badger11 Posted December 21, 2010 Share Posted December 21, 2010 (edited) My father's head lies on the wood, almost mouthing a loving word, his breath misting the empty glass: his gnarled finger points to trace a smiley face, a skinny boy with spiky hair and moonlit eyes, skipping above the snowy clouds. He wraps this boy in laughter song, clothing a dream with summer days. Edited December 31, 2010 by badger11 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
tonyv Posted December 21, 2010 Share Posted December 21, 2010 "Almost mouthing a loving word ... " -- a bittersweet moment in a poem that's replete with distinctly Badger content all of it delightfully framed in flawless iambic tetrameter. A pleasure to read. Happy holidays, Badge! Tony Quote Here is a link to an index of my works on this site: tonyv's Member Archive topic Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
badger11 Posted December 22, 2010 Author Share Posted December 22, 2010 (edited) Happy holiday to you my friend :wine2: You realise I'll have to revise - a compulsive need in me - that 'flawless' accident! lol badge Edited December 22, 2010 by badger11 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Tinker Posted December 24, 2010 Share Posted December 24, 2010 Hi Badger, You are very very good. This piece is really well written. As the daughter of an alcoholic, the first few lines made me queezy inside. My Dad is long passed but forgiveness is a funny thing, I dealt with it long long ago, then I read your lines and those horrible feelings of love, hate and fear all surface. I am afraid your poem knew the buttons to push. Now that is good writing. ~~Tink Quote ~~ © ~~ Poems by Judi Van Gorder ~~ For permission to use this work you can write to Tinker1111@icloud.com Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Benjamin Posted December 24, 2010 Share Posted December 24, 2010 Poignant write which I enjoyed reading several times over. The slant rhymes are skilful and allow the poem to flow smoothly without being intrusive. Benjamin Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
JoelJosol Posted December 25, 2010 Share Posted December 25, 2010 At first, I thought the image presented a dead man inside the coffin. Sometimes my English gets in the way :-) But then I repainted the picture of a man with an empty glass. I tried to call up associations with an empty glass and a man lying down with his kid. That was puzzling for me for a while. Then, I read Tink's comment. I recalled one time when I was a kid and my drunk uncle holding his glass filled with beer with one hand while his other hand and arm were on my shoulder talking to me so close I can smell the beer from his breath. The internal rhyme was cleverly built in making it an enjoyable read. Quote "Words are not things, and yet they are not non-things either." - Ann Lauterbach Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
badger11 Posted December 26, 2010 Author Share Posted December 26, 2010 As always many thanks for your encouragement Tink. I found the honesty of your response moving and feel for you in experiencing such a challenge. take care badge Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
badger11 Posted December 26, 2010 Author Share Posted December 26, 2010 Thanks B. I don't have the craft of Tony or Tink, but sometimes my intuition feels for the 'right' sounds! lol many thanks badge Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
badger11 Posted December 26, 2010 Author Share Posted December 26, 2010 Thank you for your most interesting response JJ on how your reading of the poem evolved from the speculative to the personal. The experience with your uncle was vivid. many thanks badge Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
goldenlangur Posted December 28, 2010 Share Posted December 28, 2010 Hi badge, A reminiscence shot through with another reminiscence is how I read this well-crafted poem. The father sharing a moment of his own boyhood : his gnarled finger points to tracea smiley face, a skinny boy with spikey hair and moon lit eyes, skipping above the snowy clouds. . The recall is tinged in the narrator's mind with all the poignancy of a dream boyhood that neverwas: He wraps this boy in laughter song,clothing a dream with summer days In some ways the father's memory and his own ambivalent relations with his son are perhaps rooted in his own lost boyhood and dream: My father's head lies on the wood,almost mouthing a loving word, his breath misting the empty glass: Very often I go off the track but always enjoy your poem. Thank you. Quote goldenlangur Even a single enemy is too many and a thousand friends too few - Bhutanese saying. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
tonyv Posted December 30, 2010 Share Posted December 30, 2010 Happy holiday to you my friend :wine2: You realise I'll have to revise - a compulsive need in me - that 'flawless' accident! lol badge I knew I shouldn't have said anything! :)) I see you've revised L4. Next time I won't say anything! I'll just let it ride ;) ... Tony :D Quote Here is a link to an index of my works on this site: tonyv's Member Archive topic Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
badger11 Posted December 30, 2010 Author Share Posted December 30, 2010 Not at all gl. It is not explicit in the poem, but legacy was very much in my mind when writing this. As always many thanks for your sensitivity and care in reading. badge Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Aleksandra Posted January 9, 2011 Share Posted January 9, 2011 Well, Badge. I've read this poem more than once, and what came to mind is a lonely old man who is choking in melancholy, sadness, memory, and maybe in regret also. But there is something that confuses me, and that is the son who is presented as a narrator... Well I'll think about it a little more. Anyway, this is an amazing poem and very well crafted. I enjoyed it a lot. Alekasndra. Quote The poet is a liar who always speaks the truth - Jean Cocteau History of Macedonia Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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