"not whiny enough." - j.d. salinger on this poem or possibly his wine glass.* c4c. [kinda] ots. etc.

*possible (probable) misquote



setting the scene

some winter night,
and emma and i
sit side by side
in her car.
the roads are ugly
and snow-slicked,
and my fingers are
trembling and open,
as she puts her index
in the center of my palm
in a playful push of
reassuring pressure.
my fingers snap shut,
joints slowed and
achingly cold in the
unrelenting chill
of a midwestern christmas.


the engine groans
and sputters and spits,
tiredly moans as it struggles
to turn over. she looks
at me with her eyes
rolling effortlessly
into the back of her skull.
she doesn't seem
to appreciate how much
i might like to posses
that ability. i smile sweetly.
the ignition hums in
gentle submission,
and we roll back into
the street. headlights
promising to turn
the icy asphalt to a
polished diamond dancefloor.


she turns to me and
asks quietly why they
paint the roads black.
damn good question, really.


we pull into the park,
and i step into the sharp
and tactless bite of the
breeze. emma brushes
the pure and powdery snow
from the swings, and sits.
there's something unsettling
about the eerie quiet
of the frozen and nostalgic
playground to which she
insisted we visit, but,
i sit with her, and she
runs her gloved fingers
through my hair.


we walk back to
the snow-shined camry
emma shivers,
quite audibly,
quite noticeably,
quite ominously,
and i quickly wrap
my overcoat around
her sunken shoulders.


as we come to a stop in
the cluttered parking lot
of my apartment complex,
i turn to her, my cheeks
flushed with a red only
winter and failure can
so easily inspire. she
moves forward from her
seat and wearily kisses
me, her lips cool in
complete contrast to
the warm and saccharine
saliva resting just beneath,
and as i start to pull
back to open the car door,
she pulls closer and
whispers in my ear,
ugly words i'd never
given her tongue credit for.


the salt content of tears makes them almost unfreezeable, this makes them rather insidious as they pool on the frozen sidewalk outside my building. the sort-of dulled and mellow orange-gold of the streetlamp radials casts an otherworldly glow on the whole scene, as i attempt to comfort myself through chattering teeth. finally, i remember that i never got my god-damn coat back, though i expect it wouldn't be able to provide the kind of warmth i'm needing; i doubt that'll ever come.
This was really impressive. I was wondering how long it'd be before you wrote another epic, multi-part poem. I love how ittarted off sweet, and then turned so sharply at the end, really delt the blow perfectly. Love as always.
this had some quote-worthy parts such as "reassuring pressure", and "headlights promising to turn the icy asphalt to a polished diamond dancefloor," and has your usual vivid descriptions, but overall I couldn't get into the story much, I never got into the characters and where they were leading. I didn't feel it took me anywhere. There was no "Aha!" moment at the end. I feel that a poem seperated into parts such as these should develop and add to the story at each part, otherwise it'd be better off as a one or two stanza vignette. That's just my opinion though.
Quote by icaneatcatfood
On second thought, **** tuning forks. You best be carrying around a grand piano that was tuned by an Italian
Oh, I will add one thing, while I'm thinking of it. There were stages during this that it felt too descriptive, too much lost in painting a scene, as if you're trying to pad out a short story into something more long and intricate. Sometimes it worked, other times, it detracted too much from the characters and the story.
This was a good read. It seemed so distant, and at the same time, so close to the characters, not to mention, it was eerily realistic. And it would be nothing without its heart. It's just a really bittersweet story of love, and the lack of it. Extremely easy to relate to.

It made me sad.

The flow is great too.

The only criticism I have to give is that it's not that memorable. Sure, it's very pretty and depressing, but I can only remember what the third and last two stanzas were even about. And the third is only memorable because of the unconventional idea.

Quote by Laces Out Danny
There was no "Aha!" moment at the end. I feel that a poem seperated into parts such as these should develop and add to the story at each part, otherwise it'd be better off as a one or two stanza vignette. That's just my opinion though.

it was a vignette, but i don't fuck around with my vignettes, i fill 'em up. it's a recounting of every important gesture and moment on the night our humble protagonist loses her. what lead up to such a moment and what came after are unimportant. you get the scene, and make up your own story around it. i just wanted to focus on the moment. i get if you don't like it, but if i changed the piece to correct for your criticism, i'd have lost the essence of what i wrote this for, but still, i appreciate you saying anything so thank you for your thoughts.
I loved it, best poem I've read on UG and I lurk a lot. If anything could have been better it would have been Emma, the kiss served to give her some dimension but I would have liked a little more. Just one line that made me fall in love a little. You paint a beautiful picture, some fantastic parts sent a little chill down my spine,
promising to turn
the icy asphalt to a
polished diamond dancefloor."

The soft blow at the end was perfectly juxtaposed with the previous (indulgent) stanza's. Someone said they wanted an 'aha!' moment but that would have killed it. It was understated and detached and matter-of-fact. It had a cold quality to it, as though the speaker has not come to terms with the loss and that's something I've never seen before.
Better than Jesus, Megatron and T-Rex combined.

(. Y .)(. Y .)
- ) . ( - ) . (
- \ v / - \ v /

This ^ is why I'm right.
Last edited by Tea Cup at Aug 5, 2009,
"the sort-of dulled and mellow orange-gold"
only wording I didn't like.

I got caught thinking Bon Iver here. The song Blood Bank. Heard it? Great Song. Check the lyrics if you haven't. And the name Emma too.

the shift in tone to the last section worked well.

Anatomy Anatomy
Whale Blue Review

Park that car
Drop that phone
Sleep on the floor
Dream about me
Sounds like TS Eliot may be an inspiration to your work. You did a fantastic job, really great!
I can see what danny said about the characters and the shallow area of play the reader has with them but I think that is what the author wanted. a real dull standard almost static kind of feel cause that lack of, or emptiness seems to be the character to me, not blanks to which he could have filled character traits. but really i have no idea. either way i enjoyed reading this quite alot.