The Writers Block

Palm Shaded Eyes (Revised Final)


The beach is dangerous for an old man,
a cast-iron ocean raves with undertow.
Sand dunes, swollen, morose, half-eaten
by summer squalls and green sea.
Skinny palms like dancers in a show.
The drone overhead, a plane trailing
an advertisement for sunscreen.

Thin dresses outline buttered arms and legs,
the honey-sunk elastic panels of salt tightened
swim suits. Boys and girls throw themselves
like suicides into the white-capped surf.

The breakers toss us back among tilted
umbrellas and snoring bathers.

Far down the beach a boy trots a horse;
a scuffed soccer ball rolls loose,
polyethylene bags drift mindless and free;
new motorboats fresh with shellac
as girls shiny in backyard tubs.

Iced thermos water
cold enough to tint our lips blue.

Dusk begins. Fires light along the shore.
Blankets bump, our towels roiled and soggy.

You lie on one crooked elbow like a doctor
lighting a cigarette after losing a patient.

I think ahead, the Trinitarian church
between two oaks and a machine shop,
shoveled snow in Des Moines, frozen water
in the sluice, Shackelton in an Iowa bedroom
crossing an arctic of starch-white sheets.





Palm Shaded Eyes


The beach is dangerous for an old man,
a cast-iron ocean raves with undertow.
Sand dunes, swollen, morose, half-eaten
by time. Memories talk me to death.

Thin dresses outline buttered arms and legs
blown by hot squalls of wind, honey-sunk
elastic panels of salt tightened swim suits.

Far down the beach a boy trots a horse;
a scuffed soccer ball breaks loose,
polyethylene bags drift mindless and free;
new motorboats fresh with shellac
as girls shiny in backyard tubs.

I was beautiful you even better.

We ran into the breakers to be tossed back
among tilted umbrellas and snoring bathers.
Dusk begins. Fires light near the water.
Blankets bump, our towels roiled and soggy.

You lie on one crooked elbow like a doctor
lighting a cigarette after losing a patient.

I think ahead, the Trinitarian church
between two oaks and a machine shop,
shoveled snow in Des Moines, frozen water
in the sluice, Iowa's Shackelton crosses
an arctic of starch-white sheets.





















Palm Shaded Eyes


A beach is dangerous

for an old man,

memories of undraped youth

on the Arabic-hot sand

that spreads in my thoughts

like a speaker who talks you to death,

the swollen, morose, half-eaten dunes,

the cast-iron ocean with unstrung hair

raving in a mad ward.


Thin dresses that outline buttered arms

and legs blown by hot squalls of wind,

honey-sunk elastic panels of salt tightened

swim suits.


Far down the beach a boy trots a horse;

a scuffed soccer ball breaks loose,


polyethylene bags drift mindless and free;

new racing motorboats fresh with shellac

as girls at freshman dances.


I was almost beautiful then

and you were even better.


We ran into the breakers to get tossed back

among tilted umbrellas and snoring bathers.


The dusk closes in. City lights turn red.

Blankets bump, our towels roiled and soggy.


I think ahead, the Trinitarian church,

shoveled snow in Des Moines, the bland house

and arctic bedroom. Shriveled Hannibal

crossing the starched Alps of our bed sheets.







Comfort of Palm Shaded Eyes

A beach is dangerous
for an old man,
memories of undraped youth
on the scalding sand,
the half-eaten dunes
and the ocean standing off
like a divorced woman
no longer required to listen
as her husband speaks.

The shellac on motorboats
riding in waves fresh as girls
at freshman dances.

The thin outline of dresses,
buttered arms and legs
in photographs, honey-sunk
elastic panels of swim suits.

I was almost beautiful then
and you were even better.
We ran like suicides into
the breakers to feel ourselves
tossed back like rain falling
from cloudless sky.

Open to interpretation
like a doctor
lighting a cigarette
after losing a patient.

mojave:

You've done such a good job of layering this. I love how you tell her story in such a muted way. Particularly like the "observer" perspective of the poem and I'm almost looking over your shoulder at photographs.

Palm Shade Eyes and Rose Colored Glasses:



lick a stamp


Comfort of Palm Shaded Eyes

A beach is dangerous
for an old man,
memories of undraped youth
on the scalding sand,
the half-eaten dunes
and the ocean standing off
like a divorced woman
no longer required to listen
as her husband speaks.

The shellac on motorboats
riding in waves fresh as girls
at freshman dances.

The thin outline of dresses,
buttered arms and legs
in photographs, honey-sunk
elastic panels of swim suits.

I was almost beautiful then
and you were even better.
We ran like suicides into
the breakers to feel ourselves
tossed back like rain falling
from cloudless sky.

Open to interpretation
like a doctor
lighting a cigarette
after losing a patient.

Polished and impressive. The sensual element gives the reader a sly smile that saves the reminiscence from being sentimental. At first I wasn't sure about the connection of the last stanza, as much as I love the image, but after some thought I quite like it. I feel that the complex mood of your doctor lighting a cigarette mirrors the mood of one remembering distant youth. The memories are vivid, but the speaker remains aloof.
I wasn't crazy about the repetition of fresh in the second stanza, but I didn't notice it the first time I read it and I can't think of an alternative that keeps that nice flow of sounds you've set up. If I had to suggest a weak spot I would say the third stanza, I never studied the technical aspects of poetry so it's hard to explain but it didn't flow as well for me, and I felt that the concreteness of 'photographs' took me out of what I had felt to be an inner memory. But it does further that sensuality that is important to the poem, I felt.

Rach

Kenneth---

thanks for your detailed reading.



Rachel---

maybe changing the repeat of the word "fresh."

The shellac on motorboats
riding in waves fresh as girls
at freshman dances.



to this:

The shellac on motorboats
riding in waves fresh as girls
at first year dances.



the last S sure takes some big chances. does it work? sure hope it does, but my approach says first try an alternative before provoking the reader's confusion. for now, let me see how others feel.


these lines, too:




The shellac on motorboats
riding in waves fresh as girls
at freshman dances.

The thin outline of dresses,
buttered arms and legs
in photographs, honey-sunk
elastic panels of swim suits.

I was almost beautiful then
and you were even better.
We ran like suicides into
the breakers to feel ourselves
tossed back like rain falling
from cloudless sky.



possible change:


The shellac on motorboats
riding in waves fresh as girls
at freshman dances.

A calm summer rises
over red and white umbrellas
tilted to shade the bathers
who gleam like Greek gods.


would that be better?

thanks so much for your comments.



mojave

Hi Bernie,

This is very good. Please consider another title; this title does nothing for this reader; more effort and imagination; last 2 strophes the voice shift is fatal, consider fixing that - save that thought for another poem. Please consider in-line suggests below:

Comfort of Palm Shaded Eyes

A beach is dangerous
for an old man,
memories of undraped youth {good positioning of an generic qualifier}
on the scalding sand, (nice cadence)
the half-eaten dunes
[and] the ocean standing off
like a divorced woman (nice drift)
no longer required to listen
as her husband speaks.

The shellac on motorboats
riding in waves fresh as (the) girls
[at freshman dances]

[The] (in) thin outline of dresses,
buttered arms and legs
[in photographs,] honey-sunk
elastic panels of swim suits.

[I was almost beautiful then
and you were even better.]
[We ran like suicides] (running into
the breakers to [feel ourselves] (get)
tossed back like rain [falling
from cloudless sky]. {not certain about this - leads reader on to a muddy frond concerning differences between rain
from a cloudless sky and rain from a not so cloudy sky}

Open to interpretation
like a doctor
lighting a cigarette
after losing a patient. (good, thoughtful, verging on clever, way to bring closure)!!

Enjoyed. Best. Sachi

S----


great edit.

believe that would make the poem look like this:



A beach is dangerous
for an old man,
memories of undraped youth
on the scalding sand,
the half-eaten dunes,
the ocean standing off
like a divorced woman
no longer required to listen
as her husband speaks.

The shellac on motorboats
riding in waves fresh as the girls
in thin dresses, buttered arms
and legs, honey-sunk elastic panels
of swim suits.

I was almost beautiful then
and you were even better
running into the breakers to get
tossed back among umbrellas
and snoring bathers.

Open to interpretation
like a doctor lighting a cigarette
after losing a patient.




now, a new title.

Listening to Chet Baker at the Beach


(paraphrase of a line by Van Morrison---The Last Time I Saw Paris...)


thanks very much.


mojave

Just a maybe more effervescent, even suicidal, idea Mr MO.

The beach is salacious
for the elderly. Memories
of undraped youth and scalding sand,
half eaten dunes and ocean
stand offs, like expositions
between the newly espoused.

The shellac of motorboats
riding waves of fresh beauty
thinly dressed, buttery arms
and legs, within the honeycomb/catacomb
texture(s) of elastic swim suits.

It/I was almost beautiful then,
as were you, running
through breakers, being thrown
back amongst the umbrellas
of slumbering bathers,

open to interpretation
like interns lighting cigarettes/incense
after/prior patient loss.

best
Q

PS: I like moreso that our greatest loves never happen.

Q---


if i understand you correct, mr Q---you want a bit more lemon in the whisky sour.

i revised --- added a dash of bitters.

Arabic sand---

a thought into the future---a trinitarian church, snow and the arctic bedroom...


yipes...


see what u thunk.


mojave

Great poem, reminds me of one of mine

Hello Bernie Spaghetti-

I'm happy I read this. You are a such a fine poet.
The poem leads me down its sandy corridors to a starch white ending.

Very good opening lines. It immediately plops the reader where you want them.

The beach is dangerous for an old man,
a cast-iron ocean raves with undertow.
Sand dunes, swollen, morose, half-eaten
by summer squalls and green sea.
Skinny palms (are) like dancers in a show.
The drone overhead, a plane trailing
an advertisement for sunscreen.

What happened to the lovely "memories of undraped youth"
Don't know about "Memories talk me to death"
Is it to bookend the mention of suicide in : "Boys and girls throw themselves
like suicides into the breaking water."

This feels vivdly real and cool:

"Far down the beach a boy trots a horse;
a scuffed soccer ball breaks loose,
polyethylene bags drift mindless and free;
new motorboats fresh with shellac
as girls shiny in backyard tubs. "

"Our thermos of fresh, clean water
cold enough in my memory
to make (the) lips tint blue."

This reads kind of odd: "I was beautiful you even better. "

I was beautiful then;
you were beauty's blue ribbon.


This is such a fresh and wonderful line:

"You lie on one crooked elbow like a doctor
lighting a cigarette after losing a patient."


This is cold water on the face:

"I think ahead, the Trinitarian church
between two oaks and a machine shop,
shoveled snow in Des Moines, frozen water
in the sluice, Shackelton in an Iowa bedroom
crossing an arctic of starch-white sheets."

It tastes like reality, like a dream was suddenly interrupted.

Enjoyed walking through.

Cheers,

Good poetry pal, yoly macroni---


much thanks fo taking a swim with the poem. (huba huba.)

my favorite line, too:


"You lie on one crooked elbow like a doctor
lighting a cigarette after losing a patient."


the close is harsh. wish i could hit that quarter note, not sweet, not bitter---you did it when you said:

it must be the eggnog because my eyes have gotten warm.... (paraphrase.)

perfect balance there.


now, that awkward line---you writ:

This reads kind of odd:"I was beautiful you even better."

will rethink.

also, you missed the line about undraped youth---i substituted the "talked to death" phrase. will rethink adding back the orginal. in the meantime, the talked to deah line is now surfacing in a current poem fragment about a man who becomes thoughtful as he starts to disembark his JFK filght---







as always, much thanks.


bernie macaronni




I---

no higher complment to be compared with a master, even just mentioned in the same article.






exquisite.


thank you.


mojave

Hello Bernie

A rich and satisfying piece. I remember this one from before. You have done well to bring it to its full fruition. I wonder if some sort of punctuation is needed here: "I was beautiful you even better." Perhaps a dash or comma after "beautiful."

Fine work, Bernie. Bravo.

All the best

Chris

Mojave,

The first line made me smile; it is such a candid, fresh start. The hard/soft contrasts throughout are done very smoothly, not clashing, but complimenting. The imagery is rich and the senses awaken to many surprises. The "sunscreen" is sustained through stanzas with buttered arms, shellac...

This is where I drift--

Our thermos of fresh, clean water
cold enough in my memory
to make the lips tint blue.

You take away my breath,
then I take away your breath.


I do not particularly like "You take away my breath, then I take away your breath," as if taking turns on some game, nor do I like the colloquial expression. Especially, I do not see how it comes about after the stanza before it, with an almost 'unmemory so cold and blue lips...' I suppose the mind does skip around, but the poem reaches a hurdle at this point for me.

The following two lines are gorgeous. The crooked elbow line is a winner. The ending stanza is brave and daring as well as humble in all its whitenesses.

I am a happier reader for this one! Thank you.

pen

Hi mojave,

noisier word than advertisement

The drone overhead, a plane trailing
a banner for sunscreen.

^^ or maybe even just "ad"


here's how I read these lines:

new motorboats with fresh shellac,
shiny as girls in backyard tubs.


comma please:

You lie on one crooked elbow, like a doctor
lighting a cigarette after losing a patient.


re "I think ahead" ok, but consider these options:

I see ahead   (esp given the title)

Ahead of me


Best Regards,

Michael (MV)

 
 

Palm Shaded Eyes (Revised Final)


The beach is dangerous for an old man, [suggest you add: like me?]
a cast-iron ocean raves with undertow. [unusual - cast iron, the colour is like certainly, could work]
Sand dunes, swollen, morose, half-eaten [like this so true]
by summer squalls and green sea. [green sea...one of Dylan's or similar]
Skinny palms like dancers in a show. [thin or spindly maybe but not sinny imo]
The drone overhead, a plane trailing
an advertisement for sunscreen.[better still a plane drones aimllessly trailing, i like the line though]

Thin dresses outline buttered arms and legs, [good]
the honey-sunk elastic panels of salt tightened [could leave out plastic]
swim suits. Boys and girls throw themselves
like suicides into the white-capped surf. [I see it so strongly just suicides is not quite right, I know you mean daring or headstong or risky but not suicide, suicide spoils the line imo]

The breakers toss us back among tilted
umbrellas and snoring bathers. [funny]

Far down the beach a boy trots a horse; [trots his horse isn't quite right why not trots on his horse? imho]
a scuffed soccer ball rolls loose, [true]
polyethylene bags drift mindless and free; [drift with the wind...breeze...ease]
new motorboats fresh with shellac [not all boats ar enew, but fresh, clean, shiney or something else imo]
as girls shiny in backyard tubs. [funny]

Iced thermos water
cold enough to tint our lips blue. [streching the hyperbole here, i like the thought but blue?]

Dusk begins. Fires light along the shore. [surely dusk falls, I know you want it fresh and not hackneyed but fall is the best word for dusk, or draws begins is pushing it imho]
Blankets bump, our towels roiled and soggy. [ecellent line so true and right]

You lie on one crooked elbow like a doctor
lighting a cigarette after losing a patient. [good]

I think ahead, the Trinitarian church
between two oaks and a machine shop,
shoveled snow in Des Moines, frozen water
in the sluice, Shackelton in an Iowa bedroom
crossing an arctic of starch-white sheets. [good stanze , i liked it even though a tad abstract in its thinking]

This is such a good poem, I hated writing down some nits, but take them or leave them, just ideas. Still a good poem very true of my childhood, beaches and sea and undertows, wet towels crimped, soggy sandwiches warm and squashed with a touch of sand and girls lots of thin skinned girls of every shape and shudder fresh from the sea, cold and dripping wanting to be held. Reeds and seagulls scavaging, and the broiling sun then a dip until cold and shivering then the run back to the hot sand, so hot you had to run. And after a day of sun and sand the skin so clean you just lay in bed radiating heat until sleep decended and dreams of sea and sand and lithesom girls with long white..... And after ten years of beaches we never got tired of the first run of summer, jumping of the pier making old ladies scream with fear as our young legs broke into bit before their yes...only they never did.

Ieuan

Nice poem Bernie, it has a dreamlike quality about. The delusion of the Narrator is very well developed, and becomes almost tangible.

Good luck with it.

C

MV---

thanks for the suggestion. will do.


Chris---


thanks for stopping by. appreciated your comment.



L---

will slowly go over your suggestions, they all seem well grounded.

i like this even better:

true of my childhood, beaches and sea and undertows,
wet towels crimped, soggy sandwiches warm and squashed
with a touch of sand and girls lots of thin skinned girls
of every shape and shudder fresh from the sea,
cold and dripping wanting to be held.

Reeds and seagulls scavaging, and the broiling sun
then a dip until cold and shivering then the run back
to the hot sand, so hot you had to run.

And after a day of sun and sand the skin so clean
you just lay in bed radiating heat until sleep decended
and dreams of sea and sand and lithesom girls
with long white.....

And after ten years of beaches we never got tired
of the first run of summer, jumping of the pier
making old ladies scream with fear
as our young legs broke into bit before their yes.


now there's a terrific beach pom



mojave

Haha...well it's your poem now old friend ...Mojave