# The Galloping Ghosts



## mark_schaeffer (Mar 15, 2017)

Searching for the spelling 
to google a classmate’s name, 
I wrench my high school yearbook, 
The Oracle, from boiled finance papers 
in the hutch. Hurdles or goalposts 
on a green border fan into white.
Inside, puckered oblong faces 
aim above camera; flips and crew cuts 
trade pages with bouffants and pompadours.
A senior’s outstretched arm braces the Tower of Pisa.  
Our avatars pop up in pairs: 
the Most Popular confidently steer a corner, 
the Most Likely to Succeed sandwich 
between the long gone and the long lost.
The skirts of the cheerleading squad 
brush the ground like an honor guard;
the one I wanted looks like Nikki Charm.
Mike Sachs, our wizard, looks like Malcolm X;
Key Club, Photography, Latin 1, 2, 3 -
is this my school?
Our voices manufactured, pre-War.

Seeing Juniors, I stalk murky images 
of teams and clubs for two world-class hotties.
Our Best Looking pose on a staircase,
april skinned Amy Foster, fawn-
like in a cardigan with chalet.
How come I never looked at her?
The ones I chased don’t look quite right.

In the gymnasium, the fleecy roll call
slanted higher as who was voted best 
at what detonated, subject by subject.
With so little beside my name, 
I tally those with only name and address.
A photo coils in the wishes 
of a golf team rival: “To the best number 
2, 3, 4 or 5 on the planet.” 
I find my classmate - her picture’s next to mine.

Obviously not shown: coming downstairs
for the first hop in gold blazer,
plaid shirt, red vest & white tie.
“At least take one piece off,” my father tooted.
Navy suits were still a mystery 
as I orbited the plum-hued vixen
I told everyone I’d set my sights on.
Under sudden fronds, I lasted thirty seconds.
The odd things that come back:
locker combinations, integrals, a lucky punch.
A throw in gym that took the legs out
from under the Best Looking.
Friends who didn’t serve, missing in action.  
Turning pages, I relive reunions I never went to. 
In lives filled with choice,
glad tidings celebrate what we didn’t get.
We’re all Honors students now.


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## j.w.olson (Mar 15, 2017)

Nicely done. I started reading this and pretty quickly figured it was filled with too much realism to be my kind of poem, but chose to keep going. I'm glad I did. You brought up insightful reflections that I can relate to, which pulled me in, and your writing is very clean and thoughtful, which kept me going. I like where I ended up.

Many good lines, but the two that stand out still post-reading are "The ones I chased don’t look quite right" and "I relive reunions I never went to."

Solid poem. If anything, in revision, consider doing more with the military theme buried in it? The title also led me to expect a rather different poem.


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## sas (Mar 15, 2017)

Love this. And, yes, a poem. I am trying to write mine with more prose (so, my family understands them without the "cliff notes" I must provide). 
Forgive me, but I know it must be Vietnam War you insert. That meant "the draft" (glad tidings, too subtle) which gave "no choice" for the future of some. Many of my 1962 graduating friends did not make our 10th reunion. Therefore, forgive me for suggesting any change to this poem....consider:

Friends who didn’t serve; missing in action. 
In lives filled with choice, or some no choice,
glad tidings celebrate what we didn’t get.
Turning pages, I relive reunions I never went to. 
We’re all Honors students now.

Note: I was not English major, but felt semi-colon should be used between "serve;missing".  Otherwise, it looked like those who served were also missing. And, "no choice" I felt, too important an impact, on our generation, not to include. Hope you feel the same.  

Nice work, pal.  sas
.


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## mark_schaeffer (Mar 15, 2017)

sas said:


> Friends who didn’t serve; missing in action.
> In lives filled with choice, or some no choice,
> glad tidings celebrate what we didn’t get.
> Turning pages, I relive reunions I never went to.
> We’re all Honors students now.



Friends who didn't serve, missing in action.         ---- comma intended, saying the friends who didn't serve are also MIA - have severed all ties with high school


In lives filled with choice                                  ---- jumps forward to the present time, classmates are now able to look back on their lives


Nice try.


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## dannyboy (Mar 16, 2017)

enjoyed the read, thank you


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## mark_schaeffer (Mar 16, 2017)

dannyboy said:


> enjoyed the read, thank you



Any thoughts on how I can improve it?


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## sas (Mar 16, 2017)

mark_schaeffer said:


> Friends who didn't serve, missing in action.         ---- comma intended, saying the friends who didn't serve are also MIA - have severed all ties with high school
> 
> 
> In lives filled with choice                                  ---- jumps forward to the present time, classmates are now able to look back on their lives
> ...




LOL at "nice try". Guess I'll need to write my own reunion poem about Vietnam classmates gone missing. It took an astonishing toll. It's becoming just history to some. It's personal with me. Your poem was perfect for one. Perfect.


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## Ariel (Mar 16, 2017)

You've created an identifiable poem here. Any person with the American high school experience can relate.

The language and the form needs to be tightened up. What message are you trying to convey?  Is this meant to be a reminiscence on high school or, as I suspect, a commentary on how War and time tears people apart?    

I like that you didn't mention Vietnam in the poem as that opens it up to people of any war-sent generation.


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## mark_schaeffer (Mar 16, 2017)

Ariel said:


> You've created an identifiable poem here. Any person with the American high school experience can relate.



Tell that to the New Yorker. Okay, that's my job (those pricks).


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## Firemajic (Mar 16, 2017)

mark_schaeffer said:


> Searching for the spelling
> to google a classmate’s name,
> I wrench my high school yearbook,
> The Oracle, from boiled **finance papers *** "boiled".... interesting word choice..... not sure...
> ...





Love this... of course as you can see, I have some tiny nits to pick... and of course these are just my personal opinions...
I think you did a fabulous job with imagery, mood and message, the line about remembering locker combinations is sublime and it is in these personal details that your story lives and breathes... gives this poem heart and soul and feels authentic...and not contrived...and that is the secret to writing personal poems, that your reader can relate to, sparking and igniting their own personal memories... just remember, in poetry, less is more..


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## mark_schaeffer (Mar 16, 2017)

Firemajic said:


> Love this... of course as you can see, I have some tiny nits to pick... and of course these are just my personal opinions...
> I think you did a fabulous job with imagery, mood and message, the line about remembering locker combinations is sublime and it is in these personal details that your story lives and breathes... gives this poem heart and soul and feels authentic...and not contrived...and that is the secret to writing personal poems, that your reader can relate to, sparking and igniting their own personal memories... just remember, in poetry, less is more..



I'm becoming Pavlovian for your feedback. _Hummed _drove me crazy; of course there's a better word. Damned if I can find it. _Boiled _is my personal favorite.


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## Ariel (Mar 16, 2017)

Murmured would be better than hummed.


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## Firemajic (Mar 16, 2017)

mark_schaeffer said:


> I'm becoming Pavlovian for your feedback. _Hummed _drove me crazy; of course there's a better word. Damned if I can find it. _Boiled _is my personal favorite.




May I ask why "boiled" is your personal favorite....what imagery does that bring to your mind... I am only curious...


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## mark_schaeffer (Mar 16, 2017)

Firemajic said:


> May I ask why "boiled" is your personal favorite....what imagery does that bring to your mind... I am only curious...


_
blanched, puffy, edges turned up, wrecked, aged _ - I like when I find a word that transgresses expectations - it's like those math theorems where you pull something in that feels totally tangential to lock down a seemingy linear and elegant argument


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## mark_schaeffer (Mar 16, 2017)

Ariel said:


> Murmured would be better than hummed.



I wish it were that easy. Looking for a word that captured my father's shock and discomfort. Lots of hours in on this one. Hummed is crap but so is going without sleep.


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## Firemajic (Mar 16, 2017)

mark_schaeffer said:


> _
> blanched, puffy, edges turned up, wrecked, aged _ - I like when I find a word that transgresses expectations - it's like those math theorems where you pull something in that feels totally tangential to lock down a seemingy linear and elegant argument




Well of course I LOVE it, when a poet uses an ordinary, mundane word in a new, unique way... almost like giving that word a new meaning... it is, for me, the essence of creativity... taking a good poem to the sublime..


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## Ariel (Mar 16, 2017)

Considering the ensemble I would have been shocked and horrified too.

Consider that humming is a happy sound when produced by humans. It's something we do when we're pleased.


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## mark_schaeffer (Mar 16, 2017)

Ariel said:


> Considering the ensemble I would have been shocked and horrified too.
> 
> Consider that humming is a happy sound when produced by humans. It's something we do when we're pleased.



Well he realized this was the first dance I had ever gone to and he was trying to be supportive as well.


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## Ariel (Mar 16, 2017)

I'm thinking you are too emotionally invested to workshop this piece. I suggest setting it aside and letting it rest. Unfortunately, in workshop, you're going to be told to kill your darlings and your reactions have informed me that you aren't ready for that with this piece.


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## mark_schaeffer (Mar 16, 2017)

Ariel said:


> I'm thinking you are too emotionally invested to workshop this piece. I suggest setting it aside and letting it rest. Unfortunately, in workshop, you're going to be told to kill your darlings and your reactions have informed me that you aren't ready for that with this piece.



Hold the phone -

Obviously not shown: coming downstairs
for the first hop in gold blazer,
plaid shirt, red vest & white tie.
“At least take one piece off,” my father *tooted*.


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## Firemajic (Mar 16, 2017)

TOOTED????[-(......................ale:


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## mark_schaeffer (Mar 16, 2017)

Firemajic said:


> Under sudden fronds, I lasted thirty seconds.*** another line, I am not sure how it serves your message...



Another favorite line; maybe my favorite. Poem is about failed hopes. Dancing under a large potted plant and blowing out with the girl of your dreams after thirty seconds has got to qualify.


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## Firemajic (Mar 16, 2017)

O...... OOooo.... Gotcha.... bummmmer...


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## mark_schaeffer (Mar 16, 2017)

Firemajic said:


> TOOTED????[-(......................ale:



Tooted is goofy; tooted works. Goofy is one of the story lines.  :mrgreen:  :mrgreen:  :witless:


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## sas (Mar 17, 2017)

I wonder if everyone understood "hop".  Maybe that awful song made it infamous: At The Hop.  I danced to it; never liked it. Geez, isn't there another word than "tooted"? Sounds like he farted when he said it. You can toot your own horn, but that's not what he was doing. He could "blare".


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## Firemajic (Mar 17, 2017)

sas said:


> Geez, isn't there another word than "tooted"? Sounds like he farted when he said it. You can toot your own horn, but that's not what he was doing. He could "blare".





:coffeescreen:'nuff said..... okkk, it's NOT!!! Seeeeriously can't stop laughing... ummm.... but yeah, sas is right... soooo....


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## Darkkin (Mar 17, 2017)

sas said:


> I wonder if everyone understood "hop".  Maybe that awful song made it infamous: At The Hop.  I danced to it; never liked it. Geez, isn't there another word than "tooted"? Sounds like he farted when he said it. You can toot your own horn, but that's not what he was doing. He could "blare".



Bugled...It means to trumpet or bellow in a brash or brassy fashion.


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## Firemajic (Mar 17, 2017)

" My father advised"...


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## sas (Mar 17, 2017)

Firemajic said:


> " My father advised"...



I'm pretty sure Mark wants the unusual word. I'd suggest: "sputtered", but don't think odd enough, but probably accurate. It is a challenge. Hmmm.


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## sas (Mar 17, 2017)

"He cocked".  
Hmmm. Has similar irreverence as, "tooted", but shows his authority over son, too.


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## mark_schaeffer (Mar 17, 2017)

Good grief.


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## sas (Mar 17, 2017)

Mark,  We do get carried away, sometimes. But, sometimes "toots" on the wall stick. Or, is that mud?


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## Kevin (Mar 17, 2017)

'Tooted' does not instantly make me think of fart. I'm too mature for that (snicker). No, seriously. I think it works. Hop is a school dance. Still is..( my son went to several).


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## Firemajic (Mar 17, 2017)

Kevin said:


> 'Tooted' does not instantly make me think of fart. I'm too mature for that (snicker). No, seriously. I think it works.*** Hop is a school dance. Still is.***.( my son went to several).



My father jived... THERE!!! WOOOOOOT!!!! Hop is a dance... jive is slang for dancing.... hahahaaa.... DAMN...


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## Firemajic (Mar 17, 2017)

Jive talking [slang] : To speak to someone in an exaggerated, teasing way...


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## sas (Mar 17, 2017)

I am not mature. Farts.


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## sas (Mar 17, 2017)

Well, my granddaughters do not say "hop" for dance. So, just how old are your children, Kevin? LOL. I have no objection to use of "hop" in this poem, as it fits the era. Let those ignorant of it google stuff like I must.


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## dannyboy (Mar 17, 2017)

Hop is fine, tooted I didn't like but thought it might be a cultural difference. Can not ever image a father "tooting" - for me tooted is soft and weak. A child toots on a toy bugle, a man makes it blare/blast/scream/etc. but then maybe thats all my John and Betty books.


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