HedwigStrange

Poem One

Then comes the noise,
the flopping sound from inside the walls,
or maybe the drawers, possibly the closet,
and probably somewhere distressingly near.
The tell-tale scabble of a mouse,
claws scratching, tail flipping grotesquely over my belongings.
Little vermin, bold as brass,
ventures out onto the open blue of my carpet
to nibble at the malt-o-meal grains left in this morning's
breakfast bowl.
Twitchy little bastard, widdling on my countertops and in
my linen closet.
Traps I set, and now I listen, maliciously hoping for the
snap that means the mousie has twitched one too many times.

But if I hate the wee beastie so,
why does my stomach feel made of lead when I lift
its bent and broken body from the drawer,
and why do I sew each mouse a shroud and bury them all in
my back yard?

Poem Two

I sit here on my bedroom floor
Three poems pounding at the inside of my head
(Where are straight jackets when you need them?),
Moving me to take out a sheet of paper
and let them surge down my veins
to settle on the crisp page,
After which they will sit contented in my drawer,
collecting dust and aging to a ripe yellow,
never to be published.
Unless, like the Dead Sea Scrolls,
They are found long after my death,
and my word taken as sacred,
and I proclaimed the God of Extremely Boring, Slightly Philosophical Ramblings.

Poem Three
Note: I think this one is rather lacking something. The meaning is not terribly deep, I simply express my desire to keep part of myself secret. Only a few people know all of me, and they have not gotten there quickly. Iffen you want more explanation, just say so, and I will give it.

Talking to me is like talking to a maze.
Like staring a maze down, trying not to blink.
But if you see the minotaur at my center,
I will cut your yarn and you will be lost.

I am a corn maze,
full of pale yellows, and mellow autumn colors,
you need only to part the husks to be free.
But delve to deep, run too fast,
and the razor leaves of my bladed stalks
will cut you til you bleed.

I am the twisted garden paradise,
call me Ed for short,
I welcome you into my midst,
of lush and green delight,
But do not eat my forbidden fruit,
or I will strike thee mortal and thou wilt die.

There you have it, one of my quite rare writing streaks (I did these all together last night). I welcome comments.

HedwigStrange

no comments? anyone? *anguish* Are these poems terribly immature or boring or just bad? Did anyone even vaguely like them?

cellophanedeity

The first poem speaks to me. The imagery is quite nice. I can almost hear the mouse myself! The last stanza is beautiful.

I like the second poem a lot, except perhaps for the straightjacket line. I like it when writers write about writing.

The third poem is interesting. The allusions are effective, though the third stanza does seem to be lacking a little... I think it's the last line. Perhaps "Thou shalt die" would be more effective than "thou wilst die"'

Good poetry though! I'm impressed.

tecoyah

I agree with Cello in general....nicely done, but the use of old form english in the last line of the third poem , seems to take away from the body of the piece, rather than add to it

__________________
Holding onto anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned. - Buddha

vonstalhein

Self-reflective poetry is hard to pull off, it seems like you're actually TOO self conscious of trying to write a poem for it to have much poetic value. Your first poem in comparison is much more striking, interesting and well written.

__________________
No Win No Fee

HedwigStrange

Thank you very, very much for replying. The first poem means the most to me, which is probably why it turned out well. I detest myself for killing mice, even though it doesn't bother most people. Cellophanediety, if you like fantasy novels, there is a book called The Amazing Maurice and His Educated Rodents (by Terry Pratchett) that you ought to read (I suppose its actually more of a satire of fantasy. Quite funny as well). The book parades as a children's/YA publication, but, like most Terry Pratchett books, there is a great deal of philosophy and social commentary slipped in as well.

As to third poem, I used old english mostly to strengthen the connection with the biblical tale, and I agree that it is not terribly strong. Here are two different versions of the last stanza...

As suggested by cellophanediety:

I am the twisted garden paradise,
call me Ed for short,
I welcome you into my midst,
of lush and green delight,
But do not eat my forbidden fruit,
or I will strike thee mortal and thou shalt die.

or...

I am the twisted garden paradise,
call me Ed for short,
I welcome you into my midst,
of lush and green delight,
But do not eat my forbidden fruit,
or I will strike you mortal and you shall (will?) die.

Sultana

I *really* like the first two, especially. The first one, I *feel*. How often have I heard the scratching, scratching of a mouse, shuddering to imagine myself sheltering the beast, and yet feeling sick when I cause life to be struck from it's body.

The second one, I *am* (heh heh). I love the ending with Dead Sea Scrolls, and how just them being ancient imparts a sense of importance to the writing, never mind the actual content.

Regarding the third poem, I do understand the usage of King's English (King James). I think if you use a bit more biblical sentence structure in the third stanza
for example:
Eat not of my forbidden fruit,
or mortal I shall strike thee, and thou wilt die.

Not certain if you intend to strike someone with mortality, or if you will strike the mortal with a killing blow.
What would you think of "Thou wilt fail" rather than "die"?
Since neither Adam nor Eve died as an immediate, direct result of eating the forbidden fruit?

Oh, and the corn maze bit. I was wondering if you were alluding to maize?

ahhh, I hope I'm not being too "helpful" here...I'm an editor, and this comes naturally to me. I really, truely do enjoy your work.

__________________
"Love is a snowmobile racing across the tundra and then suddenly it flips over, pinning you underneath.
At night, the ice weasels come." -

Matt Groening

My goal? To fulfill my potential.

HedwigStrange

Sultana- thank you very much for your comments, they mean a lot to me. In the last stanza of the last poem I meant that I would make them mortal and they would eventually die, rather than give an immediate blow of death. And I like your version of the last line, it sounds... smoother, rather than chopped up old english version I have now. Though clever, I was not alluding to maize. I think I will rework that poem to fit that in.
Also, could you tell me what it is like to be an editor? What kind of things do you edit? I would love to be a fantasy and sci-fi editor!