Death Mask

[Keith]

Edit 1
I wasn’t sure I'd remember the house,
an old photograph was all I had;
self-seeded plants softened the cracks
but the driveway was still black and white.

Arthur’s shape opened the door
his face gouged like sculptors clay,
thin lines stretched over cheek bones
thumbed deep into eye sockets.

The meniscus of old age had bottled his vision
but he still carried a whiskey gruffness
that reminded me of forgotten songs
and pearl inlays.

Pyjamas protruded under his clothes
as he moved towards his chair
touching each ledge like a child learning to walk;
stroke is such a gentle word.

The room had held onto its memory,
Margaret and Jimmy
smiling behind a layer of dust
worn out and worn down,
family and furniture held in echoes.

He spoke in bursts, bending each exhaled breath
to make the sounds.
he told me how much he missed my mother.
“She
wath
mi
baby
sithter ”
I know I said and took his hand.
His old Jack Russell
lifted its head to sniff the air.
“Heths
fuckin
farthted
again”
I know I said,
and let go of his hand.



Original
I wasn’t sure I would remember the house
an old photograph was all I had,
self seeded plants softened the cracks
but the driveway was still black and white.

Arthur’s skeleton opened the door,
his face gouged like sculptors clay
thin lines under cheek bones
thumbed deep into eye sockets.

The meniscus of old age bottled his vision
but he still had a Whiskey gruffness
that reminded me of forgotten songs
and pearl inlays.

Pyjamas protruded from under his clothes
as he moved around the room to fall fireside,
touching each ledge like a child learning to walk,
stroke is such a gentle word.
The room had kept hold of its memory,
veneered in dust and damp that crept out of the carpet
slowly making it hard to see, hard to remember.

He spoke in bursts, bending each exhaled breath
to make the sounds.
he told me how much he missed my mother.
“She
was
my
baby
sister”
I know I said and took his hand.
His old Jack Russell
lifted its head to sniff the air.
“He’s
fuckin
farted
again”
I know I said,
and let go of his hand.

[Erthona]

There's enough ambiguity here that one has to read it a time or three to see if it is real or if this is just happening in the speaker's mind. It is a good use of ambiguity as it forces the reader to pull in the essence of what is going on.

One part that does not work is the single word per line usage, I have nothing better to offer though.

I really liked "a Whiskey gruffness that reminded me of forgotten songs and pearl inlays."

All in all this is a nice sketch, what is problematic is there is nothing in the poem that makes the read care about it. There is that, which draws the reader in because he wants to find out what is going own, but beyond that there is nothing. The poem is sterile. For myself I would describe it as cute macabre. As such it is neither fish nor fowl, though one could say it is somewhat foul. Aristotle said that to succeed in a comedy one needs some amount of drama and for drama some amount of comedy. This poem seems to have reached the balancing point of fifty-fifty.

Best,


dale

[Keith]

There's enough ambiguity here that one has to read it a time or three to see if it is real or if this is just happening in the speaker's mind. It is a good use of ambiguity as it forces the reader to pull in the essence of what is going on.

One part that does not work is the single word per line usage, I have nothing better to offer though.

I really liked "a Whiskey gruffness that reminded me of forgotten songs and pearl inlays."

All in all this is a nice sketch, what is problematic is there is nothing in the poem that makes the read care about it. There is that, which draws the reader in because he wants to find out what is going own, but beyond that there is nothing. The poem is sterile. For myself I would describe it as cute macabre. As such it is neither fish nor fowl, though one could say it is somewhat foul. Aristotle said that to succeed in a comedy one needs some amount of drama and for drama some amount of comedy. This poem seems to have reached the balancing point of fifty-fifty.  

Best,


dale

Thanks for the considered feedback Dale, it is always good to know what works and what doesn't, I was disappointed that the single words don't work because like you I have no were else to go with that. Without connection sterility is inevitable so I will have a think on that score. Best Keith

[ellajam]

Hi, Keith, heartbreaking. Some notes below.

I wasn’t sure I would remember the house
an old photograph was all I had,
self seeded plants softened the cracks
but the driveway was still black and white.
I'm missing the comma after house, then you could semicolon at the end of L2 if you want.
I like the feeling of of the familiar/unknown here.

Arthur’s skeleton opened the door,
his face gouged like sculptors clay
thin lines under cheek bones
thumbed deep into eye sockets.
Again, maybe a semicolon after clay, it needs something.
This works for me too, maybe something other than "under", blanketed, masked, something better.


The meniscus of old age bottled his vision
but he still had a Whiskey gruffness
that reminded me of forgotten songs
and pearl inlays.
I'm not sure why Whiskey is upper case, but lovely lines, I'm not sure about the but opening that line.

Pyjamas protruded from under his clothes Love this, great image.
as he moved around the room to fall fireside, I'm unsure about "fall fireside".
touching each ledge like a child learning to walk,
stroke is such a gentle word. Beautiful.
The room had kept hold of its memory,
veneered in dust and damp that crept out of the carpet
slowly making it hard to see, hard to remember.
While these last three lines are sound, I'm not sure you need them, indeed, it would be shocking if the place was anything other.

He spoke in bursts, bending each exhaled breath
to make the sounds.
he told me how much he missed my mother.
“She
was
my
baby
sister”
I know I said and took his hand.
His old Jack Russell
lifted its head to sniff the air.
“He’s
fuckin
farted
again”
I know I said,
and let go of his hand.
I like the formatting here, it slows and forces the words imitating his speech and expressing the effort it took. I like the hint of a wry smile, or wrinkled nose, at the end.

This touched me, thanks for the read.

[Leanne]

Utterly gorgeous Keith, and with that "common touch" you'll be famous for one day

I've avoided reading other comments in order to react in an unbiased way, so I'm sorry if I say the same thing as has been said before (not super sorry though).

I wasn’t sure I would remember the house -- you could consider contracting to I'd, just for the sake of meter
an old photograph was all I had,
self seeded plants softened the cracks
but the driveway was still black and white.

Arthur’s skeleton opened the door, -- outstanding imagery
his face gouged like sculptors clay
thin lines under cheek bones
thumbed deep into eye sockets.

The meniscus of old age bottled his vision
but he still had a Whiskey gruffness
that reminded me of forgotten songs
and pearl inlays.

Pyjamas protruded from under his clothes
as he moved around the room to fall fireside,
touching each ledge like a child learning to walk, -- colon or em-dash needed here instead of the comma
stroke is such a gentle word. -- the multiple meanings of stroke work beautifully with these two lines together
The room had kept hold of its memory, -- perhaps consider The room had held onto its memory -- only because the harsh consonant sounds of kept jar me out of the soft reverie here
veneered in dust and damp that crept out of the carpet
slowly making it hard to see, hard to remember.

He spoke in bursts, bending each exhaled breath
to make the sounds.
he told me how much he missed my mother.
“She
was
my
baby
sister” -- I can hear the desperate pauses, the struggle to breathe around the words that are deliberately chosen as the most important to say.  This is well done.
I know I said and took his hand.
His old Jack Russell
lifted its head to sniff the air.
“He’s
fuckin
farted
again”
I know I said,
and let go of his hand. -- I love this ending.  I really like the fact that there's that edge of absurdity, and the reader could easily assume it was the dog talking instead

[Tiger the Lion]

Hey Keith. I haven't offered a legitimate crit here in months. The guilt is overwhelming so I beg you don't mind me trying here. I will try to offer some line by line thoughts.

I wasn’t sure I would remember the house some punctuation needed after house(semi-colon or em dash?)
an old photograph was all I had,
self seeded plants softened the cracks self-seeded
but the driveway was still black and white.

Arthur’s skeleton opened the door, I like that his skeleton answered the door, but do skeletons have faces?
his face gouged like sculptors clay
thin lines under cheek bones
thumbed deep into eye sockets.

The meniscus of old age bottled his vision I like the idea of bottled but am wrestling with the conjugation
but he still had a Whiskey gruffness agree this is effective
that reminded me of forgotten songs
and pearl inlays.

Pyjamas protruded from under his clothes I don't like protruded here. Might just be my rusty self. Poked would preserve the alliteration and irk me less. Again, it might just be me.
as he moved around the room to fall fireside,
touching each ledge like a child learning to walk,
stroke is such a gentle word. I love the commentary of this line. Enough that I would consider italicizing stroke for visual emphasis.
The room had kept hold of its memory,
veneered in dust and damp that crept out of the carpet I think there are a few problems with this line. Veneer is meant to be ornate and cover sins, not be the sin, Also, dust and damp tend to sink in more than creep out. 
slowly making it hard to see, hard to remember.

He spoke in bursts, bending each exhaled breath love this
to make the sounds.
he told me how much he missed my mother.
“She Agree this isn't working. It doesn't look like a "burst". Maybe less is more.
was
my
baby
sister”
I knowcomma I saidcomma and took his hand.
His old Jack Russell
lifted its head to sniff the air.
“He’s
fuckin(')
farted
again”
I know I said,
and let go of his hand.

I hope some of this helps. I like the sketch. Thanks for the read,
Paul

[Erthona]

Keith,

Just wanted to add my vote to leanne's suggestion

" you could consider contracting to I'd, just for the sake of meter"

Not for the meter, but it does smooth out the line.

dale

[Todd]

There's something about your writing I enjoy. It's that ephemeral idea of voice that we all struggle to describe but know when we've encountered it. I get that here. I trust the narrator. Let me engage with your words a bit.

I wasn’t sure I would remember the house
an old photograph was all I had,
self seeded plants softened the cracks
but the driveway was still black and white.--This is an interesting opening. So from this approach, the speaker hasn't been around much lately. You can picture them driving through an old neighborhood. It's an interesting way to engage the past. The themes seem to be around how we deal with our past and the progression of time. There's a bit of regret here and also dealing with change. I think self-seeded might need a hyphen. Though language changes a bit and I don't feel like looking it up. I do like the idea though of things that have surrendered to time. It's a way of showing how we all breakdown. Even before the next strophe, we have the photograph and then have the reality. We have the impermanence of memory. This is a nice way to let your image play against your themes. I also like the last line of the driveway being still black and white. Still is a great word as it marks the age of the photograph. It also implies a foreshadowing of a black and white morality or understanding of events.

Arthur’s skeleton opened the door,--wonderful line and the next both for the reference to the title, the imagery, and the wordplay with Arthur's skeleton doing the opening.
his face gouged like sculptors clay
thin lines under cheek bones
thumbed deep into eye sockets.--thumbed works very well with the clay image.

The meniscus of old age bottled his vision--meniscus of old age is neat phrasing. I'm thinking of the joint/knee soreness and I get a sense of tortured movement. Bottled his vision makes me think of extreme glasses.
but he still had a Whiskey gruffness
that reminded me of forgotten songs
and pearl inlays.--lovely sequence

Pyjamas protruded from under his clothes--nice sensory detail
as he moved around the room to fall fireside,
touching each ledge like a child learning to walk,--like the simile
stroke is such a gentle word.-favorite line, favorite observation. Versatile word
The room had kept hold of its memory,--love this idea
veneered in dust and damp that crept out of the carpet--this feels a bit self-conscious to me. Something simpler perhaps.
slowly making it hard to see, hard to remember.--this seems like an odd outcome for the two lines above.

He spoke in bursts, bending each exhaled breath
to make the sounds.--love this phrasing around speaking--absolutely loved it.
he told me how much he missed my mother.--I think more of a slurred word sequence that gives the sense of speech would be better. That could be run together as one word, spaced differently or done in one word sequences as you've done here I'm indifferent. This shows halting to me but not difficulty. I'd like to see both.
“She
was
my
baby
sister”
I know I said and took his hand.
His old Jack Russell
lifted its head to sniff the air.
“He’s
fuckin
farted
again”
I know I said,
and let go of his hand.--Nice slice of life change up at the end.

Very much enjoyed this, Keith.

Best,

Todd

[Achebe]

I wasn’t sure I would remember the house ... I find the poem to be wordy and lacking rhythm. Apart from the 'I'd', I'd suggest using enjambment more and end stopped lines less
an old photograph was all I had, .....'photograph' is a strong line-ending word
self seeded plants softened the cracks ....the alliteration is distracting
but the driveway was still black and white. 


Arthur’s skeleton opened the door,
his face gouged like sculptors clay ..'its'?
thin lines under cheek bones ..'thumbed deep' here and enjambing?
thumbed deep into eye sockets.

The meniscus of old age bottled his vision ..'meniscus' has too many syllables here
but he still had a Whiskey gruffness
that reminded me of forgotten songs
and pearl inlays.

Pyjamas protruded from under his clothes ...too many 'his's and 'he's by this point. Also, the alliteration distracts
as he moved around the room to fall fireside,
touching each ledge like a child learning to walk, ..nice simile
stroke is such a gentle word.
The room had kept hold of its memory,
veneered in dust and damp that crept out of the carpet
slowly making it hard to see, hard to remember.

He spoke in bursts, bending each exhaled breath
to make the sounds.
he told me how much he missed my mother.
“She
was
my
baby
sister” ....nice arrangement
I know I said and took his hand.
His old Jack Russell
lifted its head to sniff the air.
“He’s
fuckin
farted
again”
I know I said,
and let go of his hand. ... I like the additional character of the dog that you've introduced. Helps the storytelling.

Thanks for posting

[lickitysplit]

Keith's --
 
I wasn’t sure I would remember the house punctuation here?
an old photograph was all I had,
self seeded plants softened the cracks
but the driveway was still black and white. Like the photograph? I enjoy the suggestion of fragility (time softens the breaks) that makes me think there has been a divide not resolved. (driveway still black and white)

Arthur’s skeleton opened the door,
his face gouged like sculptors clay
thin lines under cheek bones
thumbed deep into eye sockets. Gouged and thumbed mirror well.

The meniscus of old age bottled his vision
but he still had a Whiskey gruffness
that reminded me of forgotten songs
and pearl inlays. Amazing. Meniscus, whiskey, gruffness all have grit.

Pyjamas protruded from under his clothes
as he moved around the room to fall fireside,
touching each ledge like a child learning to walk,
stroke is such a gentle word. Really powerful
The room had kept hold of its memory,
veneered in dust and damp that crept out of the carpet
slowly making it hard to see, hard to remember. These lines detract from ‘stroke is such’

He spoke in bursts, bending each exhaled breath bending each exhaled breath—pulling me out of the poem. The staccato of his words shows me more effectively.
to make the sounds.
he told me how much he missed my mother.
“She
was
my
baby
sister”
I know I said and took his hand.
His old Jack Russell
lifted its head to sniff the air.
“He’s
fuckin
farted
again”
I know I said,
and let go of his hand. Did the dog fart? Either way, I like the ambiguity!


Really moving meditation, thanks for this.

[Zella]

I quite enjoyed this; it really conveyed many good sensations and had a sweetness about it. I especially loved the twist at the end about the fart, because I could just picture an old geezer saying that just to show he hadn't lost his sense of humor along with great age. Could you entitle it something like,  "Uncle"?

I wasn’t sure I would remember the house
an old photograph was all I had,
self seeded plants softened the cracks
but the driveway was still black and white.

Arthur’s skeleton opened the door,
his face gouged like sculptors clay
thin lines under cheek bones
thumbed deep into eye sockets.

The meniscus of old age bottled his vision
but he still had a Whiskey gruffness
that reminded me of forgotten songs
and pearl inlays.

Pyjamas protruded from under his clothes
as he moved around the room to fall fireside,
touching each ledge like a child learning to walk,
stroke is such a gentle word.                      (not sure why this line is here)
The room had kept hold of its memory,
veneered in dust and damp that crept out of the carpet
slowly making it hard to see, hard to remember.

He spoke in bursts, bending each exhaled breath
to make the sounds.
he told me how much he missed my mother.
“She
was
my
baby
sister”
I know I said and took his hand.
His old Jack Russell
lifted its head to sniff the air.
“He’s
fuckin
farted
again”
I know I said,
and let go of his hand.

[Keith]

Hi Ella thank you for all your comments, you have helped me a great deal with this and I agree with were you set the focus, all in the edit. Thanks for giving this your time. Keith

Hi, Keith, heartbreaking. Some notes below.

I wasn’t sure I would remember the house
an old photograph was all I had,
self seeded plants softened the cracks
but the driveway was still black and white.
I'm missing the comma after house, then you could semicolon at the end of L2 if you want.
I like the feeling of of the familiar/unknown here.

Arthur’s skeleton opened the door,
his face gouged like sculptors clay
thin lines under cheek bones
thumbed deep into eye sockets.
Again, maybe a semicolon after clay, it needs something.
This works for me too, maybe something other than "under", blanketed, masked, something better.


The meniscus of old age bottled his vision
but he still had a Whiskey gruffness
that reminded me of forgotten songs
and pearl inlays.
I'm not sure why Whiskey is upper case, but lovely lines, I'm not sure about the but opening that line.

Pyjamas protruded from under his clothes Love this, great image.
as he moved around the room to fall fireside, I'm unsure about "fall fireside".
touching each ledge like a child learning to walk,
stroke is such a gentle word. Beautiful.
The room had kept hold of its memory,
veneered in dust and damp that crept out of the carpet
slowly making it hard to see, hard to remember.
While these last three lines are sound, I'm not sure you need them, indeed, it would be shocking if the place was anything other.

He spoke in bursts, bending each exhaled breath
to make the sounds.
he told me how much he missed my mother.
“She
was
my
baby
sister”
I know I said and took his hand.
His old Jack Russell
lifted its head to sniff the air.
“He’s
fuckin
farted
again”
I know I said,
and let go of his hand.
I like the formatting here, it slows and forces the words imitating his speech and expressing the effort it took. I like the hint of a wry smile, or wrinkled nose, at the end.

This touched me, thanks for the read.

---

Ha ha famous in my own lunch time me thinks, thank you for the help and punctuation totally agree with areas of focus so it's time to get on with the edit, it's also good to a second opinion on the speech section and I appreciate that.Thank you for taking the time to review and comment. Keith

Utterly gorgeous Keith, and with that "common touch" you'll be famous for one day

I've avoided reading other comments in order to react in an unbiased way, so I'm sorry if I say the same thing as has been said before (not super sorry though).

I wasn’t sure I would remember the house -- you could consider contracting to I'd, just for the sake of meter
an old photograph was all I had,
self seeded plants softened the cracks
but the driveway was still black and white.

Arthur’s skeleton opened the door, -- outstanding imagery
his face gouged like sculptors clay
thin lines under cheek bones
thumbed deep into eye sockets.

The meniscus of old age bottled his vision
but he still had a Whiskey gruffness
that reminded me of forgotten songs
and pearl inlays.

Pyjamas protruded from under his clothes
as he moved around the room to fall fireside,
touching each ledge like a child learning to walk, -- colon or em-dash needed here instead of the comma
stroke is such a gentle word. -- the multiple meanings of stroke work beautifully with these two lines together
The room had kept hold of its memory, -- perhaps consider The room had held onto its memory -- only because the harsh consonant sounds of kept jar me out of the soft reverie here
veneered in dust and damp that crept out of the carpet
slowly making it hard to see, hard to remember.

He spoke in bursts, bending each exhaled breath
to make the sounds.
he told me how much he missed my mother.
“She
was
my
baby
sister” -- I can hear the desperate pauses, the struggle to breathe around the words that are deliberately chosen as the most important to say.  This is well done.
I know I said and took his hand.
His old Jack Russell
lifted its head to sniff the air.
“He’s
fuckin
farted
again”
I know I said,
and let go of his hand. -- I love this ending.  I really like the fact that there's that edge of absurdity, and the reader could easily assume it was the dog talking instead

---

I share your guilt and it's made worse by the number of replies I had to this, but I will say thank you for the feed back all of which is solid and very helpful and will most certainly be used in the edit, I really appreciate your comments and taking the time. Best Keith

Hey Keith. I haven't offered a legitimate crit here in months. The guilt is overwhelming so I beg you don't mind me trying here. I will try to offer some line by line thoughts.

I wasn’t sure I would remember the house some punctuation needed after house(semi-colon or em dash?)
an old photograph was all I had,
self seeded plants softened the cracks self-seeded
but the driveway was still black and white.

Arthur’s skeleton opened the door, I like that his skeleton answered the door, but do skeletons have faces?
his face gouged like sculptors clay
thin lines under cheek bones
thumbed deep into eye sockets.

The meniscus of old age bottled his vision I like the idea of bottled but am wrestling with the conjugation
but he still had a Whiskey gruffness agree this is effective
that reminded me of forgotten songs
and pearl inlays.

Pyjamas protruded from under his clothes I don't like protruded here. Might just be my rusty self. Poked would preserve the alliteration and irk me less. Again, it might just be me.
as he moved around the room to fall fireside,
touching each ledge like a child learning to walk,
stroke is such a gentle word. I love the commentary of this line. Enough that I would consider italicizing stroke for visual emphasis.
The room had kept hold of its memory,
veneered in dust and damp that crept out of the carpet I think there are a few problems with this line. Veneer is meant to be ornate and cover sins, not be the sin, Also, dust and damp tend to sink in more than creep out. 
slowly making it hard to see, hard to remember.

He spoke in bursts, bending each exhaled breath love this
to make the sounds.
he told me how much he missed my mother.
“She Agree this isn't working. It doesn't look like a "burst". Maybe less is more.
was
my
baby
sister”
I knowcomma I saidcomma and took his hand.
His old Jack Russell
lifted its head to sniff the air.
“He’s
fuckin(')
farted
again”
I know I said,
and let go of his hand.

I hope some of this helps. I like the sketch. Thanks for the read,
Paul

---

Keith,

Just wanted to add my vote to leanne's suggestion

" you could consider contracting to I'd, just for the sake of meter"

Not for the meter, but it does smooth out the line.

dale

Yes Dale I agree, already pencilled in for the edit. Cheers Keith

---

Thank you Todd I really appreciate this, your comment in S1 is exactly what I was hoping for so I'm very chuffed it comes across this way. I would also like to thank you for the other considered comments and it's good that a theme has appeared and I can easily agree the weaker line, so it's of to the edit shop for me. Thanks again Keith

There's something about your writing I enjoy. It's that ephemeral idea of voice that we all struggle to describe but know when we've encountered it. I get that here. I trust the narrator. Let me engage with your words a bit.

I wasn’t sure I would remember the house
an old photograph was all I had,
self seeded plants softened the cracks
but the driveway was still black and white.--This is an interesting opening. So from this approach, the speaker hasn't been around much lately. You can picture them driving through an old neighborhood. It's an interesting way to engage the past. The themes seem to be around how we deal with our past and the progression of time. There's a bit of regret here and also dealing with change. I think self-seeded might need a hyphen. Though language changes a bit and I don't feel like looking it up. I do like the idea though of things that have surrendered to time. It's a way of showing how we all breakdown. Even before the next strophe, we have the photograph and then have the reality. We have the impermanence of memory. This is a nice way to let your image play against your themes. I also like the last line of the driveway being still black and white. Still is a great word as it marks the age of the photograph. It also implies a foreshadowing of a black and white morality or understanding of events.

Arthur’s skeleton opened the door,--wonderful line and the next both for the reference to the title, the imagery, and the wordplay with Arthur's skeleton doing the opening.
his face gouged like sculptors clay
thin lines under cheek bones
thumbed deep into eye sockets.--thumbed works very well with the clay image.

The meniscus of old age bottled his vision--meniscus of old age is neat phrasing. I'm thinking of the joint/knee soreness and I get a sense of tortured movement. Bottled his vision makes me think of extreme glasses.
but he still had a Whiskey gruffness
that reminded me of forgotten songs
and pearl inlays.--lovely sequence

Pyjamas protruded from under his clothes--nice sensory detail
as he moved around the room to fall fireside,
touching each ledge like a child learning to walk,--like the simile
stroke is such a gentle word.-favorite line, favorite observation. Versatile word
The room had kept hold of its memory,--love this idea
veneered in dust and damp that crept out of the carpet--this feels a bit self-conscious to me. Something simpler perhaps.
slowly making it hard to see, hard to remember.--this seems like an odd outcome for the two lines above.

He spoke in bursts, bending each exhaled breath
to make the sounds.--love this phrasing around speaking--absolutely loved it.
he told me how much he missed my mother.--I think more of a slurred word sequence that gives the sense of speech would be better. That could be run together as one word, spaced differently or done in one word sequences as you've done here I'm indifferent. This shows halting to me but not difficulty. I'd like to see both.
“She
was
my
baby
sister”
I know I said and took his hand.
His old Jack Russell
lifted its head to sniff the air.
“He’s
fuckin
farted
again”
I know I said,
and let go of his hand.--Nice slice of life change up at the end.

Very much enjoyed this, Keith.

Best,

Todd

---

Thank you Achebe, you've given me something to think about with your feedback and I appreciate you taking the time to read and comment, I will take them into the edit for consideration. Best Keith

I wasn’t sure I would remember the house ... I find the poem to be wordy and lacking rhythm. Apart from the 'I'd', I'd suggest using enjambment more and end stopped lines less
an old photograph was all I had, .....'photograph' is a strong line-ending word
self seeded plants softened the cracks ....the alliteration is distracting
but the driveway was still black and white. 


Arthur’s skeleton opened the door,
his face gouged like sculptors clay ..'its'?
thin lines under cheek bones ..'thumbed deep' here and enjambing?
thumbed deep into eye sockets.

The meniscus of old age bottled his vision ..'meniscus' has too many syllables here
but he still had a Whiskey gruffness
that reminded me of forgotten songs
and pearl inlays.

Pyjamas protruded from under his clothes ...too many 'his's and 'he's by this point. Also, the alliteration distracts
as he moved around the room to fall fireside,
touching each ledge like a child learning to walk, ..nice simile
stroke is such a gentle word.
The room had kept hold of its memory,
veneered in dust and damp that crept out of the carpet
slowly making it hard to see, hard to remember.

He spoke in bursts, bending each exhaled breath
to make the sounds.
he told me how much he missed my mother.
“She
was
my
baby
sister” ....nice arrangement
I know I said and took his hand.
His old Jack Russell
lifted its head to sniff the air.
“He’s
fuckin
farted
again”
I know I said,
and let go of his hand. ... I like the additional character of the dog that you've introduced. Helps the storytelling.

Thanks for posting

---

Hi lickitysplit thank you for your considered comments, I plan to do an edit so all will be used and chewed. Much appreciated Keith.

Keith's --
 
I wasn’t sure I would remember the house punctuation here?
an old photograph was all I had,
self seeded plants softened the cracks
but the driveway was still black and white. Like the photograph? I enjoy the suggestion of fragility (time softens the breaks) that makes me think there has been a divide not resolved. (driveway still black and white)

Arthur’s skeleton opened the door,
his face gouged like sculptors clay
thin lines under cheek bones
thumbed deep into eye sockets. Gouged and thumbed mirror well.

The meniscus of old age bottled his vision
but he still had a Whiskey gruffness
that reminded me of forgotten songs
and pearl inlays. Amazing. Meniscus, whiskey, gruffness all have grit.

Pyjamas protruded from under his clothes
as he moved around the room to fall fireside,
touching each ledge like a child learning to walk,
stroke is such a gentle word. Really powerful
The room had kept hold of its memory,
veneered in dust and damp that crept out of the carpet
slowly making it hard to see, hard to remember. These lines detract from ‘stroke is such’

He spoke in bursts, bending each exhaled breath bending each exhaled breath—pulling me out of the poem. The staccato of his words shows me more effectively.
to make the sounds.
he told me how much he missed my mother.
“She
was
my
baby
sister”
I know I said and took his hand.
His old Jack Russell
lifted its head to sniff the air.
“He’s
fuckin
farted
again”
I know I said,
and let go of his hand. Did the dog fart? Either way, I like the ambiguity!


Really moving meditation, thanks for this.

---

Hi Zella thank you for reading and commenting, Uncle would be a suitable title as you suggest, the line you question is kind of the fulcrum for the poem so it need to be positioned at a point of balance that allowed the reader to move in a certain direction after the line was introduced. In the edit I plan to break the stanza at this point and strengthen the lines that follow. Best Keith

I quite enjoyed this; it really conveyed many good sensations and had a sweetness about it. I especially loved the twist at the end about the fart, because I could just picture an old geezer saying that just to show he hadn't lost his sense of humor along with great age. Could you entitle it something like,  "Uncle"?

I wasn’t sure I would remember the house
an old photograph was all I had,
self seeded plants softened the cracks
but the driveway was still black and white.

Arthur’s skeleton opened the door,
his face gouged like sculptors clay
thin lines under cheek bones
thumbed deep into eye sockets.

The meniscus of old age bottled his vision
but he still had a Whiskey gruffness
that reminded me of forgotten songs
and pearl inlays.

Pyjamas protruded from under his clothes
as he moved around the room to fall fireside,
touching each ledge like a child learning to walk,
stroke is such a gentle word.                      (not sure why this line is here)
The room had kept hold of its memory,
veneered in dust and damp that crept out of the carpet
slowly making it hard to see, hard to remember.

He spoke in bursts, bending each exhaled breath
to make the sounds.
he told me how much he missed my mother.
“She
was
my
baby
sister”
I know I said and took his hand.
His old Jack Russell
lifted its head to sniff the air.
“He’s
fuckin
farted
again”
I know I said,
and let go of his hand.

[Winterloc]

Im new at this so hope I'm ok in this forum. I felt this was really touching, delicate writing, in a good way. Great job of transposing the reader; conveying a sense of place and character. 

Edit 1
I wasn’t sure I'd remember the house,
an old photograph was all I had;
self-seeded plants softened the cracks
but the driveway was still black and white. I like the new comma and semicolon in the first two lines. I thought maybe add another comma in L4 after driveway and omit "was" for less syllables 

Arthur’s shape opened the door
his face gouged like sculptors clay,
thin lines stretched over cheek bones
thumbed deep into eye sockets.

The meniscus of old age had bottled his vision
but he still carried a whiskey gruffness Absolutely love this line; I felt I was standing right in front of him
that reminded me of forgotten songs
and pearl inlays.  This is one of those beautiful delicate details

Pyjamas protruded under his clothes
as he moved towards his chair
touching each ledge like a child learning to walk;
stroke is such a gentle word.

The room had held onto its memory,
Margaret and Jimmy
smiling behind a layer of dust
worn out and worn down,
family and furniture held in echoes. Really nice portrayal throughout whole stanza, though the last line had me confused, like maybe it should be in reverse? I felt the echoes should be within the tangible things like the furniture. But maybe you meant old items that were already gone. 

He spoke in bursts, bending each exhaled breath
to make the sounds.
he told me how much he missed my mother.
“She
wath
mi
baby
sithter" these one word lines are distracting, but I wouldnt undo them completely. Maybe divide them into two groups 
"she wath, (comma)
mi baby sithter"   It would still allow for a pause  
I know I said and took his hand.
His old Jack Russell
lifted its head to sniff the air.
“Heths
fuckin
farthted
again”
I know I said,
and let go of his hand. Again, great job of drawing us in to the simple, real moment throughout whole stanza. 


Thank you for sharing! 


Original
I wasn’t sure I would remember the house
an old photograph was all I had,
self seeded plants softened the cracks
but the driveway was still black and white.

Arthur’s skeleton opened the door,
his face gouged like sculptors clay
thin lines under cheek bones
thumbed deep into eye sockets.

The meniscus of old age bottled his vision
but he still had a Whiskey gruffness
that reminded me of forgotten songs
and pearl inlays.

Pyjamas protruded from under his clothes
as he moved around the room to fall fireside,
touching each ledge like a child learning to walk,
stroke is such a gentle word.
The room had kept hold of its memory,
veneered in dust and damp that crept out of the carpet
slowly making it hard to see, hard to remember.

He spoke in bursts, bending each exhaled breath
to make the sounds.
he told me how much he missed my mother.
“She
was
my
baby
sister”
I know I said and took his hand.
His old Jack Russell
lifted its head to sniff the air.
“He’s
fuckin
farted
again”
I know I said,
and let go of his hand.

[ponykeeper]

Hi Keith,
It's been a long time since I've been on one of these sites, and I'm rusty. I haven't taken time to quite figure out how to navigate these pages in the expert way everyone else has with repeats of who said what and bold print etc etc, so please pardon my effort here today if it's not yet up to snuff.

I wasn’t sure I'd remember the house,
an old photograph was all I had;
self-seeded plants softened the cracks
but the driveway was still black and white.

'driveway was still black and white' -----bothered me for a while because I was taking it literally,and was thinking it should be green with the self-seeded plants, but I imagine you mean simply that it was still recognisable.

Arthur’s shape opened the door ---- In the original you had 'skeleton" and I quite liked that image. What about Arthur's 'remains' or is that too shocking?

The meniscus of old age bottled his vision ------- excellent use of meniscus here, the half-moon crescent is an apt visual to vision deficits

stroke is such a gentle word. ----I love love love the impact of this line, suddenly it comes into focus, so cleverly done.

My only nit is that I am left wondering what happened to the old man's sister/N's mother? If the stroke is the fulcrum then it's more about him, and I am left with the impression that she is somehow important and I am missing why, other than showing relationship between N and the old man. That aside, all in all I think this is outstanding.
Thanks, Chris

[Keith]

Im new at this so hope I'm ok in this forum. I felt this was really touching, delicate writing, in a good way. Great job of transposing the reader; conveying a sense of place and character. 

Edit 1
I wasn’t sure I'd remember the house,
an old photograph was all I had;
self-seeded plants softened the cracks
but the driveway was still black and white. I like the new comma and semicolon in the first two lines. I thought maybe add another comma in L4 after driveway and omit "was" for less syllables 

Arthur’s shape opened the door
his face gouged like sculptors clay,
thin lines stretched over cheek bones
thumbed deep into eye sockets.

The meniscus of old age had bottled his vision
but he still carried a whiskey gruffness Absolutely love this line; I felt I was standing right in front of him
that reminded me of forgotten songs
and pearl inlays.  This is one of those beautiful delicate details

Pyjamas protruded under his clothes
as he moved towards his chair
touching each ledge like a child learning to walk;
stroke is such a gentle word.

The room had held onto its memory,
Margaret and Jimmy
smiling behind a layer of dust
worn out and worn down,
family and furniture held in echoes. Really nice portrayal throughout whole stanza, though the last line had me confused, like maybe it should be in reverse? I felt the echoes should be within the tangible things like the furniture. But maybe you meant old items that were already gone. 

He spoke in bursts, bending each exhaled breath
to make the sounds.
he told me how much he missed my mother.
“She
wath
mi
baby
sithter" these one word lines are distracting, but I wouldnt undo them completely. Maybe divide them into two groups 
"she wath, (comma)
mi baby sithter"   It would still allow for a pause  
I know I said and took his hand.
His old Jack Russell
lifted its head to sniff the air.
“Heths
fuckin
farthted
again”
I know I said,
and let go of his hand. Again, great job of drawing us in to the simple, real moment throughout whole stanza. 


Thank you for sharing! 


Original
I wasn’t sure I would remember the house
an old photograph was all I had,
self seeded plants softened the cracks
but the driveway was still black and white.

Arthur’s skeleton opened the door,
his face gouged like sculptors clay
thin lines under cheek bones
thumbed deep into eye sockets.

The meniscus of old age bottled his vision
but he still had a Whiskey gruffness
that reminded me of forgotten songs
and pearl inlays.

Pyjamas protruded from under his clothes
as he moved around the room to fall fireside,
touching each ledge like a child learning to walk,
stroke is such a gentle word.
The room had kept hold of its memory,
veneered in dust and damp that crept out of the carpet
slowly making it hard to see, hard to remember.

He spoke in bursts, bending each exhaled breath
to make the sounds.
he told me how much he missed my mother.
“She
was
my
baby
sister”
I know I said and took his hand.
His old Jack Russell
lifted its head to sniff the air.
“He’s
fuckin
farted
again”
I know I said,
and let go of his hand.

Thanks you for the feedback chels, very much appreciated and its good to know what is working and not so, Thanks for the help. Keith

---

Thanks for the comments Chris your reply works just fine for me in fact I tend to get a bit lost when we get up to 2nd edits some reply below. Best Keith

Hi Keith,
It's been a long time since I've been on one of these sites, and I'm rusty. I haven't taken time to quite figure out how to navigate these pages in the expert way everyone else has with repeats of who said what and bold print etc etc, so please pardon my effort here today if it's not yet up to snuff.

I wasn’t sure I'd remember the house,
an old photograph was all I had;
self-seeded plants softened the cracks
but the driveway was still black and white.  

'driveway was still black and white' -----bothered me for a while because I was taking it literally,and was thinking it should be green with the self-seeded plants, but I imagine you mean simply that it was still recognisable. I was trying to say it hadn't changed, unkempt and loosing colour. A bit like Arthur

Arthur’s shape opened the door ----   In the original you had 'skeleton" and I quite liked that image. What about Arthur's 'remains' or is that too shocking? Hmm I agree but need to have a think

The meniscus of old age bottled his vision ------- excellent use of meniscus here, the half-moon crescent is an apt visual to vision deficits Glad you took this from the line

stroke is such a gentle word.  ----I love love love the impact of this line, suddenly it comes into focus, so cleverly done. Thanks

My only nit is that I am left wondering what happened to the old man's sister/N's mother? If the stroke is the fulcrum then it's more about him, and I am left with the impression that she is somehow important and I am missing why, other than showing relationship between N and the old man.  That aside, all in all I think this is outstanding.
Thanks, Chris
The N's Mother was all they have in common in Arthur's eyes and its a poem about approaching death and the passing of family from within the family unit.

[vagabond]

Edit 1
I wasn’t sure I'd remember the house,           
an old photograph was all I had;
self-seeded plants softened the cracks
but the driveway was still black and white.

Arthur’s shape opened the door                       
his face gouged like sculptors clay,           
thin lines stretched over cheek bones   
thumbed deep into eye sockets.

The meniscus of old age had bottled his vision   
but he still carried a whiskey gruffness                      
that reminded me of forgotten songs
and pearl inlays.

Pyjamas protruded under his clothes       
as he moved towards his chair
touching each ledge like a child learning to walk;
stroke is such a gentle word.                                                  gentle.. hmm, i´d say stroke is not a gentle word , it sounds like "bang, it´s over".. but doesn´t specify the strains and restrictions that come afterwards. 

The room had held onto its memory,
Margaret and Jimmy                   i think you could put "smiling" next to margaret and jimmy here.
smiling behind a layer of dust                   
worn out and worn down,                              
family and furniture held in echoes.        "held" is repeated, maybe  "are echoing".. though that would probably be too much "ing".

He spoke in bursts, bending each exhaled breath
to make the sounds.                                   i think you could leave that line out.
he told me how much he missed my mother.            "of how much he missed my mother"? to avoid second "He"
“She
wath
mi
baby
sithter ”
I know I said and took his hand.        
His old Jack Russell
lifted its head to sniff the air.
“Heths
fuckin
farthted
again”
I know I said,
and let go of his hand.                    this line is a punch. after making me smile with the old "it was the dog"-joke.. it suddenly turns into a mirror and made me think..  did i (imagining myself the subject as i read it) let go because of unsavoury issues.. and arthur has a need to hide them. people tend to retreat when they get disabilities and issues like incontinence. tons of gorgeous jokes exist on that, and as someone once told me, laughter is useful to alleviate fear.

[Linda]

Hi Keith, I'm  new here but not to poetry. This is a really nice piece of writing, I admire your approach on capturing someone so close to the end, free of sentimentality yet so precise in your descriptions that show the reader. I also like the fact that I don't need a key to unlock the meaning, it does just the opposite, leaving the reader quite an impression.  Here are just a few thoughts to ponder

Edit 1  
I wasn’t sure I'd remember the hous........................left the e off
an old photograph was all I had;
self-seeded plants softened the cracks
but the driveway was still black and white.

Arthur’s shape opened the door.....................I pause here, maybe just Arthur opened the door
his face gouged like sculptors clay,
thin lines stretched over cheek bones
thumbed deep into eye sockets.

The meniscus of old age had bottled his vision....................one of my favorite lines
but he still carried a whiskey gruffness
that reminded me of forgotten songs................................here too
and pearl inlays.

Pyjamas protruded under his clothes
as he moved towards his chair
touching each ledge like a child learning to walk;
stroke is such a gentle word...............................love the subtlety here

The room had held onto its memory,........................really great line
Margaret and Jimmy
smiling behind a layer of dust
worn out and worn down,
family and furniture held in echoes.

He spoke in bursts, bending each exhaled breath........Maybe,...He spoke in exhaled breaths, bending to make the sounds
to make the sounds.
he told me how much he missed my mother.
“She
wath
mi
baby
sithter ”
I know I said and took his hand.
His old Jack Russell
lifted its head to sniff the air.
“Heths
fuckin
farthted
again”
I know I said,
and let go of his hand.................perfect...... I would have to add that such a great piece deserves a better title, just my 2 cents
                                               Thanks for the read  Linda


Original
I wasn’t sure I would remember the house
an old photograph was all I had,
self seeded plants softened the cracks
but the driveway was still black and white.

Arthur’s skeleton opened the door,
his face gouged like sculptors clay
thin lines under cheek bones
thumbed deep into eye sockets.

The meniscus of old age bottled his vision
but he still had a Whiskey gruffness
that reminded me of forgotten songs
and pearl inlays.

Pyjamas protruded from under his clothes
as he moved around the room to fall fireside,
touching each ledge like a child learning to walk,
stroke is such a gentle word.
The room had kept hold of its memory,
veneered in dust and damp that crept out of the carpet
slowly making it hard to see, hard to remember.

He spoke in bursts, bending each exhaled breath
to make the sounds.
he told me how much he missed my mother.
“She
was
my
baby
sister”
I know I said and took his hand.
His old Jack Russell
lifted its head to sniff the air.
“He’s
fuckin
farted
again”
I know I said,
and let go of his hand.
[/quote]

[Knot]

Hey Keith
Really good work, enjoyed a lot (despite the erratic punctuation)

I wasn’t sure I'd remember the house,
an old photograph was all I had;
nice opening line, but L2 reads a bit oddly to me;
all I had was an old photograph ?
what I miss from these lines is the reason N is going to the house
(Also, if all N has is a photograph - which might give the house number -
where is the rest of the information contained in an 'address'?)
You could have a photograph with the address written on the back in
N's mother's hand for instance.
self-seeded plants softened the cracks
but the driveway was still black and white.
like black and white combined with photograph.

Arthur’s shape opened the door
'shape' is really weak, especially considering
how strong this whole stanza is otherwise.
his face gouged like sculptors clay,
thin lines stretched over cheek bones
thumbed deep into eye sockets.
Given the title (which doesn't feature as
strongly as it might), would it work
if you went with something like;
Arthur's face appeared
in the darkness of the open doorway,
gouged like....

The meniscus of old age had bottled his vision
I'm getting cataracts (as it were)
but he still carried a whiskey gruffness
that reminded me of forgotten songs
and pearl inlays.
just because the line is so short, where were the pearl inlays?
(It does, I think need a third element, songs/inlays/ ? )
really strong stanza

Pyjamas protruded under his clothes
'protruded' (after pearl and pyjamas) is a bit intrusive I think.
You might consider something 'softer' to match the pyjama fabric.
as he moved towards his chair
touching each ledge like a child learning to walk;
I don't think you need the simile
(just continue the description a bit more)
stroke is such a gentle word.
Is it? Even with a hard 'k'?
Also, how does N (and therefore the reader) know
he's had a stroke. The speech that suggests this
hasn't appeared yet.

The room had held onto its memory,
Margaret and Jimmy
smiling behind a layer of dust
worn out and worn down,
do you need the second 'worn'?
family and furniture held in echoes.
Don't get 'echoes' - would get 'stasis' or 'amber'.
Another really good stanza.

He spoke in bursts, bending each exhaled breath
would suggest a line break after 'bursts'.
to make the sounds.
and perhaps reorder, as in
each exhaled breath
bent to make the sounds
though I don't think either 'bending' or 'the sounds' work well
he told me how much he missed my mother.
“She
wath
mi
baby
sithter ”
I know I said and took his hand.
His old Jack Russell
perhaps name the dog rather than identify the breed?
lifted its head to sniff the air.
“Heths
fuckin
farthted
again”
I know I said,
and let go of his hand.
I don't think the last line reflects well on the narrator.
Why not end on 'I said'.

Best, Knot.

[nibbed]

I wasn’t sure I'd remember the house,
an old photograph was all I had;
self-seeded plants softened the cracks                                    -self-seeded plants seems awkward to me
but the driveway was still black and white.                              -I like this a lot

Arthur’s shape opened the door                                              -I'm seeing action here and a shift from photo to memory.
his face gouged like sculptors clay,
thin lines stretched over cheek bones
thumbed deep into eye sockets.                                               

The meniscus of old age had bottled his vision                         -I love the word meniscus and how it works in with pearl inlays.
but he still carried a whiskey gruffness
that reminded me of forgotten songs
and pearl inlays.

Pyjamas protruded under his clothes                                        -maybe they peeked?
as he moved towards his chair
touching each ledge like a child learning to walk;
stroke is such a gentle word.

The room had held onto its memory,
Margaret and Jimmy
smiling behind a layer of dust
worn out and worn down,
family and furniture held in echoes.

He spoke in bursts, bending each exhaled breath
to make the sounds.                                                                   -thinking a comma after sounds and take away the very next pronoun
he told me how much he missed my mother.
“She
wath
mi
baby
sithter ”
I know I said and took his hand.
His old Jack Russell
lifted its head to sniff the air.
“Heths
fuckin
farthted
again”
I know I said,
and let go of his hand.                                                           -I would have let go, too, but just for a moment



Though I understand a death mask is made of clay
I wondered why the title anyways.


You are a fine poet.

nibbed

[PoetryWheel]

Thanks for posting Keith,

I am genuinely jealous of  your writing. I'm especially appreciative of the image you create and I can easily imagine the scene you're creating. I can even picture what he looks like, what he sounds like and I am almost holding his hand. 

As I read the ending, it feels like it's not done. When I read this last stanza, the ending hangs but doesn't finish its landing. The two suggestion I could give are to rework your last two lines of the last stanza or add another stanza.

As an aside on the ending, what was the motivation for letting go of the hand? Why did this person let go when he talked about the fart? 

He spoke in bursts, bending each exhaled breath
to make the sounds.
he told me how much he missed my mother.
“She
wath
mi
baby
sithter ”
I know I said and took his hand.
His old Jack Russell
lifted its head to sniff the air.
“Heths 
fuckin
farthted
again”
I know I said,           Instead of that parallel between holding his hand and then letting go, could an action like a tear or looking away potentially work?  
and let go of his hand.   

The suggestion for another stanza would be to add a detail that the reader should of known from your excellent description to make them feel like they forgot as his son or daughter looks away.