poetry critical

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the bed

in the living room.
my grandfather was on it,
dying from dehydration
not the inoperable liver cancer
from drinking a fifth or more
since the age of seventeen.
in the beginning
the hospice nurse
allowed me to spoon him
shaved ice from a cup.
but at that point
i was holding an ice cube
letting it drip
on the cracked tongue
hanging out of his mouth
swelled up the size of a sponge.
he'd been silent for an hour,
suddenly he wanted to speak.
i grabbed the notepad
he'd been using to scribble goodbyes,
tried putting the pen to his palm
over and over as
his eyes,
bobbers in calm water;
floated slowly over the ceiling.

9 Feb 08

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this could be something...

it's nice, despite slightly wounded formatting.
 — unknown

There is something in this, the language, structure, definitely emotion.  I think the structure forms this poem well, it deviates from the standard, or some common, format and almost mimics the dilapidated form of the grandfather.  I definitely get a feeling of loss or desolation here, definitely pity.  Loss not as strong as pity, but powerful emotions regardless.  Thanks for the read.
 — cualquier

work some more on the first half
 — unknown

Well, i really liked this one. reminds me of how my grandfather went...
he died of prostate cancer...his bed sat in my grandparents room ...the day he went my grandmother and mom told him it was okay to give up if he wanted to, they told him it was okay....

he had always wanted to fly this kite we had...but everytime we tried to fly it ..the wind would die...

well my dad and my godbrother were outside flying a kite and when it went up in the air ...so did my grandfather...

I really loved this read....it brought tears to my eyes.
 — psychofemale

glad i came across this again ...wonderful write...i put it in favs
 — psychofemale