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badger11

Herd

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badger11

revision8

I count cracks in the tarmac, paint
a zebra crossing. Rumours
murmur along the black and white -
a menace of lionesses.

Down the City Road the confusion
of hooves gather to cross:
the green man signals to the herd -
a compass of commuters

thirst across the Serengeti. Potholes
lie in wait for stilettos, but I tip-toe
a zig-zag path with migrant instinct.
The red man glowers at me.

 

 

 

revision7

I count cracks in the tarmac, paint
a zebra crossing. Rumours
murmur along the black and white -
a menace of lionesses.

Down the City Road the confusion
of hooves gather to cross:
the green man fuses bonhomie -
commuters bruise and compass a stray.

Monsoons pool the Serengeti, potholes
lie in wait for stilettos, but I tip-toe
a zig-zag path with migrant instinct.
The red man stares at me.

 

 

revision6

I count cracks in the tarmac, paint
a zebra crossing. Rumours
murmur along the black and white -
a menace of lionesses.

Down the City Road the confusion
of stiletto hooves gather to cross:
the green man wires bonhomie -
commuters bruise and compass me.

A thirst across the Serengeti, potholes
wait for the heedless, but I tip-toe
a zig-zag path with childhood instinct.
The red man stares at me.

 

 

 

revision5

I count cracks in the tarmac, paint
a zebra crossing while I wait. Rumours
murmur along the black and white -
a menace of lionesses.

Down the City Road the confusion
of motors fuse
into the green man
beeping frantic bonhomie,
wiring commuters like marionettes
to bruise and compass me
across the Serengeti.

A thirst drives the stiletto hooves, potholes
wait for the heedless, but I tip-toe
a zig-zag path through the herd.
The red man stares at me.

 

====================================================================

 

revision4

I count cracks in the tarmac, paint
a zebra crossing while I wait. Rumours
murmur along the black and white -
a menace of lionesses..

Down the City Road the confusion
of motors fuse
into the green man
beeping.

The prattling stream of commuters begins
to bruise and compass me
across the Serengeti.
Hyenas conniving, never faraway.

A thirst drives the stiletto of hooves, potholes
ready for the unwary, but I tip-toe
a zig-zag path through the herd.
The red man stares at me.



 

revision3

 

She counts cracks in the tarmac, paints
a zebra crossing while she waits. Rumours
murmur along the black and white -
the purr of lionesses.

By this roadside the confusion
of motors fuse
into the green man
beeping.

The prattling stream of commuters begins
to bruise and compass her
across the Serengeti.

A thirst drives the thunder of hooves, potholes
promise like waterholes, but she tip-toes
her own zig-zag path. The red man
stares at her.

 

============================================================

 

revision2

 

She counts the cracks in tarmac, paints
a zebra crossing while she waits. Rumours
murmur along the black and white.

By this roadside the confusion
of motors fuse
into the green man
beeping.

The prattling stream of commuters begin
to bruise and compass her
across the Serengeti.

A thirst drives the herd.
The potholes promise like waterholes.
She tip-toes a zig-zag of cracks. The red man
stares at her.

 

 

 

=======================================================

 

revision

 

She counts the cracks in walls,
mind walks a zebra crossing. Rumours
murmur along the black and white
shore of waking.

By this roadside the confusion
of motors fuse
into the green man
beeping.

The prattling stream of commuters
bruise and compass her
across the Serengeti.
A thirst drives the herd.

 

 

original

 

She counts the cracks in walls and mind
walks a zebra crossing. Rumours
murmur along the black and white
shore of waking. By this roadside

the confusion of motors fuse
to the green man. The prattling stream
of morning bruises compass her
across the Serengeti.

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tonyv

Another killer title to draw me in. It conjured images of Texas, abandoned slaughterhouses, and the ghosts of bovine already gone for decades. All that from the title. But then, for me, it's from Africa to Northern Europe back to Africa.

 

I prefer the revision. The metaphor is more accessible in that version.

 

Tony


Here is a link to an index of my works on this site: tonyv's Member Archive topic

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badger11

Thanks for the thumbs up Tony. Possibly the early stages of this one.

 

best

 

Phil

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David W. Parsley

Hey, badge, I will follow with interest the path of revisions this will take. For my part, you have achieved a valid realization of a poem with Revision 3. That does not mean it is yet the poem you intend. But it works for this reader.

 

- Dave

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badger11

Thanks David. Appreciate the encouragement. PMO is my first place for posting and my constant place for revision. Thanks to Tony I can come here and tinker with poems both old and new.

 

best

 

badge

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tonyv

Revision 4 is working well for me. The change to the first person removed any obscurity, and the metaphor is now clear.

Tony


Here is a link to an index of my works on this site: tonyv's Member Archive topic

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badger11

Thanks Tony for staying with this. I'm still tinkering so hopefully I haven't lost the clarity.

 

best

 

Phil

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Tinker

I quite like the last revision #6 

Although, the hyena line is great and at first I thought you should keep it but then again, it isn't necessary.. and the image takes me to the Jungle Book. too cartoonish.

I am fascinated by the poem's progress.

~~Tink 


~~ © ~~ Poems by Judi Van Gorder ~~

For permission to use this work you can write to Tinker1111@icloud.com

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badger11

Thanks Tink. I love revising:rolleyes:

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Tinker

Hi Badge,  I like "stillettos", the second I read the word my whole body jerked with the memory of catching a heel, which I've done many times.   Once while rushing to cross a wide street with a bricked crosswalk, my heel caught and I went flat on my face (so lady like.). I think most women reading that word in the context of your poem will have a physical reaction to that line.  Heedless won't get the same reaction, too generic.    Now that I've gained the privilege of age, I don't wear those skinny high heels any more but the memory is there. (I still have a pair in a box in my closet I just can't give up, so beautiful, so painful, but there was a time I could dance the night away wearing those things.)

~~ Tink


~~ © ~~ Poems by Judi Van Gorder ~~

For permission to use this work you can write to Tinker1111@icloud.com

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badger11

Thanks for taking another look Tink. I suspected the word may trigger a few memories:rolleyes:

all the best

badge

 

 

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