Urban Jungle Song

[Reilley]

Galoshes slip slop along, plop, plip as they drop,
slicker slides like greased otters swimming in slop
pop, pop, pop, rain pelts the rubber hood in splats
as chubby hands launch paper boats shaped like hats
that float on ahead down the road

awash with wishes that swim and slosh
innocent of the need to cleanse or wash.

Pop, pop, pop goes the weasels in the stolen Pontiac
Popping without stopping, as they shot him in the back.
He trips, then slips, then watches blood drip-drip
as he raises a palsied fist to the mist across his lip
while they drive by and roll down the road

cackling and slapping high fives with a grin
the random boy’s death was this punk’s ticket in.

Wiper wipes and swipes the glass, his paperwork required.
His eyes cast down until the sound of pops and squeal of tires.
Without regard for fear of pain, he slipped it into gear
to cut across the ganger’s path as it barreled ever near
he cut them off from access to the road

his duty in actions without hesitation
ensured justice and eventual incarceration.

Mum wipes tears for her dark fears have come true.
Her child gone and there is none she can do to undo
Justice cares for just us and don’t you forget
there is nothing they cannot take from you yet.
Would life be better if you walked down that road?

Life happens when you are ready or not.
Fate says you get what you already got.

You are captain of your own ship Destiny,
if you slip up on your trip up don’t rip it up on me.
Sloppy plotting costs us lives each and every day
and sometimes we forget what we really want to say.
You never walk alone, no matter your pick of road.

We each have our own true voices
and make our personal choices.

[rhumour]

A sad but no longer unusual tale told with skill and wisdom , it should touch all who read it - well done sir!
Best wishes, Dave

[Neal Allen (snowtracks)]

Thank you Reilly. You set out to tell us a tragic tale of gangsters and a young hero. You did more than that. Your setting of the scene using strong onomatopoeia took us right to the place and initially we felt happy as we were invited to watch these young innocents playing with their little paper boats in the flooded street.

After that we were shocked and a bit disorientated to find ourselves no longer playing with young innocents but suddenly dealing with vicious thugs. The young hero must have been just as surprised and disorientated because why should he suspect that these bad guys were coming his way? How could he possibly have understood when the bullet mowed him down and yet, he musters his gumption and performs his act of bravery by blocking their path using a car he could not have been a master of at his tender age.

At the end we hear of the mother's grief and we are left in no doubt about the rights and wrongs and sadnesses of the situation and who the good guys were.

The last three stanzas starting "Life happens...", I must say did not do much for me. They make a nice Rap song but I did not find them necessary to the story. That is of course just my own opinion and I fully respect that you felt they were required.

Well done indeed sir. It is an enthralling tale.

Kind regards

[dustandwater]

Reilley,

"...and his mama cries."

A very rhythmic piece; well done. It sets out with such pace as to drag the reader along with it, through those rainy slums. It's a poem full of strong sentiment but I fear that perhaps the sentiment is a little stronger than the verse in places.

I can tell that you set pen to paper with a lot of ambition here and it feels to me that you have tried to squeeze a little too much into the space you have provided. I speak to this with a heavy burden of personal experience as I often do the same. In fact, your extensive repertoire on this forum alone reveals you to be quite the skilled story-teller - something I have been inspired by many times as I have read your pieces. This one feels like it could do with some tightening, though.

The shift from childhood innocence to the gritty suburban trial of gang pledges is a great one and is done so deftly. This stanza, describing the shooting, is easily the strongest in the poem; the rhythm is on point and the rhymes are tight.

The second and consequent shifts feel a little too much like pushing the piece along a conveyor belt to tell a story while the poetic intricacies take a back seat. There could have been so much more to this boy's own story without introducing the other characters (officer and mum) and as it is I feel somewhat cut short.

Of course, I see that there is a message you're making with this piece but unfortunately, I agree with Neal Allen that the finishing stanzas, where this message plays out, seem inconsequential and could be happily removed.

I think the reason for this is mainly that destiny doesn't seem to play much part in the development of the story. Perhaps if we saw more of the boy's actions and decisions, Neal Allen and I at least would find the closing stanza a little more poignant.

This type of fast-paced, rhythmically-driven piece is challenging as there is need for a lot of rhyme and careful attention to metre and I think you have done a great job with that. While I maintain that the second stanza is the best in this regard, at no point in the piece do I feel that you are really reaching, struggling to clutch at rhymes and shoehorn them in. This shows either impressive vocabulary or else a wiseness in your choice of rhymes. Either way, it is something I can only hope to do as skillfully.

Well done, sir!

-D&W