed crystalline lattices dance above my head. I watch them fall,position myself so that one delicate prism falls on the bridge of my nose. Uniquely beautiful it slowly dies from the heat of my body. I'll be back... :)
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Posts in this topic
bbnixon Repatrition May 13 07, 12:12 Don Hi bbnixon,
Your request will take me some time. ... May 13 07, 12:30 Kathy Quick comments, because it is 0352 here.
I think... May 13 07, 12:50 bbnixon Hi Don,
Thanks for stopping by. I am sorry for ... May 25 07, 10:37 JaxMyth QUOTE (bbnixon @ May 14 07, 03:12 ) 96003... May 26 07, 08:42 Eisa Hi Brenda
There is so much that is good here, but... May 26 07, 09:44 bbnixon Hi Jax and Snow,
Thanks to you both for the read ... May 30 07, 05:59 AMETHYST Hi Brenda,
STOP! Don't you dare put this is the ... May 30 07, 22:08 AMETHYST Hi Brenda,
I spent a while rereading this severa... Jun 2 07, 10:35 Don I most certainly second your keeping the theme. In... Jun 2 07, 10:53 bbnixon Hi Don,
Thank you for the read and comments...Loo... Jun 3 07, 20:16 bbnixon Hi Liz,
You Rock
Thank you for everything, i... Jun 3 07, 20:22 Don Dear bb,
The challenges chosen are within which w... Jun 4 07, 08:23 bbnixon Don,
Thank you for the encouragement....I have b... Jun 14 07, 20:08 Don Hi bb,
Most of ideas that challenge us the most t... Jun 15 07, 07:20 Judi Snow flakes fall at the cemetery
the mourners are... Jun 15 07, 10:56 bbnixon Hi Don
Thanks for the encouragement, it has been ... Jun 17 07, 14:05
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