Thank you for your comments, I will take them into consideration.

Deborah


 > Small Towns Grow Into Strangers
 >
 > a dark haired boy who fell to earth
 > on earthy mounds between now and then
 > in foreign land, a small town destination
  (foreign land needs an article, I feel)
 > just like every sister's brother
 > every mother's favored boy
(the 2 preceding lines are presented as synonymous but they are not)
 > a beautiful child, a gleaming joy
(cliched description)
 > how thrilled they are to watch him run
Who are 'they'? I guess you do not mean his family, but these are the only
people you've mentioned)
 > until he stumbles
 >
 > small towns grow into strangers,
 > young boys begin to slow
 > when they reach a certain age
 > (cliche )
 > a dark haired boy,
 > is no different than any others
( should that be 'than any other?)
 > they stop, they go, they run and slow
 > they get coached in little league
 > led by scout masters
(Your point here?)
 >
 > on sundays a preacher recites
 > the oly roly fible bibble
(this line doesn't sound like anything Biblical to me- it's a wasted line)
 > dribbles and fiddles
 > with boys who make change
( make change? in what way?)
 > in the collection plate
 >
 > even freckled, cheshire grins
 > could never hide the seek
( this wordplay doesn't seem to have any meaning)
 > in dirty sleepy streets
 > where church bells ring,
 > resound pristine, sing
 > that old time religion
  (cliche)
 >
 > and how it pounds a dull retreat
(what exactly does the pronoun refer to?-needs defining)
 > in tone on tone and moves
 > dark haired boys to slow defeat
 >
 >
 > small town lawyers pay pretty boys
(didn't understand what the 'pretty boys' implies)
 > to clean up after dark
 > official closets sometimes
 > fill with tattered clothes
 > scents of dying flesh
 > and old money
(This is all a bit too vague-what are these official closets exactly?
 >
 > sometimes
 > beauty takes a vow of silence -
 > in resurrected darkness
 > where beauty rises
 > from it's prayers,
(typo its)
 > brushes off it's knees
 > then turns and leaves
 > through the back door
(The sudden appearance of this 'beauty' is puzzling. Who or what is it?)
 >
 > sometimes
 > old moon winds howl
 > when beauty leaves too soon
(beauty has already left in the preceding strophe)
 > and memory never seems to die
 > or change direction
 > dreams are traced
 > across a young boy's face
 > in permanent ink
 > or rippled fingerprints
 > where fingers press
(would try to avoid repetition of fingers)
 > into the skin
 > of wet-white enamel
(I don't know what this wet-white enamel skin is-does it refer to the boy's
skin?
 > and harden overnight
(I'm lost here, as the original image was of dreams being traced across
skin -now it seems to be the fingers that are hardening.I think the stanza
is too convoluted as it stands)
 >
 > even in time's distance
 > car radios play so loud that
 > even Billy Joel can't convince us
 > of an innocent man
(Billy Joel's songs don't carry a deep enough resonance for me to make this
strophe work, but this may just be a purely personal reaction
 >
 >
 > deborah russell






Deborah Elizabeth Russell, Artist/Poet

Post Poems | Inside | Cityslide
Shadow Poetry | Parallels Words For The Wind

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