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Shot Down
Exploding bodies, blood galore,
And wreckage don't appear.
Instead of ruin's final roar
Destroying all I sought and more,
She drips a quiet tear
And sips her second beer.
"It isn't you." Her gentle sigh
Would lose to any gale.
"It's me." Her whisper—not a cry—
Remains a wisp and doesn't try
To gouge, uproot, impale:
It simply ends the tale.
Before a mountain's vast redoubt,
With rope and stalwart will,
I might perhaps attempt to rout
The fate that looms to stomp me out.
I'd face the deathly chill
And overcome the ill.
She sniffles, though, and shakes her head.
An avalanche, it's not,
But scattered, strewn, and left for dead,
Dismembered dreams, their spirits fled,
Accept their final lot.
The battle goes unfought.
Heroic efforts overcome
A raging storm by force.
Rejection—simple, straight and glum—
Declares a moratorium
On action's easy course.
I nod, constrained and hoarse.
And wreckage don't appear.
Instead of ruin's final roar
Destroying all I sought and more,
She drips a quiet tear
And sips her second beer.
"It isn't you." Her gentle sigh
Would lose to any gale.
"It's me." Her whisper—not a cry—
Remains a wisp and doesn't try
To gouge, uproot, impale:
It simply ends the tale.
Before a mountain's vast redoubt,
With rope and stalwart will,
I might perhaps attempt to rout
The fate that looms to stomp me out.
I'd face the deathly chill
And overcome the ill.
She sniffles, though, and shakes her head.
An avalanche, it's not,
But scattered, strewn, and left for dead,
Dismembered dreams, their spirits fled,
Accept their final lot.
The battle goes unfought.
Heroic efforts overcome
A raging storm by force.
Rejection—simple, straight and glum—
Declares a moratorium
On action's easy course.
I nod, constrained and hoarse.
Not with a bang, but with a whimper. Some things are insurmountable because they don't present a face to surmount to begin with—just a sharp, ringing dissonance and the weight of responsibility of negotiating it alone. This digs deep, and the form flows with the meaning, especially the couplets at the end of each stanza and the way many of them have ending stops on both lines.
When I scrutinize this, there's areas that feel weak to me by comparison to the surrounding text: “drips” feels out of place when contrasting to gore, “whisper”/“wisp” clangs some, “overcome the ill” feels a bit underjustified, and the ending feels subtly off in a way I can't quite place. But when I'm not specifically picking it apart, those all seem much less important. Definitely in the upper tier of the crop.
Tastes like: overripe kimchi, eaten straight from the jar while standing over the sink. In this case, that's not a bad thing.
Thank you for writing, author.
When I scrutinize this, there's areas that feel weak to me by comparison to the surrounding text: “drips” feels out of place when contrasting to gore, “whisper”/“wisp” clangs some, “overcome the ill” feels a bit underjustified, and the ending feels subtly off in a way I can't quite place. But when I'm not specifically picking it apart, those all seem much less important. Definitely in the upper tier of the crop.
Tastes like: overripe kimchi, eaten straight from the jar while standing over the sink. In this case, that's not a bad thing.
Thank you for writing, author.
Wow, I love the work that went into getting this form. Is it a pre-defined one or something you invented? The rhythm scheme is fairly complex, but the meter and rhymes are all flawless. By the end of the first stanza, it's set up the situation well enough, just with the quote, that the reader knows what he's talking about. It's a familiar enough situation. But I still like the exploration given to it, and the juxtaposition of how it's a meek resolution instead of a lot of bluster.
Rejected now, I am forlorn
And bitter grief assuage.
I do not turn to useless scorn
Or seek to stifle hope unborn
Or fly to useless rage...
I sigh, and turn the page.
And bitter grief assuage.
I do not turn to useless scorn
Or seek to stifle hope unborn
Or fly to useless rage...
I sigh, and turn the page.
>>Light_Striker
>>Pascoite
>>GroaningGreyAgony
Thanks, folks:
And congrats to the other medalists. This is a form I might've made up, or maybe Kipling does something like it--I don't recall. It's a variation on what's called either "common meter" or "fourteeners" with a couple extra lines stuck in to make those couplets in the middle.and at the end. I was going to call this "No Means No" originally, but all the bloody imagery made me change the title. :)
Mike
>>Pascoite
>>GroaningGreyAgony
Thanks, folks:
And congrats to the other medalists. This is a form I might've made up, or maybe Kipling does something like it--I don't recall. It's a variation on what's called either "common meter" or "fourteeners" with a couple extra lines stuck in to make those couplets in the middle.and at the end. I was going to call this "No Means No" originally, but all the bloody imagery made me change the title. :)
Mike