There's a good poem waiting to get out from under here. There's too many words, and it's too like prose, but with concentration, it could be very good.

Can I have your permission to at least underline where I think you should cut?

I hope I've basically kept the narrative intact, and I've tried to remove the journalistic phrases and as much of the authorial comment as possible, while still retaining the force of it. In fact, I hope I've concentrated it, but that's up to you. What do you think?

She wasn't much of a religious person
But did once catch a glimpse of God,
a drunken, foul mouthed, creature
Known as her husband
She didn't do anything wrong
Except ask where he's been
And wonder out loud why he was in a state
But from too much lager
descended a fist
She caught her first glimpse of God

Upstairs laid the only evidence that love
once existed between them
He laid there, scared,
Not knowing what to do
or what caused the trouble
one day he may have to pick sides
Between the people whom he loved
when the custody battles and the social services
Become a reality



The neighbours tried to help,
But only moved in once the trouble was finished
It was too late
But it gave them the feelgood factor
And something to gossip about,
After all it was just a drunken man out on the batter,
And no-one was "really" hurt-

to both of you: swap laid for lay - wrong verb case,given that the baby is the subject not the object.

Nice initial idea, Cain, but I broadly agree with Steven's changes.

Hi Cayne

sent you an email re this poem and its performance. Did you get it?

Winston

Strong poem Cayn. I broadly agree with Steven in that I think the words are getting in the way of the poem. While I agree with what he has done I would be inclined to take it further althoughyou may well think that your original point is lost. It is a matter largely of taste of course, but I would do something like this:

She wasn't religious
But did once glimpse God,
a drunken, foul mouthed, creature,
her husband.
She did nothing wrong.
Just asked where he'd been
and wondered out loud why he was in a state,
but from too much lager
descended a fist.
Her first glimpse of God

Upstairs lay the evidence that love
once existed.
Laying there, scared,
knowing he could do nothing.
One day he may have to choose
Between the people he loved
when the custody battles came.

The neighbours wanted to help,
But only moved once the trouble was over.
It was too late,
but they hurt less
and it gave gossip.
Just a drunken man on the batter,
No-one was "really" hurt.

Sorry to be so presumptuous with your work. It is different from your natural style so don't take too much from me or anyone else. Keep your own voice, but hopefully the views of others can give constructive things to consider.