This Poem was Submitted By: Mick Fraser On Date: 2004-07-15 00:39:08 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!To Listen to Music While Reading this Poem, just Click Here!
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Hanging at Home Hypothetical situations are real
Plath's carbon paper nights leave smudges
hacking, coughing and short breaths
life in smog-filled windless Chicago
Forewarned masters
moved us into danger
the black rain filling pools of sludge
where souls swimingly struggle
Integrity
compromised by righteous evil-doers
values changed by ideas
fabricated by sausage makers
squished up the lower canals
to fill perceived perceived voids
spun into swirls of political peanut butter
Mother instinct
recommends laxatives and enemas
as network news flogs
Enzyte and salad spinners
and Jim-Bob wonders if riding a camel
would have prevented the Malboro Man's demise |
|
Copyright © July 2004 Mick Fraser
Additional Notes:
not enough effexor in this world to make us all happy
This Poem was Critiqued By: Joanne M Uppendahl On Date: 2004-08-01 12:56:00
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Hi Mick:
Your poems are often complex and multi-layered. A reader like myself
loves this challenge. The tone of the poem is bleak - if it were music
(depending upon one's generation, I hazard) it would be blues. Here
you have made your own lyrical music out of the "black rain falling"
though falling into "pools of sludge." Deft slant rhymes in "smudges/sludge"
sets the scene of a place "where souls swimmingly struggle"
Hypothetical situations are real
Plath's carbon paper nights leave smudges
hacking, coughing and short breaths
life in smog-filled windless Chicago
The lines above feel smothering -- foreshadowing her final breathes.
The environment is threatening, not life-sustaining, you show us aptly.
Forewarned masters
moved us into danger
the black rain filling pools of sludge
where souls (swimmingly) struggle
No shortage of poetics - for example assonance of "masters/black" or the
liquidly emphatic l's of L3 and 4 above.
Integrity
compromised by righteous evil-doers --(self-righteous, pompous, strutting types?)
values changed by ideas
fabricated by sausage makers
squished up the lower canals
to fill perceived (perceived) voids --I'm certain you've caught this, if not intentional
spun into swirls of political peanut butter
A very refined gentleman's sardonic way to sum up the fecal matter disguised as
information. Witty, pointed, and well worth the read!
Mother instinct
recommends laxatives and enemas
as network news flogs
Enzyte and salad spinners
and Jim-Bob wonders if riding a camel
would have prevented the Malboro Man's demise
Smiling Bob, the ever-grinning pitchman for Enzyte, would have us believe that the
lack of libido is easily fixable, like wet lettuce needing a spin. The cure-alls,
fix-its and remedies seem plastic but plausible, though the 'fix' for integrity
may be hopeless. I enjoyed this, because of the cleverness of your writing, and
the recognition that there's a reason TV makes me flee to my writing or flowers.
Thank you for this satirical look at what happens when we 'hang at home' - oh,
a clever allusion to suicidal thoughts in the title's "Hanging" and again with
the reference to Plath. This poem makes it claar, at least to me, that if all we
have going for us is the hype we are fed daily by the media, we are sure to sicken.
Well done, pointed and timely!
Kudos for another good one.
My best to you,
Joanne
This Poem was Critiqued By: arnie s WACHMAN On Date: 2004-07-30 23:48:17
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.18182
Chicago, the windy city. Never have I been there when the wind was absent. Perhaps you see a different Chicago than I frequented. Sounds like you need a change of scenery. Chicago...political? Yes and then some. Even in the nether world of paid politicos and gangster affiliations. Reputations are hard to get around sometimes. Interesting perspective on a city I've spent considerable time in.
This Poem was Critiqued By: Mell W. Morris On Date: 2004-07-19 18:00:56
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Mick:
Apparently hanging at home brings forth some interesting and peculiar
thoughts from your brain. I like that: a person who stays home and muses or ponders.
IMO, too many sit in front of the tube, letting someone think for them.
Your opening line is an oxymoron if I've ever seen one! It's fine by me that you
opine that hypothetical situations are real, but what about your ensuing statements?
Are they true/real or hypothetical?
I think the purpose of the 1st stanza is to tell us the setting...Chicago...the prime
example or quintessential environmentally-impacted city. Chicago made it on the stockyards
or likely wouldn't exist and with the market and processing, came the odious smells.
(I may be missing your point..I used to live near Chicago...and to me, it will always mean
Marshall Fields, the el, and the blues).
S 3 tackles directly the politics of the city...the righteous evil-mongers who strike
a bargain and therafter do not have to follow EPA regs. Chicago has always lacked political
integrity IMO, the same as Louisiana with the Longs, and in Texas, every street corner
spawns more political corruption. I really like your metaphor:
"spun into swirls of political peanut butter."
Your final stanza says to me that it's time for Mother's old remedies: castor oil and milk of
magnesia and other purges thought to cleanse the body of impurities. While you perform
purification rituals, the ads on TV promote salad spinners. Very effective linguistry
here and throughout your poem, especially the contrasts you point out. Or I should say,
paradoxes upon which you focus the light of exposure.
Your last two lines made me laugh out loud. Taking a swing at one of our Southern good-ole'-boys.
His name Jim-Bob tells us all we want to know about him. Poor old bow-legged rube just doesn't get it
and rube that I am, I don't get a lot of things either. A symbol of time passing him by and initially
funny, it is a sad commentary on the times in which we live.
You've done a fine job here with a seemingly light-hearted poem but reading between the lines, I think you address some vital concerns about the condition of human life. Please let me know how far astray I nay have wandered as I am burning with curiosity.
I have no suggeastions for change and find your poem well created or written. I already see the growth
in reviewing your prior submissions.
Kudos!
Best wishes,
Mell
This Poem was Critiqued By: Lennard J. McIntosh On Date: 2004-07-17 15:24:53
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.00000
RE: "Hanging at Home"
"not enough effexor in this world to make us all happy" *** Yes, Mick, and if there's
anyone who can claim they're completely happy even with effexor, I'd be privleged to meet them.
What a far-reaching look at life as it is today from the not-too-often utilized vantage of
telling it the way it really is. It is refreshing, as the political, commercial and religious
elements governing this mess we call world society, most often suyggest things are going pretty
well. But then, I expect they must, since they're the main tools that have placed the world in
its present situation. Poets have a away of scrapping away the manure and getting down to hard
ground.
"Integrity
compromised by righteous evil-doers" *** This short phrase supports the point I make above.
I chortled roundly at your ending - good for ol' Jim-Bob.
An exceptional read,and hard hitting. I thoroughly enjoyed it.
Len McIntosh
This Poem was Critiqued By: Molly Johnson On Date: 2004-07-15 13:40:43
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
This piece was cause for lively discussion at my house. My husband says it's clearly meant to be performance poetry with props and everything and I say it's meant to be political expose but the ideas were so deeply burried under the imagery that it just appears theatrical. We read it aloud three times before I went to your profile to see if it said anything about performance art. I have to say Mick, I laughed and laughed at your profile. I'll exerpt it here in case you forgot what you wrote:
Mick Fraser's Profile:
Mick is a man that likes simple poems with meaningful messages.
Go ahead and write long missives...I have a delete button.
I am looking forward to learning more about poetry.
There is one thing I can say definatively about your piece; it's not simple. E-mail me and I'd be happy to serve a critique on your profile for you. All that aside, here's some thoughts on the piece.
The first line sets an interesting contradiction for your poem. If hypothetical situations are real, how real or hypothetial is what you're about to say? The rest of the stanza sets a location for the poem but I think it serves best as an internal location the smudgy darkness is always fertile ground for political thoughts.
Second stanza is easiest to pull actual meaning from. The pools/sludge/swimmingly/struggle has nice sound to it. I wonder if souls really struggle in it? Souls struggling implies a moral struggle that I'm not sure is actually present in the situation. Hmmmm something to think about.
I start to get a sense of the value struggle in the next line but then I get lost in the sausage makers. In the end I'm grossed out enough by the image that it doesn't hold the thread of the idea. The construct of the lines makes it unclear whether the ideas or the sausage makers are being squished up my lower canal. Either way, ewww, and then there's the peanut butter. If you meant it to be a light moment, it works. I suggest a line break in front of political peanut butter to effect even more pause.
In the last stanza, the cure (laxatives and enemas, yuck) and then the anti-cure(media) and then ??? I get that Jim-Bob is distracted from the realities that the poem explores but the tobacco issue seems the wrong place to leave this political piece. I wonder if leaving Jim-Bob hung on the salad spinner is inane enough?
Well my two cents turned into ten pennies for sure. Probably because I had such an interesting time interacting with this piece. Thanks.
mollyj
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