the revolver Options

[Guest_BernardHamel_*]

ants, rats, spiders. architects of industry.
buzzing skeletons hung in light bulbs, as the current struggles.
ghosts for nightlights.

a clock coughs up the music. the piano grinds its teeth. it’s past midnight somewhere…

pink sweat slicks, patches under armpits. cracking walnuts, I knuckle.
broken spine, cramped legs, crooked joint. a practical end to hard words.
an insignificant sentence.

I straighten the finger, my own trigger, to turn the trick of the revolver
and present it at the temple of my conflict, aimed at no small matter
/dwarfs crouched under stairways.

bubble pops an open rose bleeding the cracks. victim of sound. slamming doors in empty
rooms. dead sex and old perfumes. smoke flowers stick on wallpaper, freezing caricature
captions in which I fill myself.

overblown quiet thunder. dipping needle and spoon in soup bowls. the stuffing hollowed
nights are written on.

trying to catch lightning through paper clouds. squeezing cigarettes between burnt out
ashtrays and the echoes of angels drowned in whiskey bottles.

the room spins this merry-go-round guessing at exits.

This post has been edited by BernardHamel: Jul 13 09, 22:06

[Arnfinn]

G'day Bernard.


the revolver. First I thought, the shooting variety, but no, your poem is spinning.

A lot of emotional issues going on.



ants, rats, spiders. architects of industry.
buzzing skeletons hung in light bulbs, as the current struggles. >>> hallucinations?
ghosts for nightlights.

a clock coughs up the music. the piano grinds its teeth. it’s past midnight somewhere…>>> A good way of expressing a clock chimeing and a piano playing.

pink sweat slicks, patches under armpits. cracking walnuts,
I knuckle. broken spine, cramped legs, crooked joint. a practical end to hard words.
an insignificant sentence. >>> this whole stanza is disjointed

I straighten the finger, my own trigger, to turn the trick of the revolver
and present it at the temple of my conflict, aimed at no small matter
/dwarfs crouched under stairways. >>> So you are facing your conflict, whilst you are in a hallucinatory state.

bubble pops an open rose bleeding the cracks. victim of sound. slamming doors in empty
rooms. dead sex and old perfumes. smoke flowers stick on wallpaper, freezing caricature
captions in which I fill myself. >>> disjointed, seems to be flashes of memories before the crash.

overblown quiet thunder. dipping needle and spoon in soup bowls. the stuffing hollowed
nights are written on.

trying to catch lightning through paper clouds. squeezing cigarettes between burnt out
ashtrays and the echoes of angels drowned in whiskey bottles. >>> A cocktail of drugs.


the room spins this merry-go-round guessing at exits. >>> This is a terrific Line. With all the above going on in your mind.


An interesting poem, Bernard.

I'll wait and see your response to my assesssment.




John

[Alan]

Dear Bernard,

I'd drop the "the" in the title, if you see what I mean !

Love
Alan

[Guest_bipolarwriter_*]

I liked your words very much. So much in it I being bipolar can identify with. I think the title suits. I would like to read more of your work. Just as I keep writing I hope you do as well. I really have no criticism of this piece.
Melody
Bipolarwriter

[Guest_ohsteve_*]

Bernard, this feels like a bit of mind spin, I am caught by the non-use of caps and then full stops...that throws me off, I do like a lot of the lines you have used. Welcome to MM I do hope that you will be posting more.

Steve

[Guest_Ishmael_*]

Bernard,
I loved a lot of the language here. I also liked the way you dealt with the themes. I'm not even going to cite examples because there would be too many - simply the language is incredibly engaging and the topic is dealt with very nicely.

All I would say, however, is that you need to work on the form. This:

"bubble pops an open rose bleeding the cracks. victim of sound. slamming doors in empty
rooms. dead sex and old perfumes. smoke flowers stick on wallpaper, freezing caricature
captions in which I fill myself. "

shouldn't be presented as a paragraph. You might not have a particular form in mind but whenever you write poetry the form you choose has an effect on the reader and the effect of those lines presented as a single paragraph doesn't enhance the poem. The poem as a whole doesn't need to have a regular form but I think you need to either introduce line breaks or construct the entire thing as a prose poem.