These old hands

[avwhis6466]

Here we are, on the
Highest peak we could find
In this godforsaken town.

The sun is setting and
Your eyes are on the horizon.
I cradle these old hands;
Look down to notice how the
Light plays on their surface.
The beams are tossed up in the air
Like skipping stones
By contours that spill
Shadows across your palm.

These are the caverns I have lost myself in so many times.
They are where you hide your secrets,
And I am one of them.
But I don’t mind.

I like the thought of being
Tucked away in some little crease
On the inside of your ring finger.
When the day comes and your hands
Are folded carefully, elegantly on your chest,
I will be there, too.

I tilt my head up and I watch you,
watching the sunset.
I think how, years from now,
I’ll look back on this town, this hilltop, this moment, this you.
I’ll see the lines in my hands
And finally know.

[indar]

Hi Ike,

There is much to like about this poem. The theme, as I read it, is a May--December romance. In some of its parts it is touching. Below is you weakest stanza as I see it:


The sun is setting and
Your eyes are on the horizon.These two lines are straight reporting of fact. You'll hear members on this forum refer to the poetic imperative "show don't tell" (it was an extremely difficult issue for me when I started out and a mistake I still make too often) Strictly as an example substitute: Sundown violet reflects in your eyes 
I cradle these old hands; Again, don't tell us the lover's hands are old rely on the description
Look down to notice how the poetry should say much with as few words as possible: you could skip this line as the reader will assume from the description that the narrator is looking at the lover's hands. End your lines on a "significant word rather that something as ho-hum as "and" that can start the next line
Light plays on their surface.
The beams are tossed up in the air this could easily read "beams tossed up in (or into) the air"
Like skipping stones love this line--it says so much--speaks to the youthfulness of the narrator, a sense of the loss foretold in an image of the stone that will surely sink away very very good poeming here.
By contours that spill
Shadows across your palm.


I like the thought of being
Tucked away in some little crease
On the inside of your ring finger.

These lines do exactly what poetry should do--the image is unusual/insightful. It also tells the reader the reason for secrecy without stating it as an uninteresting fact.

THe rest of the poem is the heart of the poem and I, the reader, am right there with the narrator in a mix of emotion ranging from honor to gratitude to resignation very nice.

I remember you said you've come to this site because there are no poetry classes at your college. Keep writing--please.


 

[indar]

whoops I see I made a mistake re your identity---I should have checked the welcome board to make certain I had straight the two of you with what seems to me similar names . Please forgive me.

[avwhis6466]

No worries on the mix-up !

And thank you very much for your feedback. I purposefully used a less descriptive voice in the opening lines as a way to reflect the mental state of the N — processing what’s happening in the moment, but at the same time finding herself more emotionally wrapped up in the tiny detail of a few wrinkles and what they represent. The plain writing in the opening parallels her engagement with the “now,” whereas her more creative speech indicates the level of her engagement with the wrinkles.

Not sure if that makes any sense, but I understand if it doesn’t really read all that well. I will go back to the drawing board a bit on that opening!

Thanks again,
Anna

[mfwilkie]

Good advice on your opening.
A couple of things to consider: the over use of (I), especially in the last stanza,
as well as line lengths, and the words lines end on. The last word in a line needs to be interesting; it needs to complete the intent of the line.



I like the thought of being 
Tucked away in some little crease

I like the thought of being tucked away
in some little crease on the inside of **of creates a bit mystery in the reader; he wants to know where N likes being tucked away.


I like the thought of being tucked away
in some little crease on the inside of
your ring finger. When the day comes
and your hands are folded carefully,
elegantly on your chest, I will be there, too.

I tilt my head to watch you watching the sunset,
and think how, years from now, I’ll look back
on this town, this hilltop, this moment, this you,
notice the lines in my own hands and finally know.

This is a lovely draft and I look forward to reading your revision.   Maggie
​​​​​​​

[Dave]

Hi
I like this a lot on the whole. It has some lovely lines and great images. I found myself distracted by the whole sunset thing as I had to try and picture how the two people were stabnding in relation to the horizon and also asked myself why it was relevant to the story of the hands except as a metaphor for age and the passing of time. Therefore as an experiment I ask myself how it would be without it:

I cradle your hands;
notice how the light
plays on their surface. (surface is a boring word)
The beams are tossed (the next 4 lines are overwritten - can't for the life of me imagine light beams bouncing off hands)
like skipping stones
by contours that spill
shadows across your palm.

These are the caverns
I have lost myself in so many times.
You hide your secrets there;
I am one of them.
But I don’t mind.

I 'd like to be
tucked away in some little crease
on the inside of your ring finger
when the day comes and your hands
are folded carefully, elegantly on your chest,

I’ll look back on this moment, this you,
see the lines in my own hands
And finally know.

Just a thought

[Colm Roe]

I read this as a father/daughter poem. And the 'town' doesn't know they're related.
The skipping stones, old hands, looking up and hands crossed (in a coffin) all directed me there.
And I refuse to budge from my interp.
Anywho, it's a rather lovely and very well written poem.