Christiana Lloyd-Kirk's Review of Jordan Wilson True's "My Parents Used to Sing Me Lullabies"
(Jordan Wilson True's "My Parents Used to Sing Me Lullabies")
I thought this poem was fantastic...minimal if any complaints. I love how you brought some humor out to a fairly serious subject. The word choice, lyricism and some of the images were great also. If anything, I'd be interested in seeing some more image development as far as what's going on in the room. That's really my only complaint
I lie awake in the middle of the night turning my TV on only to
turn it back off; wishing it would suck me into its tragically black
oblivion. Escape as far as a dream. The TV, while on, still radiates blue.
The colors won’t cease, even when I courageously turn my back.
I lie awake in the middle of the night counting sheep.
Nothing seems to work and I thought this might.
Yet, still I lie awake, catching every thought but sleep.
Twenty-five thousand sheep, that would be a fucking sight.
I lie awake in the middle of the night crying.
But not as loud as you.
I would rather hear you slowly dying
than be stuck in this hue.
Countless nights I spent hearing more than I could ever see.
It is what created me.
I thought this poem was fantastic...minimal if any complaints. I love how you brought some humor out to a fairly serious subject. The word choice, lyricism and some of the images were great also. If anything, I'd be interested in seeing some more image development as far as what's going on in the room. That's really my only complaint
I lie awake in the middle of the night turning my TV on only to
turn it back off; wishing it would suck me into its tragically black
oblivion. Escape as far as a dream. The TV, while on, still radiates blue.
The colors won’t cease, even when I courageously turn my back.
I lie awake in the middle of the night counting sheep.
Nothing seems to work and I thought this might.
Yet, still I lie awake, catching every thought but sleep.
Twenty-five thousand sheep, that would be a fucking sight.
I lie awake in the middle of the night crying.
But not as loud as you.
I would rather hear you slowly dying
than be stuck in this hue.
Countless nights I spent hearing more than I could ever see.
It is what created me.