Memory

Come on in to give and receive critique, suggestions or help with work in progress or finished pieces. Any format welcome.

Moderator: bags123

Post Reply
User avatar
Eyes Unclouded

Memory

Post by Eyes Unclouded » Sat Dec 29, 2007 12:55 pm

I really like this poem ( which is prob part of the problem) but i feel just not complete yet.


Memory
Grandma’s miniature piano rests on the table top,
a jewelry box in disguise.
I lift it, it’s heavier than I remember.
Finding the windup, my fingers
beg for the music to begin and twist the song into to life.

Gentle notes seep out of the masked piano.
The melody weaves and then wraps me in a blanket of
magic.

I’m taken to a time and place
where grandma’s kisses are no disgrace.
I remember a simple time of simple pleasures
milk cookies before bed an ecstasy without measure.

She would lay me down to sleep
and we would pray for my soul to keep.
If the wind howled and my sheets rustled,
out of bed and to grandma’s room I hustled.

I would wake her with a child’s desperation,
she used to smile not a hint of exasperation.
Her jewelry box she played for me to hear
knowing its melody could ease my tears and fears.

The song stops, dies, as everything must,
but unlike other things
I can begin the music again,
sometimes that’s enough.

edit 1/8
Memory
Grandma’s miniature piano rests on the table top,
a jewelry box in disguise.
I lift it, heavier than I remember.
Finding the windup, my fingers
beg for the music to begin and twist the song into to life.

Gentle notes seep out of the masked piano and the melody
weaves then wraps me in a blanket of
magic.

I’m taken to a time and place
where grandma’s kisses are no disgrace.
I remember a simple time of simple pleasures
milk cookies before bed an ecstasy without measure.

She would lay me down to sleep
and we would pray for my soul to keep.
If the wind howled and sheets rustled,
out of bed and to grandma I hustled.

I would wake her with a child’s desperation,
she used to smile, not a hint of exasperation.
Her jewelry box she played for me to hear
knowing its melody could ease my small fears.

The song stops, dies, as everything must,
but unlike other things
I can begin the music again,
sometimes that’s enough.
Last edited by Eyes Unclouded on Tue Jan 08, 2008 4:06 pm, edited 1 time in total.

User avatar
gordy
Windfall Prophet
Posts: 1463
Joined: Thu Apr 18, 2002 12:01 am
Location: HAMILTON OHIO

Re: Memory

Post by gordy » Sat Dec 29, 2007 1:15 pm

i really like the story but the flow is a little rough........i will have to come back to this when i have more time


welcome to the pages :thewave:
-----------------------------
Image

My Jesus hung out with thieves and sluts and liars, which Jesus do you worship?

---Todd Agnew


Perfection is my enemy
Procrastination is his cohort
Persistence is my sword

---Gordy

User avatar
frailandfrayed

Re: Memory

Post by frailandfrayed » Fri Jan 04, 2008 4:47 am

Memory
Grandma’s miniature piano rests on the table top,
a jewelry box in disguise.
I lift it, it’s heavier than I remember.
Finding the windup, my fingers
beg for the music to begin and twist the song into to life.

Gentle notes seep out of the masked piano.
The melody weaves and then wraps me in a blanket of
magic.

I’m taken to a time and place
where grandma’s kisses are no disgrace.
I remember a simple time of simple pleasures
milk cookies before bed an ecstasy without measure.

She would lay me down to sleep
and we would pray for my soul to keep.
If the wind howled and my sheets rustled,
out of bed and to grandma’s room I hustled.

I would wake her with a child’s desperation,
she used to smile not a hint of exasperation.
Her jewelry box she played for me to hear
knowing its melody could ease my tears and fears.

The song stops, dies, as everything must,
but unlike other things
I can begin the music again,
sometimes that’s enough.

Hi clearwater poet,

This was absolutely beautiful. It drew me in right away with memories of my own grandmother. I love how you played on the keepsake and how it always brings you back, and the ending brings it to a perfect conclusion. Sometimes it really isn't enough. I always thought that poems should end with a touch of profoundness and a touch of brevity and this one did.

As far as a critique, just a few minor things I might fix:

"out of bed and to grandma’s room I hustled " <-- I kind of stumbled a little when I reached this line in the poem, maybe a slight rewording would smooth it out.

"knowing its melody could ease my tears and fears" <-- Here I would just keep fears, it makes it read better.

I really enjoyed this a lot, thank you for posting.

User avatar
frailandfrayed

Re: Memory

Post by frailandfrayed » Fri Jan 04, 2008 5:14 am

Hi Eyes Unclouded,

It seems I addressed you as Clearwater Poet in my above greeting there. Hope you can forgive a newbie.

User avatar
bags123
Insufferable Crouton
Posts: 4701
Joined: Sun Feb 10, 2002 12:01 am
Location: Upstate

Re: Memory

Post by bags123 » Fri Jan 04, 2008 6:33 am

Grandma's are cool. I loved mine. :cheers:
I prefer to keep an open mind,....but not so much that my brains fall out.- Carl Sagan
Your brain is like an umbrella. It only works when it's open- Someone Smart


Poet of the Month
March 2011

User avatar
Graeme
Seafoam Poet
Posts: 267
Joined: Sat Mar 17, 2007 12:56 pm
Location: Arizona

Re: Memory

Post by Graeme » Fri Jan 04, 2008 9:23 pm

My grandmother was trained to be a concert pianist - chose "drek" - popular music of her time instead (1910's) But this poem brought back the memory of her!
This above all to thine own self be true.

Image

User avatar
Eyes Unclouded

Re: Memory

Post by Eyes Unclouded » Tue Jan 08, 2008 4:43 pm

Thank you all for your posts, i have made some edits to deal with the problems with flow that some of you have mentioned.

frail and frayed I'm really glad that you got intentions with the final line.

Post Reply

Return to “Workshop/Critiques Wanted”

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 3 guests