This Poem was Submitted By: Rachel F. Spinoza On Date: 2005-01-19 10:10:21 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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It’s not a small thing  to wake a drummer at nine a.m.   especially one so tenderly  spread on the indigo couch dish cloth masking red eyes, narrow feet bare and vulnerable Forgive me, but you see, the morning is pulsing  to the rhythm  of your soft snoring  and the steam of chai tea undulates through the room, murmuring  nutmeg. I have hidden  The tabloid story  of your indiscretion between the cymbals   and your sighs, as you lie  there, oblivious   to the tempo of the new day, basking  in some other melody just lying there smiling your dream

Copyright © January 2005 Rachel F. Spinoza

This Poem was Critiqued By: Rick Barnes On Date: 2005-02-03 11:52:38
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
Roni, I love this. I needn't deal in the details, we have known each others work long enough. I have been that drummer,(guitar player), and this somehow explains something to me, although I'm not sure what, but I think that it will enable me to finish a few of those smiling dreams interrupted by the tempo of my hosts(') new day. I'm smiling, - Rick

This Poem was Critiqued By: Claire H. Currier On Date: 2005-01-30 09:37:34
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.81633
Good Morning Poet......Honestly I say I am not sure of whom you speak within these lines but I do know I enjoyed the read very much....adding of course my own personal interpretation of what your worlds mean to me.... It’s not a small thing to wake a drummer at nine a.m. especially one so tenderly spread on the indigo couch dish cloth masking red eyes, narrow feet bare and vulnerable The image of the person spread on the indigo couch, dish cloth masking red eyes, narrow feet bare and culnerable certainly appear and the thought of waking such a vision does not seem right..... like the indigo couch too....... Never had chai tea nor smelt the nutmeg which you appear to have created in the second stanza and quite well I add......the morning is pulsing to the rhythm of your soft snoring is also appealing.....makes me want to just sit and watch this person......... what indescretions could this person have caused the night before or perhaps the week before.. and in closing I like the way you leave it open to the dawning of a new beat to the new day and the smile that covers the sleepers face as the dreams of life perhaps continue on..... So there you have it .....way off in the distance I am but still found it a great are a brilliant writer my friend with a God given talent.....stay warm, be safe, God Bless, Claire good structure and word flow which brings it all together......
This Poem was Critiqued By: Jane A Day On Date: 2005-01-29 20:46:56
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Dear Rachel, I love this story poem. I want to hear the rest of the tale. The other poems. I know this couch and that dish towel. I love the sound of hiding things in the cymbols as well as the fact that "she" knows it will be found. I really love the rhythm of the moment you are painting and the music between them. I would like a little more about why he must be woken some urgency that seems to be coming in. I can touch something almost but I don't quite know. As is, its pretty but I there is one more layer--lightly put but darkly lit, you know? This is a pleasure to read. I keep rereading. Jane
This Poem was Critiqued By: Tony P Spicuglia On Date: 2005-01-29 12:18:57
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.97059
Rachel, you probably by now have thought I ditched having to critique this piece, and nothing could be farther from the truth. I have read, reread, put aside the critique because beyond the obvious, I couldn’t decipher the subliminal message. The piece is just too well done to be misconstrued by me. Yet here I am, another excellent piece by you, with the same associo-active properties that you excel at. Syncopation – Your title leads me to a dualism, that of the “syncopation” of a drummer to music, but also the interaction of different lives, intermixing with each other. If I was to wager supposition, I’d say your son was on your couch, a college student, and in the band. However, your description makes me feel like I’ve known him a long time and share in you “tenderness” at awaking him. My eldest daughter was in band and choir, (and performs as an adult), and in reading this, you create a vision well imprinted in my mind. There is a warm colloquialism to your descriptions. “morning pulsing” “indigo couch” “murmuring nutmeg” to the beating of the snores, of one you view “with tenderness”, and in your feelings, I have to smile, it warms me. What most strikes me, beyond the “tabloid” (which I consider a personal editorial of his evening, not a true tabloid), you description of hiding such “indiscretion” “between cymbals and sighs” tells me you ascribe such “occurrences” to youth and growing up, in a manner that you yourself, remember being that young. In all, you leave us with “dreams” and I can see you watching your loved one, and wondering at all the dreams he has life ahead “melodies” to be sung, and “life to syncopate” with. Such a beautiful piece, Thanks for sharing it.
This Poem was Critiqued By: Latorial D. Faison On Date: 2005-01-29 09:23:13
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Rachel, The title attracted me to this poem. I played trumpet for about 7 years in school (smile). I think that the first two lines of your poem are very, very important. You tell us who the poem is about, but you also make a connection with time, which alludes to the musical sense of it. It's a light poem, but it's so interesting and you have chosen words that fit just right for the style, format and subject matter of the poem. I've always thought that musicians were in a clasa all their own, and there was somethign about the "indigo couch" that confirmed it for me. They have flair. They have style. They are unique. I mean how many people have indigo couches, and even if the couch was the speaker's choice, he/she is in some way tied to the drummer, the musician (by blood or love . . . or both). You do a great job painting a picture as the drummer as a passionate artist here. We get the sense that it's been a late night working, and because of the tabloid, we get the sense that he's no amateur. Amateurs don't make it to the tabloids. He's obviously someone the world might notice, and this tidbit in the poem reveals even more. It's funny how some words can do that, reveal something magnanimous. This comes in hand in poetry where we like to paint vivid pictures using as few words as possible. I think you do a great job in the poem causing the readers to think and connect one thing with another. In keeping with your title and the fact that you write about a drummer/musician, the following lines fit perfectly in the poem . . . the morning is pulsing to the rhythm of your soft snoring I simply thought of drum beats and heart beats when I read these line and of course the soft snoring in between (smile). Very effective word choices and illustrations here. I love chai tea (smile). So, I know the aroma that comes with it. There's something about the chai tea and the musician again. It works much like the indigo couch, gives the reader reason to believe that the musician loves exotic or "different" things. He's not a person without style or taste. Neither is the speaker. Something about hiding the tabloid between the cymbals (which alludes to the fact that he could beat away the pain of such a story while playing and clashing away). My sons are on their 3rd set of drums, and I think it's therapeutic to just go down and bang on their drums every now and then. So, I could see some symbolism in losing the reality of the tabloid article within some parts of the drum, the cymbals. With drumming comes an enormous amount of noise and action, and I think that you show the versatility of this drummer by capturing his peacefulness during a good sleep and dreams that make him smile. Very interesting poem. I love music, and I think musicians are cool. Perhaps one of my sons will practice enough to be good at the drums. Thanks for sharing. I enjoyed critiquing this one. It's a simple poem, but it carries so much weight with its style and uniqueness. Latorial
This Poem was Critiqued By: Mark Morales On Date: 2005-01-23 17:08:51
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
So dear, who is this mysterious drummer sleeping on your blue sofa?
This Poem was Critiqued By: Dellena Rovito On Date: 2005-01-20 17:59:20
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Rachel, It feels like it's your son lying on the couch recovering from a night's work as a drummmer. His feet [young] narrow-[slim] vulnerable. You hate to have to wake him...... I have hidden The tabloid story of your indiscretion between the cymbals and your sighs, as you lie/[rhyming with chi tea]nice! there, oblivious [as kids are] to the tempo of the new day, basking in some other melody just lying there smiling your dream [like youth with few cares in the world] syncopation is a nice title.....the rhythm of living.... wonderful job, enjoyed this greatly Dellena
This Poem was Critiqued By: Kelly Denise LaBeff On Date: 2005-01-20 05:46:07
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.83333
Wow! Poet, where do I begin? First, more than a suiting title- together, accenting, but cut, unaccented so many relationships, nature regardless ... syncopation - marching to the beat of another song, not one with endearing terms, faithfulness either. I love the way you write, how you mastermind a rhythm and language that amalgamates sheer brilliance, precision and passion. With absolute wit and talent, you never fail to take an event, something that happened, a story and mold it with expressive energy. In relating such, you amaze me how you craft inanimate words kneading each until it generates its purpose intended, never is a single word utilized just for the sake of being, but rather it serves as an eminent subsistence, always. Clever, "cymbals and your sighs", great play of wording especially cymbals: hollow, but resounding and apparently of double-sides or -sided. Subject feels narrow and small, masked, needing to be forgiven while at the same time she hides the proof of pain. Adorning colors of suffrage, red and blue, she’s still bare and vulnerable, and yet there’s a still need to be clad with caution. Isn’t it strange how the forsaken asks for forgiveness while the other rests soundly and safeguarded by the afflicted as well, daily normalcy abounds as usual for nothing’s adrift even today: soft snoring, steaming chai tea, nutmeg, happily and content, snug as a bug, in the norm of his deceit, it’s common place. You’ve stirred within me the heart, the soul, the mind, the body that drums...thinking surely death will come, any second. Remarkable relationship shown between the metered/rhythmic lexis used to the actual pounding within during such an instance. Lie and lying were also used with great witted double-sidedness. Not enough praise to go around for this one... and on the day of our inaugural ceremony, too! Splendid. I really do admire this piece for as always your poetic pen prevails. With much admiration, Kelly {{Have a great day!}} I hope I took from this all that you had hoped.
This Poem was Critiqued By: Joanne M Uppendahl On Date: 2005-01-19 18:55:19
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Rachel: This poem is so evocatively written. There is a tenderness in the speaker's voice -- which seems, in a way, motherly -- at least to this reader. I love the idea of the "tabloid story" hidden "between the cymbals" (suggests 'symbols') and the sensual (or sensory) imagery of the scent of nutmeg and the drummer's "narrow feet" so "bare and vulnerable." Reading this poem felt like having it whispered in my ear -- an intimate moment shared with startling clarity. Knowing a drummer quite well myself, (my grandchild's father) I'm aware of the verity of the first two lines' observation. As always your poetry invokes many feelings. It's great pleasure, once more. This slice of life is delightful and, I suspect, many-layered. Enjoyed these lines, especially, for their gentle cadence -- Forgive me, but you see, the morning is pulsing to the rhythm of your soft snoring and the steam of chai tea undulates through the room, "murmuring nutmeg." ---Mmmm, delicious! Wonderfully engaging. Brava! Best to you, Joanne
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