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    dots Submission Name: Decemberdots

    Author: etheror
    Elite Ratio:    6.32 - 226/272/113
    Words: 118
    Class/Type: Misc/Misc
    Total Views: 1139
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 851


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.


    Winter, like a head cold, is waning
    beneath the DayQuil and chamomile.
    The feeling like we might die, passing
    with the clouds over the coast.
    A raw season of filth and rain--mud
    splattered onto your ankles and shins--
    still, we wake before the sun.

    Already, the daffodils sprout. Soon,
    the figs will erupt and heavy, branches
    stretching to the ground, the yard
    drying and greening and drying again.
    Perhaps I'll plant tomatoes. Perhaps
    rosemary. The canal will wake, glitter
    poured from dock to dock--the violinist
    dancing on his houseboat. Soon.

    Cheers to the stars. Cheers to the moon.
    Champagne-tipsied, I'd kiss that beautiful man,
    with fireworks and sea-salt on my tongue.

    Submitted on 2016-01-08 18:08:41     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      I was hooked by the first line. Winter, like a head cold, is waning beneath the DayQuil... As someone who sometimes relies on DayQuil with mixed emotions on the impact of that drug, I find myself searching for the precise meaning of the simile.

    DayQuil allows me to function when I would be otherwise unable, but I feel it also perpetuates the cold--somehow makes it last longer. I've no idea whether that is actually true, but it stands to reason that if lots of rest, sleep, fluids, and chicken soup are the fastest way to get over a cold, then using a drug for the sole purpose of enabling yourself to go to work and get things done, thus avoiding such healing behaviors, is likely to make your body's natural healing processes somewhat less effective than if you'd simply stayed in bed.

    So I'm faced with an image of the Winter passing without much of a headache, but lasting much longer than usual. A Winter without much harsh weather, but a bitter and unrelenting cold that lasts well into Springtime.

    Now I bring this back to the rest of your opening. The feeling like we might die, passing with the clouds over the coast... The drug forces off the clouds which brought sleet and snow and ice, but they linger menacingly on the horizon, just waiting for the dose to wear off so that they can seep insidiously back into your life and into your head.

    Yes we'll wake eventually, but somehow we won't feel very rested.
    | Posted on 2016-08-17 00:00:00 | by Ontlogicalamity | [ Reply to This ]
      Okay so yeah comments I have them sure I do, and they're completely coherent, I'm not just using this as an opportunity to procrastinate.

    So overall, I want to comment on the title and the relationship the different sections have to each other. It feels like we move from winter into spring and end in summer (on a beach during the 4th of July which is how such holidays should be spent if at all possible).

    Yet the title is December, so I can't help feeling that pull back to the cold, like someone not completely thawed out, even in the final section - there's a bit of a wind or something that undercuts the scene. A chill summer night maybe, the way the wind off the water can be sometimes. Maybe.

    Okay so seriously where in the continental US does winter begin to wane in December? Because I want to go to there.

    I like how the DayQuil and chamomile are acting both figuratively and literally - acting on both the cold, and within the poem, actually acting on winter, so that the figure in the poem can see the way through into spring and all the way onto this beach scene.

    the yard
    drying and greening and drying again.

    I liked this part. It made me think of timelapses, how the yard gents soaked and bursts forth with green little by little. And using the color green as a verb (present participle, I had to look it up).

    The canal will wake, glitter
    poured from dock to dock--the violinist
    dancing on his houseboat. Soon.

    I liked this part too. I'm pretty visual, and so is the scene - almost movie-esque (thinking Cinderella-fair-godmother-sparkles-over-everything). It's self-aware about how much of a dream this vision is (especially the mention of soon - we're still in December), but it also describes something real, I think.

    And then the last bit. After the "soon," we break free of imagining and just jump into the scene, which I think, again, is a nice progression. The scene is painted just so, just the bits we need to know, almost impressionistic, but also increasing the sensory aspects, becoming more alive, less wintery.

    A nice winter poem. I don't really have anything critical to say.

    | Posted on 2016-01-28 00:00:00 | by lukewarm | [ Reply to This ]
      1 & 3 suffer from the subtle existential, while 2 dabbles in the whimsical & parenthetic of day to day things. Which is just to say I like 1 & 3. I don't quite know why you're outside yourself in the first strophe though (are we dying together deary?).
    [Got distracted. Maybe I'll finish this later.]
    | Posted on 2016-01-18 00:00:00 | by Outlaw | [ Reply to This ]

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