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Mothers under sky-blue sunshades at square wooden tables covered with patchwork cloths of pink and lilac sip tea from china cups rimmed with gold like the edges of their daydreams. A long-haired collie - dignity on soft padded paws, ignores the scent of homemade Madeira cake and melting milk chocolate to trot after schoolboys with free flowing limbs in numbered yellow and green tee-shirts pretending to be heroes of the World Cup. In the red-railed playground a little girl falls and grazes her knee. Her howls cacophonic with the high pitched twitter of sparrows and blackbirds in mottled green Sycamore branches - where hard beaks gouge in combat jacket bark for luscious grubs to thrust down the throats of fluffy-down chicks. Her mother kisses the knee and wipes away her tears. Amid this serenity my daughter sits beside me. I watch her write of patriots and freedom. She dreams of green grass and an Ireland united beneath a tricolored flag. Across the path an escaped push-chair rolls down-slope and almost crashes into the cafe's foldaway seats; the boy inside opens his strawberry ice-cream smeared mouth and screams as his father averts disaster just in time, then quiets him with promises of something sweet. I look to the leafy canopy, reflect on fledglings learning to fly, and think how quickly the grass grows at this time of year. A teenager sings words lost to the distance, but his voice, the constant strum of his guitar, the clapping of friends, and the tap, tap, tapping of fingers on the skin of a drum fill the park with a unifying rhythm. ............................................................................................ Glimpses of St Andrew’s Park - Mother's sit under sky-blue sunshades at square wooden tables covered with patchwork clothes of pale pink rose garden and lilac gingham, sipping hot tea from white china cups rimmed with gold like the edges of a daydream. A long haired collie-- dignity on soft padded paws, ignores the sweet lemon scent of homemade Madeira cake and milk chocolate melting in this brief taste of Summer. He trots by after-school boys in numbered buttercup-yellow and meadow-green tee-shirts: released to exuberant freedom with free-flowing limbs they relish the warmth and pretend to be Wayne Rooney or Ronaldinho-- heroes of the coming World Cup. A little girl falls and grazes her knee in a red-railed playground: her howls cacophonic with the high-pitched twitter of sparrows, and blackbirds unseen in mottled green sycamore branches-- where hard beaks gouge in combat jacket bark for luscious grubs to thrust into open throats of fluffy-down chicks. A mother kisses the knee of her little girl wipes away the tears. My daughter sits beside me I watch her write of patriots and freedom. She dreams of green grass and an Ireland united beneath a tricolour flag. Across the path an escaped push-chair rolls downslope and almost crashes into the black metal legs of a café’s foldaway seats; the boy inside opens his strawberry ice-cream smeared mouth and screams, but his father diverts disaster just in time then quiets him with sweet promises for sometime soon. (Tea is 75p, coffee £1). I look to the leafy canopy Reflect on fledglings learning to fly and I think how quickly the grass grows at this time of year. A teenager sings words lost to the distance as he plays guitar; but his voice, the strum of guitar, the clapping of friends and the tap, tap, tapping of fingers on the skin of a drum fills the park with rhythm. |
"A little girl falls and grazes her knee in a red-railed playground: her howls cacophonic with the high-pitched twitter of sparrows, and blackbirds unseen in mottled green sycamore branches-- where hard beaks gouge in combat jacket bark for luscious grubs to thrust down the throat of fluffy-down chicks. A mother kisses the knee of her little girl wipes away the tears. My daughter sits beside me I watch her write of patriots and freedom. She dreams of green grass and an Ireland united beneath a tricolour flag." Ok, this is the nessie I expected the first time around; contemplating not only visuals, but how they connect to her world (footballers enjoying the sheer pleasure of competition foreshadowing more sobering warriors in Iraq and elsewhere, a young girl comforted by her mother as your daughter comforts herself with visions of a united homeland, etc). Your lineation and punctuation are also more inviting, allowing the reader to absorb your thoughts/visuals in slow increments. Unfortunately, you've given me no nits to pick. Nicely done, comrade. Take care. Bill. | Posted on 2006-06-14 00:00:00 | by rws | [ Reply to This ] | Ah, much improved. | I like the way you have things grouped now. Maybe I've read too many tech manuals, but I don't like puzzling out what goes with what. I particularly like the little asides, the mother kissing the knee and the father promising the sweet. All in all you've created a beautiful mood here. Selina's appearance is a plus too. One critique and WOW, is this important!!! Most people, at least on this side of the pond, spell knee with only two "e"s. Good job! ![]() Steve | Posted on 2006-08-17 00:00:00 | by Lost Sheep | [ Reply to This ] | you've strengthened this poem really well - the new layout really gives it the impression of a series of glimpses while bringing yourself and Sel into it gives it some personal depth that makes it uniquely yours. | but just to be anal i've one final nitpick: "released to exuberant freedom, with free-flowing limbs they relish the warmth" that comma really doesn't feel necessary. overall, though, i think you've managed to really improve this piece. well done. smile. Adam. | Posted on 2006-06-14 00:00:00 | by Icarus | [ Reply to This ] | Hmmm... ! | You've lengthened & strengthened this much- and added a viewpoint only glimpsed the first time 'round. So i'll tell ya what I like and what I don't... keep in mind, that's all it is... much thanks for the thanks, by the way. As usual, I can't seem to keep my thoughts seperate... they all come out in randomly, intertwined and hard to untangle and organize... I spend enough time trying to do that with my own writings... anyways, onward and outward! I like the new spacing better than the old- it seperates it, gives it room to breathe, so to speak- the old version i think was sort of clustered up and seemed unsure of itself. This, on the contrary, has a flair for the dramatic- the seperated, standalone lines add a bit of punch, and work well to seperate the different aspects of the different glimpses as the poem progresses. As far as the first bit, I think "Mother's" needs to be "Mothers," but aside from that, i love it. It reads smoothly, it sets up the poem well, and introduces the sort of glimpses referred to in the title right off the bat, including detail without confusion. I also love how you've tied in one mother and daughter to another, and included a personal perspective- it simply adds to the whole ever-shifting scenery. I love everything you've added to it- the additional scenes, the political perspective, everything. Ok-- final, anal-retentive, nitpicking details (because i care!) : I think you use the word "down" one too many times here... "to thrust down the throat of fluffy-down chicks." Maybe though it's just too soon... i think "open throats" would work well... I think there must be multiple throats and open throats ties in with the political aspect as well...anyways... The teenager image: "A teenager sits, singing words lost to the distance as he plays guitar;" maybe? please don't hurt me... I love the ending as well... but then again I play drums, so of course i would. Bloody good job! | Posted on 2006-06-15 00:00:00 | by lukewarm | [ Reply to This ] | |