The OZ is Ready!

[Blythe]

Hi John!

Impatiens wait there
to be separated into small planters,
covered with dirt, and marked
in the yard. Touch-me-not , Jewelweed
Snapweed.

I think that's a very nice bit that could work into a great poem about this subject. The second strophe lapses into telliness, but the idea is sprouting, if you will.

Thanks for the read, Blythe

[wizzard]

Thank you B. In my mind pieces seem to come and go like guests at a party. I continue trying to gather them all at the same time. Thanks for reading and commenting.

OZ

[wizzard]

Earwigs from the radio chew past wax
to my brain. Shush shush shush of wipers, the
pasty wheeze of wet road cannot distract.
So, my resolve sways left than right, drawing
low back muscles tight, with each argument
breath comes harder. Fists wave as fingers point.
Suited, polished, brass balled men rise between
the road and my eyes, wail of perfected
lies through perfect teeth bring down barrier
after barrier as I am swallowed
by the wide slow yawn of death’s valley.


John OZ
4-8-2005

[wizzard]

She throws white four petal flowers to me

indoors when storms are cold, on the porch as
streets steam back rain. When I forget her she

wilts, as before. Though when I spill water
she recovers quickly and doesn’t turn

gray. A flowered fallen stem I found near
her went to my sister; her daughter. I

don’t have a father plant or a brother
plant. Only my mother plant. Lately she

has taken to throwing pink flowers. Seems
small kindness is all she ever wanted.

John OZ
4-8-2005

[KevinI]

Squire John, apologies for taking so long to reciprocate the crit you posted to my thread. I enjoyed your last two postings.
Shush of wipers was an effective onomatopoeia for me and there are some nice internal rhymes. The metaphor on Mildred Clark requires some developing in my opinion. L1 is particularly awkward. Spilling water was the weakest part of the comparison for me because I don't know what real-life action that represents. The central idea is a very respectable one though.

[JamieLynn7]

Hi wizard,

Caroline Mildred Clark- Neat theme, you did a great job building on it. Thoughtful ending.

Camera man was neat too. I think it has alot of potential.


thanks for the read,

Jamie Lynn

[Ella McCrystle]

As I learn more and more here, I see "Caroline Mildred Clark" as a lovely extended metaphor, and there is lots to like in this poem.

I wish I could get my act together....perhaps should give up, but for people like you and some others I've read, this challenge is bringing some wonderful stuff on a daily basis.

These last two are really nice. So wonderful to see everyone thriving! -- Ella

[wizzard]

Ella McCrystle, JamieLynn7, Kevin

Thanks for all for kind comments and encouragement. Sort of like panning for gold fast, before they take the pan away.

OZ

[wizzard]

Yes, I have been looking for a job! Why,
Why I’ve looked in the paper next to the
Dead, looked on at Monster dot com scratching
My head, looked up old friends but not one of
Them said you are hired or come meet my
Brother. My face is turned blue from the ink
That I’ve spent on each application for
Work now I’m bent on retiring although
I cannot. I’m so full of piss and don’t
have a pot. So don’t ask me again if
I‘ve been earnestly looking, ‘should be clear
Mommy dear: I just can’t get things cooking!

John OZ

[Donner]

Two words, or at least I think they're two words:

Line breaks.

You have some clever ideas--I especially enjoyed the idea behind the Caroline Mildred Clark piece--but cleverness will carry you only so far. Now, it's time for some discipline, man!

Donner

[ren]

Hi, John!

I liked #8! I'm not big on the following lines, though:

wail of perfected
lies through perfect teeth

I think you can do better than that.

Thanks for the read!

Ren

[wizzard]

Donner, Ren-

Thanks both for encouragement and for reading. (I am a bit lazy Donner)
My mother Caroline died several years ago in a nursing home. While there she did crafts. One day she presented me with a styrofoam coffee cup in which she had planted a single stem of impatiens. I somehow manage to keep it alive. It never bloomed though utill after she died. It blooms all year now and has for about 6 years. Always pretty white flowers. Last year she began to bloom pink flowers. I am sad to say I pay more attention to my mother as a plant than I did when she was here in human form. All this just to let you know the basis of this poem.

Thansk again for reading and commenting

OZ

[wizzard]

That chill run up my back
As delightful bubbles
bloomed in the bowl below.
Shake, flush, zip and run-
But not today.
My pee is stuck. Owe!
I gotta go, but
It goes so slow
And burns and hurts.
Later, the nurse was nice
Hands like ice, her smile
Made me smaller still.
Held my little head
as doctor’s knife nicks
me a wider hole.
Back home
my boy bladder wants
To bust out
The cotton ball
Meant to stall blood.
Little leaks of burning yellow.
Major tears and then
POP! Plop and
That chill run up by back
As delightful bubbles
Bloom again. Ahh!

John OZ

[Blythe]

Wow, John, that was pretty...umm...yeah. Ouch.
I see we're mining deep for topics on day 12?

Thanks for posting! (I think)

[wizzard]

Thanks B for reading and sharing my pain. I wonder, is it a metaphor for NaPoWriMo? Nah, probably not.

Love
OZ