Green beans and loneliness

Betty

Here I go.:)

For a moment I thought restructuring this poem.
But then, that's just me. Give it some time, says
the tiny voice.

On the way to the town dump
is an absolute orbit of shit;

[Orbit is beautiful in the context. I admire you for your wordplay and vocabulary. They are always apt and most of
the times, bang on.]

plastic bags that blew
off trucks now float in the
Florida scub like Christmas
decorations, wafting, "hello"
and, "fuck off" in the breeze.

[Scub has me confounded here. Florida scub might refer to
a windstream IMO. I love the end. detached angst bleeding
in spurts.]

Wayward flotsam washed

[Vocabulary.:)Always a plus]

to the sides of the road,
an ebb-tide in carelessness,
comprised of endless bits
of life, like

[A great observation]
 
a half a stained mattress,
which once dreamed of lust;

[The first a is redundant IMO. Chop it.
This line reminded me of Marla Singer from
'Fight Club'.]
 
old notebooks, smeared with rain,
which once dreamed of love;

[Smear IMO is not appropriate. In the context.
Washed down? Smear is strong and it is graphic.
Technically it leaves a colour. So, rain and smear
don't seem to work well together.]
 
an empty can of green beans,
which holds no deep intrinsic meaning,
a value in itself,
to be known,
simply,
completely,
the surface
reflecting
to the contents;

[Deep and intrinsic. Both. Chop one. I love how you
methodically reflect the deconstruction by breaking
them. Very effective.]
 
and an endless
wretched stream of debris that
makes the eye loose focus and
just see... nothing.

[Stream. IMO it can be replaced. In space it can work
well as they float in vast space almost like disposed
whatnots floating in water. Ocean? JMO. Loved the end.]
 
Just nothing.

[Works well. very well.]
 
When I'm inside the quiet
of my own mental dump,
the fecund taint of my
thoughts,
are orbited by
 
you.

[Whoa. That's Betty. Baaam. This is where a so called
critic loses his composure and bangs the desk and mouths
'Yessss...' Baaam! I love it]
 
When you're gone,
I lose focus, eyes blurring,
and all of the shit fades to nothing.

[Love it. Again. Though I feel you can chop and skim a
bit here. Just me.]
 
It's then, that moment,
that I wish I had some
damn green beans,
something simple,
something tactile
 
something that
lets me see
more than
a vague white noise
dripping like
empty plastic bags from
my foliage

{Bravo! Baaam. I love 'tactile'. Love the use of 'foliage'.
'White noise' works really well. Though not fully sure if its
the goodest choice.:)]


Honestly,[very very] I thought the ending was not one cut one kill. I hate to say this. I loved this poem and have a strong feeling this might not be the end. The tiny voice repeats.
Will come back again and have another go.

Betty. I love your poems. I love reading you, like so many others [And you probably know it.] So, what the heck.

Write on.

Sumeet

p.s-Everything expressed above are JMHO.
[phew!:) ]

Be my baby-momma?

Sorry, I got carried away in the badassery of your review.

Scub was a typo. Florida scrub is our native terrain outside of beaches, palm trees, swamp and New York retirees. A densely packed mesh of palmetto, saw palms, pine trees ,sand and snakes. I've fixed it.

 
a half a stained mattress,
which once dreamed of lust;
 
[The first a is redundant IMO. Chop it.
This line reminded me of Marla Singer from
'Fight Club'.]
DAMN solid advice, I chopped it.
 
old notebooks, smeared with rain,
which once dreamed of love;
 
[Smear IMO is not appropriate. In the context.
Washed down? Smear is strong and it is graphic.
Technically it leaves a colour. So, rain and smear
don't seem to work well together.]
 
I switched up the sentence and made it moldering notebooks. Better, you think?

an empty can of green beans,
which holds no deep intrinsic meaning,
a value in itself,
to be known,
simply,
completely,
the surface
reflecting
to the contents;
 
[Deep and intrinsic. Both. Chop one. I love how you
methodically reflect the deconstruction by breaking
them. Very effective.]
Chopped deep. You're right. I should have swung by the Department of Redundancy Department before I hit publish. Beautiful catches!
 
Keeping stream for now.
 
Your opinion is filled with awesome-sauce, dude. Seriously.

Thanks for the kickass review. It was ridiculously helpful.

Happy writing, my friend,
Betty

 

Baby-momma. No. [Not after you called me weird]
Just funning with you betsy. I am.:D

Glad to be helpful. I grow alongside. Always.

Scrub. I had thought so. I know what you mean.
[too many movies i say. way too many. too less.]

Smear was not. Moldering is. 50-50.[Hey! You made me fight till the last drop flew out of my knuckles. So I will be grateful and return the favour. Keep it in mind. Something better might come along. Gut instinct.]

Okay. You can keep stream. You had a lot to throw away.:)

Happy writing to you too.:)

The Dude.:D

Fair's fair, you call me a nerd.

Weird is the new badass, dude. Embrace it.

And fuck you, right, never cut any slack! It's writing, which is a form of insanity, and also a form of war.

Thanks for the feedback, and the skirmishes on the compatriot battleground.

You're a dear. (And you probably can't be my baby-momma anyway, because like, I don't have a winkie.)

Stuff gets washed up on the beach near here, like empty jars of pasta sauce and deodorant bottles. Occasionally a shoe - which makes me feel an urgent need to return the shoe back to whoever lost it cause it feels like something too intimate to be upturned in the sand. So I liked the stained mattress cause it felt the same as a shoe (hope that makes sense). I really liked this bit:

"When I'm inside the quiet  
of my own mental dump,  
the fecund taint of my  
thoughts,  
are orbited by  
 
you."

'Fecund' and 'dump' seem to come together to create this great heavy soup.
And it made me smile how those plastic bags go from "hello" to "fuck off" cause that's just what it seems like when the wind catches the plastic suddenly, and makes that quick snap sound where before it was just waving gently.
I wasn't sure about the word 'dripping' in the third to last line, didn't seem to fit right for me alongside the other images, but that's really just a slight quibble.  

Thank you! Wow! 'Preciate it!

I'll think about the dripping. I know what you mean, but I just like it, you know? It's NOT flawless in the context.

If you can think of something else, please feel free to suggest something else.

Thanks again, badass review.
Betty

I was thinking maybe wilting instead of dripping would work well up against the foliage. But if dripping is what's working and feeling right for you then you should just ignore that suggestion and go with what your instinct says.

I'm going to plug in wilting and stare at it for a bit, see if it makes me break out in showtunes. Thanks for the suggestion, I'll see how it works!

**EDIT: I tried wilting, then promptly tried waving, which is better than dripping. So thanks for the inspiration.

A marvelous blip in time Betty...loneliness goes with okra, too!!!

Nice ride to the dump.....

Strider

Thanks man,

Betty