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Alcatraz Woman

Blue glass tiles measure dignity
being taken by rough hands
in one inch
by one inch
pieces.

Lay still.
Pinned under a dingy, double pane window
he hovers heavy.
He is the moon’s nemesis;
stealing all its glorious glow and leaving only darkness.

In the shadows he delivers his own dingy double pain,
forces it upon me.
Inside she.

Wide eyed and mouth agape.
Gasping, disbelieving
shallow rhythmic breathing.

The door, not even locked.
He so brazen upon young flesh
without the slightest worry of patina brass knob on mid-century door turning,
opening,
shedding light upon his midnight violation.

Tears pouring
in desperate escape from my wide eyes.
In desperate escape from me,
now an Alcatraz woman.

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Editing stage: 

Comments

Love the title and the poem, i think they're very clever. And the use of the moon and windows gives the feeling of darkness, just as i imagine a jail to be. The immotion is very raw and makes the reader feel the pain, i feel shame as i read this. As a man for what some of my brothers put women through. Love Roscoe..

Roscoe Llane,

Religion will rip your faith off, and return
for the mask of disbelief that's left.

Thank you. I'm glad you enjoyed the piece. I appreciate the lovely comments.

author comment

there's some potential here but I don't think you're in control of your theme, the poem falls into various traps of cliche and is often prose not poetry.

Blue glass tiles measure dignity-'dignity' a meaningless abstraction, blue tiles measure length, poetically they could measure anything. This is poetic hyperbole.
being taken by rough hands
in one inch
by one inch
pieces.

Lay still. this needs a subject, are you talking to yourself, or the reader or someone else.
Pinned under a dingy, double pane window
he hovers heavy.
He is the moon’s nemesis; like this
stealing all its glorious glow and leaving only darkness. -why is it glorious? you're asserting something rather than creating something.

In the shadows he delivers his own dingy double pain, -I like 'dingy'
forces it upon me.
Inside she. 'she' is this a typo?

Wide eyed and mouth agape.
Gasping, disbelieving
shallow rhythmic breathing. this stanza is corny,

The door, not even locked.-- 'even' is a meaningless filler
He so brazen upon young flesh-more corny old hat description
without the slightest worry of patina brass knob on mid-century door turning,--this interesting
opening,--but sonically this is awkward
shedding light upon his midnight violation.-this is prose.

Tears pouring
in desperate escape from my wide eyes.
In desperate escape from me,--again these lines are corny prose,
now an Alcatraz woman. why Alcatraz, since its now a tourist destination,

you need to use more poetic imagination to draw the reader into the situation and story, use images not adjectives, read more poetry.
hope this helps
kind regards
ross

Although I don't agree with all the points you made (and I will reply) I do truly appreciate the time you took to read the piece and then write a response that was obviously very thought out. Thank You :)

On to business.

I am writing about myself some years ago and all the things I'm speaking of here are exactly what happened and what I've remembered all this time.
She is not a mistake, I do it often when I write.

Those one inch by one inch blue glass tiles, the dingy double pane window with dirt in corners where wood meets glass. The door knob, brass, ornate and old. The moon stark white against the darkest night sky and peeking in on the deep ashy sort of dim that hovered in this room. I can remember the taste of the brass and the temperature of the tiles against my back with his hands against the rest.

Those details - the floor, the light, the size of the tiles, the taking, the night - while they don't come together to form any thing particularly beautiful they did capture all the details that I know to be true and honest and real and torturous. If you haven't been on the receiving end of having someone strip you of your dignity, I will promise you that it is always taken slowly, in one inch by one inch pieces.

author comment

I can understand how close this is to you, but you are taking my crits of the poem as crits of your experience, the two are different, questioning the poem is not questioning your experience , how it effected you or the reality of what happened. This must still be very painful for you to write about, so also very painful to see it criticised, but the reader has no way of knowing if it's a relived experience or simply a work of imagination.
best wishes
'all love surround you'
ross

Not at all, I wasn't insulted by any of your critiques in the slightest. I was just giving you my feedback to your feedback which, once again, I really do appreciate.

author comment
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