A poem

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E

Element 117




Vodka spider
the color of rotten vanilla
dime sized, with expansive legs
ran like mercury across a desktop desert
trailing radiation of reactive recoiling
my knees clapping against keyboard tray

Such intrusion of invidious eeling evil
skittering across the snow bright oak wood
claiming with its alien certainty my sacred space
Fury spurted from me,
invented invectives sprang forth
A shoe, too flimsy
the arthropodial adversary responded
advancing
my teeth stung my tongue as I
flattened my palm and brought it down
loud as a cannon shot
slapping the heel of my hand
upon the beast
mewling despite my rage

I felt it

squirming there,
sending a thousand demons up my arm
climbing my nerves with licking tongues
chittering revenge curses

a twist of the palm
thundering sprint to the kitchen
alcohol
splashed on my hands
drips of that seductive smell
ruined by recent memory

that smell bolsters my courage
as it eats at my determination
so to remind myself
I return to the battlefield
and stare at the spider
until my hands stop trembling.
 
E

Element 117

revised:

Vodka spider
rotten vanilla hued
dime sized, expansive legs
runs like mercury across the desktop desert
trailing radiation of reactive recoiling
my knees clapping against keyboard tray

Such invidious eeling evil
skittering across snow bright wood
claiming with alien certainty my sacred space
Fury spills from me,
invented invectives splash forth
A sandal, thrown, too flimsy
my arthropodial adversary responds advancing
my teeth sting my tongue

Flattening my palm, I slam it down
loud as a cannon shot
heel of my hand slaps
upon the beast
I mew despite my rage

I feel it

squirming
a thousand demons slithering up my arm
climbing my nerves with licking tongues
chittering revenge curses

twist my palm
sprint to the kitchen
feet thundering on hardwood

grab the the whatever is closest
alcohol
splash it on my hands
a seductive smell
ruined by recent memory


that scent bolsters my courage
as it eats at my determination
I return to the battlefield
and stare at the smashed spider shape
until my hands stop.
 
Null

Null

I think the revised version is better. Each line connects to the next more clearly, and changing the verbs to present tense makes it feel more immediate. The rhythm in the line length sounds better when I read it out loud, too.
 
drifter

drifter

So, is eeling supposed to be some sort of poetic neologism? The assonance is pleasing to the ear, but visualizing it, it doesn't make sense to me.

Also, I think arthropodal would be the correct word to use, unless you are taking artistic license.

(sorry, I'm pretty unimaginative when it comes to writing)
 
E

Element 117

I have no idea. I think this piece could do with at least another revision, if not 2
 
Null

Null

Well, there were a number of improvements between the first version and the second. There are a few things I would change if it were my piece, and I think some lines could use a little adjustment - "squirming / a thousand demons slithering up my arm / climbing my nerves with licking tongues / chittering revenge curses" feels a little off, for example. But then, I generally don't like single word lines, especially at the start of a stanza, so that might be personal preference more than anything else.

On the other hand, I know I've ruined a few decent pieces by over-revising them.
 
E

Element 117

It resists short form

Vodka spider
onion colored
dime sized, expansive legs
runs (almost rolls) across my desk
radioactive with my repulsed reaction
knees bang as I leap away

anthropomorphic automaton
skittering across snow bright wood
invading with alien certainty

Fury spills from me,
I spit invectives
A sandal,
throw it,
too flimsy
arthropodal adversary advances
my teeth sting my tongue

Flattening my palm, I slam it
loud as a cannon shot
WHAM
heel of my hand slaps down

I feel it

squirming
a thousand demons
slithering wetly up my arm
licking my nerves with electric tongues

twist my palm
sprint to the kitchen
feet thundering on hardwood

grab the, the
the
whatever is closest
alcohol
soak my hands

that seductive smell
ruined by recent memory
her words to me
tears alighting my fears​

that scent bolsters my courage
it eats my determination
I return to the battlefield
stare at
where a smashed spider-shape
never was
should have been but
neverwas
until my hands stop.
 
Null

Null

Well, I don't like that version nearly as well. The flow feels broken, which I guess is what you were going for - the jerky, reflexive reactions you write about mimicked in words. And you don't need the gratuitous wham.

What if you started with "that seductive smell" and wrote a new piece from there?
 
E

Element 117

That would be a different poem, and who gives up on draft three?
I may let it sit for a few days as I start new projects, but not leaving it.
 
Null

Null

Fair enough. It's just a new direction to try. I know I've gone back to pieces after a year or two and made some changes. Every time I submit a piece I wind up changing things from a prior draft.

A quote BJ used often in the workshops was "A poem is never finished, only abandoned."
 
E

Element 117

Vodka spider
onion colored
dime sized,
expansive legs
runs (rolls)
across my desk
radioactive with
my repulsed reaction
knees bang
I leap away

anthropomorphic automaton
skittering across
snow bright wood
invading with
mechanical certainty

Fury spills
from me,
spit invectives
A sandal,
throw it,
too flimsy
arthropodal adversary
advances
teeth sting
my tongue

Flattening my palm,
slam it
loud as a
cannon shot
WHAM
hand's heel
slaps down

I feel it

squirming
a thousand tongues
slithering wetly
up my arm
licking my nerves

twist my palm
sprint to the kitchen
feet thundering
on hardwood

grab the,
the the
whateverisclosest
alcohol
soak my
hands

that smell
ruined by
recent memory
her words
alighting my fears

the scent
bolsters my courage
eats my determination
return to the battlefield
stare at
where a smashed
spider-shape
never was
should have been but
neverwas.
 
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