# Special Delivery



## Chesters Daughter

A dusting of powdered sugar
did not sweeten the landscape.
The wind, dissatisfied with nipping,
began to gnaw on naked hands
that refused to relinquish their treasure.

Booted feet abandoned the tarmac
leaving behind a lonesome trail
as ghastly gusts enraged at intrusion
furiously sought to erase
the blemish of my presence.

Riled at my progress,
unseen fists hurled crystal daggers,
peppering my face with pinpricks
and reducing my eyes to slits,
but still, I trod on.

Destination achieved,
I pried purple claws
free from their prize 
to wipe clean a plaque
revealing five raised letters
bathed in lusterless gold leaf,
as frigid as the wicked wind
who claimed this place as her own.
Two, once so vital, reduced
to a name jutting from bronze
in the bosom of a field.

I weighted their gift with stones
as a greedy gale ripped 
the whisper from my lips
flinging it into infinity;
yet they heard me nonetheless.
"Why you both loved this place
is a mystery to me.
I've brought your tree."

An eruption of salted lava
was stolen from my cheeks 
by an airy thief 
as I fastened a taffeta ribbon
to keep it safe from flight
though tainted talons tugged
with ferocious might.
I turned to leave 
with her formidable force
pummellng the length of my back,
so eager was she for my departure.

As I reached the gate
I placed my face 
directly into the path of wrath
and with a smile
fought squall with squall
"Chuff all you like, you vicious bitch,
I'll still be back for New Year's!"




I dug this one up (pun intended, my parents would expect nothing less) for tomorrow is slated as Delivery day. Thanks so much for reading.


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## Bachelorette

Hey Lisa, nice to see you posting again.

It's interesting the way the wording of the piece is so frigid and formal when the narrator is obviously on such a personal errand. (My guess is, she's visiting a grave site? Yes?) It fits in well with the setting of the bitterly cold winter day, but I'd really like to see a bit of warm emotion injected into this, even if it's only a line or two. If, however, the dearly departed wasn't exactly "dear", and hence the stiffness of the language, some indication of that ought to be present in the poem. The narrator's yelling at the wind and cold at the end of the poem suggests that what she's doing, however, is more than a mere formality. So, again, I'd like to see just a smidgen of light and warmth toward the deceased standing out like a candle in the darkness. Overall, though, I have no further nitpicking.

Except for this. One thing I would like to ask, since your're a mod: why did you post this in the prose poetry section when it's not a prose poem? As a matter of fact, most, if not all, of the poems posted in this section aren't prose poems. A prose poem is a piece of writing that has all the trappings of a poem, but is written in the form of prose (i.e., paragraphs and no line breaks). I haven't looked at every single poem in this thread, but most of what I see here is just regular free verse that could just as easily be posted on the main boards. Not trying to be a jerk about it or anything, I'm just curious, wondering what your thoughts are, as a mod and all. Hopefully that question won't derail the thread and take away from people talking about your poem...


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## Gumby

Perhaps because I know how much you loved your parents, I've never gotten the same feeling from this as Bachelorette did. To me, it's always been more about your devotion to them and your battle with the elements to honor their memory, though I know that the elements aren't the only thing you battle. I love that last line and the spirit of defiance shown with the words.  *Big Hugs*


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## Firemajic

This sounds like something I would do--and indeed--have done..Oh the things I have left at Mom's grave...Notes and pictures and flowers for Mother's Day and birthdays. In the first years of her loss, I was unable to NOT take her something.I connected to this on such a personal level that it is hard for me to be objective. Well done. Peace...Jul


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## Chesters Daughter

Sorry for the delay, my ladies.




Bachelorette said:


> Hey Lisa, nice to see you posting again.
> 
> 
> It's interesting the way the wording of the piece is so frigid and formal when the narrator is obviously on such a personal errand. (My guess is, she's visiting a grave site? Yes?) It fits in well with the setting of the bitterly cold winter day, but I'd really like to see a bit of warm emotion injected into this, even if it's only a line or two. If, however, the dearly departed wasn't exactly "dear", and hence the stiffness of the language, some indication of that ought to be present in the poem. The narrator's yelling at the wind and cold at the end of the poem suggests that what she's doing, however, is more than a mere formality. So, again, I'd like to see just a smidgen of light and warmth toward the deceased standing out like a candle in the darkness. Overall, though, I have no further nitpicking.
> 
> 
> Except for this. One thing I would like to ask, since your're a mod: why did you post this in the prose poetry section when it's not a prose poem? As a matter of fact, most, if not all, of the poems posted in this section aren't prose poems. A prose poem is a piece of writing that has all the trappings of a poem, but is written in the form of prose (i.e., paragraphs and no line breaks). I haven't looked at every single poem in this thread, but most of what I see here is just regular free verse that could just as easily be posted on the main boards. Not trying to be a jerk about it or anything, I'm just curious, wondering what your thoughts are, as a mod and all. Hopefully that question won't derail the thread and take away from people talking about your poem...




First we'll tackle the Prose Poetry stuff. You're completely correct regarding this piece, it doesn't belong here and I shall move it as soon as I'm through with this reply. I was hopping around so much the other night and got called away by unwell whining from one of the offspring. I thought I'd plunked myself down on the main board before my break, came back and hit post new thread without realizing I wasn't where I was supposed to be. Then, like an idiot, I made one last reply and never checked my own new thread. As to all the poems posted here, some I move, but those written in overly prosaic language, I leave be. I thought prior to your inquiry that the paragraph form was not requisite as long as the piece read prosaically. Learn something new everyday. lol. Did some research, this link is very helpful for those who are interested: *** Prose Poetry ***. As all things poetic, barring form pieces such as sonnets etc., what classifies as what can be arguable and often up to individual interpretation. I most certainly am not an almighty authority whose determination is etched in stone to be revered. It's begging torture to tell an artist what they've created, especially if you aren't on the same page as they are. Therefore, sometimes it's best to leave well enough alone. Should our discussion spur further discussion from others, I'll create a thread in Poetic Discussion and move all the comments there to avoid derailing the thread further. And you are most certainly not a jerk, Ms. B, your inquiry was quite valid and enveloped some of my own concerns regarding this sub-forum.


Onto the piece. I never saw this as frigid and formal until you mentioned it. Actually, the main focus is the weather itself, (even the caress of a sun-kissed breeze turns into gale in that place, I suppose it's the location of the landscape as well as the absence of skyscrapers and complexes to buffer the wind) with the anguish of loss subtly threaded through. I hated going to that place, my parents don't belong there and it depressed me beyond measure, but I've come to terms with it of late. I cannot write of my true emotions for like any wise turtle, when threatened by hurt I retract the parts prone to damage and store them safely within a hardened shell, hence the detached tone, it's how I survive. Should I write how I really feel, I'd turn into a saline soaked puddle of mush that would surely evaporate before I could pull myself together. I believe my emotions can be seen, but just a little, in that I consider the tree a treasure to be delivered at all costs because it was important to my parents. The last three lines of S4 also hints at my distress, as does the barrage of tears in S6. In S5 I whisper out of respect and because speaking aloud would make it all too real for me to bear. And the fact that I am returning so soon to battle the elements yet again, is supposed to speak of my devotion. I hope some of it is a little more accessible in light of my explanation. Thanks so much, Ms. B, for your honesty and astute observations across the board.




Gumby said:


> Perhaps because I know how much you loved your parents, I've never gotten the same feeling from this as Bachelorette did. To me, it's always been more about your devotion to them and your battle with the elements to honor their memory, though I know that the elements aren't the only thing you battle. I love that last line and the spirit of defiance shown with the words.  *Big Hugs*




You've quieted the ever flapping tongue, or rather clickety clacking fingers, dear Cin. This is all I've got: I love you, Sis, thank you ever so much.




Firemajic said:


> This sounds like something I would do--and indeed--have done..Oh the things I have left at Mom's grave...Notes and pictures and flowers for Mother's Day and birthdays. In the first years of her loss, I was unable to NOT take her something.I connected to this on such a personal level that it is hard for me to be objective. Well done. Peace...Jul




Dear Jul, Daddy died 23 years ago, I wouldn't go, couldn't go, it drove my Mom insane. When Mom passed four years ago, I had to go, someone had to bring all the accoutrements for the holidays and birthdays. We leave cards and flowers also. Up until last spring, I left there destroyed for days. Last spring, I sat on a bench with the sun shining on me and all I felt was a deep peace and comfort, it was like they were flanking me on that bench, so now I'm okay with it. I pray that you, too, will encounter such peace. Big hugs my friend, I've upset you yet again and I am truly sorry. I'm praying for you, love.


Thank you so much my dear ladies.


Oodles of warmth and exuberant wishes for an excellent holiday season,
Me


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## Firemajic

Oh dear---not upset at all!! I know how you feel though... when one of my family members is in crises, we know where to find them--at Mom's grave...I related to this poem. Thanks. Peace...Jul


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## Olly Buckle

Most affecting, I guess it will make us all think of our own deceased.

This is ambiguous.


> Booted feet abandoned the tarmac
> leaving behind a lonesome trail


Does it mean the lonesome tarmac trail or a trail of footsteps in the snow, if the latter then perhaps 'leaving a lonesome trail behind', though there is still a degree of ambiguity there.


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## Bachelorette

> I hated going to that place, my parents don't belong there and it depressed me beyond measure



Ahhh... I see now. Looking back at the poem, I really should have picked up on that but didn't. The explanation does help, but if I'd read what you'd written more carefully, I wouldn't have needed it. I guess I still think the phrasing is a little formal, but now I see it more in the light of being respectful for a solemn occasion, and it works better viewed that way.

RE: Prose Poetry forum

One thing I failed to notice when I made that post was that that the subtitle of the forum was "Prose and _Experimental _Poetry". So really, the subforum encompasses more than just prose poems, since the term "experimental poetry" can mean so many different things to different people. Therefore I retract my inquiry. Best to leave well enough alone, like you said.

I'm terribly sorry for your loss, Lisa, by the way. Here's to the written word, though, giving dignity and vent to our sufferings.


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## Chesters Daughter

Dear Jul, Kick me. I don't know where my head was at, but I misread your initial reply. I've proven myself daft, yet again, you weren't upset, and I'm sorry for thinking it. If these people would just leave me be when I'm on the computer, maybe I could concentrate. Grrr.


Dear Olly, What a pleasure to have your presence in one of my threads. I pray you are faring more than well. I can't thank you enough for affecting, that is the highest compliment we poets can receive in my humble opinion. Onto the ambiguity of the cited lines of:

Booted feet abandoned the tarmac
leaving behind a lonesome trail

To be honest, I thought the following three lines of

as ghastly gusts enraged at intrusion
furiously sought to erase
the blemish of my presence.

made it known it was footprints. My mind is in hyper Christmas prep, but I think I kinda grasp what you're saying. I agree to swap it as you suggested may still leave it up in the air. I understand it because I know my intentions, and I can't seem to see past that at the moment. But if the reader is being lost there, something must be done. If you think it's really that confusing, my only option would be to rewrite those two lines. I've thrown it into the cerebral processing center to see how I may better it. Thanks so much again, dear Olly.


Dear Ms. B, Truly appreciate your stopping back, love. I'm glad it works better with solemnity in mind, and I'm sorry it wasn't easy to follow initially. Sometimes, I'm so off on a tangent, I lose readers in my insanity, lol. I am soooo happy you got me regarding the Prose Poetry stuff, but please, love, always ask when you have concerns. My sincere gratitude for your condolences, I'm happy to report I've abandoned auto-pilot and have begun living again. Time heals all wounds. If I raised my glass to the written word as often as I'd like for all the comfort it's afforded me, I'd be a raging alcoholic in need of a liver transplant, lol. I've said it before, but without the poetry, I'd be quite mad. You're a peach, Ms. B.

Best to all,
Me


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## Olly Buckle

Gottcha, I had taken "furiously sought to erase the blemish of my presence." as being the whole you the storm was assaulting, perhaps change 'as ghastly gusts' to 'which ghastly gusts'?


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## Chesters Daughter

Danke, Olly. I prefer which and want to change it, but that leaves the last line nonsensically dangling. I have to figure out how to alter it just a teeny bit to make it work. I tried just now, but came up empty, hopefully something will click during the day. Thanks again, dear Olly, and in the event our paths don't cross sometime soon, Happy Christmas!


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## Unseen

Reading the first half, I'm cold now thanks  Just kidding, not rlly. lol great work. No arguments here.


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## Chesters Daughter

Welcome to the forums, Unseen! Thank you very much for your kind words. That you felt cold is a compliment of the highest caliber. The windy woman who owns the place was out in full force on Saturday. I was underdressed and paid for it dearly, all me muscles went sore from shivering, lol, I never learn. 

Best,
Lisa


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## saintenitouche

Your imagery is incredible!!! You know, people go on about poets like Robert Frost for the sort of thing you've done here with this landscape, but I'm not a fan of him, as far as I'm concerned you've taken it a couple steps further and introduced real wit and rhythm to such a great representation of nature. As far as I'm concerned this is flawless. And I also have to disagree with Bachelorette, there is some warmth there! _An eruption of salted lava was stolen from my cheeks by an airy thief _Tears? clearly there is tenderness here.


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