Week 123 (May 22nd to May 29th). Poems. Topic: Car Music

[Elisabeth]

M wrote:
The Dentist’s Wife

She put her fingers on the dial,
desire quivering on her lips,

M, My Favourite so far

[Elisabeth]

Goodbye Song
By: SheBlogger
She doesn't know that I love her
Neither does she know how much I care

Elsbeth, Emotionally Beautiful

[Elsbeth L.S.E.]

M wrote: "I don’t have a good explanation for why I refer to my “muse” other than that I don’t know where else some of my writing comes from. Here’s a curious explanation I read somewhere, though I myself ha..."

This is a most curious idea and a good plot for a story. Where did you read it? Would very much like to read the whole thing.

[Elsbeth L.S.E.]

Cheyenne wrote: "SheBlogger, you remind me of my cousin :) Can't quite put my finger on why though"

I hope in a good way :)

[Elsbeth L.S.E.]

Cheyenne wrote: "Well folks I'm off to find company in the shower!

(That didn't come out right. The shower is empty I promise.)

Anyways... Heheh. Expect to find me back here soon!"

Sure did send the wrong images in my mind. Haha!

[Guy]

I am not sure where M read this particular instance of this idea, but it is a very old one. It appears in different cultures with slight variations. I seem to vaguely remember that there was an ancient Greek mythology with this idea as well.

[Elsbeth L.S.E.]

Christa - Ron Paul 2012 wrote: "I loved your poem SheBlogger. It was so smooth and gentle. I do have a question: is it written from the perspective of the woman's radio?

Sorry I know I am questioning everyone's poems this week, ..."

Hi, Christa.

I'm sorry I didn't quite understand your question. But to explain, it was the guy speaking...telling the story. It happened in his car, so I guess you could say it's the guy's radio.

But it was I, a woman, who wrote it. I just put myself in his shoes and told the story based on how I imagined the guy must be feeling, or what was going on in his mind that time. So, in a way, it was from a woman's perspective.

Did I answer your question?

[Elsbeth L.S.E.]

Guy wrote: "SheBlogger, I also enjoyed yours a lot. Very natural rhyming and a complex story told very elegantly. Nice!"

Thanks, Guy! :)

[Elsbeth L.S.E.]

Elisabeth wrote: "Goodbye Song
By: SheBlogger
She doesn't know that I love her
Neither does she know how much I care

Elsbeth, Emotionally Beautiful"


Thanks very much, Elisabeth! "Emotionally Beautiful"...that's really very nice:)

[Elsbeth L.S.E.]

Guy wrote: "I am not sure where M read this particular instance of this idea, but it is a very old one. It appears in different cultures with slight variations. I seem to vaguely remember that there was an anc..."

Hmm...have to revisit Greek myth then. Thanks, Guy.

[M]

Thank you, Elisabeth! I’m glad you liked “The Dentist’s Wife.”

SheBlogger, I can’t remember where I came across the idea that at one time there was no division of sexes into male and female, but I’m sure it was in the books I read on Jung’s psychology. At conception, all people are female. The chromosomal set-up that makes the male sex possible works by inhibiting the development of female parts and appears to be an evolutionary development that came later.

Writing has always been a sort of mystical experience for me. It’s as though I enter into a communion with whatever made my soul. That happens even when I’m writing something mundane such as a business letter.

I’ve used my writing to devious ends because I’ve noticed that sometimes it seems to have an effect on people, though I have no idea why, but I’ve learned through bad experiences that its effects are unpredictable and unexpected.

In Animus and Anima, Emma Jung mentions William Sharp, a 19th-century English author who wrote under the pseudonym Fiona Macleod. Not even Sharp’s friends knew he was the author of Macleod’s books, which were popular. Sharp carried on his own correspondence. Macleod carried on hers. Sharp said they weren’t the kind of books he himself could write, but that he had to turn himself over to another side of him, which did the writing.

[Amrie]

I recommend listening to the Trespassers William cover of There Is a Light That Never Goes Out while reading the poem. It compliments the whole thing. In addition to that, it also sets the mood.

Beautiful and Broken

We stared at each other
Both lost, both shattered
The time has come, it's all over
I'm losing hold of everything that mattered

I went in the car, wordlessly
After a few seconds, so did he
He started the engine, drove past the cars
While I looked out the window, gazed at the stars

It was too quiet, helping thoughts race
So he turned on the radio, a Smith's song played
Because I loved him, I finally looked at his face
And he glanced at me, his eyes frozen and glazed

I did not recognize the look he gave me
Started digging my nails into my skin, thoughtlessly
He frowned, when he saw
Then he reached at it, making my skin thaw

A gasp escaped my lips and down went my tears
I started to sob and he stopped the car
He went out the car, acknowledging my fears
He opened my door, muttering how we can't go far

As I stepped out, he held my gaze
Seeing in his eyes an endless maze
This is the boy that I loved so much
The one who gave me words and such

"I'm sorry," he began,"I was hurt."
"I hate it when you say sorry," was my reply
"I wanted you for so long," his voice curt
"And now, you're losing me," I said with a sigh

He was beautiful and broken, my lovely angel boy
And I dragged him to hell, he felt like a toy
But what he didn't see was that I was as broken as he
So I'm going to let him go and mend, leaving me

Lying face down in this dark and empty well
Where no one can hear the unspoken calls
When I felt my life ebb as I fell
Just waiting for someone to break these walls


Sorry about this. I haven't written anything in weeks and my writing ability *cough* is getting rusty.

[M]

I don’t see anything wrong with the writing, Amrie. It’s wonderfully graphic! Sometimes I have a hard time following what’s going on, though. It doesn’t look as though he has lost interest, but his eyes are glazed, his voice curt, probably because of the usual things that make a mess of relationships. I realized on a second reading that the falling-down-the-well at the end is metaphorical. At first I thought she had killed herself.

[Elisabeth]

Car Music
By Elisabeth


His heart beats fast as his eyes take her in
Nervous hands caress and fondle with lust
He can't hold back this desire within
His search complete. To possess her he must

Much work to do bringing back those lost years
Painstakingly stripping her down with grace
Restoring good looks with blood sweat and tears
Unveiling to all her opulent face

But will she possess unbridled fury
As throaty deep rumbling life commences
This Raven Black Beauty's voice does surely
bring sweet sultry music to my senses

My sixty-seven Mustang Fastback jewel
You bring youth back to this middle aged fool

[M]

I love it, Elisabeth! I just read it out loud to my wife, and she’s laughing.

[Cheyenne]

Oh yes Sheblogger, definitely in a good way! I love my cousin to death.

[Guy]

Elisabeth, this is charming! What a fun and well constructed sonnet. I am still smiling.

[Guy]

Amrie, yours is well written. It is sad. The telling is graphic and vivid, complicated and confused just like relationships. Well done.

[Cheyenne]

Amrie, I love your poem. My chest is aching from reading it

[Amrie]

Thank you Guy and Cheyenne! I was afraid it might come across a bit juvenile.

Relationships are CERTAINLY confusing, aren't they?
*frowns because a sudden memory

[Amrie]

M, thank you. Well, the relationship mirrors the last one that I had. It's one of those consuming relationships were you keep getting hurt everyday (the reason/s are different for each couple) and you tried to hang on because the love you have for each other is great but in the end, you begin to realize that maybe it would be better...healthier even if you just let go. Either that or you eventually get too tired. Yes. it is a metaphor. It symbolizes depression.


Elisabeth,it's lovely. It can certainly make one blush and/or bring back a memory or two.

[Cheyenne]

Amrie I love your play on relationships. It's very relateable.

[Elsbeth L.S.E.]

M wrote: "Thank you, Elisabeth! I’m glad you liked “The Dentist’s Wife.”

SheBlogger, I can’t remember where I came across the idea that at one time there was no division of sexes into male and female, but I..."

Hmmmm.... Very interesting. And plausible too, I think. I like the idea that each one of us is finding our other half to make us whole.

Again, thanks for sharing this :)

[Elsbeth L.S.E.]

Amrie wrote: "I recommend listening to the Trespassers William cover of There Is a Light That Never Goes Out while reading the poem. It compliments the whole thing. In addition to that, it also sets the mood.

B..."

This is a beautiful narrative. I agree with M, there's definitely nothing wrong with it :)

[Elsbeth L.S.E.]

Cheyenne wrote: "Oh yes Sheblogger, definitely in a good way! I love my cousin to death."

I'm glad :)

[Cheyenne]

I've no idea why I'm having so much trouble with this topic! Can't seem to get anything out

[Elsbeth L.S.E.]

Elisabeth wrote: "Car Music
By Elisabeth


His heart beats fast as his eyes take her in
Nervous hands caress and fondle with lust
He can't hold back this desire within
His search complete. To possess her he must

M..."

Elisabeth, this is fondly and achingly nostalgic. It's so sweet :)

[M]

Just write whatever you feel like, Cheyenne, then go back and throw in something about music playing in a car. I can’t think up anything for the story contest, so I’ve been looking through my old journal for something to type up.

[Cheyenne]

BAHAHAHAHAHA! Nice strategy M. *walks away still chuckling*

[M]

You can enter only one poem in a contest, Amrie. Which one goes in the list for voting?

[Cheyenne]

Still racking my brain. Hmmmm.... Separating myself from goodreads might help just a bit. Off I go! Hopefully I'll return with a little something. We shall see.

[Amrie]

Oh, sorry. The first one, M. I'm going to delete the second one now.

[M]

It’s a nice poem!

[Amrie]

Thanks,M.

*sighs* This day is going to be brutal. Your nice words are appreciated.

[M]

Why brutal?

[Amrie]

I'm going to school tomorrow ( to get my schoolbooks) and I don't think I have any friends left from last year.

The only thing worse than that is the impending first day.

*frowns* Clearly I have made some bad decisions.

[M]

I hope it goes better than you expect.

[Cheyenne]

Me as well! Good luck Amrie and keep your chin up.

[Cheyenne]

And I finally pulled something together!! Please forgive the horrific thing you're about to read ;)

The Lonely Road

Headlights flash against
Millions of windows
The girl on the bus pulls
Her knees to her chest

She rides solo

The flickering of one skyscraper
Catches her eye
Some claim to see a forest
In the rays of light that
Scatter off from the windows
Many more claim to see the
Northern lights
But all the girl sees
Is the city reflected in
Dozens of shimmering
Purples and blues

The faded bus passes by another
Tall, winking building
The thin strips of light
That slice through the side
And create patches of darkness
Remind her vaguely of an oreo cookie

Soon the bus has slipped
From the city like a raven in the night

Lights from distant houses
Peer between tree trunks
Like pale faces
She can almost imagine they're stars
But no,
There are no stars here
Merely the occasional
Wink of a satelite
Against the polluted sky

The girl lets the blues music
Drifting from rusty speakers
Wash over her skin
And she tries to forget
About what she's running away from
And instead she opens her eyes
To where the lonely ride will end

[Amrie]

Thanks again, M and Cheyenne.

Oh, it's lovely, Cheyenne. It's quite vivid. I was with her the whole time. It might even give me dreams. Speaking of dreams, I'll have to take a nap.

[M]

Wow! What a spectacular display of impressionistic writing. The images are strikingly vivid. Here are some passages that really get my attention:

The flickering of one skyscraper
Catches her eye
Some claim to see a forest
In the rays of light that
Scatter off from the windows . . .

and

Lights from distant houses
Peer between tree trunks
Like pale faces . . .

and

Merely the occasional
Wink of a satelite
Against the polluted sky . . .

[Cheyenne]

Thanks you guys! I wasn't very confident with this one when I posted it.

Happy napping Amrie!

[Cheyenne]

Any revision suggestions M? I'll leave it as it is here. I want the critique for the copy on paper

[M]

I’d delete either off or from from “Scatter off from the windows.” Is the light reflecting from the windows (off of them) or emanating from them? Probably reflecting, since that’s what the girl is seeing.

In stanza four, it isn’t clear to me what the strips of light are slicing through.

I’d cut she from the next to last line because it’s understood.

I’m not sure what you’re looking for, but I hope this helps. Honestly, I wouldn’t do much to it. I’m not good when it comes to workshopping poems, though.

[Cheyenne]

I've made two of the three changes, but I'm not sure how to make the line in the fourth stanza more clear. The strips of light are cutting through the building, but if I say "the building" instead of "the side" it gets repetitive because I said "the building" two lines earlier. Hmmmmmmmm

[Cheyenne]

*drums fingers against keyboard*

[M]

Sorry, Cheyenne. I got tied up on another poem in another group. Skyscrapers are steel frames with what architects call “curtain walls,” walls of glass that simply hang on the frames. Try replacing sides with curtain walls or glass cliffs or something like that.

[M]

Only you can know what works with the poem. That’s the reason I’m reticent when it comes to suggesting revisions.

[Cheyenne]

Oh no worries, I'm busy re-writing the ending of my book. (Then the first edit will be complete! Hurray!) So I wasn't staring at a blank screen.
And me drumming my fingers on the keyboard was a thoughtful fidget, not an impatient one in case I mislead you to thinking that.

I think I like glass cliffs.

[Cheyenne]

All the same it's lovely to have another writer's view when it comes to revising a poem. There are always things that can make it better, but I lack the eye to notice some of them.