No one ever answers when I call

[cookala]

heya Brina. Anne Frank is a haunting portrayal of so many wanna be actresses. it's sad, ambition unfulfilled. good details in this make the story and the protagonist very real. I enjoyed!

[BrianIsSmilingAtYou]

Anne Frank--dark, haunting. Made me sad.

Jen

Thanks, Jen.

Poultricide is great fun. It seems so effortless for you!
I admire that.
and any poem with soupcon in it gets my vote
This was daring:
"Outside, a sparrow chirped"
a poet has to be very sure of himself,
or drunk, to get away with that!

cheers,
Geoff

Yes, "Outside, a sparrow chirped" was a critical phrase. It marks the turning point of the narrative, in my view, and so plays a pivotal role.

heya Brina. Anne Frank is a haunting portrayal of so many wanna be actresses. it's sad, ambition unfulfilled. good details in this make the story and the protagonist very real. I enjoyed!

Thanks, cookala. Did you make the connection in this poem with the Anne Frank that died in the holocaust, and wrote a famous diary? This was intended as an alternate history for her based on the quote in the epigraph. The idea being that it would be a better world for her to lose fame, and even fail in her ambition (and the story of her as a wanna-be actress is to illustrate that, but it is not intended to be the main point of the poem), than to be famous but to have died a cruel and needless death in a concentration camp. I had included a reference to Bergen-Belsen, the Nazi camp where she died, in an earlier draft, but I removed it, as it seemed inconsistent with the tone

BrianIs AtYou

[BrianIsSmilingAtYou]

A reading of my poem "Selfie with Dad".

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S-sBq5eAkkA

BrianIs AtYou

[Scrow]

The first made me smile, the second made me gulp with sadness, to the point at which I didn’t post a response, and your third is both funny and clever. ‘Anne Frank’ is the one that brings all those reactions together. I am half-looking forward to, and half-afraid of what you might post tomorrow.

Sarah

[Carla Ruth]

Brian, what a rollercoaster so far! I'm amazed at your managing to produce such substantial poems given the time constraints. Some standout moments for me: the crystal chalice in Selfie with Dad; the Wyatt Earp rhyme in Poultricide; the juxtaposition of Anne Frank and the candyfloss of Hollywood. Thank you for the great reads.

[BrianIsSmilingAtYou]

The first made me smile, the second made me gulp with sadness, to the point at which I didn’t post a response, and your third is both funny and clever. ‘Anne Frank’ is the one that brings all those reactions together. I am half-looking forward to, and half-afraid of what you might post tomorrow.

Sarah

Thanks, Sarah. Be fearful

Brian, what a rollercoaster so far! I'm amazed at your managing to produce such substantial poems given the time constraints. Some standout moments for me: the crystal chalice in Selfie with Dad; the Wyatt Earp rhyme in Poultricide; the juxtaposition of Anne Frank and the candyfloss of Hollywood. Thank you for the great reads.

Thanks, Carla Ruth. I am glad you like "crystal chalice"; originally the wording there was somewhat different, and your response has helped to validate the change that I made. Also, glad you like Wyatt Earp, that is where we are coming to the climax of the poem. As I noted in an earlier response, the prior line to the Wyatt Earp line represents the point at which I began to think about the "turn" of the piece, and Earp is what followed.

I am mostly happy with Anne, but it is a complex issue to address. I think it might need a bit more.

BrianIs AtYou

[BrianIsSmilingAtYou]

Say What?
(inspired by Spam)

eHarmony is free today,
no credit card required.
Just sign up now, then pay your way—
the funds are quickly wired.

You'll find the funds are not hard to get—
I heard a great big stash
is waiting for you!—you’ll cut your debt!—
the Prince will send you cash!

That hot Russian stripper, she likes your look,
just click here for her shots!
And Vanity Press will print your book,
they like it lots and lots.

Get rich! Get virile! You'll get the girl!
Oh, wait! The King of Saud
will send you a precious and mystic pearl!—
Say what? It's all a fraud?!?

--------------------------

BrianIs AtYou

[GreaterMandalaofUselessness]

Hi Brian,

Poultrycide is a great title, and I was rather reminded of Chicken Run but a darker slasher-movie version. Fun and well done on sustaining the rhyme scheme.

Anne Frank in Hollywood This is my favourite of yours so far. I enjoy the gentle whimsical tone and I'm strangely grateful for Anne's chance at unexciting life in this version of history. I think you do a good job of referencing her real life (the title of the musical for example, the diary, the wondering about a different life) without entering the realm of parody. It's light and gentle and lovely and tragically set off by my knowledge of the real story. Great poem.

Say what? A fun romp through your spam folder. Where the was penis enlargement ad? Or is it just me that gets those?



Matt

[5th column]

Hey Brian, what's impressive (apart from the quality of the writing), is the breadth of the subject matter. From deeply personal to light-hearted (almost), limericks. I came here with little time to spare expecting a drive by and I stayed for 30 minutes. The photograph of you and your father makes the poem even more vivid. I'll be back.

[Emilio]

Brian, Selfie with Dad was completely moving. And my condolences. I went through a very similar situation with my grandmother. I appreciated the reference links you included in the poem, adding depth of the internet.

Best,

[Speug]

Hello Brian, 'Anne Frank in Hollywood' is excellent. It's a great idea, first of all, and it manages not to be sentimental or feel like the poem is using real events as a shortcut to pathos.
Cheers,
Paul.

[BrianIsSmilingAtYou]

Hi Brian,

Poultrycide is a great title, and I was rather reminded of Chicken Run but a darker slasher-movie version. Fun and well done on sustaining the rhyme scheme.

Anne Frank in Hollywood This is my favourite of yours so far. I enjoy the gentle whimsical tone and I'm strangely grateful for Anne's chance at unexciting life in this version of history. I think you do a good job of referencing her real life (the title of the musical for example, the diary, the wondering about a different life) without entering the realm of parody. It's light and gentle and lovely and tragically set off by my knowledge of the real story. Great poem.

Say what? A fun romp through your spam folder. Where the was penis enlargement ad? Or is it just me that gets those?



Matt

Thanks, Matt. Poultricide seems to have hit a chord with the readers. I was afraid that the technical challenge of the quadruple rhyme and strict meter would leave it too stilted for most to enjoy. I'm happy to be wrong on that regard.

I really had to work at Anne to get it to the point where some folks are naming it their favorite, although each of my longer poems (Selfie, Poulty, Anne) had their unique challenges.

"Say What?" was one of those poems that almost wrote itself.

Hey Brian, what's impressive (apart from the quality of the writing), is the breadth of the subject matter. From deeply personal to light-hearted (almost), limericks. I came here with little time to spare expecting a drive by and I stayed for 30 minutes. The photograph of you and your father makes the poem even more vivid. I'll be back.

Thanks. I've often used photographs as a starting point for inspiration, and it seemed to pay off here.

Brian, Selfie with Dad was completely moving. And my condolences. I went through a very similar situation with my grandmother. I appreciated the reference links you included in the poem, adding depth of the internet.

Best,

Thanks, Emilio. The last months (and to a lesser extent, last years) of my Dad's life were difficult. Often in ways that he could not understand, because the capacity for understanding had been taken away.

Hello Brian, 'Anne Frank in Hollywood' is excellent. It's a great idea, first of all, and it manages not to be sentimental or feel like the poem is using real events as a shortcut to pathos.
Cheers,
Paul.

Thanks, Paul. Yes, when I got the idea for Anne, I felt that I had something. For me, the challenge was trying to do it justice.

BrianIs AtYou

[BrianIsSmilingAtYou]

This Old Story

I've told this old story a time or two before:
me and a baseball bat, the earth, the sky.
My father is pensive, standing at the sideline,
a notebook and pen in his hand.

Each young boy takes his turn—they each get their innings—
even the ones that still have much to learn.
My father manages; he coaches quite fairly.
You might think I'd be a favorite,

but his fairness was above both me and the game—
and, truth be told, I still had much to learn.
Each Saturday morning, I longed for a home run—
longed to catch the impossible

fly. Already, we were deep into the season.
Fourth inning, we’re down by one; I enter
the batter's box, trembling. Dad yells encouragement:
"Go get 'em, Bri!" There in the box,
 
I grip the bat tightly, kick at the dirt, and spit.
Me—I've not had a hit the whole season—
and I begin to fear what my father must think:
Can he love a boy who can’t hit?

The sky is overcast; the ball field is a blur.
Jerry Long, who bats before me, holds third
like a conquering hero. Daring the pitcher,
he paces three steps off of third,

threatens to run all the way, third base to home plate.
The pitcher winds up, and sticks out his tongue—
he uncoils his body, and throws! Jerry leaps back,
and I check my wild swing, the ball

meant for third base, not me. Things soon settle down again;
sweat from my dirty brow stings at my eyes,
and I watch as the boy on the mound winds up slowly.
I can't see the ball, and I fear

that the ball is a comet that roars down the pike.
The infield boys chatter, "Brian can't hit!"
I swing like a madman. The whole infield scatters—
I cast off the bat, and I run!

My ball breaks on through between short stop and pitcher.
A boy—left of center, madder than me—
runs up and grabs the ball, rockets it homeward bound—
hoping to catch the swift runner.

Jerry slides home—"Tag, boy! You're out!" Rounding first base,
I run ever faster; I know I can't
heed that dust-up at home. Soon rounding second base,
I think with each step of my father:

I know that his watchful eyes translate my movements—
the same as he does with all of the boys—
to scratches and numbers, to marks in his notebook,
I think of him writing now, hit!

Oh-ho! — it's a double!—I stretch it to third base!—
a triple!—a hero!—miracle boy!
I look to the sideline, and my father looks back—
makes a note in the notebook. Smiles

as I beam, three steps off the base. Hoping to score,
I push it like Jerry, thinking that I
have now turned a corner. A hit to my name now,
I'm eager to even the score.

Dennis is up; his swing rather awkward—he hits
for a single—I scramble for home! Score!
Dad, at the sideline, is making his marks. Notebook
At ready—“Dad, did you see me?”

“I made it to third base! A triple! A triple!
I made it to home! I evened the score!”
“You made it to home, yes, but that was no triple—
a fielder’s choice is what it was.

“but you hit the ball well: you’re showing improvement.”
Not sure what to make of this tragic fact—
no triple, no double—my fate tied to the whim
of another boy’s throwing arm.

After the game, he takes me aside, and he tries
to explain about baseball and the truth.
In many games to come, I learned more of the truth:
errors, and foul balls, and honor.

The year that soon followed was a magical year.
The sky was overcast far fewer days.
My dad bought me glasses. The ball wasn’t a blur!
Soon I had hits, game after game.

But the thing that I remember most is the hit
that I didn't get—the lesson I learned
about truth and the ball game. What kind of batter—
what kind of son—without the truth?

---------------------------------

BrianIs AtYou

[casket N orbit]

The April 2 poem, even without the access to external references, the poem is one of the most intimate conveyance of a relationship I've ever read, prose or poetry and is exemplary of uncanny craftsmanship. Great job!

[Sorella]

So much to enjoy here, Brian, but This Old Story with its detail and moral really grabbed me! Glad you got your spectacles, and a lesson in truth despite all.

Sorella