deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Cemetery Groundskeeper
I think maybe they don’t understand
the hard love of tending frozen grounds.
Keeping watch in mornings where your stomach folds in on itself, cringing against the cold,
barely blinking to defy whatever it is that sees beauty
and wants to stomp it out.
Sometimes it’s kids with their indiscriminate anger.
Sometimes it’s wealthy men growing nearer to the grave than their money can prevent.
With cold faith, I tend to the soil’s sleeping womb,
trusting its secret fertility,
that springtime waits to awaken her wild sex
on the roar of birds and rain.
They see my clothes and callouses and my deathly house and think of me as a grifter,
conning a coin to row you endlessly nowhere,
but I am no such thing.
I am a primer coat on the mural.
I am the empty lot where the storied bar once stood.
I am the terrible question on the heels of the great feat,
The usher of tomorrow through the night.
the hard love of tending frozen grounds.
Keeping watch in mornings where your stomach folds in on itself, cringing against the cold,
barely blinking to defy whatever it is that sees beauty
and wants to stomp it out.
Sometimes it’s kids with their indiscriminate anger.
Sometimes it’s wealthy men growing nearer to the grave than their money can prevent.
With cold faith, I tend to the soil’s sleeping womb,
trusting its secret fertility,
that springtime waits to awaken her wild sex
on the roar of birds and rain.
They see my clothes and callouses and my deathly house and think of me as a grifter,
conning a coin to row you endlessly nowhere,
but I am no such thing.
I am a primer coat on the mural.
I am the empty lot where the storied bar once stood.
I am the terrible question on the heels of the great feat,
The usher of tomorrow through the night.
Published 20th Oct 2019
| Edited 21st Oct 2019
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likes 3
reading list entries 2
comments 5
reads 483
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
20th Oct 2019 6:15pm
That springtime waits to awaken her wild sex
In the roar of birds and rain.
The entire verse is mesmerizing, the subject especially. It's detached and yet empathetic; it's descriptive and yet abstract - direct and yet vague. These are qualities in poetry that are not typically observed, and very difficult to adequately portray.
I know you requested honest critique, and I want to honor that; however, in all honesty there just isn't much I would recommend changing. Perhaps shorten some of the longer lines into a more poetic vs prose form. And consistency regarding caps and lower case. Also maybe lose a few words that, while proper in use regarding language and communication, really don't contribute when it comes to poetry. For example:
I think maybe they don’t understand
[t]he hard love of tending frozen grounds.
Keeping watch in mornings /
where your stomach folds in on itself, /
cringing against [the] cold,
barely blinking to defy whatever it is that sees beauty
[A]nd wants to stomp it out.
The above is how I would recommend breaking the lines, as well as capping or lowercasing for consistency throughout the verse. That's all I gots to offer, Harry.
Oh, and those lines I quoted - breathtaking - Plath and Sexton in essence.
In the roar of birds and rain.
The entire verse is mesmerizing, the subject especially. It's detached and yet empathetic; it's descriptive and yet abstract - direct and yet vague. These are qualities in poetry that are not typically observed, and very difficult to adequately portray.
I know you requested honest critique, and I want to honor that; however, in all honesty there just isn't much I would recommend changing. Perhaps shorten some of the longer lines into a more poetic vs prose form. And consistency regarding caps and lower case. Also maybe lose a few words that, while proper in use regarding language and communication, really don't contribute when it comes to poetry. For example:
I think maybe they don’t understand
[t]he hard love of tending frozen grounds.
Keeping watch in mornings /
where your stomach folds in on itself, /
cringing against [the] cold,
barely blinking to defy whatever it is that sees beauty
[A]nd wants to stomp it out.
The above is how I would recommend breaking the lines, as well as capping or lowercasing for consistency throughout the verse. That's all I gots to offer, Harry.
Oh, and those lines I quoted - breathtaking - Plath and Sexton in essence.
20th Oct 2019 6:26pm
Dude thanks so much for the advice! It’s often a bit hard to find. I actually struggled a bit with this because I wanted it to sound a little more plain spoken than I normally do when writing from my own point of view. So in trying to embody the character I was creating, I had to resist some of my usual stylistic urges. Those changes you recommend sound great, though. I’ll probably do a little edit this afternoon.
Thanks for reading and for your kind words! They mean a lot coming from you!
Thanks for reading and for your kind words! They mean a lot coming from you!
20th Oct 2019 6:45pm
21st Oct 2019 2:19pm
Such powerful imagery in here. Loved all of it! And to ahavati’s point, compassionate detachment is the perfect vantage point for this spill! Best of luck in the competition! Rachelle
31st Oct 2019 10:00pm
thought i already had you on my follow list, seems i didn't and have been missing out!
can't go into this much right now, but will come back. beautiful write that provokes a few suggestions. minor stuff, much along the lines of Ahavati's suggestions.
can't go into this much right now, but will come back. beautiful write that provokes a few suggestions. minor stuff, much along the lines of Ahavati's suggestions.
