This Poem was Submitted By: DeniMari Z. On Date: 2009-10-06 01:12:24 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!To Listen to Music While Reading this Poem, just Click Here!
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Pain In The Beginning & End No splendor felt or bathed when one son lies in his grave.
Under dirt, dust and bones no spirit to unearth sad ruin tending home.
What death has done to me has branded my soul endlessly.
Isolated room where I screamed with pain
as the doctors worked a miracle
of love a joy I gained.
Next were horrid screams
Too blurred to be heard
as the police spoke so slowly the words
of death had occurred.
"For God so gave.........."
Then took him alone
but left the knife slicing inside
his very first home.
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Copyright © October 2009 DeniMari Z.
Additional Notes:
Deni is writing; for therapeutic reasons, 26 months gone by since my son Shaun died. I have finally given in - and go to intensive grief counseling three times a week. Trying to get passed this event on my own was not working. In honor of my Chief; for where ever his energy is tonight - my love continues to grow - each day.
This Poem was Critiqued By: James C. Horak On Date: 2009-10-31 19:29:13
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Grief is not something we make sense of, with, about...it, like love is simply there, or isn't.
Likewise we don't produce well with it, but reach out for others to hold our hand, give us solace,
press us to believe there is more to living than to long for the past.
These are such pleas, and could any of us press you close, I'm certain we would. A child you bore
and lost...nothing can I imagine worse.
Just don't worry about how others might feel about your dealing with it...we all know it comes to
each differently. And may never completely be behind you. I wouldn't imagine it could.
But we care, my dear. And hope for you better days and nights that bring newer mornings.
JCH
This Poem was Critiqued By: Duane J Jackson On Date: 2009-10-16 10:39:34
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Hi Deni,
One can sense the feeling of pain expressed here. The wording used is strong - it burns with feeling - and some of the imagery os very good too. You have found a doorway through poetry.
'no spirit to unearth'/ 'left the knife slicing'/ 'what death has done to me has branded...' > great lines.
I would re-work - 'isolated room where i screamed with pain...'/ 'police spoke so slowly the words'/
I was touched by this piece.
Duane.
This Poem was Critiqued By: Lora Silvey On Date: 2009-10-10 17:34:33
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
Deni,
You offer us a well thought out,
well constructed poem in an easy
smooth flowing format. Your verbiage
demands the reader to contemplate
what is being set and to give quanitive
value, for even where it might appear
harsh it speaks of infinite possibilities
and of a profound awakening in ones conciousness.
All lessons are not always so easy to learn and
oft quite painful however we are all being molded
as a jeweler would pour metal to fire in order to
purify and temper... Your poem will speak to many,
if even on different levels, it has a strong clear
voice. Well done, one of your best. Lora
This Poem was Critiqued By: Claire H. Currier On Date: 2009-10-08 01:14:06
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
Powerful emotions penned in this one my friend....words cannot honestly say how one feels when reading all of your pain.....no parent should have to feel that sharp knife slicing within its first home. I am sad for you, but I also rejoice with your choice of seeking help in grief counseling and I know in helping yourself 'heal from within' you are also helping others with your work. Shaun is watching over you as your love continues to grow. God Bless, Claire
This Poem was Critiqued By: Mark Andrew Hislop On Date: 2009-10-06 10:34:37
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
Dear Deni
No-one can feel these things more keenly than a mother can. I doubt any mother feels it more keenly than you.
This is quite searing in its intensity. I understand it has one major purpose: self-medication. I know that purpose well, so to some extent I have to resist my usual mode of response. Being a poem is a secondary purpose here, I suspect. I realise I could be wrong.
But for the little it may be worth, I have one suggestion. The title of this poem is so rich with possibility that I think you'd better serve your purpose by including it somewhere in the body of the poem and having a simpler title. I think it adds less poignancy than it could in its current position.
With best wishes always
Mark
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