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A North American Tragedy
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A North American Tragedy |
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Local Parasite
since 2001-11-05
Posts 2527Transylconia, Winnipeg 
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A North American Tragedy A cold grey sulphur falls, and on the streets The lazy flurries all are rushing by In waves, caressing boulevard with sheets Of winter ice, and lamp-posts all are froze With frost, and all are thick with thickness, those Whom urban sprawl erected, pillars high With heads cast downward to the dark, it greets The dry and empty wasteland it so closely knows. The warm and indoor niceness 'hind the walls Of brick is decorated in the halls By greens and reds, dead leaves and little balls With little bells that jingle anxiously With angst, replying that same melody Created by the tiny beast that crawls From slumber, and the morning loudly calls-- "Wake up!" through all the household, "Wake yourselves and see!" There is a loathesome happiness upon Her rosy cheeks, and in her vibrant stride, Illuminated by the coming dawn That yellows through the frosty windowpane And watches her with a prophetic pain As she's rehearsed so many times inside Her mind, searching for which her name is on A hundred parcels high, a thousand letters wide And they come rushing too, they in her wake Step down the self-same steps, the self-same path Into the self-same paper-shredded lake Of parcels, and they bear their fangs, and then They tear into its flesh, time and again To hold the prize, and raise it with a fake Unknowing happiness, or other wrath As our protagonist--"there must be some mistake I told him, Santa, told him every word!" Her face is wrench'd with violated greed The simple joy she so expected, cured By unexpectedness--"what have I found? This is not it!" she screams, and she turns round Against it, teary-eyed, her vision blurr'd Back on the path, with an increasing speed Fuel'd by the false recoil of her neglected need. Back to her bed, "oh let this be a dream!" Into her pillow, streaming forth in tears Caught in the claws of petty sorrow's scheme To take her from her innocence--it takes An hour or two of crying 'fore she wakes Her eyes again--where a thick, somber cream Of many-legged dots draws forth her fears; She calls again, this time, a stomach-twisting scream. They found her there, a lump of bloody coal The fat of fortune gnaw'd and pick'd away From her--and now, a thin skeletal whole Remaining in a masterpiece of gashes As if she, in a panic, tore with slashes Against some phantom army who this day Selected, after pondering their goal-- And when the moment was befitting of their prey. Many miles away the night is ever creeping Where morning still has yet to reach its shine Across the dim horizon. In a ditch of mud, In a far off, arid land, a child is sleeping... [This message has been edited by Local Parasite (06-20-2003 11:47 AM).] |
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| © Copyright 2003 Brian James Lee - All Rights Reserved | |||
Midnitesun
since 2001-05-18
Posts 28647Gaia |
I knew I shouldn't read this one while eating. LOL *** An hour or two of crying 'fore she wakes Her eyes again--where a thick, somber cream Of many-legged dots draws forth her fears; She calls again, this time, a stomach-twisting scream. *** what the heck was that cream stuff with legs? interesting write, Tiny Tim |
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Janet Marie Member Laureate
since 2000-01-22
Posts 18554 |
ooohhhh youre so cool...way to go on posting 500....  the moth will be back to savor this one later when I dont have so many distractions.  No matter what the differences |
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Poet deVine
Administrator
Member Seraphic
since 1999-05-26
Posts 22612Hurricane Alley |
You never fail to impress me with your original thoughts. Very good poem sir. And congratulations!!  |
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Cpat Hair
since 2001-06-05
Posts 11793 |
tragedy indeed... well done Bri..as usual, you blend the use of words and images to capticate the reader and to tell in your own way the story... good stuff... |
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Sudhir Iyer Member Ascendant
since 2000-04-26
Posts 6943Mumbai, India : now in Belgium |
Hi LP, ... Overall, this is great writing... there is so much depth in this one, like most of your works... I just wanted to read this aloud and in parts... and that I did... but stumbled at a few things... hope you don't mind me pointing them out... I will only mention the first stanza and I know you will understand the rest: ---------------------------------------- A cold grey sulphur falls, and on the streets The lazy flurries all are rushing by In waves, caressing boulevard with sheets Of winter ice, and lamp-posts all are froze With frost, and all are thick with thickness, those Whom urban sprawl erected, pillars high With heads cast downward to the dark, it greets The dry and empty wasteland it so closely knows. ---------------------------------------- I liked the start very much... but I wouldn't put a comma before 'and' and instead have it at the end of the line or maybe not at all... I also noticed excesses of the same images in the first stanza... sheets of winter ice froze with frost (did you intend frozen?) thick with thickness pillars high with heads cast downward to the dark dry and empty wasteland maybe it is just me but I notice that you mention a boulevard with sheets of winter ice and yet you mention the same region as dry wasteland... is the irony intended? ---------------- anyways, you don't have to change anything in this because it is a great piece of work, would suggest some editing tho'... the last stanza is wonderfully done... overall, this is a very enjoyable work... thanks for letting me ramble... regards sudhir |
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Local Parasite
since 2001-11-05
Posts 2527Transylconia, Winnipeg |
quote: Sudhir... if you lived in Winnipeg you'd know what I'm talking about. When it's really cold, it's dry... know why? Because all the moisture is FROZEN (or should I say froze?)  If commas are out of place then I apologize, I personally use them to regulate flow... I kind of have a habit of writing with my ear instead of my eye. I appreciate your comments, of course... and thanks for taking the time to read this. |
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Sudhir Iyer Member Ascendant
since 2000-04-26
Posts 6943Mumbai, India : now in Belgium |
I am trying to understand... anyway "I froze" and the "lamp-post was frozen" better use the defrost button  don't worry about the commas... regards sudhir |
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Janet Marie Member Laureate
since 2000-01-22
Posts 18554 |
A cold grey sulphur falls, and on the streets The lazy flurries all are rushing by In waves, caressing boulevard with sheets Of winter ice, and lamp-posts all are froze With frost, and all are thick with thickness, those Whom urban sprawl erected, pillars high With heads cast downward to the dark, it greets The dry and empty wasteland it so closely knows. ============================== Well what an awesome opening verse... you have set the tone and painted the scene with your superb mix of imagery and personification... you had me from the first line... A cold grey sulphur falls how cool is that image and symbol. and I loved these lines and images: In waves, caressing boulevard with sheets Of winter ice, and lamp-posts all are froze ------------- The warm and indoor niceness 'hind the walls Of brick, is decorated in the halls By greens and reds, dead leaves and little balls With little bells that jingle anxiously With angst, replying that same melody Created by the tiny beast that crawls From slumber, and the morning loudly calls-- "Wake up!" through all the household, "Wake yourselves and see!" Now this verse really sets it up..the first verse established the season..this one time stamps it and lets the reader know whats taking place...and I love the way your created the mood with a heady mix of imagery and symbolism...we know its Christmas..but also know there is an undercurrent of something amiss... love the erie essence you created with your imagery: By greens and reds, dead leaves and little balls With little bells that jingle anxiously With angst, replying that same melody Created by the tiny beast that crawls Tiny Tim's nightmare?...Black Christmas? youve got the reader wondering....very cool. There is a loathesome happiness upon Her rosy cheeks, and in her vibrant stride, Illuminated by the coming dawn That yellows through the frosty windowpane And watches her with a prophetic pain As she's rehearsed so many times inside Her mind, searches for which her name is on A hundred parcels high, a thousand letters wide ========================= Along with the first verse...I think this is my most fave.... Her rosy cheeks, and in her vibrant stride, Illuminated by the coming dawn That yellows through the frosty windowpane And watches her with a prophetic pain I just love those images and lines...and not just cuz of the allit The whole mix of anticipation and angst is so cool...you keep the reader wondering whats going on with your edgy surreal images and word play.And they come rushing too, they in her wake Step down the self-same steps, the self-same path Into the self-same paper-shredded lake Of parcels, and they bear their fangs, and then They tear into its flesh, time and again To hold the prize, and raise it with a fake Unknowing happiness, or other wrath As our protagonist--"there must be some mistake I told him, Santa, told him every word!" Her face is wrench'd with violated greed The simple joy she so expected, cured By unexpectedness--"what have I found? This is not it!" she screams, and she turns round Against it, teary-eyed, her vision blurr'd Back on the path, with an increasing speed Fuel'd by the false recoil of her neglected need. these two verses ROCK... you have very cleverly picked up the pace and created the drama and urgency with the wording, rhyme and imagery...You have created the "Night(mare) Before Christmas" with these two very cool verses. and how cool is this line: Into the self-same paper-shredded lake waaaaaay coool *S* Back to her bed, "oh let this be a dream!" Into her pillow, streaming forth in tears Caught in the claws of petty sorrow's scheme To take her from her innocence--it takes An hour or two of crying 'fore she wakes Her eyes again--where a thick, somber cream Of many-legged dots draws forth her fears; She calls again, this time, a stomach-twisting scream. They found her there, a lump of bloody coal The fat of fortune gnaw'd and pick'd away From her--and now, a thin skeletal whole Remaining in a masterpiece of gashes As if she in a panic, tore with slashes Against some phantom army who this day Selected, after pondering their goal-- And when the moment was befitting of their prey. Christmas, Bloody Christmas? LOL Oh yeah... these verses are the whipped creme and cherry on top The moth is giddy...just look at the alliterations..the word play..the imagery, symbolism...MAJOR symbolism, metaphor and personification...and last but NEVER least.. the rhyme, internal rhymes..and the assonance..these verses made the moth high when reading aloud.  Many miles away the night is ever creeping Where morning still has yet to reach its shine Across the dim horizon. In a ditch of mud, In a far off, arid land, a child is sleeping... and thats the perfect ending to this... you brought the poem full circle..back to the surreal opening...yet the subtle forewarning of things to come...you left the drama open ended...while still giving the write the closure it needed. I know your love of symbolism and I think you took it to new heights in this. I also think you took imagery and meter there as well. I will be honest and admit that some of this is over my head...but thats just cuz you are so danged intelligent and I am but a mere moth. *wink* But you wrote this in such an impressive way that even if the reader doesnt get the "full intend" ... it in no way takes away from the impact and pleasure of the write. Quite the commentary on commercialism and greed as well as the way we pass things on to our children, even when well intended. I definately want to know where you got the inspire for this...the way your poetic mind works fascinates me. *S* Your rhymes rock my groovy Poet Bug you keep writing them and the moth will keep flying in your flame  No matter what the differences No matter what the cost When words become our weapons ... All that's beautiful is lost. DeVante' [This message has been edited by Janet Marie (06-19-2003 12:27 PM).] |
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fractal007 Senior Member
since 2000-06-01
Posts 1958 |
An interesting tragedy. I like your initial description of the setting. The culminating "tragic" event of this story is masterfully drawn, creating a satirical jab at North American life in general. We cry over not getting what we want from relatives while the rest of the world experiences much worse tragedy, often at our own hands. Finally, the elevated language in this piece makes it similar in some ways to Pope's "The Rape of the Lock," a mock epic in which several trivial things happen to various persons of the aristocratic class. 2+2=5 for sufficiently large values of 2 |
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nakdthoughts Member Laureate
since 2000-10-29
Posts 19200Between the Lines |
I was studying your format...loved the way you used the rhyming pattern and this poem would have been one for the book...maybe next time...or maybe I will just print it out and lay it in, as my final read. It held my attention with each additional line...each description so vivid. Nicely done, and I, too, use commas where my ear hears a break or a place to breathe... btw, I want to write like you, with your depth, when I grow up. M [This message has been edited by nakdthoughts (06-20-2003 09:55 AM).] |
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littlewing Member Rara Avis
since 2003-03-02
Posts 9655New York |
Brian? this is the best you have ever written which I have read . . . I have my own views on it of course but . . . this tore me up It is beautiful in its darkness and stark reality I am in awe . . . xxoo |
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Allysa
since 1999-11-09
Posts 1952In an upside-down garden |
The grass is always greener on the other side. I'm one of those people who wishes it were winter in the summer and summer in the winter.. snow and ice are my friends.. anyway.. to the poem.. WONDERFUL. Arg.. you're so good it's annoying. lol. check your email hon. |
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vlraynes Member Rara Avis
since 2000-07-25
Posts 8229Somewhere... out there... |
Brian~ It's been awhile since I've had a chance to read you, and I apologize for that. I haven't read much of anyone lately...been slacking, I guess..lol. Anyway..I'm very glad that I took the time tonight. This is an incredible write and, I do believe, one of my favorites of yours. I have to echo the others...your unique thoughts and the creative way in which you express them, never cease to amaze and impress me. Excellent writing, Brian. ~Vicky "...until you have read the verse on his heart, you have not truly met the poet. ~vlraynes [This message has been edited by vlraynes (06-27-2003 05:00 AM).] |
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