Sad Commentary on Aging

Revision

On the corner,
of Fifty Seven, Second Avenue,
is a blue house,
with red and yellow trim.

There's a chimney where you can see the white smoke
billowing out into the cold winter's air,
layering soot, fallow upon the deep snow.

The old man that lived there,
always wore plaid shirts and blue jeans;
children out playing, their cheeks all pink and rosy,
were witnesses to his changes,
his increasing anger and bellowing
when they would all run across his front yard.

They thought it fun, and giggled and laughed at him
cause he was old and slow.

Until last Wednesday when he shot
Billy Prescott's red haired head off with a shotgun.

Now the old man's in prison and the white snow's all red,
and the children,
they're catatonic and kept in their bed.

revised 25 July, 2009
© Steve Pray


Original

There's a house there on the corner
of Fifty Seven, Second Avenue.

It's a blue one
with red and yellow trim.

It has a chimney where you can see the white smoke
billows out into the cold winter's air.
Layering soot, fallow upon the deep snow.

Children were out playing, their cheeks all pink and rosy.

They were witnesses to the changes
in the old man that lived there;
he always wore plaid shirts and blue jeans,
hollering when they would all run across his front yard.

They thought it fun, and giggled and laughed at him
cause he was old and slow.

Until last Wednesday when he shot
Billy Prescott's red haired head off with a shotgun.

Now the old man's in prison and the white snow's all red;
and the children,
they're catatonic and kept in their bed.

5 July 2009
© Steve Pray

Hi Steve,

This sounds like a true account. Is it? Was he mentally ill? It sounds as if he were. Such a waste of two lives!!! Both the child's and the old man's. Sounds like they just might have harassed him until he lost his mind!! Such a tragedy!!!

Peggy

Peggy, As the small words at the beginning of most books and the end of most movies say...This account is totally fictional any resemblance to the real world is NOT true. This came into my head after watching an episode of Weeds and listening to the opening words in the song, I wrote them down and then revised and rearranged and this is what I finished with, I think I was mentally connected with Stephen King...as this is just bizarre. And after all we are both named Stephen, both from Maine, both have four letters in our last name, oops sorry beginning to sound like the people that connect Lincoln and Kennedy...lol.

Hi Steve,

This poem rings true because it happens all too often.

I think fewer words would have more impact.

For example.

On the corner of Fifty Seven
and Second Avenue
is a blue house
with red and yellow trim.

There is a chimney
where white smoke
billows into cold winter air
layering soot, fallow,
upon deep snow.

The old man who lived there
wore plaid shirts and blue jeans.
Children, with pink and rosy cheeks,
played and witnessed him changing.

They thought it fun and laughed
at him because he was old, slow,
and only hollered at them
for running across his lawn.

I think the first verses should describe an ordinary house in an ordinary neighborhood. Once we are proceeding safely down this familiar track, the last verses should create a mental train wreck.

Last Wednesday,he shot
red-haired Billy Prescott's
head off with a shotgun.

White snow stained red,
prison for an old man,
and children, catatonic,
kept in their beds.

I do not much like doing this extensive a re-write of another poet's poem. I do not mind when others do this with mine but am uncomfortable doing it with your words. This poem is worth the risk of giving offense. The poem, in my opinion, requires stark language and as few words as possible.

I trust you will ignore any suggestion that does not suit you.

Vess

Vess, thanks for reading and for your critique...I wrote this in the sing song sort of manner that the song on weeds is sung...but you are right, after reading your critique... I think that the starkness of the words lend this to be a more horrible happening. I want to see what anyone else might suggest before doing a revision... not to worry, this is the reason I post, to see other viewpoints and get other input, i would not change if I did not feel the change was necessary. I really appreciate the effort on your part to critique.

Steve

Good Morning Mr Pray,

I know you are able to take what suits you and ignore the rest. I appreciate every critique. There are those, of course, that I feel totally miss the point. Each is of value because even someone missing the point of a poem is instructive.

Vess

Steve:

I love the shock value you of this; it really hits hard (particularly to an old, old man. The old man was once an English teacher, so he has to make a point or two on punctuation:

G'day Steve,

I too like this poem.

You can push someone soooo far, and then BOOOM.

Ross, seems to have some good suggestions in respect of punctuation.


Regards,


John

Steve,

The poem starts beautifully, with vivid, precise sensory detail that took me back to where I grew up. That's quite a turn your poem takes with the shooting. I'd try to drop a hint or two in the first few lines, where the reader could come back and see a connection, like in the best suspense stories. You don't need to make it "too clear", but I think it's got to be there. Withholding all information until the end, even in a short poem, doesn't work for me: as a reader, I feel cheated. Perhaps that's just me.

Perhaps more development would help too, giving the reader space to be attached with these children, while subtly increase some discomfort in the reader: an ambiguous or embedded words, some dissonant consonants, whatever it takes.

I hope this helps, for what it's worth.

Mark

Mark, thanks for your comments on this, I have returned and revised hopefully it reads a bit better now. I await new comments.

Steve

Steve...... what a write..... I was not quite expecting that ending... but can totally see it happening..... OMG I hope it does not mean I will turn into such an elder.

I might reword the last stanza to this though... too little words can have a reverse effect.


With white snow stained red,
it's prison for an old man,
and the other children,
catatonic,
kept in their beds.


jmho though... ultimately this is your creation. Shocking one at that. Made my eyes go large. gasped actually.


Mysty

Mysty, thank you for reading and the comments. I see from your profile that you have posted here at MM before. Welcome back, I don't think you have much fear of turning into an old man...lol. As far as being a crabby, grouchy, and losing your mind and shooting someone, if you don't own a weapon then there is no fear either. Life can be a shocker, every time I read or hear about someone being killed with firearms it makes me wonder why people have them.

Steve

Hi Steve - I'm wandering in uncharted waters here -as I haven't yet come to terms with free verse; but I did get a kick from your startling story.
I am with you all the way about Steven King - a tortured teller of wild and wonderful tales. I think I own almost everything he ever wrote.
Love, Leo

Leo, Thanks for reading, I don't own any of Mr King's works but between my three daughters they have every one including his Richard Bachman writings and his sons book, I have read almost all of them, there might be a few short stories of his I have missed. Because of his tendency to use towns in Maine where I grew up and frequented these same towns his stories sometimes become all to close to real and sometimes I have to put them down and come back at a later date to finish. He is very talented, but gets his ideas from a stream that flows through a grave yard and past Alfred Hitchcock and Edgar Allen Poe's resting places.

Take care
Steve