Description: This happened when I was a little girl
Just A Pile Of Wood -------------------------------------------
just a pile of wood now ash
As the girl walked through
Remembering the past
a loving home
where she had grown
The winters in December
sent chills she can still remember
Over there, her Mom would measure her
and her Dad would molest her
thoughts of him she no longer shares
time didn’t heal that wound
and wont anytime soon
But there is comfort somewhere
she just isn’t going to find it there
For her this was closure
of the road God chose for her
A trip down memory lane
It had to be done
To shed this burden of pain
Questions can not be answered
nor spoken of…she remembered
a cold chill
his hand she can feel
even on the warmest days
like bad re-runs through her brain
this pile of ash
was everything this girl
could now put in her past
like her house turned to ash
her fear was now gone
Still going for the shock effect, Michael? I'd like to sit down with you someday and ask you what it is about this topic of children and sexual abuse that seems to impel you into writing many of the poems I've read. What's the fascination? Is it controversy, or are you trying to say something vital?
I'm not ripping on you, dude, just seriously wondering, you know?
But now I have to dig a little deeper, if not into the poem, but into the poet. Always I think to myself . . . if only he'd take it all seriously and really go after a subject with what's in his heart, what a poet he'd be! There's so much out there and inside, I'm sure, to share. Unless you lived through this I think maybe it's not a topic you take lightly because some will be offended by it and in a sense, it diminishes your credibility as an artist.
I know it's been a long time since you've heard from me and I come at you all hard core with this [censored]. I'm sorry for that. I have a lot of respect for your ability and want to see you grow and rise above writing the attention getting poems that touch on something touchy. Still, it's how I first discovered you and I suppose it must be important to you in some way, but I don't see how this poem gets down to that. I don't even want to speculate.
Such a saddest that a Father could ever lay a hand in this way to his daughter. Ruining this child's life even into adulthood..A memory that will never really leave her mind and actually causes trust in others to slip away. A sick mind, as you so cleverly put it. Food for thought!!! ~Linda
Personally, I think you used quite a bit of cliché's here, which really detracted from any point you were going for.
As duolos says, go more for the obscure details that will draw the reader in. Avoid the general and things that many before you have stated similiarly. Find something unique about a situation that unfortunately appears somewhat frequent.
The rhyme pattern really threw me off. As did the capitalization choices.
Ok, I'm going to be harsh, but you asked for unbiased review. I didn't care for it. You capitalised without any other punctuation, vaguely hinting at sentences you don't end with a period. You could GREATLY benefit from some stanzas here. You should drop the rhyme scheme. You should slow the whole thing down. With a topic serious like this you shouldn't speed the reader along. You never slowed me down with punctuation or difficult words.
"Burden of pain" just doesn't convey the powerful meaning you're shooting for. Even though you take on such a serious topic you lack details. You just tell the reader the meaning you're shooting for and don't give us the details necessary to convey it. Using words like "pain", "molest", etc. you make this poem average.
Try losing all those words and describe the moment when she comes back to the house. Tell us what it's like when she puts her hand on the bed that her dad molested her in, what the floor is like in the basement, what the fields and roof are like. Tell us about the house. Tell us details about her father. Tell us something besides the fact that she was molested, but now she's not scared anymore.
Yeah I am back! And I see that you have gone back to the children's sexual abuse subject. I think my social worker cousin will adore the series of poems about that. See she works in children's protection.
Well this poem is not less then I expect of you. I am glad to see that u kept your touch. I am on a sudden commenting streak these last 2 days and I am glad I passed by.
I dunno when u were a little girl =P , but this poem works. I like how u assimilated the feelings of the little girl with the weather, it has been done a million times before, yet to manage to make it right.
I like the lack of punctuation, makes it a bit like breathless run.
Over there, her Mom would measure her and her Dad would molest her
I like the poignant simplicity and analogy in this phrase it makes the girl almost pathetic.
Digging her memories for closure, to a wound that never heals. The girl is trying to learn to keep the whole thing in the past and not let it affect her future. The vivid memories will be just that, not a ball and chain she carries around.
Digging the memories made the fear fade away, and her quest possible.