| Poem: Submit | Random | Best | Worst | Recent | Comments |
|
Controlled Euthanasia (Free verse) by Dovina He sat on the couch
after bungling the dishes
omitting the corners
ignoring my wishes
A little strychnine
a death in time
and heâll be all right
this weak man of mine
I came from behind
armed and emboldened
jammed the syringe
down into his shoulder
I pressed in the plunger
and ran to the john
afraid but not sorry
it had to be done
A moan and some stomping
the clasp of a door
a flopping syringe
had dropped to the floor
He returned without change
from punishment earned
no gift or repentance
no lesson was learned
Next day heâd forgotten
to take out the trash
so I looked at devices
to help my man crash
After feeding him poison
with plenty of salt
my hand touched his chest
explaining his faults
But soon he was up
out the door, it was strange
no mention of illness
no mention of change
Up the ladder:
Just for Show (Suicide revised)
Down the ladder:
Writer's Block
Votes: (green: user, blue: anonymous)
Arithmetic Mean: 5.3333335
Posted: January 25, 2007 1:47 PM PST; Last modified: January 25, 2007 1:47 PM PSTWeighted score: 5.0397344 Overall Rank: 7155 Comments:
[n/a]
Dovina @ 208.127.72.149
|
25-Jan-07/1:47 PM
|
Reply
Dovina: Inspired by âOne in Ten Thousand,â Athena Workman, GUD. Just click at your left.
The last stanza's great and the rhythm's good. It feels like it's missing a bit though; I tend to work in threes - you've given two punishments here, maybe a third would add to the effect?
I've never seen a syringe flop, or is that line just innuendo?
He got up from the sofa, syringe still in his shoulder where it flopped as he walked to the door, then fell on the floor. Your pun is good too; I hadnât thought of it. Three times is good when killing a man, or writing poems. I might do that.
I read the gud one. The only bit I liked was the end when she found him with peanut butter and struggling with a loaf of bread. I'm not sure the poem makes any sense though.
It is a bit exaggerateed; try to think of the way some women treat their man.
I pressed in the plunger
and ran to the john afraid but not sorry it had to be done Ok, say this out loud to yourself. Notice anything? I do. John doesn't ryhme with done. Perhaps Don, but not done. That aside, I bless you with an eight. 215 view(s)
|
||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
