Fairgrounds in the Rain - Last Version. I Promise.

[Wabznasm]

Final Version!!

So the wet do what comes naturally.
They escape the strange intoxication
of yellow lights,
sotto voce crystal-gazing, penny machines,
those useless, purple ducks,
and make for the earth-mounds of people
under a few simple bridges,
or the overhang of a battered tree.

Eventually the last few are rushing to this soup
of hair and nails and warm breath.
They run under yellow bushes
of mosquitoes, the dim illuminated distortion
of crowded raindrops under gaudy lights.
Families with leering teddy bears splatter
through silver-gored puddles,

where reflections don’t appear,
to one of the human clusters.
And this is when they might be at their best.
Ironic shrugs, awkward but friendly glances
of we've-been-here-before,
some admirings of another's child,
elbows, bums, legs, all touching,
bleak anecdotes told with a smile.

Under the flies sits a soaked spinning tea cup ride.
A bodiless Ferris wheel gurgles and hunches
as the Wheel of Fortune turns softly in the rain.
Ubiquitous tones melt through objects
from announcers in their single boxes;
distortive mirrors from an empty fun-house
skew gross sizes out of the biting drops
and the crowds begin to dry.

There is simply too much blood here
for the mosquitoes to take.
Passing voices shout for the people to come out,
to yield dry clothes for wet rides,
but the tones cannot convince –
there is simply too little blood for them to offer.

Third Version

So the wet do what comes naturally.
They escape the strange intoxication
of yellow lights,
sotto voce crystal-gazing, penny machines,
those useless, purple ducks,
and make for the earth-mounds of people
under a few simple bridges,
or the overhang of a battered tree.

Eventually the last few are rushing to this soup
of hair and nails and warm breath.
They run under yellow bushes
of mosquitoes, the dim illuminated distortion
of crowded raindrops under gaudy lights.
Families with leering teddy bears splatter
through silver-gored puddles,

where reflections don’t appear,
to one of the human clusters.
And this is when they might be at their best.
Ironic shrugs, awkward but friendly glances
of we've-been-here-before,
some admirings of another's child,
elbows, bums, legs, all touching,
bleak anecdotes told with a smile.

Frog spawn bubbles pop
all over the surface of different histories.
But the rain isn’t over
and the fair still faces them
through musky gaps between shoulders
and blackened backs of heads;
its tents still stand under the biting insects
and the Ferris wheel gurgles and hunches -

a sleeve sodden woman flicks
through the tickets of a raffle
in one of the last living tents,
tumbling her hexagonal wooden box
free of water as a dog does its hair.
The roof above her drips like a cliché.
She continues to fan the tickets,
using what the others left behind.

Minds peopling the huddled groups start to consider
gradually as over used; eventually doesn’t feature
in any of their stories about the drive,
the lottery or good recipes.
Yet while the puddles become more violent
and the rides seem to fizz with splashes,
the crowd begins to dry:
there is too much blood here
for the mosquitoes to take.


Version 2

So the wet do what comes naturally.
They escape the strange intoxication
of yellow lights,
sotto voce crystal-gazing, penny machines,
those useless, purple ducks
and make for the large, earth-mound huddles
under a few simple bridges
or the overhang of a tree.

Eventually the last few are rushing to this soup
of hair and nails and warm breath.
They run under what seem like yellow bushes
of mosquitoes: the dim illumination
of raindrops under gaudy lights.
Parents carry children with leering teddy bears
through splattering silver-gored puddles,

where reflections don’t appear,
to populate the clusters.
And this is when they are at their best.
Ironic shrugs, awkward but friendly glances
of we've-been-here-before,
some admirings of another's child,
elbows, bums, legs, all touching,
bleak anecdotes told with a smile.

Under the insects sits a soaked spinning tea cup ride.
A ubiquitous tone passes through the site
from an announcer’s hut that’s lashed
to the ground with petrified rope:
Don’t worry everyone. It’ll be over soon.
Distortive mirrors from an empty fun-house
skew gross sizes out of the biting drops
and the crowds remain dry.

There is simply too much blood here
for the mosquitoes to take.
But for that single, exiled announcer
there is simply too little blood to offer.

------
------

Version 1

Not even the gaudy lights help,
let alone keep the rain hidden.
The drops are like clouds of mosquitoes
under the dim illumination,
biting weak overflowing
raincoats, leering teddy-bears
given by parents, and ready paramedics
culled in green netted ambulances.

So the wet do what comes naturally.
They escape the strange intoxication
of yellow lights,
sotto voce crystal balls, penny machines,
those useless, purple ducks,
and make for large, earth-mound huddles
under a few simple bridges
or the overhang of a battered, living tree.

Eventually the last few rush to this soup
of hair and nails and warm breath.
They limp and run through the dried
tack upon tack of bloodless mosquitoes
hitting silver gored puddles.
Parents carry children under arm
past a wet green St. John Ambulance,
covering their child's eyes and ears -

expressions of love - so they can not know
of a sadness behind the calm paint.
-- But we can. We can see two parents
blinking in time with the rib clattered
breathing of their wandering son,
wandering untouchably away from them
with his factious, fatal,
spinning tea-cup injured bones. --

They take their him or her away
to one of the human clusters.
And this is when they are at their best.
Ironic shrugs, awkward but friendly glances
of we've-been-here-before,
some admirings of another's child,
elbows, bums, legs, all touching,
bleak anecdotes told with a smile.

There is simply too much blood here
for the mosquitoes to take.
But for that single, exiled son
there is simply too little blood to offer.
His parents can see that by now.
An announcer, still among the amber
metal and distorting mirrors, announces
with a ubiquitous voice, half sympathetic, half annoyed,

Don't worry. It'll be over soon



EDIT -

Would Barrie's suggestion of ditching the last five lines give a better ending?

[barrie]

I stumbled at the first fence here -

'Not even the gaudy lights help,
guide, let alone keep the rain hidden.
The drops seem like mosquitoes
under the dim illumination,
begin biting weak, overflowing
mackintoshes, leering teddy-bears….'

I think it was the comma after help that threw me - I read it as help guide. Reading it again, the tenses clash here - ‘drops seem like mosquitoes....begin biting…’ - Leave out ‘seem’. I wasn’t over keen on ‘Not even’ as a start - didn’t seem to be a logical link up with 'gaudy lghts'. Gaudy lights are meant to attract, not to help or guide.

Maybe something along the lines of -

The gaudy lights make raindrops shimmer,
mosquito clouds under the dim illumination,
flooding weak, overflowing weatherproofs,
biting leering teddy bears……

I changed mackintoshes, seems a very dated description of a raincoat. I suppose you could have droplets instead of raindrops, then you could use raincoats.

After this, I found the going smooth apart from one or two hiccoughs -

‘A battered, but living tree’ Do you need ‘but living’?

‘he and she’ - him or her’ - Why not just ‘they’ and ‘them’?

I must say that you evoked quite a vivid image, especially the rain-sodden accident scene.

One more nit - I think this would make a cracker of a last verse -

There is simply too much blood
here for the mosquitoes to take.
But for that single, exiled son
there is simply too little blood to offer.

You make it sound like a sacrifice - a terrific ending. I don’t think you need the callousness of the fairman, this is enough.

Good one.

Barrie

[Wabznasm]

Fantastic.

Cheers Barrie, that was exactly what I wanted.

The first verse has been re-written. It's quite similar to yours, but I went for raincoats.

The 'but' by the tree has been pruned.

‘he and she’ - him or her’ - Why not just ‘they’ and ‘them’? - I've ditched the first usage as I quite like the ambiguity of it. But I think I will keep the second instance since there are too many 'they' and 'theirs' in that stanza, and I don't want to confuse anything. Plus, I quite like the oddness of the phrase.

I'm seriously considering your ending. Perhaps my only problem with it now is that it makes the accident seem the centre of the poem when, for me, it isn't at all. It's all about the huddles of the people. I think my intentions with 'what I want to say' will be the same with either ending though, so I'm not sure. I've left a small edit at the bottom of the poem. Hopefully people will address it.

Thanks for that terrific crit though - you've help me iron out the bits I thought dodgy. I really want to perfect this since I'm very, very fond of it.

Dave

EDIT - I've changed the beginning again. How's it now Barrie?

[barrie]

Not even the gaudy lights

can escape from it raining. Doesn't sound right.

Not even the gaudy lights
can disguise the rain

Not even the gaudy lights
can hide the rain

Not even the gaudy lights
can colour out the rain

??

[Lia]

Dave,

This is very good. Some terrific atmosphere and scene-setting. The fairground and the weather really emphasises the tragedy. I also found the ‘huddles’ and the thoughts on human nature fascinating.

I do have a few suggestions that will hopefully help rather than hinder. The first was to do with the beginning two lines..

I understand your revision, but it seems to miss the tone that the original had, which set the mood for the poem. For me, ’Not even the gaudy lights’ was an unusual way to open too.. I don’t feel you need to say ‘rain’ or ‘raining’ as it’s in the title, but would you consider a suggestion that uses something that Barrie mentioned..

Not even the gaudy lights
can disguise the weather. ?

With this..

‘to large, earth-mound huddles’

the gap between ‘escape’ and ‘to large’ is quite big. For a clearer connection, would ‘and find large..’ work better maybe?

Also, would you considerer dropping ‘Finally’ in this line?..

‘Finally the last few rush to this soup’

I noticed some alternative breaks with the next part, dropping 'of' and 'with his' to the next lines ..

an expression of love - so they can not know
of a sadness behind the calm paint.
-- But we can. We can see two parents
blinking in time with the rib clattered
breathing of their wandering son,
wandering untouchably away from them
with his factious, fatal,
spinning tea-cup injured bones. --

.. it's also an attempt to break up the images of the last line for movement and reading purposes.

With regards to the question about the ending, I had different thoughts about it. I can see the strength it creates when ending on ‘offer’, but I saw two meanings for the last line.. not only was I thinking that the fairman was commenting on the accident, but it also brought me back to the rain. I enjoyed this tie-in even if it wasn’t intended. My only crit was with the telling of ‘half sympathetic, half annoyed,’. I’d finish the penultimate line with ‘voice’.

Oh, just one small thing (honest!).. would you consider bringing ‘here’ up to the first line of this S?..

‘There is simply too much blood here’

It feels like I’ve made lots of criticisms, but they’re only small things really. Please ignore anything that doesn’t work for you.

There are many stunning parts in this poem. Just to pick one of them..

‘Finally the last few rush to this soup
of hair and nails and warm breath.
They limp and run through the dried
tack upon tack of bloodless mosquitoes
hitting silver gored puddles.
Parents carry children under arm
past a wet green St. John Ambulance,
covering their child's eyes and ears -’

Great writing.

Lia

[emuse]

Not even the gaudy lights help,
guide, let alone keep the rain hidden.

I’d definitely keep those as intro lines. The revision as it stands feels static.

First off, the voice in this poem is outstanding. If there are poetic influences here, I can’t find them. It’s feels original with a compelling storyline and unusual details like:

sotto voce crystal balls, penny machines,
those useless, purple ducks,
to large, earth-mound huddles
under a few simple bridges
or the overhang of a battered, living tree.
'Not even the gaudy lights help,
guide, let alone keep the rain hidden.

S5 brings back “huddle”. Can you find a different word? Also it becomes a bit too prosey in this spot:

They take their him or her away
[from that unspoken scene] to one of the human (clusters?) [huddles].
And this is when they are at their best.
Ironic shrugs, awkward but friendly glances
of we've-been-here-before,
some admirings of another's child,
elbows, bums, legs, all touching,
bleak anecdotes told with a smile.

For a vote on the end, while I do like what you’ve done afterward (can it be incorporated earlier?)
this really brings it home:

there is simply too little blood to offer.

An excellent read.

e

[camus]

Wab,

Late to this one (as I am to most these days!)

Great idea for a poem, the fairground affects every sense.

Re the intro, I agree:

"Not even the gaudy lights help,
guide, let alone keep the rain hidden."

Is a great opener, although I also agree with Barrie about about the lurching comma, how about:

"Not even the gaudy lights guide,
let alone keep the rain hidden." ? (mind you you've sorted that now!)

I found these lines a little presumptuous:

"given by parents who don't quite know
how to show their love."

Being in the first stanza , it quite sets the tone of the poem, or at least an attitude, and although it is probably a truism, it's not a universal one. More the case of the parent doing what they have to do, to get the fuck out of there. Yet this is later counter-balanced by "an expression of love" I had trouble, well, balancing the two.

I also found the transition from the sheltering scene - to the idea of the injured child, somewhat hazy, not a definite enough distinction between description and pre-action.

I thoroughly enjoyed the descriptive aspects of the poem, just got lost in the underlying meaning!

Hard to crit such a superb critter!

cheers
Kris

[Wabznasm]

Wow,

These were a treat to log on to. Thanks for the effort everyone.

Lia,

I liked your alternative start and I agree, 'Not even' is better. But I have trouble with disguise because the lights do exactly that, they turn the rain into mosquitoes.

I completely agree about the gap between the huddles and the escaping.

'Finally' is too definite isn't it? It's either going to be 'Eventually' or just beginning with 'The'. But I quite like the way 'Eventually' cushions the blow a bit, so I may keep it.

I'm glad you got the tie-ins of the voice. It is definitely intended. That was probably the first line I thought of after the initial images when walking around said fairground. I'm a bit unsure about ditching the telling part. It isn't particularly vivid, but I'm in love with the rhythm and the... voice behind it. I wanted to ease the reader out of the poem after that mosquito bludgeon.

Oh, just one small thing (honest!).. would you consider bringing ‘here’ up to the first line of this S?.. - considered and done!

Fantastic crit though Lia. It focused on the small things, just what I wanted.

E,

First off, the voice in this poem is outstanding. If there are poetic influences here, I can’t find them. - that's a wonderful comment to hear. I've been playing with about 3 or 4 different voices at the moment, and I'm glad this one hit the mark. Any influences? Well, what I've read recently I suppose: Larkin and Ken Smith. Both have a magnificent way of bringing up odd, but relevant details. But, more importantly, both never settle with description. They try to digress, answer something more. They basically attempt subtle philosophy. That's exactly what I'm trying to go for at the moment. So mixed up with description and scene setting comes the voice of the poet, offering thoughts that are almost aphoristic. Truisms, basically.

S5 brings back “huddle”. Can you find a different word? - will do.

They take their him or her away
[from that unspoken scene] to one of the human (clusters?) [huddles]. - I'm glad I didn't need the first half of the second line. It was more for continuity.

Ah, you'd prefer the shorter end. Hmm, it seems this is not really going to come to anything unanimous, is it?

You've certainly made me think!

Kris,

"Not even the gaudy lights guide,
let alone keep the rain hidden." - nice one. That's in. Except I may switch 'guide' for 'help'.

I had trouble, well, balancing the two. - without getting all wanky, I was trying to make one the antithesis of the other. But I'm really glad you brought that up, since it is the part I was most worried about. Like you, I was concerned about the assumption of it. It is a bit of an overbearing statement for such an early poisnt, isn't it? I've ditched the first, kept the second. How does that work?

I also found the transition from the sheltering scene - to the idea of the injured child, somewhat hazy, not a definite enough distinction between description and pre-action. - me too. I was worried about the assumption of the ambulance. I can imagine a reader thinking 'Oh, how convenient'. So I may ditch a passage and replace it with a mention of an ambulance. I'll see how the revision happens.

But thanks to everyone for all of that brilliant criticism. You've all commented on what I wanted to be commented on. Perhaps the only thing I'm unsure about is the end since it's the only crit to really change the meaning of the poem. But I shall think.

Thanks all
Dave

EDIT - Ok, I've removed some small parts and edited the cosmetics of the piece. I'm happier with it now, are you? Is the removal of the first stanza's 'love' part a good or a bad move?

[camus]

Wab,

The trouble with this here crit business, is that sometimes the changes suggested are numerous and varied, and whilst the writer may actually agree with them all, to implement them can often rip the heart from the poem?

It's difficult, I think you've cleared up the blind spots though, and haven't done too much damage.

Looking good, what do you think though?

[Wabznasm]

Kris,

I find receiving crits enjoyable but difficult. It's because I'm always so enthusiastic about what other people think, I sometimes neglect what I think.

Here, however, I don't think anything drastic has gone. Most of the changes are cosmetic and the only big one, the omission of the love bit, doesn't hurt me too much. In fact, I felt the sentiment was a bit naff to be honest. And I'm really happy with the new image.

So personally I think this has survived the crits and come off better for it. I firmly believe in the workshop and will often take so much of it and implement it. Perhaps the only time I will stop will be when comments may change what I'm going for. I don't think anything here has done that, so I'm dead happy.

Ta
Dave

[David]

Fair do's (boom boom!), Dave, there is something strange and spooky about fairgrounds. Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite and Strangers on a Train, anyone? And you've got a lot of it in here.

A few thoughts.

How's about, as a less dogmatic statement,

The drops, like clouds of mosquitoes
under dim illumination,
bite weak overflowing
raincoats ...?

"Culled" - why culled? Don't get that one.

I like "the wet" - it has a sort of generic sound, like (say) "the undead".

Sotto voce crystal-gazing?

Those useless, purple ducks - I like that. Great phrase, and so is this soup / of hair and nails and warm breath - that is really good, and just about perfect.

Not sure about the parents and the son with his "factious" (really?) bones - doesn't have the same ring of truth as the rest of it for me. This seems to be the introduction to your big finish, but it doesn't really work for me. Personally I would stick with the excellent overview of the fairground - at the moment, I don't think the zoom shot works.

These are merely nits, however - lots of good stuff in here.

Cheers

David

[Wabznasm]

Cheers for the comments David.

I agree with your smaller nits like the beginning and the oddness of culled (I think I was using it in the literal way of 'seperated', not what it is used for these days).

But onto the big point. And, y'know, I think you're completely right. I have been thinking this myself recently. It's almost tasteless how I've adopted this little plot device in order to say something; it's a very loose construction that doesn't have the importance it should. The flippancy with which it is brought up seems to serve as a means to an end, a loose bit of wire dangling from half decent circuit board. Plus, speaking about death in poetry is something I've been doing far too much of and it's beginning to get boring. I think getting past stuff like that is a big step in writing.

So I'm going to completely re-do this. Gone will be the entire child scene. I can still fit the mosquito line and so will, but I am going to focus a bit more on the groups of people, not on the ambulance scene. I think some more sights and sounds, like rain on the rides, someone on the ride in the rain, more of the announcer, would be good. But I won't write TOO much more since I think a lot of it is done - I'm just going to have to cull a quarter of it: it'll probably be a shorter poem.

SO thanks for the comments David - they've been rather influential!

Dave

[dedalus]

Rather than get into the details of the images, line-by-line or keystroke-by-keystroke(!), I'd just like to tell you that this was a fascinating read: atmospheric, puzzling, poignant, a bit sad ... and slightly heavy on the adjectives!! Well done, indeed.
--Brendan

[Wabznasm]

I apologise to everyone for me being the necromancer, but I was hoping if any of you could give me some thoughts on this heavily edited version of Fairgrounds...

David's point made me re-consider the almost trivial nature of the dying kid. I have also been trying to avoid death recently since it's a bit of a naff inclusion in a poem - we don't need the shock of someone dying to get the point across.

So I've really worked on this. The 'good' bits still remain, but the introductory stanza has gone which was probably the biggest decision I had to make.

My one main concern I suppose: does the ending have the same impact?

Don't worry, I haven't lost heart with the orginal. Im just hoping to see the other side of the coin.

It's shorter too, because I felt I didn't really need any more clothes in an already tightly packed suitcase.

Cheers
Dave

[barrie]

You've done a good job reworking this, it's much tighter, hardly any loose words or lines and your intention is much clearer.

Now for the hardly any.

Do you need to start off with So - Why not just, The wet do what comes naturally - it's simple and unambiguous. I think the word so can change the whole mood of a sentence depending how it's read - It can be threatening, friendly, inquisitive, respectful, demeaning - it's a much underated word which is much easier understood when heard. I think the meaning has to be absolutely clear when written. Alright I'm being picky - So?

i'm not so sure about and make for. Drift towards? stream towards?.

Finally, I still don't see why you need 'battered, living tree' - It may be in contrast with the dead child, but I don't think it's prominent enough to have any effect. If the tree had a more significant role then the use of the two adjectives would be justifiable.

Good stuff

Barrie

[Wabznasm]

Cheers Barrie -

I'll have a think about 'So'. I can see what you're getting at and that'll probably be troubling me for a while. But would it not be a bit static if the poem just started with a direct description? It's more of an action with 'So' I feel.

You're right about the tree. It's detritus and needs to be swept away.

I'm glad you reckon it's tighter now - that's what I was going for with this re-write.

Dave

[emuse]

Bravo Dave! An excellent revision. I find revisions of my own work much more challenging in most cases than writing the original work. Not easy to step outside, but you seem to have done it quite well.

The tiniest nit:

They run under [what seem like] yellow bushes

Why "what seems like?" It almost feels like the narrator is unsure of himself and it detracts from the interesting image of yellow bushes of mosquitos. But hey, that's just a little bite!

Cheers

e

[J.R.Pearson]

Hey wab : i think the rewrite works.. and i really like hte fun house mirrors ref. that paints a twisted picture on the death sequence. I think the last 5 lines tie it nicely with being "telly" u showed us what was happening in a creepy way at times and i think the ending brings clarity. I, on the other hand, have a few nits with beginning S......It has gone adjective mad.

So the wet do what comes naturally.
They escape the strange intoxication
of yellow lights,-------------------this is good and i wonder if it was yur intent to half rhyme this thru out the poem..showing the light thru the poem
sotto voce crystal-gazing, penny machines,
those useless, purple ducks
and make for the large, earth-mound huddles------here is my problem: same subject yet again 2 adjectives..seems IMO over much
under a few simple bridges---this is good
or the overhang of a tree.

Eventually the last few are rushing to this soup
of hair and nails and warm breath.-------i would slice out the "and" between hair and nails
They run under what seem like yellow bushes
of mosquitoes: the dim illumination----- this is great... i liked the way u dropped misqitoes to the next line
of raindrops under gaudy lights.
Parents carry children with leering teddy bears
through splattering silver-gored puddles,--------either splattering or silver-gored .....choose one

where reflections don’t appear,
to populate the clusters.
And this is when they are at their best.
Ironic shrugs, awkward but friendly glances-------this and the rest of this S r the best lines i have read in a while....really fresh imagery.
of we've-been-here-before,
some admirings of another's child,
elbows, bums, legs, all touching,
bleak anecdotes told with a smile.-----love bleak here

Under the insects sits a soaked spinning tea cup ride.--------soooo many S's...trying imitate the sound of insects buzzing?
A ubiquitous tone passes through the site
from an announcer’s hut that’s lashed
to the ground with petrified rope:
Don’t worry everyone. It’ll be over soon.
Distortive mirrors from an empty fun-house-----this is a great idea....killer images
skew gross sizes out of the biting drops
and the crowds remain dry.

There is simply too much blood here---------Imo keep these
for the mosquitoes to take.
But for that single, exiled announcer
there is simply too little blood to offer.



Wonderful edit Wab......this is a good poem.

JR

[Wabznasm]

Thanks very much to the both of you.

E -

I suffer from re-write illness too. I hate it. Am i required to write more? Or just cuts loads out? Always facing that horrible decision, so try and fit both in.

I think 'what seem like' will go - it's loose and garrulous.

Jr -

Good crit. Yes, this has always had a lot of adjectives so let's see what I can ditch.

and make for the large, earth-mound huddles------here is my problem: same subject yet again 2 adjectives..seems IMO over much - I think large will go.

either splattering or silver-gored .....choose one - I see what you mean.

Thanks to both of you for the commendations; I'm happy this is nearly sorted now because I don't want to write much more about it. There's too much material and I could really go overboard, so I want to keep it nearly simple (ha!).

Ta
Dave

[Elphin]

Not sure I can add much to what has been said other than to say I think the rewrite demonstrates how much tighter and vivid a piece can become if left for a while and then looked at anew. Re-writing is no bad thing.

Only one suggestion on the puddles - "splattering through silver-gored puddles" keeps two phrases that I feel are very strong.

E

[Wabznasm]

Cheers Elph

I can see what you mean and I'll probably edit those two lines to fit that in. Only problem now is that if I change it as is then grammatically the teddy bears will be the ones splattering through the puddles. Will try and have a look at it though

Dave

[David]

Hey Dave,

So you've dropped the first verse. I liked that one!

"Crystal-gazing" is an improvement, but I don't think dropping "battered, living" is (although I can see why you're doubtful about "living").

I think the next (the old third) verse is better, but for me the final two still lack focus. Maybe some more work? The parental bit seems a little awkward, and there is a sort of stodgy portentousness to the ending that doesn't seem to fit with the terrific impressionism of the first half.

Ah, opinions! Who needs 'em?

Keep it up!

Cheers

David

[Wabznasm]

Cheers David

I can see what you mean by the end. Initially I had no idea what to fill in the place of the kid and the announcer was an awkward alternative. I think I'll have to ditch the parts that were effective in the orginal because they don't quite fit in with this new take on it. So gone will be the announcer (maybe) as will the 'too litte to offer' - because what else is there that can replace the kid?

I might try and lengthen this and not pack the last images so heavily... Hmm - it seems like this poem is being pulled in different directions with different ropes. I think I shall keep on writing, get as many versions as possible, and see what I like.

Ta for the thoughts
Dave

[Wabznasm]

This poem is killing me so I'm killing it.

Now there are three versions of it and these will be all of the major re-writes I shall do for now.

You guys have been absolutely fantastic. I've felt I've really put you lot to the test with this poem (because I'm being a demanding bastard!) and the comments have been great. So, if you could I would love one last final look at this tombstone. Have I butchered it beyond belief? Are the inclusions scene setting or have they gone up their own pseudo-metaphysical arse? Is this poem directionless? Should I just stick to welcoming new members and give up this poetry business? Please be as brutally candid as possible.

Cheers everyone - let's hope this slightly average poem will sink very soon and very quietly.

Dave

[barrie]

Methinks you've overworked the clay here Dave - the second version was much better. There's too much telling in the last three verses, especially the last one. You lose the mystery.

I'll stick with the second version - it's much better.

Barrie