you’ve now faced your fears admirably. good job.
Poetry / Peanut Butter and Tequila (Analysis)
she
breathing heavily
shot up sweating:
“so, you have any tequila?”
her insanity manifested swiftly
a tsunami under quarantine
keen to unleash
for two years of delirious rapture
she tripped down my halls
elegant and moonstruck
her voluptuous laughter
charging the moist bedroom air
in shadowed predawn hours
one day the closet stood empty
her hangers abandoned, askew
the house immaculately absent: no note
no indication, just missing heels
now I chase stray cats
with peanut butter lids filled with milk
I smoke near the sunlight
pouring through the window
playing with the wisps of rings that
rise to the ceiling and break there
my heart a churning cloud
incarcerated in rucksack
stapled to perdition
outside my door a din of crickets
serenade the darkness
a salacious Burmise appears on my sill
all nose and whiskers
green moons for eyes
I squint at her then turn away
towards the Picasso on my wall
Dostoevsky on my floor
Louise Jadot on my desk
I listen to Chopin scale the walls of eternity
overrun with bankruptcy
I stab curtains with kitchen knives
this pain sweetens her
makes me drip with devastation
her stroke on my skin
with lips and fingertips
thrusted me into permanent ruin
her tongue like a pear – lubricious, grainy
every look from her eyes a simple joy
marked by uncluttered ease
her face in memory is elegant, flawless
The rain makes her more fragrant
The path to me, all blossoms
I’ve kept unswept
And my simple gate
Is easily opened
passing that abandoned house
cloistered now in heedless foliage
I imagine her echoes composed in dust
heels clacking down the hardwood
the obituary lacked a photograph
her blastproof laughter intolerably muffled
another town, another man
an accidental gunshot
the galaxy roils
the moon lingers
my heart burns like tequila
my blood congealed, shoves through my arteries
like peanut butter sucked through a straw
her passing finds me hollowed out
stuffed with jackstraw and fever blisters
infinite in garbage bags of universal madness
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isntlifejuicy reviewed Version 5 -
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crimsonarchon reviewed Version 5 -
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I really like some of the description here. It doesn’t really give a picture of what the woman was actually like, but it gives a good idea of the “feel” of her.
“for two years of delirious rapture
she tripped down my halls
elegant and moonstruck
her voluptuous laughter
charging the moist bedroom air
in shadowed predawn hours”
^That is a very unique way to describe a woman and how you feel about her, I think. The body of this poem is excellent but it ends rather weakly in my opinion. The last three lines:
“her passing finds me hollowed out
stuffed with jackstraw and fever blisters
infinite in garbage bags of universal madness”
are weaker than the rest of the work. They don’t really provoke any thought or emotion in me. Try retooling them a bit, perhaps changing the wording.
Overall, as a semi-abstract poem that manages to tell a story of love (or at least comfortable lust) and loss while being obscure and arty this is a total win.
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Johnsienoel reviewed Version 5 -
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Exquisite prose. passionate, poignant and difficult to digest. leaves the reader with a huge lump in their throat for the anguish, loss and longing you have created.
You have offered the reader a heavy dose of reality wrapped in metaphor and similie yet it does not feel devoid of personal concrete emotions – in fact there is a depth of emotional self-awareness that prevades and lingers
‘tsunami under quarantine keen to unleash’ – beautiful imagery that leaps from the prose and like the metaphorical tidal wave sweeps the reader away with the violence of her insanity.
V2 – I found myself wanting to remove [] charging [the] moist bedroom. simply because it does not feel necessary.
V4/L2 – this line feels heavy. with/with is bothersome. maybe [offering] peanut butter lids.
‘rucksack’ – nice word but by definition I don’t understand intended use here: ’trapped in a backpack’?
‘stapled to perdition’ – I think my favorite line in the entire poem.
V5 – I love the insight into this character, who he is and what he loves. tortured artist maybe?
V7/8 – Personification? the change here feels errant. wandering. I would rather be left with the feel of her tongue on your skin and the look of simple joy in her eyes. Up to this point you have so poignantly shared your pain of her departure [reasons yet unknown] now let us be slapped by the how in V9.
jackstraws/fever blisters = well used. visceral. nasty!
real or imagined – based on reviewers notes I am assuming former vs. later this woman was a very powerful force in your life. you have conveyed the depth of your emotions for her beyond reproach!
ScorpionHunter reviewed Version 5 -
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“a tsunami under quarantine”? I don’t understand this image—it’s vague and needs more language.
“keen to unleash” What’s keen to unleash? Keen to unleash what?
“the house immaculately absent” Are you saying the house wasn’t there anymore? That’s what it says, which doesn’t make sense.
The first and second lines of stanza three contradict lines three and four—you write:
“one day the closet stood empty
her hangers abandoned”
But in the next lines you claim:
“no note
no indication”
I liked this a lot, but it’s a conflicting thing for me: it’s nearly beautiful, but also nearly over dramatic.
JPatrickAusanka reviewed Version 5 -
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Your metaphors are incredibly lurid, intoxicating, and at times hard to digest. Much like she must have been, how tequila spins the head and peanut putter will stick to your throat. You are obviously gifted with your words and your vision of the character (or perhaps he is you) is conveyed with a depth of personal understanding that I found both profound and explicit. So often when poets are deciding how to describe emotional states, they use abstractions – you have not made this error and the coarse reality described here offers a heavy dose of personal emotion in concrete images.
The one thing I would like to see is a punctuation scheme to make it flow in a very specific way that will prompt the reader to approach each line exactly how you want them to approach – with intensity. I read this several times before I found a rhythm that suited it in speech. My suggestion to avoid that is to give it a form through your punctuation so that others are not stricken with the same dilemma as was I. I cannot suggest to you how that would be best performed, that is your task – still that is my suggestion.
rdpixie reviewed Version 5 -
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I really could feel the emotion in this poem and I actually felt like I could connect to the experience even though it has never happened to me. I felt that the verse beginning “this pain sweetens her” didn’t flow as well as the rest of the poem (which flowed to perfection) but other than that I feel I can’t fault it.
horse reviewed Version 5 -
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This piece has a nice “hook” at the begginning. The first few lines drew me into the poem and the first few stanzas held me.
I must admit that my interest started to wander somewhere between the 4th and 5th stanza. At that point, though the language and flow were still good, it started to feel like the piece had outrun the content. Though the descriptions are good and the language is graceful, the last few stanzas don’t feel necessary. It is almost as if there are two poems here, the first one ending with the word “heels”.
This feeling was heightened by the “Picasso/Dostoevsky/Jado/Chopin” lines. I began to feel as if the author wanted me to know how cultured he/she (or his/her subject) was and I didn’t feel that I needed that information in this piece. Those lines were redeemed somewhat by the “stab” line which I felt was near-brilliant and actually said something to me about the subject and his/her state of mind.
In all, a very well written piece…but I feel that it would definitely benefit from some editing and brevity.
seriousfem reviewed Version 5 -
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charging the moist bedroom air
in shadowed predawn hours
elegant.
my heart a churning cloud
incarcerated in rucksack
stapled to perdition
clunky, but I like the alliteration.
stuffed with jackstraw and fever blisters
infinite in garbage bags of universal madness
ehhh…
“garbage bags of universal madness”
what does that mean? not what you call a resounding metaphor.
So much is good in this piece. Watch the change of tone, make it mean something.
I’m not too keen on stabbing the curtains. It introduces the violence of the narrator and I’m not sure that the poem wants that. It makes me question the nature of the woman’s death, makes the narrator suspicious.
Overall, there are a lot of beautiful phrases and some dynamite word choices.
“passing that abandoned house
cloistered now in heedless foliage
I imagine her echoes composed in dust
heels clacking down the hardwood”
What great imagery! cloistered in heedless foliage…echoes composed in dust…heels clacking down the hardwood.” evocative and beautiful.
Good work.
atm1721 reviewed Version 5 -
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Great Write. Unbelieveable use of imagery. You have a way to draw pictures by your choice of words. My favorite part is “my blood congealed, shoves through my arteries like peanut butter sucked through a straw.” That sounds so painful, it gives me the feeling of great struggle. I really enjoyed this piece. Thanks for sharing, and i would really look forward to reading more.
michforoffice reviewed Version 5 -
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I thought this was so pretty! I loved your imagery.
- “Charging the moist bedroom air.”
- “I imagine her echoes composed in dust”
I loved the full circle ‘my heart burns like tequila’
This was beautiful, and funny, and sad. It was very well written. Very pretty.
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