White Wedding

White Wedding

Exposed in white

you wore two tones of blue and

were scarcely pregnant, letting

the sun scatter your face

and I was standing in shadows of your false grace

cropped by the envy of trees

around me;

how awkward for a groom to be the bride

and

I just noticed we're not in focus.

A white lace wrapped bouquet never to be tossed with

your milk-less breasts ignorant to blisters of motherhood

and yet you smile wide while

by your diaphragm you are holding your lilies

you had to have for our wedding; what wedding?

I develop an understanding now of how

senseless we were then,

when we thought we knew but

I understand now why you had to have

lilies.

Lily, you call her now,

and I, Olive, but then

just a flower

under your blue dress,

behind blue eyes and lies.

Remember when you insisted on that tiara,

my mom on her all white son?

Crooked smiles made no difference to we,

even if I had lost me,

so long as I had you my lady,

and you, my baby,

or so I thought,

for a time, maybe.

Shoot. Point the god damn lens and shoot.

I remember saving a ton of money on the photographer

but the god damn divorce was costly.

Never mind the darkness, the white, the blue baby;  

By: Mark J. Sutherland

--- 

Gary's comments / suggestions:

"White Wedding"  <reminds me of a Billy Idol video I grew up watching:)  Are you to young to remember??

Exposed in white

you wore two tones of blue and

were scarcely pregnant, letting

the sun scatter your face

and I was standing in shadows of your false grace

cropped by the envy of trees  <fantastic line!!!

around me;

how awkward for a groom to be the bride

and

I just noticed we're not in focus.   <strong stanza: nicely done!  PROGRESS!!  (THOUght you'd never hear me say that, huh??)

White lace wrapping a bouquet never to be tossed,   <a bit of a tongue twister<can you rewrite this so it's smoother?

your milk-less breasts ignorant to blisters of motherhood

and yet you smile wide while

by your diaphragm you are holding your lilies

you had to have for our wedding; what wedding?

I develop an understanding now of how

senseless we were then,

when we thought we knew but

I understand now of why you had to have

lilies.

Lily, you call her now,

and I, Olive, but then

just a flower

under your blue dress,

behind blue eyes and lies.

Remember when you insisted on that tiara,

my mom on her all white son?

Crooked smiles made no difference to me,

even if I had lost me,

so long as I had you my lady,

and you, my baby,

or so I thought,

for a time, maybe.   <this stanza is a bit cryptic<how do you gain clarity: dev. your poem's narrative

Shoot. Point the god damn lens and shoot.   <yes

I remember saving a ton of money on the photographer

but the god damn divorce was costly.  <been there!!

Never mind the darkness, the white, the blue baby;  <end here w/ this image<

that was a time long sung

and ago you went without me. Victory.

 Again, Mark, review my comments for direction.  --Gary

 ---

First Draft:

"White Wedding"

Exposed in white

you wore two tones of blue and

were scarcely pregnant, letting

the sun scatter your face

and I standing in shadows of your false grace

cropped by the envy of trees

around me;

how awkward for a groom to be the bride

and

I just noticed we're not in focus.

White lace wrapping a bouquet never to be tossed,

your milk-less breasts ignorant to blisters of motherhood

and yet you smile wide while

by your diaphragm you are holding your lilies

you had to have for our wedding; what wedding?

I develop an understanding now of how

senseless we were then,

when we thought we knew but

I understand now of why you had to have

Lilies.

Lily, you call her now,

and I, Olive, but then

just a flower

under your blue dress,

behind blue eyes and lies.

Remember when you insisted on that tiara,

my mom on her all white son?

Crooked smiles made no difference to me,

even if I had lost me,

so long as I had you my lady,

and you, my baby,

or so I thought,

for a time, maybe.

Shoot. Point the god damn lens and shoot.

I remember saving a ton of money on the photographer

but the god damn divorce was costly.

Never mind the darkness, the white, the blue baby;

that was a time long sung

and ago you went without me. Victory.

By: Mark J. Sutherland

Aqua Monarchs

Aqua Monarchs

Except when we suffered from those mental lapses kids tend to get
when only a good swat to the back of the head ignites thought,
with the intention of reminding,
we boys know nothing of the addiction that plagues us brothers.
Even if it was more the thought and threat than the promise,
there were enough times debts got paid and you learned which way is left,
right,
when to turn back, slow down, and 'dag nabbit newt' and what knots.

As his sons, we stand the inheritors of greatness.
Three hours, four boys, and five dead flies later with swats to the head or
two;
no one recalls why we care to be here.
A reminder in the cooler breaks the tension before a callous quiet continues.
Closing my eyes I feel the sway and in my tugging of thoughts, a
war torn membrane.
Dehydrated, I find myself throbbing to the right and then back to the left
like a metronome to a stringed concert where a grand piano, center stage,
needs tuning.

Dancing waves play with the passing cotton overhead and I avoid the little
brother weeping and swaying.
The poor willow, better him than me.
Boys are buoys bobbing, able to handle extreme weather and my face pretends
to accept sun
while lungs imagine air that's never salty.
One could swear you were there were it not for a higher consciousness.
A battery of the same old shit and an ocean of memories enclosed by the
white gold of your shoreline;
thank you for when you hugged me, high five.

In those times with or without a tug on my line
there was more than I bargained for at the market, old man.
Seasons of journeying and river runs too close,
we found men voyaging on the sea, captain,
and when I had good news you would let us call our mother.
High fives all-a-round
and the boys could be boys for a moment.

Standing in the shallows
you throw us one by one
into the deep end.
We would breathe out our youth
and inhale blood, sweat.
With the rising and falling of waves
we children follow prints in sand much larger than our feet.

Surely, a man grows accustomed to this life but deep in pits the pain still
churns.
It is in the gut of virginity, like the back of the boat,
that is no place for a novice.
You'll learn real quick that what makes you sick might be my cure.
For every scaled softy I see in all you there lies what mattered most to us
kids;
we wanted to catch a king.
We were willing to wear and break crowns to get them.

By: Mark Sutherland 

---
Gary's Comments / Suggestions


"Aqua Monarchs"  <qmarks are not necessary<

Except when we suffered from those mental lapses kids tend to get   <great opening line: solid rhythm and use of language<
when only a good swat to the back of the head ignites thought,
with the intention of reminding,
we boys know nothing of the addiction that plagues us. <boys? brothers?
Even if it was more the thought and threat than the promise,
there were enough times debts got paid and you learned which way is left,
right,
when to turn back, slow down, and 'dag nabbit newt n' what not. <strong stanza until this part--just not getting it<

As his sons, we stand the inheritors of greatness.
Three hours, four boys, and five dead flies later with swats to the head or
two;
no one recalls why we care to be here.
A reminder in the cooler breaks the tension before a fearsome quiet ensues.
Closing my eyes I feel the sway and in my tugging of thoughts, there rest a
war torn membrane.
Dehydrated, I find myself throbbing to the right and then back to the left
like a metronome to a stringed concert where a grand piano, center stage,
needs tuning.  <perfect images / comparisons

Dancing waves play with the passing cotton overhead and I avoid the little
brother weeping and swaying.
The poor willow, better him than me.
Boys are buoys bobbing, able to handle extreme weather and my face pretends
to accept sun
while lungs imagine air that's never salty.
One could swear you were there were it not for a higher conscious.  <consciousness?
A battery of the same old shit and an ocean of memories enclosed by the
white gold of your shoreline;
thank you for when you hugged me, high five.   <nice visual images in this stanza: well done<

In those times with or without a tug on my line
there was more than I bargained for at the market, old man.
Seasons of journeying and river runs too close,
we found men voyaging on the sea, captain,
and when I had good news you would let us call our mother.
High fives all-a-round
and the boys could be boys for a moment.

Standing in the shallows
you throw us one by one
into the deep end.
We would breathe out our youth
and inhale blood, sweat.
With the rising and falling of waves
we children follow prints in sand much larger than our feet.

Surely, a man grows accustomed to this life but deep in pits the pain still
churns.
It is in the gut of virginity, like the back of the boat,
that is no place for a novice.
You'll learn real quick that what makes you sick might be my cure. <nice internal rhyme
For every scaled softy I see in all you there lies what mattered most to us
kids;
we wanted to catch a king.
We were willing to wear and break crowns to get them.


Excellent use of language, Mark.  I like the extended maritime metaphor.  What's missing and what would pull this long piece together is a story.  You're stream of consciousness is broad and general (yet excellently written), but if you tied in a specific narative, too, this piece would truly rock.    --Gary

---
First Draft

"Aqua Monarchs"

Except when we suffered from those mental lapses kids tend to get
when only a good swat to the back of the head ignites thought,
with the intention of reminding,
we boys know nothing of the addiction that plagues us.
Even if it was more the thought and threat than the promise,
there were enough times debts got paid and you learned which way is left,
right,
when to turn back, slow down, and 'dag nabbit newt n' what not.

As his sons, we stand the inheritors of greatness.
Three hours, four boys, and five dead flies later with swats to the head or
two;
no one recalls why we care to be here.
A reminder in the cooler breaks the tension before quiet ensues.
Closing my eyes I feel the sway and in my tugging of thoughts there rest a
war torn membrane.
Dehydrated, I find myself throbbing to the right and then back to the left
like a metronome to a stringed concert where a grand piano, center stage,
needs tuning.

Dancing waves play with the passing cotton overhead and I avoid the little
brother weeping and swaying.
The poor willow, better him than me.
Boys are buoys bobbing, able to handle extreme weather and my face pretends
to accept sun
while lungs imagine air that's never salty.
One could swear you were there were it not for a higher conscious.
A battery of the same old shit and an ocean of memories enclosed by the
white gold of your shoreline;
thank you for when you hugged me, high five.

In those times with or without a tug on my line
there was more than I bargained for at the market old man.
Seasons of journeying and river runs too close,
we found men voyaging on the sea, captain,
and when I had good news you would let us call our mother.
High fives all-a-round
and the boys could be boys for a moment.

Standing in the shallows
you throw us one by one
into the deep end.
We would breathe out our youth
and inhale blood, sweat.
With the rising and falling of waves
we children follow prints in sand much larger than our feet.

Surely, a man grows accustomed to this life but deep in pits the pain still
churns.
It is in the gut of virginity, like the back of the boat,
that is no place for a novice.
You'll learn real quick that what makes you sick might be my cure.
For every scaled softy I see in all you there lies what mattered most to us
kids;
we wanted to catch a king.
We were willing to wear and break crowns to get them.

By: Mark J. Sutherland

"High School Drama Among Adults"

High School Drama Among Adults
By: Mark Joseph Sutherland

            "God damn kids." Smithy grumbles to himself as he breaks his stride down corridor two of four at Wilson High. "I'll clean your shitty mouth out if I ever catch the son of a...," but Smithy stops his personal rant at the sound of approaching footsteps.

            As he continues to wipe the entrance of the boys bathroom, again, Smithy felt the sweat condensing into small beads near his temples and brow. Boy, he sure hated when the kids made fun of him. It was inconceivable the thought of letting another adult in this place of adolescence see how the punk kids try to bring him down, yes, that was out of the question. He was not going to let a colleague of his see his own name in graffiti; that would be too much. He squats down to get more force and scrubs intently.

            The footsteps seem to have doubled in pace as he scrubs the wall faster. He looks up and sees there are two pairs of legs walking at him. One welcomed, one not.  

            "Smithy cleans my...what's it say? ' cleans my shitty! ' That's fucking hilarious! Hey, you clean mine too!" blares the boisterous Benjamin Dover as he smacks Smithy on the right shoulder with enough force to knock him off balance.

            The most beautiful instructor at Wilson High slaps the biggest prick in the back of his head. "Benjamin, don't encourage that type of behavior! Oh my, excuse me, hello Mr. Smith. Are you ok?" Ms. Lisa Lee says pushing past Dover and eyes locked on Smithy.

            Smithy can best be compared to a deer and Ms. Lee the oncoming car with her high beams shining at max. Her smile is the most genuine smile in the building. He's petrified. As she invades his personal space by hovering overhead, he takes the opportunity to look down her shirt.

            A pink laced bra but room enough in-between the skin and the fabric to see her right breast almost fully. She has one small freckle above her nipple. She's also obviously missing the frilly, soft pink ribbon on the left strap of that intimate Victoria's Secret push up. Smithy loves Ms. Lee. He told himself years ago it didn't matter if her breasts were small. Plus, if they had kids one day, they would probably grow. He had heard that women's breast get bigger when they have kids.

            "I'm, I'm fine, thank you," Smithy says, as he begins to adjust himself in preparation to get back to his feet.

            "Well, do you need help or not?" she asks.

            "I'm said I'm fine, ma'am," he replies in a weird release of both breath and response as he crawls like an awkward toddler to his feet.

            Near the side of Ms. Lee and the bathroom door, he helps himself up with the aid of his rolling garbage can and supply janitorial cart. He hasn't needed anyone else's help to do anything for him in a long time. A plunger loses its hold and imitates a spinning top or a young child dizzying themselves by spinning in circles.   

            "Oh, well, okay hun," Lisa says in a tone even noticeable to Dover that suggested she had been a little offended by Smithy's rejection of her assistance. She takes a step back and is standing side by side with Ben Dover.

            This time last year Miss Lee became Mrs. Lee after she married. Smithy knows that Miss Lee is now Mrs. Lee as he remembers she had a substitute for her honeymoon but refuses to think of her like that. She had been his day dream too long to divorce now. He recalls it has been two year now, having come to work in the afternoons on Tuesdays, nearly two hours early for the last two years. He's done so unpaid and unnoticed by his superiors.

            Her perfume invaded his senses and he licks his lips with the thought that brought back the sweetness of sweat being masked by spring rain. Outside, it was summer and yet hotter now in the hall. How he enjoys hearing her, listening to her last period English class. He lives on Tuesday only to hear his mourning dove before beginning his second shift workday.

            He's never missed a Tuesday in two years. Smithy was even honored last year with a Certificate of Attendance by the Wilson High School Administration and Faculty. It mattered little to him. They told him he had not missed a day of work all year and that means he was a good worker. They also told him they were sorry they forgot to invite him to the staff award and recognition ceremony but assured him that his name was mentioned along with his award.

            Smithy learned a few new life lessons with that award. He had come to work on Tuesdays early to hear Ms. Lee. That also means he wasn't on the clock for a few more hours and no one was the wiser to his premature arrival. Here he was able to get the majority of his shift chores accomplished well before 10pm instead of finishing at midnight.

            Smithy also learned that they were only partially honest about informing him of his award and the apology for not inviting him. He did win the award but they were not sorry about not inviting Smithy. The ceremony was that very evening. Smithy knows because he was scheduled later that night in order to clean up from a "school wide employee recognition and award ceremony" as it read on his schedule under the reasoning he was being asked to come in and stay later, without overtime pay.

            Dover is Chemistry, Biology, and Asshole 101. Smithy learned what an acronym was from listening to Ms. Less lecture one afternoon. He enjoys playing with the acronyms he has come up with for Asshole, Biology, Chemistry and Dover. A, B, C, D...he just noticed a new pattern to play with as he cleans Dover's science lab.

            "So, how do the kids know your name is Smith, Mr. Smith?" Dover asks.

            "What do you mean?" Smithy questions Dover's intent but Ben reads it as ignorance.

            "I'm asking if you are a pedophile? Should I be worried about my students?" Dover says and takes a step forward.

            "That's ridiculous! THAT'S...," Smithy responds and just stops his approach half an inch from Dover's nose. Smithy's torso is twice the size of Dover. His right arm could probably eat Dover's ego for breakfast but a janitor hitting a teacher would never be in the custodian's favor.

            "Hey...hey...HEY! Now boys, let's leave the bullying and fighting to the children please. Geeezus, now give some room, the both of you." Lisa says and turns abruptly away. No doubt to probably lock her classroom, Smithy thought. He had already locked it for her but decided now wasn't a good time to tell her.

            Lisa Lee's footsteps stopped and both men look away from each other for the first time. She flashed her head back at the two kids who were just scolded for their behavior. Smithy bows his head down in shame, and Dover accepts Lisa's stare.  

            "I'm coming!" Dover shouts at Lisa as Smithy starts to put his hands back in his pockets they way they were before he made a pair of fists. Lisa notices the movement. She is so perceptive.

            "Actually, Mr. Smith?" Lisa questions.

            Lisa's commentary has stopped Dover in his place. Smithy pictures him in the road staring at his F150's high beams just as he run him down.

            "Yes Ms. Lisa. Echem, Ms. Lee..or, no, I'm sorry...Mrs..." Smithy stammers and Dover interrupts the stutter,

            "Smithy clean your shitty!" and sprays verbal graffiti towards Smithy with the intention of sparking a fight with his alpha male enemy.

            "Mr. Smith, if you would be so kind as to unlock my classroom? I locked my keys inside." She asks with that million dollar smile.

            Smithy knows he locked her room, he always checks her room and she usually seems him do it. He cleans her corridor while she is wrapping up her afternoon and he adores watching her work just as much as he loves watching her wind down from it at her desk. How could she have locked her keys in the room?

            "Oh, yes ma'am, of course!" Smithy responds without making her wait an instant longer. He wasn't going to leave her hanging again and certainly wasn't waiting around with Dover.

            "You want me to come too Lisa, dear?" Dover request in desperation.

            "No. Thank you, Mr. Dover. You are free to pick on someone else now. Plus, Mr. Smith has every original key to the building and you only have a copy to one little nerdy science lab," Lisa laughs aloud. Dover was speechless.

            Smithy did not laugh aloud. He was laughing hard on the inside but knows well enough not to instigate. That comment was for both men to hear and neither had room for commentary. This was the first time her voice echoed in this hallway. Smithy liked it better than the sound her voice makes in her classroom's corridor.

            The couple turned the hall and she put her left hand into his right hand which had been placed in his pocket. Smithy felt naked as she clasped the small pink ribbon of her bra strap he had so cleverly rolled over and grabbed as he helped himself up from the floor just minutes ago. How? Could she? Had she seen him pick it up? Did she see him look down her shirt? See him watch it fall as she first bent over? He felt smaller than Dover did just a second ago.  

            "What? You think I was going to only let you have a little ribbon?" she seduces. Lisa squeezes his hand before releasing it and intentionally moves her hand around in his pocket on the way out to check the real estate market.

"Eyes of Mine"

 

Permission granted look into these eyes of mine go ahead wink wink you can if you want all of you get to staring and I’ll pass your examining sharing your invasive tactics have taken their toll and I’ve stood in line played my role focus on my pupils the whites of my eyes the brown in my iris and the blood it runs deep see you could never be you’re not blood thankfully messing with it isn’t so wise my dear go ahead and look closer at the lights my deer what you will see what lies behind me underneath my windows to the soul that's me you blind fool you can sit and stare and make me squirm you can all rise and fall and I will stand firm black and white in law you waste you smear names and lay waste to an honest man my natural rights my American pursuit you take from me justice in the name of justice the lies you spread like your legs you spread hate and I see red not anger I see my favorite kind of red my childhood hero in color form and I scream to release the youth you hold captive behind these dammed walls are tears near breaking damned chloroform fears for the raking coals for baking and ashes for the taking the circle of life shuts its mouth and a bus stops and steers clear but you still threw me there old friend she will come to her own no ride to catch or short cut to cross just fingers typing and windows keep leaking swallowing pride to keep from dehydrating screaming I'm screaming inside but go ahead look into eyes of mine look all you want because that's it that's too close enough already and more than you should ever have you fly in my eye lovers’ spy you grotesque voyeur you desolate destitute false protesting prostitute I'm watching you with these eyes of mine this time overcoming I’ve done we’ve done we’ve won and I’m eyeing you now we’re watching you fall you’re already so small.