#1
jack daniels debonair; midwestern laissez-faire;
got enough time to sit below a broken traffic light,
still in drive and foot on brake, windows rolled down
for exhaust smoke intake, but i don't care.
i've had my chances, but instead i spent a whole summer
tearing out the upholstery, deflating the tires.
i blindly reached below the passenger seat
for a feel of what existed between you and me,
but was left uninspired.

yesterday, i found enough fire in whiskey,
enough of your aesthetic in the pictures i keep with me;
clarity fashions itself as the hickey your neckscarf can't hide.
clarity imagines itself to the point that i can't tell
what light will reach me first: the dawn, or the bottle glare.
i've come to realize it while watching you dance;
the quiet engine noise consumes you as you move
in the middle of traffic, like a fawn in a trance.
it's possible to lurch forward and believe in another chance
but i'm no longer the one you're waiting for.
i choose not to care instead, simply,
but that rarely does anyone any good.
here, My Dear, here it is
Last edited by SubwayToVenus at Oct 17, 2011,
#2
Just randomly reading, Nice song dude. I saw Vera Lynn and the first thing I thought about was the Pink Floyd song Does Anybody Here Remember Vera Lynn?, and it really put me in that mindset of a kind of depressive mood before I read this. It fit perfectly. Again, great lyrics!
#3
thanks man. you're right on: the title is a direct allusion to the pink floyd song. i wrote this while listening to that three track suite of "vera", "bring the boys back home", and "comfortably numb". thanks for reading.
here, My Dear, here it is
#4
jack daniels debonair; midwestern laissez-faire;
got enough time to sit below a broken traffic light,
still in drive and foot on brake, windows rolled down
for exhaust smoke intake, but i don't care.
Good flow and such, solid, exhaust smoke intake sounds a little awkward but I'm not sure how else you could word that without destroying the rhythm and maintaining the meaning


i've had my chances, but instead i spent a whole summer
tearing out the upholstery, deflating the tires.
i blindly reached below the passenger seat
for a feel of what existed between you and me,
but was left uninspired.
i didn't really like this, it kind of hit me as a failed metaphor and that's all I can really say about it. well-written, otherwise.


yesterday, i found enough fire in whiskey,
enough of your aesthetic in the pictures i keep with me;
clarity fashions itself as the hickey your neckscarf can't hide.
clarity imagines itself to the point that i can't tell
what light will reach me first: the dawn, or the bottle glare.
As I have a great fondness for internal rhyme, (which you know if you've ever read just about anything I've ever written) I dig your use of it here.


i've come to realize it while watching you dance;
the quiet engine noise consumes you as you move
in the middle of traffic, like a fawn in a trance.
it's possible to lurch forward and believe in another chance
but i'm no longer the one you're waiting for.
i choose not to care instead, simply,
but that rarely does anyone any good.
this last bit kind of pales in comparison to the rest of the piece in terms of quality, but I'm sure you know that.

overall, i liked it but I think that a few little tweaks here and there could go a long way.
#5
jack daniels debonair; midwestern laissez-faire;
got enough time to sit below a broken traffic light,
still in drive and foot on brake, windows rolled down
for exhaust smoke intake, but i don't care.
i've had my chances, but instead i spent a whole summer
tearing out the upholstery, deflating the tires.
i blindly reached below the passenger seat
for a feel of what existed between you and me,
but was left uninspired.

yesterday, i found enough fire in whiskey,
enough of your aesthetic in the pictures i keep with me;
clarity fashions itself as the hickey your neckscarf can't hide.
clarity imagines itself to the point that i can't tell
what light will reach me first: the dawn, or the bottle glare.
i've come to realize it while watching you dance;
the quiet engine noise consumes you as you move
in the middle of traffic, like a fawn in a trance.
it's possible to lurch forward and believe in another chance
but i'm no longer the one you're waiting for.
i choose not to care instead, simply,
but that rarely does anyone any good.

This is not what I remember from you: this is uncooked, unstirred. the image of sitting beneath the broken traffic light lasts through the rest. this is that heartache films have difficulty conveying: the empty bottle and the sloppy rhymes are the deflated tires. There HAS to be something there, because there WAS something there. Anything we perceive as evidence speaks to such perfect logic, right?

Heavy. "but was left uninspired" is an ugly line, and belongs in its place with absolute certainty. probably the most telling line in the poem, because by the time I'm at uninspired, I'm expecting the whiskey that comes next, the memories, and that pathetic voice in the back of our head that we pretend convinces us that we don't care anymore. like you said, it doesn't matter anyway. no one benefits from not caring, only from shifting care from one place to another. perspective, place, person, etc. that hope for another chance fizzles out with the failures that came before it, the ones after which we thought something between "what the hell am I doing" and "this is familiar, but something's changed" - well, of course it has. everything has. that's innocence that's gone now, and the guilt we bear all the way to the broken stop light (the pictures we carry, the smell on the neckscarf, whatever might be underneath the seat) will self-propel forever: if only we could run our cars and spaceships on guilt: we'd never have to fill up again.

(until we let it go)
#6
thanks so much guys. and spike, i can't tell you how much i look forward to your comments so thank you for stopping by. i know you guys have some pieces floating around so i'll get to those as soon as i can
here, My Dear, here it is
#7
My problem with this piece is that it works on two levels of emotion that for me do not coincide with one another.

In the first stanza you're talking about missed chances and then you go down the road of feeling uninspired and choosing not to care. For me this is a direct contradiction, so by the time I'm getting into the grit of the poem, I'm not really in one mindset, I'm not feeling one thing and it leaves me disconnected from immersing myself in the reading.

You lost me in the beginning on this one.
This is not a pipe
#8
^i understand what you're saying. i guess part of initial intention for writing this was to explore this dissonance i feel when i say that i don't care, but deep down i really do and the actions i make show that i really do. that was more or less what i was trying to explain. again, that was my intention but that's not to say i executed that.
here, My Dear, here it is
#9
Quote by SubwayToVenus
thanks man. you're right on: the title is a direct allusion to the pink floyd song. i wrote this while listening to that three track suite of "vera", "bring the boys back home", and "comfortably numb". thanks for reading.

Yes no problem, I really respect your pink floyd reference as that is what I listen to when I'm happy, depressed, ecited, you name it. The lyrics on any songs on The Wall are so powerful, and you're getting there, just next time, as a bit of advice, don't try so hard to make a metaphor out of your lyrics right off. just write everything down, THEN compare it with stuff that could work towards making it more powerful. But don't take it from me lol you're doing great! its like, I know what your song is about, but you didnt bluntly come out and say it.
#10
i like this piece, nice flow and deep. whiskey to fuel in the moment when hanging out with your firend or significant other. there's a sense of appreciation for that person while ya sit back and observe in that particular moment. its something i can relate as well. nice work.