My 4-year-old thing was boards
Scrapped from anywhere
(Those palings by the road
Not all of them rot)
And so I’d sort
And soon enough build
Up and up and up
With rusty, salvaged nails
(As well)
A tree scraper—to my
Highest pride it held!
Until one day a girl
I had played “Doctor” with,
Collapsed it, in my absence,
And blamed me for her fall.
The good news is:
She later became a trial lawyer
Whose husband, with her consent,
Offered me $1500
To lay some paving stones
To their mansion
But which
I thankfully did
For free.
It’s a first draft. Or maybe she rules the roost.
Another possibility:
She later became a trial lawyer
Whose husband, at her suggestion,
Offered me $1500
To build a boardwalk
To their mansion
But which
I gratefully did
For free.
That’s better but why “gratefully”? I’m going to guess that you’re glad she didn’t sue you for 4 year old building code violations and sexual molestation related to pediatric malpractice? I feel like there’s a joke in there somewhere but so far it feels like the kind of joke Micheal of the Office would tell — where everybody sort of cringes.
Thanks. Yes, a little rest and I feel that “gratefully” and “thankfully” hint at a life of compulsive expiation or a darkness that clashes with the light touch of the poem. Is this better? Thanks.
First Guilt
My 4-year-old thing was boards
Scrapped from anywhere
(Those palings by the road
Not all of them rot)
And so I’d sort
And soon enough build
Up and up and up
With rusty, salvaged nails
(As well)
A tree scraper—to my
Highest pride it held!
Until one day a girl
I’d played “Doctor” with,
Collapsed it, in my absence,
And blamed me for her fall.
The good news:
She later became a trial lawyer
Whose husband, at her suggestion
Offered me $20,000
To build a boardwalk
Up a dune
To their mansion
The labor for which
(I told him)
I’d be donating
In her memory.
Perfect! Almost. The grammatical inversion of “to my/highest price it held!” sounds a little too artsy in this poem—as always, I don’t like messing with idiomatic word order in poetry.
This is 83 of my posted poems. I have 17 to go to match Elisabeth Bishop’s grand total of a 100. But nothing I can call my “Sunday Morning”–yet. When I browse what my contemporaries are writing, however, I do come back to mine hearing a voice like no other. Would you agree?
PoemShape 
Any opinion on how my poetry is trending here?
First Guilt
My 4-year-old thing was boards
Scrapped from anywhere
(Those palings by the road
Not all of them rot)
And so I’d sort
And soon enough build
Up and up and up
With rusty, salvaged nails
(As well)
A tree scraper—to my
Highest pride it held!
Until one day a girl
I had played “Doctor” with,
Collapsed it, in my absence,
And blamed me for her fall.
The good news is:
She later became a trial lawyer
Whose husband, with her consent,
Offered me $1500
To lay some paving stones
To their mansion
But which
I thankfully did
For free.
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Why did her husband need her consent to ask you to lay paving stones?
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It’s a first draft. Or maybe she rules the roost.
Another possibility:
She later became a trial lawyer
Whose husband, at her suggestion,
Offered me $1500
To build a boardwalk
To their mansion
But which
I gratefully did
For free.
LikeLike
That’s better but why “gratefully”? I’m going to guess that you’re glad she didn’t sue you for 4 year old building code violations and sexual molestation related to pediatric malpractice? I feel like there’s a joke in there somewhere but so far it feels like the kind of joke Micheal of the Office would tell — where everybody sort of cringes.
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Thanks. I’ll let it rest a day or two and see how it feels. Very flat statement and deadpan at the moment, but one of those that surprise me.
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Thanks. Yes, a little rest and I feel that “gratefully” and “thankfully” hint at a life of compulsive expiation or a darkness that clashes with the light touch of the poem. Is this better? Thanks.
First Guilt
My 4-year-old thing was boards
Scrapped from anywhere
(Those palings by the road
Not all of them rot)
And so I’d sort
And soon enough build
Up and up and up
With rusty, salvaged nails
(As well)
A tree scraper—to my
Highest pride it held!
Until one day a girl
I’d played “Doctor” with,
Collapsed it, in my absence,
And blamed me for her fall.
The good news:
She later became a trial lawyer
Whose husband, at her suggestion
Offered me $20,000
To build a boardwalk
Up a dune
To their mansion
The labor for which
(I told him)
I’d be donating
In her memory.
LikeLike
Perfect! Almost. The grammatical inversion of “to my/highest price it held!” sounds a little too artsy in this poem—as always, I don’t like messing with idiomatic word order in poetry.
LikeLike
Thanks! I’ll look into that. Maybe the rotten piece of Masonite siding I’m right now replacing on a garage will help will work up a fix.
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How does this sound? Improvement?
A tree scraper—to my
Pride in height!
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It’s okay. It just doesn’t sound like anything anyone would say, but if you’re okay with that, then good enough.
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Thanks. Your feedback salvaged this poem.
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One other adjustment:
And so I’d sort
And sort enough to build
Up and up and up
instead of:
And so I’d sort
And soon enough build
Up and up and up
Better?
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Better.
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Finally, regarding
A tree scraper—to my
Pride in height!
Would this sound more naturalistic?
A tree scraper–to the
Heights of Pride.
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This is 83 of my posted poems. I have 17 to go to match Elisabeth Bishop’s grand total of a 100. But nothing I can call my “Sunday Morning”–yet. When I browse what my contemporaries are writing, however, I do come back to mine hearing a voice like no other. Would you agree?
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Yes. A voice like no other. Except maybe John Marston. Your Elizabethan spiritual godfather. Who I’ve still got to write about.
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