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  #1  
Unread 01-13-2020, 10:39 AM
Jim Moonan Jim Moonan is offline
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Location: Boston, MA
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Default Subject To Change

x
Dracula (v.4)

Take me then, Host, cloak me,
in flowing gown arranged
like rippling moon-whipped waves,
moving always away, forever and ever,
from my own place on the changing
shoreline of the sea, and push me
while I, adrift, will sail until
my cells distill into sleeping
through nights and under
camphorous white noon suns keeping
comatose this gusty gray day in January.
I dream the taste of blood blooms on my tongue.
All around me looks licked clean
as it always does in the beginning
and always will in the end.
I will wait here
for spring to fill my plate again.


-----

Dracula (v.3)

Wherever I am, I am nearer
to a place Iíve been dying to be.
Take me then, Host, cloak me,
in flowing gown arranged
like rippling moon-whipped waves,
moving always away, forever and ever,
from my own place on the changing
shoreline of the sea, and push me.

While I, adrift, will sail until
my cells distill into sleeping
through nights and under
camphorous white noon suns, keeping
comatose the gusty gray days of January.
I dream the taste of blood blooms on my tongue.
All around me looks licked clean
as it always does in the beginning
and always will in the end.
I will wait here
for spring to fill my plate again.

Edits

-Did away with the couplet formation

-Deleted following stanzas:

He does not remember being alive
He can only remember being undone.
He is tired of time, weary of weathering
the weather his demons divine.

He sits and sighs for hours,
holding pedals against his eyes.
He is elevated by the thought,
Nothing is going to change.
There is always the aftermath
that dawns from his remains.

He lives in disgrace in a mapless place
stuck and suckled by a feverish breast
hovering between two horizons so dim
he doesnít seem to notice the floor
moving, coming up to meet him.

Yes, the sun is yeasty today
with its lightness and its rising.
It blooms in the plume of a fiery beast
saying Yes to the hungry-hearted
saying Yes to the lost, the unblessed
saying Yes to those undressed.
Yes to the hair standing
on the back of the neck.

I heard him once say,
The fruit is the beginning of decay.
No light of day can stop him now.
No holy death can shock him now.
He scorns the path heís carved from birth
Abandons the labyrinth back to his bed of earth
and all those undead, in boxes, inflamed,
swallow the sun and become undamned.


-S2 was:
I will sail until my cells distill into
sleeping through the nights
and under camphorous white suns,
keeping comatose this gusty gray day in January.
I dream the taste of blood blooms on my tongue.
All around me looks licked clean
as it always does in the beginning
and always will in the end.
I wait for spring to fill my plate again.
Iím hungry with hope and believe
you have more to send.



----------
x
Subject To Change (v.2)


Wherever I am, I am nearer
to a place Iíve been dying to be.
Take me then, Host, cloak me,
in flowing gown arranged
like rippling moon-whipped waves,
moving always away, forever and ever,
from my own place on the changing
shoreline of the sea, and push me
towards nothing new under the sun,
towards something or somewhere or someone
I can hold onto. Take me and make me
into a ring of wreathed kisses made from Thee.

While I, adrift, will sail until
my cells distill into sleeping
through the nights and under
camphorous white noon suns keeping
comatose this gusty gray day in January.
I dream the taste of blood blooms on my tongue.
All around me looks licked clean
as it always does in the beginning
and always will in the end.
I will wait here
for spring to fill my plate again.
Iím hungry with hope and believe
you have more to send.



-----

Subject To Change

Gusty gray January day.
All is calm. All is mild
and changeable.
Lick life clean, I say.
Leave not a speck
of taste on the tongue.
Let it trickle down deep
to its digestion, diffusing
through the tissue
of the caged soul.
Let it be the fuel that carries me
into the next clearing
where air and water converge
in icy synchronicity. As it was
in the beginning.

Absolute proof reveals a veil
behind a veil behind a wall
That is not there.
The next time I need reminding
of the futility of the search, take me,
cloak me, in flowing gown arranged
like rippling moon-whipped waves,
moving always away, forever and ever,
from my own place on the changing
shoreline of the sea, and push me.

I mix words into slurried ambiguation
that form the Frankenstein of my being.
Love the allegory, love the illusion
that leads to illumination. Doubt is
my demise, a potion of delusion.
I donít drink it.
Let my cells distill to sleeping
under the camphorous white sun.

Life licks itself clean.
Even this, the cruel thaw
of a gray January day,
is subject to change.
Let this be my way.


Edits
Final two lines were:
Let this be my will,
my way.

x
x
x

Last edited by Jim Moonan; 01-27-2020 at 08:43 AM.
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  #2  
Unread 01-13-2020, 04:50 PM
Andrew Szilvasy Andrew Szilvasy is offline
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Location: Boston, MA
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Hi Jim,

These are just some random thoughts.

I really like:
The next time I need reminding
of the futility of the search, take me,
cloak me, in flowing gown arranged
like rippling moon-whipped waves,
moving always away, forever and ever,
from my own place on the changing
shoreline of the sea, and push me.
This strikes me as a great ending. I'd throw away the three lines before it, though.

Where you end is also very nice, though between what I quoted and that last stanza, I'm less enamored with it (also, you have a typo in Frankenstein).

The licking clean may have been done before, I don't know. But I want that image that opens to poem to lead naturally to it. "The sky is a cold gray plate" or something.
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  #3  
Unread 01-13-2020, 10:47 PM
Mary Meriam's Avatar
Mary Meriam Mary Meriam is offline
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Posts: 7,356
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Good to see you posting a poem, Jim. I recommend never using "caged soul" in a poem. Most of the poem lacks your unique sensibility. It's kind of awkward pontificating. But this is practically divine:

take me,
cloak me, in flowing gown arranged
like rippling moon-whipped waves,
moving always away, forever and ever,
from my own place on the changing
shoreline of the sea, and push me.



More like this, please.
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  #4  
Unread 01-14-2020, 08:46 AM
Jim Moonan Jim Moonan is offline
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x
I am the bee that devours the flower to get the nectar.
I'm working on revision.
x
x
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  #5  
Unread 01-14-2020, 12:31 PM
Jim Moonan Jim Moonan is offline
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x
Revision posted. Maybe a whole different poem.

Thanks Andrew for sifting through to find the few lines that ignite. They are the ones that wrote themselves in the midst of all the rest. I have managed to hold onto the "licked clean" image for now, but have "plated it" as you suggested.

Thank you Mary for the confirmation of support. My whole writing life has been a search for flowers among the garbage (to paraphrase L. Cohen).

I've take the seed from the flower both you and Andrew see and replanted it in the revision. I do have something of a Frankenstein sensibility when writing. My poems tend to turn on me --Haha! I've left that image out of the poem this time, though.

Hmmm... I've been watching Dracula on Netflix for the past few days and I think it seeps into how I'm seeing things in this poem, especially the revision.
x
x
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  #6  
Unread 01-14-2020, 01:41 PM
Mary Meriam's Avatar
Mary Meriam Mary Meriam is offline
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whoops, I accidentally deleted this post. darn!

I remember saying I love v2, the last two lines gave me chills, and giving a couple of suggestions for revision:

Dracula

Wherever I am, I am nearer
to a place I’ve been dying to be.
Take me then, Host, cloak me,
in flowing gown arranged
like rippling moon-whipped waves,
moving always away, forever and ever,
from my own place on the changing
shoreline of the sea, and push me
towards nothing new under the sun,
towards something or somewhere or someone
I can hold onto. Take me and make me
into a ring of wreathed kisses made from Thee.


[w]hile I, adrift, will sail until
my cells distill into sleeping
through the nights and under
camphorous white noon suns keeping
comatose this gusty gray day in January.
I dream the taste of blood blooms on my tongue.
All around me looks licked clean
as it always does in the beginning
and always will in the end.
I will wait here
for spring to fill my plate again.
I’m hungry with hope and believe
you have more to send.

Last edited by Mary Meriam; 01-18-2020 at 07:03 PM.
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  #7  
Unread 01-16-2020, 10:02 AM
Jim Moonan Jim Moonan is offline
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x
Revision posted.
Mary, Iíve taken your advice, turned this around, and opened it up to be a kind of synopsis of my cryptic notes I took as I watched the three episodes of Dracula (Netflix). I don't know that it works as a poem but think of it as an exercise in capturing and transcribing the impressions and emotions I had as I watched it. It was not a pleasant experience, I get unsettled by the supernatural, but it was enthralling.

(I am indebted to you for your salvaging my thoughts and offering a way to string them together differently. As I said, much garbage amongst a few flowers.)
x
x
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  #8  
Unread 01-16-2020, 08:31 PM
John Riley John Riley is offline
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I just want to say that the revisions have greatly improved this. I like the changes suggested by Mary and how you have used them. Good work.
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  #9  
Unread 01-18-2020, 09:36 AM
Andrew Mandelbaum's Avatar
Andrew Mandelbaum Andrew Mandelbaum is offline
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Jim,
Is the section that begins He does not remember being alive part of the poem or just a record of the notes?
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  #10  
Unread 01-18-2020, 04:49 PM
Jim Moonan Jim Moonan is offline
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x
The first section is what's left of v.2 and based on what Mary correctly saw as being influenced by my Dracula binge I had mentioned in my response to her that I had just engaged in.

The second section was written after I went back and looked at the notes I had made as I watched. But no, nothing verbatim. It is just more deliberately evoking the Dracula spell that came over me as I watched the series. It may not even belong with the first part. (I half-suspect Mary feels that way. It's just that it didn't seem to warrant the title Dracula without more of the vamp mood.

The shift from first to third person may not work. Maybe it's two poems. I'm thinking of having another go at it and perhaps find a way to combine some of the second section into the first. Maybe getting rid of couplets...

Your calling attention to the differences between the two sections tells me something. Thanks for checking in. Does it do anything for you?
x
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