Grapes

constructive criticism is more than welcome

 

Rain drops smash on the window,
Hit it, tumble rapidly,
Branch into others,
Then swerve like swift currents,
Outrun each other…..and run
The window bends
Under their intrepid
Scroll…
They gallop and race
And become more
And one drop branches into three others
And they twist and are determined
And they move and speed and tear along…
In a rhythmic pace!
A perfect universe must this be,
If I can see a song…

 

Then crack in the wall, slapped cheek,
The blouse ripped, unfair chase…
Through the corners of the wall,
Oil, not, paranoia leaks,
Two small feet under the blanket creep…
Paranoia and grunts and screams…
The bedspring squeaks
In symphony…
Out of time notes
Break the strings
or
Demonic parents…

All that rhythm on my window,
In my pulse,
Plays a little wrong…

 

 

I see my favourite doll
(a few hours ago
My mother had put a big bow
On her head to hide where the hair
Has begun to fall…)
I see my favourite doll
With a bleeding nose
With eyes popped out
And I hide her under the blanket,
Leaving just a little hole
For enough air….
Oh, I know,
She is curled up
Because she is scared.
But I’m there…

 

Cacophonic laughter comes from our old TV set,
Wants to devour their lunatic shout…
But that shout, that dirty, sordid shout
Ricochets in the windows
And falls heavy on the bed…
I keep repeating to my favourite doll,
With her eyes popped out,
And a bleeding nose,
‘Curl up the body to hide the toes’…
As if those toes
Needed to be safe,
As if those toes
Guaranteed escape,
As if those toes
Mattered more
Than the heart,
The eyes and that bleeding nose…

 

 

The grunts of a father spill
on the floor to cover
the screams of a mother.
She drops a porcelain ball,
With grapes, and grapes begin to roll…
And I run, and instead to pick them up,
I let them get smashed under my toes,
Let that sweet juice get sucked
Into the floor’s crack,
Let my patch of laughter rest
Where my father dared slap…

 

 

You know, in fifty years time (counted in wrinkles)
My father is dead, my mother is dead,
And I sit alone in the dark,
On that same floor that they had stained with red.
A sweet grape drop is sucked into the wooden crack,
rivering a lifeline on a palm instead…

Why put a bow

when you are gonna rip the head? 
Both of them dead…

My window has no rhythm and I need no blanket to save the soul…
Scattered grapes near my bare feet roll,
And I have no strength, no courage like before,
To smash them under my wrinkled toes…

No rain attunes to that silenced soundtrack
but a broken couplet…
They are dead. They are dead. They are dead….

 

Reviews

[Jack...]

So very cool, as if I were walking a darkened hallway, tiny specks of light emitting from tarnished brass plates on the crooked doors, peeking through keyholes and staring in frozen fear of what my eyes find. This was very well written, I liked how this felt and called out to me as I read.

[Marri]

Thank you, Jack, for this inspiring and original review :)

[terry smith]

Is that the grapes of wrath stained upon the floor harpies screeching symphony's behind the door the doll is you and you are nothing anymore ...Nice poem!!! very well written , put me right there.

[Rahul]

Nicely penned, loved this piece and liked all stanza's with each powerful word...line's're filled with some kinda impact.
great job.

[Marri]

thank you so much! So very kind

[jacob erin-cilberto]

almost paranormal in its content...yet i see some kind of storm here that disrupted this family...it could be a literal storm but i am seeing more of an emotional one...a mental one...a family broken up...there are memories, but they are fractured.

this is really a strong write. in the fifth line of the first stanza...i wanted to read that without the "and run" at the end.

but really traumatic piece...chaotic..but in a good way.

[Marri]

Thank you so much for the constructive and perceptice review!
I suppose memories are always fractured, the good ones from overflowing happiness, the bad ones from traumatic head-beating...apart from that: only chaos.
Thank you!

[Robin]

fruit from the the fractal vine awash in the rain of life ... the sound of be and let be

[krish]

awesome....

[Chris]

I quietly walked the "shadows" of this. There is real and there is not-quite-as-real within this piece. The flow followed thought. The form followed flow. The rhythm was unbroken. And the heart was paused in emotional touchings.

...as you wanted. Well done.

[Patrick Henry]

Wow!! I am in need of a poem like this on here, where instead of the "8 line emo perspective" I get this incredible written sequence into the psyche of just exactly where some fears and memories come from. I don't have too many memories before I was about 10 or 12. Every now and again, I get put in my place my a certain smell, and like you.... the site of where a grape hit the floor!! Whether there is proof of this grape's drop to this day or remembered, the adventure you take us on through this eclectic sea of emotion is awesome!! Love the details, and the staying away from form. It suited the poem perfectly in regards to the meaning and story behind it all!! Beautiful Marri. xoxo -Mark

[Marri]

Thank you! The grape on the floor is an image I love for some reason, and stepping over them and not picking them up is a life's philosophy for me in a way...

[Patrick Henry]

You did a wonderful job with it. You always get me thinking of the most unusual things ever!! lol It's hard not to fall in love with your writing.... more so at other times..... xoxo -Mark

[Marri]

hah, I thought my writing would make people nauseous, and would be labeled a little sick, so falling in love with it is a big compliment and upgrade to what I expect from people's reactions. Thank you for that

[Patrick Henry]

I thought mine was silly, mundane, boring, and a bit "archaic" for the words used. I'm finding out that it may not be the case. I was just telling a good friend tonight that up to about a few months ago..... I wanted to erase all traces of anything I've EVER written. I'm glad I didn't!! I LOVE your page... xoxo -Mark

[Marri]

I am making myself a coffee and I am going to sit in front of your writing and dissect it with pleasure. Never erase

[Patrick Henry]

I wish you would dissect AAAAALLLLLL of my writing, and even pick out a favorite line or two, also!! ; ) Others have said that, and they reach to about the letter "T" and stop. lol It's in alphabetical order going backwards!! xoxo -Mark

[Marri]

Today I couldn't dedicate the deserved time to your work. But I will correct myself.

[Patrick Henry]

lol Whatever you choose to do, you will definitely not disappoint, unless you disappear on me!! I Love You on this site. *leans in to hug* ....have a safe and colorful holidays from my heart to yours on Christmas Day!! I love the food and family..... that's what I notice and enjoy most.... most of the time. : ) xoxo -Your Mark

[Hawkmoon]

wow. quite intense, a jolt of madness. The delicacy of the rain, the violence of the human world and how they somehow converge in the Grapes and the Doll... very haunting, like a 1980's horror movie. You write in Visions!!! Do you know who Natalie Goldberg is??? She is a writer who teaches writing and the writer's methods as well. Also, do you know about Arthur Rimbaud's book called "Illuminations"??? :)

[Marri]

Thank you. I aspire to haunting, visionary writing. And of course, I have heard of Arthur Rimbaud...he says:“A poet makes himself a visionary through a long, boundless, and systematized disorganization of all the senses. All forms of love, of suffering, of madness; he searches himself, he exhausts within himself all poisons, and preserves their quintessences. Unspeakable torment, where he will need the greatest faith, a superhuman strength, where he becomes all men the great invalid, the great criminal, the great accursed--and the Supreme Scientist! For he attains the unknown! Because he has cultivated his soul, already rich, more than anyone! He attains the unknown, and if, demented, he finally loses the understanding of his visions, he will at least have seen them! So what if he is destroyed in his ecstatic flight through things unheard of, unnameable: other horrible workers will come; they will begin at the horizons where the first one has fallen!”

[Circe]

that is an incredible quote!