Your Name

[Qwerty]

This white hair and Choctaw chin
don't make me a chip off the old block.
But I could have used a piece of you
when the chips were down
and I was out of aces.

You cloned and collared me
to place your bets
and play your hand.

But I’ve got my own cards now
and they won't be
fuel for your feeble fire,
wind for your weary wings,
nor saddled to carry you one more step
down that long, dark tunnel.

Your name might have fit like an old shoe,
but you stuffed a sock in my soup,
then served the cookbook as the meal.

The last time you closed that heavy door,
turned out your light,
one of the lights in me went out...
then another light came on.

[Qwerty]

Well, looks like I'm not going to receive any feedback. Like some of the poems posted here, it's somewhat autobiographical but I didn't think it was all that poorly crafted. If it is, sock it to me...

[Matty11]

Not sure about this Q.

The reference to the Choctaw was interesting and the sock/soup was a smile, but the card section was not so imaginative. I do like the positive assertion for the conclusion.

Hope that helps some

Phil

[Colm Roe]

I think the metaphors are strong, especially in the last two stanzas.
'then served the cookbook as the meal' is a stand-out line.
And the last line is excellent.
Really enjoyed the read Q.

[TrevorConway]

Hi Qwerty,

I, too, liked the Choctaw chin (despite not knowing what exactly it means), but it was followed by a few cliches, which automatically cause me to disengage with a poem. The extended card-playing metaphor felt heavy-handed to me, and since it's so integral to the piece, it sunk it, for me. The idea of one light going out and another coming on (like closing one door and opening another) also feels overly familiar. I personally think you need a major rewrite here. I've put in bold the elements that struck me as more interesting than teh rest, potentially worthy of keeping in a rewrite if you're interested in going at it again.

Hope the feedback helps,

Trev

This white hair and Choctaw chin
don't make me a chip off the old block.
But I could have used a piece of you
when the chips were down
and I was out of aces.

You cloned and collared me
to place your bets
and play your hand.

But I’ve got my own cards now
and they won't be
fuel for your feeble fire,
wind for your weary wings,
nor saddled to carry you one more step
down that long, dark tunnel.

Your name might have fit like an old shoe,
but you stuffed a sock in my soup,
then served the cookbook as the meal.

The last time you closed that heavy door,
turned out your light,
one of the lights in me went out...
then another light came on.

[Mark]

I like this poem. It's a bit rough in places but that is part of its colorful, almost blue-collar ethos that shoulders bluntly to the fore.

But I could have used a piece of you
when the chips were down
and I was out of aces.

So universal. Admirable phrasing.

 

[Eric Ashford]

Hi Qwerty, I liked the strong writing and quirkiness of your images. In short, the poem worked for me.
Thanks for the post.