Ghosts (revision 3)

[violetdarling]

*revision 3*

The street lamp blinks light.
Dies.
Then blinks again. 
Trapped inside the room, 
a moth pares its wings on the glass, 
falls to the windowsill,
then does it again. 
My eyelids do the same. 

I remember his mouth.
When the ghosts under his tongue 
found mine; stayed there. 
And the birds behind our eyes 
drank too much to leave. 

He told me there's a life 
of everything, elsewhere.
I'd be the flayed moth 
that made it through the glass, 
He, the sun
and my guts would be warm
under him.


Revision #2

The street lamp blinks light.
Dies. Then blinks again.
Trapped inside the room,
a moth pares its wings on the glass,
falls to the windowsill, then does it again.
My eyelids do the same.

I remember his mouth;
how the ghosts under his tongue
found mine, stayed there.
And the birds behind our eyes
drank too much to leave.

He told me there's a life
of everything, elsewhere.
I'd be the flayed moth
that made it through the glass,
He, the sun
and my guts would be warm
under him.



*revision 1*

The street lamp blinks some light, dies, then blinks again.
Trapped inside the room, a moth pares its wings
on the glass, falls to the windowsill, then does it again.
My eyelids do the same.

I remember his mouth;
how the ghosts under his tongue
slid through the gaps of his teeth,
found mine, stayed there.
And the birds behind our eyes
drank too much to leave.

He told me there's a life of everything,
somewhere else; one that isn't made of feathers.
I'd be the flayed moth that made it through the glass,
He, the sun, and my guts would be warmed under him.



*original*
Dark settles on the walls, the street lamp blinks some
light, then dies, then blinks again. A moth- stuck inside
the room- pares its wings on the glass, falls to the
windowsill, then does it again. My eyelids do the same.

I remember his mouth; how the ghosts under
his tongue slid through the cracks of his teeth,
found mine, stayed there. And the birds at the
backs of our eyes drank too much to leave.

He told me there's a life of everything, somewhere
else; one that isn't made of feathers or concrete.
I'd be the flayed moth that made it through the glass,
He, the sun, and my guts would be warmed under him.

[milo]

Hello

Much of this is pretty good, I wonder if you need all of the words though.

Dark settles on the walls, the street lamp blinks some
light, then dies, then blinks again. A moth- stuck inside
the room- pares its wings on the glass, falls to the
windowsill, then does it again. My eyelids do the same.

I don't think "dark settles on the walls" adds anything that the streetlight doesn't say better, I would trim it. Also, don't break on "some" unless you really are going to do something magical with the break (you don't here) I would say eliminate some entirely. I like pares, but is seems dishonest reportage, once a moth's wings are pared, they don't do it again. I would say don't ever break on "the". Some poem may come along some day that pulls it off and proves me wrong -- but it is doubtful.

The street lamp blinks and dies
then blinks again. A moth, trapped inside
pares its wings against the glass, falls
then tries again. My eyelids do the same.

or something along those lines.

I remember his mouth; how the ghosts under
his tongue slid through the cracks of his teeth,
found mine, stayed there. And the birds at the
backs of our eyes drank too much to leave.

I like "ghosts under his tongue" conceptually, but visually the only thing I get is halitosis. "how the" is superfluous. "Cracks of his teeth" suggests terrible oral health, maybe "cracks between his teeth"? "birds at the backs of our eyes" is another phrase that I lke conceptually but I cant make anything of it.

He told me there's a life of everything, somewhere
else; one that isn't made of feathers or concrete.
I'd be the flayed moth that made it through the glass,
He, the sun, and my guts would be warmed under him.

The first line is wordy and inefficient. Lives being made of feathers and concrete? I'm not surprised that lives aren't made of feathers and concrete, only that you are pointing it out. I don't think you developed this concept enough to suddenly allude to it. The last line, again, wordy and inefficient. "He, the sun that warmed my gust" is better but even that needs to be solidified.

Thanks for posting.

[violetdarling]

Hello

Much of this is pretty good, I wonder if you need all of the words though.

Dark settles on the walls, the street lamp blinks some
light, then dies, then blinks again. A moth- stuck inside
the room- pares its wings on the glass, falls to the
windowsill, then does it again. My eyelids do the same.

I don't think "dark settles on the walls" adds anything that the streetlight doesn't say better, I would trim it. Also, don't break on "some" unless you really are going to do something magical with the break (you don't here) I would say eliminate some entirely. I like pares, but is seems dishonest reportage, once a moth's wings are pared, they don't do it again. I would say don't ever break on "the". Some poem may come along some day that pulls it off and proves me wrong -- but it is doubtful.

The street lamp blinks and dies
then blinks again. A moth, trapped inside
pares its wings against the glass, falls
then tries again. My eyelids do the same.

or something along those lines.

I remember his mouth; how the ghosts under
his tongue slid through the cracks of his teeth,
found mine, stayed there. And the birds at the
backs of our eyes drank too much to leave.

I like "ghosts under his tongue" conceptually, but visually the only thing I get is halitosis. "how the" is superfluous. "Cracks of his teeth" suggests terrible oral health, maybe "cracks between his teeth"? "birds at the backs of our eyes" is another phrase that I lke conceptually but I cant make anything of it.

He told me there's a life of everything, somewhere
else; one that isn't made of feathers or concrete.
I'd be the flayed moth that made it through the glass,
He, the sun, and my guts would be warmed under him.

The first line is wordy and inefficient. Lives being made of feathers and concrete? I'm not surprised that lives aren't made of feathers and concrete, only that you are pointing it out. I don't think you developed this concept enough to suddenly allude to it. The last line, again, wordy and inefficient. "He, the sun that warmed my gust" is better but even that needs to be solidified.

Thanks for posting.

Thank you for the thoughtful review.
The advice is greatly appreciated!

I'll try explaining a bit of it: As far as "pares" goes, my thinking on that was of the moths
scales (mostly). A moth can indeed still fly once some or even most of these scales have been lost.
Moths loose some every time they fly/are touched/bang into something. They can also
fly if the edges of their wings are a little frayed (for lack of a better word), it may change
their flight path a little but it's doable. Pares, for me, fitted better than de-scaled, peeled,
Etc. Moths keep 'doing'. The guts part; when you're so totally in love that he sees inside of you.
The nude, vulnerability of trust ...
Hope this explained some of the thought process a little better on that part at least.
I'll look into trying on some of your suggestions; see how they feel. Thanks again.




V.

[billy]

hi violet, i see you left feedback elsewhere :J:
i'm presuming from the moth that it didn't last (in the poem) and like the moth's wings became frayed and worn. i think it's a strong original poem about promises and the frailty of them. i did read your ideas but think i saw something else/more. the poem overall has a dark feel to it, even deathly.
thanks for the read.

Dark settles on the walls, the street lamp blinks some
light, then dies, then blinks again. A moth- stuck inside i like the image the enjambment leads to in the next line.
the room- pares its wings on the glass, falls to the for me the enjambment could be better worked on this line. a suggestion would be to move something up, or move something down.
windowsill, then does it again. My eyelids do the same.

I remember his mouth; how the ghosts under is [I remember his mouth;] needed? we know for the rest of the words it's his mouth.
his tongue slid through the cracks of his teeth, would over work better than through?
found mine, stayed there. And the birds at the
backs of our eyes drank too much to leave. some good images in your metaphor.

He told me there's a life of everything, somewhere
else; one that isn't made of feathers or concrete.
I'd be the flayed moth that made it through the glass,
He, the sun, and my guts would be warmed under him.

[newsclippings]

Dark settles on the walls, the street lamp blinks some
light, then dies, then blinks again. A moth- stuck inside
the room- pares its wings on the glass, falls to the
windowsill, then does it again. My eyelids do the same.
I think you can restructure "does it again" into something more beautiful

I remember his mouth; how the ghosts under
his tongue slid through the cracks of his teeth,
found mine, stayed there. And the birds at the
backs of our eyes drank too much to leave.
this is your best stanza

He told me there's a life of everything, somewhere
else; one that isn't made of feathers or concrete.
I'd be the flayed moth that made it through the glass,
He, the sun, and my guts would be warmed under him.

I don't get the "life of everything" line. Call me daft.
I dunno if you've noticed, but moths turn to dust even when hit with moisture. I'd know, because I've accidentally eaten one.

[ellajam]

Hi, Vi, nice avatar.

I have no suggestion on this, the more I read it the more I wouldn't change a word. At first the blinks turning on instead of off stopped me a bit, and still I'm not sure "found mine" is directed clearly enough, but I'm not messing with it; it's tight and loose and clear to me. Good one.

Dark settles on the walls, the street lamp blinks some
light, then dies, then blinks again. A moth- stuck inside
the room- pares its wings on the glass, falls to the
windowsill, then does it again. My eyelids do the same.

I remember his mouth; how the ghosts under
his tongue slid through the cracks of his teeth,
found mine, stayed there. And the birds at the
backs of our eyes drank too much to leave.

He told me there's a life of everything, somewhere
else; one that isn't made of feathers or concrete.
I'd be the flayed moth that made it through the glass,
He, the sun, and my guts would be warmed under him.

[violetdarling]

Dark settles on the walls, the street lamp blinks some
light, then dies, then blinks again. A moth- stuck inside
the room- pares its wings on the glass, falls to the
windowsill, then does it again. My eyelids do the same.
I think you can restructure "does it again" into something more beautiful

I remember his mouth; how the ghosts under
his tongue slid through the cracks of his teeth,
found mine, stayed there. And the birds at the
backs of our eyes drank too much to leave.
this is your best stanza

He told me there's a life of everything, somewhere
else; one that isn't made of feathers or concrete.
I'd be the flayed moth that made it through the glass,
He, the sun, and my guts would be warmed under him.

I don't get the "life of everything" line. Call me daft.
I dunno if you've noticed, but moths turn to dust even when hit with moisture. I'd know, because I've accidentally eaten one.

"Does it again" ... like the narrators eyelids. And most definitely wouldn't call you daft, M'Lady. Moths can survive in the rain- albeit with less fuzz - but I have to ask, how did you manage to eat one? (my cousin accidentally chewed a fly when it landed on her bubblegum).

---

hi violet, i see you left feedback elsewhere :J:
i'm presuming from the moth that it didn't last (in the poem) and like the moth's wings became frayed and worn. i think it's a strong original poem about promises and the frailty of them. i did read your ideas but think i saw something else/more. the poem overall has a dark feel to it, even deathly.
thanks for the read.

Dark settles on the walls, the street lamp blinks some
light, then dies, then blinks again. A moth- stuck inside i like the image the enjambment leads to in the next line.
the room- pares its wings on the glass, falls to the for me the enjambment could be better worked on this line. a suggestion would be to move something up, or move something down.
windowsill, then does it again. My eyelids do the same.

I remember his mouth; how the ghosts under is [I remember his mouth;] needed? we know for the rest of the words it's his mouth.
his tongue slid through the cracks of his teeth, would over work better than through?
found mine, stayed there. And the birds at the
backs of our eyes drank too much to leave. some good images in your metaphor.

He told me there's a life of everything, somewhere
else; one that isn't made of feathers or concrete.
I'd be the flayed moth that made it through the glass,
He, the sun, and my guts would be warmed under him.

Ahh, Billy. Thank you for your words and I'm really liking the sound of trimming the mouth away. It sounds like... less of a mouthful (no pun intended). Didn't think of 'over'..
Great food for thought!
When I post an edit, can I post it here underneath the original?

Thank you again for the review. As always, it is appreciated.

V

[Todd]

Hi Violet,

Dark settles on the walls, the street lamp blinks some--The issue with moths is that its the light that is important not the dark. Doesn't the street light coming on, imply darkness? I think you could afford to just stay with your central image and not the trappings. I'm not sure if some does anything for you in the line or for the line break, but it doesn't bother me much--just wondering about it mostly.
light, then dies, then blinks again. A moth- stuck inside--Like this line fully. The flickering effect is nice, and it's a good line break. The only call out is to add a hyphen to each side of your em dash (--)
the room- pares its wings on the glass, falls to the--I love pares its wings on the glass. It gives a sense of sharpness. I'd consider breaking the line at fall, as the is an ugly line break
windowsill, then does it again. My eyelids do the same.--This is a cool comparison. I like it a lot.

I remember his mouth; how the ghosts under
his tongue slid through the cracks of his teeth,
found mine, stayed there. And the birds at the
backs of our eyes drank too much to leave.

--I like this strophe except for the break on "the" maybe pull up backs. I wonder why "under" his tongue.

He told me there's a life of everything, somewhere--of seems off here. Also this seems like a vague revelation. I'd like to see something stronger
else; one that isn't made of feathers or concrete.--feathers I get from the birds. Concrete I don't get. Again, you could use wings in some way to encompass the moth also
I'd be the flayed moth that made it through the glass,
He, the sun, and my guts would be warmed under him.--You could potentially shorten this to something like:

He told me there's a life somewhere
else where I'd be the flayed moth that made it
through the glass, He, the sun,
and my guts would be warmed under him.

I'm sure there's something you wanted to convey with the concrete, but you may be able to skip it, and circle back even stronger to your beginning images

Just thoughts. It was a good read.

Best,

Todd

[billy]

hi violet,

what we encourage is to post it over the original in the 1st post as edit 1, edit 2 etc, that way we can see the changes made

Dark settles on the walls, the street lamp blinks some
light, then dies, then blinks again. A moth- stuck inside
the room- pares its wings on the glass, falls to the
windowsill, then does it again. My eyelids do the same.
I think you can restructure "does it again" into something more beautiful

I remember his mouth; how the ghosts under
his tongue slid through the cracks of his teeth,
found mine, stayed there. And the birds at the
backs of our eyes drank too much to leave.
this is your best stanza

He told me there's a life of everything, somewhere
else; one that isn't made of feathers or concrete.
I'd be the flayed moth that made it through the glass,
He, the sun, and my guts would be warmed under him.

I don't get the "life of everything" line. Call me daft.
I dunno if you've noticed, but moths turn to dust even when hit with moisture. I'd know, because I've accidentally eaten one.

"Does it again" ... like the narrators eyelids. And most definitely wouldn't call you daft, M'Lady. Moths can survive in the rain- albeit with less fuzz - but I have to ask, how did you manage to eat one? (my cousin accidentally chewed a fly when it landed on her bubblegum).

---

hi violet, i see you left feedback elsewhere :J:
i'm presuming from the moth that it didn't last (in the poem) and like the moth's wings became frayed and worn. i think it's a strong original poem about promises and the frailty of them. i did read your ideas but think i saw something else/more. the poem overall has a dark feel to it, even deathly.
thanks for the read.

Dark settles on the walls, the street lamp blinks some
light, then dies, then blinks again. A moth- stuck inside i like the image the enjambment leads to in the next line.
the room- pares its wings on the glass, falls to the for me the enjambment could be better worked on this line. a suggestion would be to move something up, or move something down.
windowsill, then does it again. My eyelids do the same.

I remember his mouth; how the ghosts under is [I remember his mouth;] needed? we know for the rest of the words it's his mouth.
his tongue slid through the cracks of his teeth, would over work better than through?
found mine, stayed there. And the birds at the
backs of our eyes drank too much to leave. some good images in your metaphor.

He told me there's a life of everything, somewhere
else; one that isn't made of feathers or concrete.
I'd be the flayed moth that made it through the glass,
He, the sun, and my guts would be warmed under him.

Ahh, Billy. Thank you for your words and I'm really liking the sound of trimming the mouth away. It sounds like... less of a mouthful (no pun intended). Didn't think of 'over'..
Great food for thought!
When I post an edit, can I post it here underneath the original?

Thank you again for the review. As always, it is appreciated.

V

[violetdarling]

Posted a wee revision.
Thank you to all of you!

[Charlesjoseph]

Here is a revised version using some of the fantastic advice given,
Thank you for the help, thus far and I'd really appreciate your feedback once again.
Thanks in advance!

*revision 1*

The street lamp blinks some light, dies, then blinks again.
Trapped inside the room, a moth pares its wings
on the glass, falls to the windowsill, then does it again.
My eyelids do the same.

I remember his mouth;
how the ghosts under his tongue
slid through the gaps of his teeth,
found mine, stayed there.
And the birds behind our eyes
drank too much to leave. ( i love everything from here up great work!)

He told me there's a life of everything,
somewhere else; one that isn't made of feathers.
I'd be the flayed moth that made it through the glass,
He, the sun, and my guts would be warmed under him. ( I love the lines i bolded perhaps a good ending)

(I get lost in the last verse. Please clarify what are you trying to say here? If i'm going to give advice I want to understand what your trying to say first instead of giving blunt feedback. Fill me in and then i'll give you my two cents.) Also this is really good and they should move it to mild critique.
Chazz

*original*
Dark settles on the walls, the street lamp blinks some
light, then dies, then blinks again. A moth- stuck inside
the room- pares its wings on the glass, falls to the
windowsill, then does it again. My eyelids do the same.

I remember his mouth; how the ghosts under
his tongue slid through the cracks of his teeth,
found mine, stayed there. And the birds at the
backs of our eyes drank too much to leave.

He told me there's a life of everything, somewhere
else; one that isn't made of feathers or concrete.
I'd be the flayed moth that made it through the glass,
He, the sun, and my guts would be warmed under him.

[violetdarling]

*revision 1*

The street lamp blinks some light, dies, then blinks again.
Trapped inside the room, a moth pares its wings
on the glass, falls to the windowsill, then does it again.
My eyelids do the same.

I remember his mouth;
how the ghosts under his tongue
slid through the gaps of his teeth,
found mine, stayed there.
And the birds behind our eyes
drank too much to leave. ( i love everything from here up great work!)

He told me there's a life of everything,
somewhere else; one that isn't made of feathers.
I'd be the flayed moth that made it through the glass,
He, the sun, and my guts would be warmed under him. ( I love the lines i bolded perhaps a good ending)

(I get lost in the last verse. Please clarify what are you trying to say here? If i'm going to give advice I want to understand what your trying to say first instead of giving blunt feedback. Fill me in and then i'll give you my two cents.) Also this is really good and they should move it to mild critique.
Chazz

Hi there. Appreciate your feedback, thank you!

The last part.. it's all about the dream and the 'what if'.
Feathers are in relation to having the freedom to uproot/leave everything behind
(The birds behind the eyes are the dreams/wishes.. birds drinking too much is the weight of
knowing the dream will never be realised/tears) even though it's all but impossible.
I'm trying to give a sense of the pain of wanting someone that's always going to be out of reach. Guts: again, the last part being about 'what if's', in that other life, they would be together.. guts are a symbol of the vulnerability, how somebody can see inside- good and ugly. Pared/skinless/nude.

Hope that helps?

Maybe I should try taking the feather part out?
See how a different line would sound?

Thanks again for your generous words.

V

[Todd]

I think it's a good revision. I don't have a lot to call out. I'll spend some more time reading it, and thinking about it. I may be back later.

Here are the minor things that stood out as possible further edits:

(Thanks for the help thus far)

*revision 1*

The street lamp blinks some light, dies, then blinks again.--this pared down opening is much better. Seeing it this way, I don't think you need "some"
Trapped inside the room, a moth pares its wings
on the glass, falls to the windowsill, then does it again.--You have an opportunity to replace "falls" with some word that conveys a sound.
My eyelids do the same.

I remember his mouth;
how the ghosts under his tongue
slid through the gaps of his teeth,--of should probably be replaced with between
found mine, stayed there.
And the birds behind our eyes
drank too much to leave.

He told me there's a life of everything,
somewhere else; one that isn't made of feathers.
I'd be the flayed moth that made it through the glass,
He, the sun, and my guts would be warmed under him.--Maybe condense, "He, the sun, with my guts warmed under him"

So, very nice edit. I hope these comments are useful.

Best,

Todd

[Charlesjoseph]

[quote='violetdarling' pid='147019' dateline='1384267392']
[quote]

*revision 1*

The street lamp blinks some light, dies, then blinks again. (todd's right i think if you cut this it would be stronger.)
Trapped inside the room, a moth pares its wings
on the glass, falls to the windowsill, then does it again.
My eyelids do the same.

I remember his mouth;
how the ghosts under his tongue
slid through the gaps of his teeth, (perhaps you can cut the line completely it works well without it i think. (your decision)
found mine, stayed there.
And the birds behind our eyes
drank too much to leave.

He told me there's a life of everything (i think this is the line that's throwing me off)
somewhere else; one that isn't made of feathers.
I'd be the flayed moth that made it through the glass,
He, the sun, and my guts would be warmed under him. (condensing would be wise)



Maybe I should try taking the feather part out? (probably but maybe you can find a a way to clarify it?)
See how a different line would sound?

Thanks again for your generous words.

V

No worries,
Ok so I gave you a couple ideas based on what i could see. I still think the third verse needs some work but the guts are there... Last two lines should stay.
Good luck,
Chazz

P.s
If you don't already own a copy of this check it out i think you may like it

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Les_Fleurs_du_mal

[Todd]

Sorry to play off another critique (also), but if you do cut the teeth line the enjambment with "tongue/found mine" implies a kiss. That's sort of cool.

[violetdarling]

Thank you again, you guys. I tried changing the structure along with a little trimming here and there.

[Todd]

Okay, first thoughts: I think you're mostly there. The shorter lines help the blinking, moth smacking the window images. They enhance the content. The cuts improve the poem. Very minimal comments below:

Revision #2

The street lamp blinks light.--Here's something you could do here. If you changed the name of the street lamp to street light you could end the line on blink, light would be implied, and it would mirror the last line of this strophe.
Dies. Then blinks again.
Trapped inside the room,
a moth pares its wings on the glass,
falls to the windowsill, then does it again.--what really stands in this revision is the futility and the repetition. I like this a lot
My eyelids do the same.

I remember his mouth;
how the ghosts under his tongue
found mine, stayed there.--So much better
And the birds behind our eyes
drank too much to leave.

He told me there's a life
of everything, elsewhere.--elsewhere is an improvement. Just for the sonics alone
I'd be the flayed moth
that made it through the glass,
He, the sun--Love the breaks
and my guts would be warm
under him.--Love how this is broken up too

You've put a lot of work and thought into this, and it's paying off.

Best,

Todd

[Charlesjoseph]

nice edit, great work violet.
chazz

[violetdarling]

Thank you both. It's very much appreciated.
I tried on "street light" and you're right. It sounds/reads so much better,
Giving an image of light in a more succinct way. Changed "how" to "When"
and ended the previous with a full stop. Still unsure if I've done the right thing?
but maybe I'm thinking about it too much. Thanks again!

[Todd]

I missed the when to how change on my read, but good catch. You were right to make the change.

I don't think you're thinking about it too much. These are usually the way revisions go. You finish, wait for a bit, then see something else ("oh crap! how did I miss that comma). You're in the final leg though, and the poem has developed well.