When I Lay Me Down I Weep, FV Options

[Guest_Xanadu_*]

The dreams began with Mama blowing kisses
from the back of a red ribboned train
while she was at the German Club
drinking gin,
spinning in black sequins;
a Halloween costume of a net dress
set off by dirty rhinestones.

I imagined her eager sweat
at feeling top drawer beautiful
every Thursday night from seven to twelve,
so many steps above that dirt floor shack
on Mount Magazine, the smell of salt pork.

Her dirty laundry is chasing me
through dimly lit halls threatening
to stuff her grime down my throat
and I am always running,
searching for her silver comb,
her Evening In Paris,
that crumpled pack of Camels
she inhales hunkered over her Ouija board
asking questions,
waiting for answers.
Yes or no?

Beneath her good-bye Miss America wave,
that buck tooth Arkansas grin,
I screamed at bodies on the rails,
so slimy pink and pulsing,
like raw oysters stretching for miles
or babies left to be crushed
under karmic wheels,
while I drenched my Cinderella sheets..

[Psyche]

Hi Linda!

I have to digest this along with my breakfast...LOL....and then I'll return.

Seems to me you're writing about some exotic person whom I cannot place in my mind, a sort of Madame Blavatsky, no, not her, but somebody in the first half of the last century...maybe after my Corn Flakes & fruit I'll be wiser (with a little help from you...).

But I'll say right away that I like this style, sort of prose poetry in Eliot conversational form.

And you always telling us that 'less is more'....HAHA....

Cheers,
Syl ***

[Guest_Xanadu_*]

Thank you so much for the read Syl!
I really was not sure how this going to go over at MM. I am trying to slow down and move my poetry in a different direction. Longer, prosier...ya know? It is actually a nightmare I had often as a young child.
To what Eliot do you refer? Point me to him/her please.
Funny you mentioned Blavatsky. I grew up on that stuff, along with the "I Am", "The Light of Egypt" and so much more. I can see some poetry coming out of my many experiences with a house constantly filled with spiritualists as well as artists.

[Psyche]

HAHA.... again! Personally, I believe that going off in various directions keeps one young....hmmm...

I'm referring to T.S. Eliot, of "The Wasteland" or "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock", etc.
But also to many poets of his generation, who were considered prose-poets. Many of their poems had end-rhymes in irregular fashion, they didn't count syllables, used long & short lines mixed, and so on. Well, in the U.S. you had Sylvia Plath (whom I adore) and what's his name, you know, "Leaves of Grass"....sorry!

Well, I think perhaps you'll discover a different vein in your poetry life if you delve into childhood dreams and memories.

I shan't crit your poem now, since I owe crits to several older posts. I find making a crit, even if it's ignored, helps me to learn a great deal. Not just short 2 liners, but a proper review, line by line.
Natch, one can pick the poems one is attracted to, then the pickings are juicier...LOL...

Hugs, look forward to your own crits on the board, since you write very well and can benefit others.
Syl ***

[Guest_Xanadu_*]

Thanks Syl!

I don`t know about writing well. And that is the truth! All I know for sure is that I am writing something.

"Leaves Of Grass"? Walt Whitman? My brain is fryed today.

I am trying to better my reviews. Honesly, I just hate doing them. It takes more energy out of me to review a poem than to write one. Plus, I don`t know what the Sam Hill I am doing myself! LOL

Now I have a floor to scrub. The rarified air of the poetess will soon smell like Pine Sol!

[Kay]

I think this has marvelous potential. Two things to ask, what is a red-ribboned train and I think with the Miss America wave, you don't need the word "goodbye"
as waving along Miss America probably are enough. But my biggest question is, how can the mother be both at a Club
and also (it says "while") at the back of a train?
I love that you put specifics in this. I'll be back to this one.

[saore]

Nice write Linda, I wonder if "while she was" is necessary?

The dreams began with Mama blowing kisses
from the back of a red ribboned train
[while she was] at the German Club
drinking gin,
spinning in black sequins;
a Halloween costume of a net dress
set off by dirty rhinestones.

[Guest_Xanadu_*]

Thank you for the comments Kay and saore.

This is actually a nightmare. Maybe I should have said nightmare instead of dream. I will think on that.

[Kay]

Well, I knew it was a dream, is that why she's in two places at the same time?
That was my one question there. I guess anything is possible in a nightmare!
Anxious to see where this one goes.

[Guest_Xanadu_*]

Hi Kay!

Well, she was at the German Club while I was having the nightmare about her waving from the back of that dang train. I guess I need to clarify that....some poetic somehow. LOL

[Kay]

Oh, I see then. Your reply is much less ambiguous for certain than the way it read. Good luck with this one.