You blew smoke rings at my tattoo, but I didn’t mind; for your smile was like an April shower rainbow, your face as shining as the Harvest Moon. And to think one as fair and young as you had given her love to an old, hard-fisted backwoodsman like me.
I gaze through the glass from my crumpled bedclothes with fond memories of bare feet leaving tracks on that sandy, summer beach when we combed for frilly shells. Or chilly walks under moonbeam skies; early spring crocus bordering our frosty path.
Your long, feminine neck, splashed with scents of autumn harvest apple orchards, filled my nares with delight. The supple softness of your freckled caress, your silky kiss, your breath like fresh autumn ale, left me shuddering for just a little more.
As cold winter touched, your loveglow, like a crackling hearth, ever warmed my very soul. And outside, deep in boot-high snow, your cold-chilled cheeks shone like ripe stawberries as your windswept raven hair danced around your steamy, velvet voice.
Lonely on a stone-covered hillside–autumn leaves trickle. Some still bright, some now brown and brittle; they spell out the story of life–of love. Yours, oh, too short, was grabbed away in supple prime. But I shall always remember–smoke rings, love, and you.
DJ Barber lives in the Northwest where the warmth of love is always appreciated.
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20 Responses to “SMOKE RINGS • by DJ Barber”
Comments
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August 1st, 2008 at 1:49 am
Hi DJ, I wanted to like this flash more than I did, so sorry not to be more upbeat here. I loved the title and that opening image of the ink and the smoke. I liked the idea of the shifting seasons seen through the eyes of love. But taken altogether it was just too sentimental for my taste (I’m maybe too much of a Brit!). It stopped feeling real and became like a heady brew of adjectives and poetic prose. I couldn’t “see” the girl any longer and began to wonder whether she was in fact real, e.g. girls with freckles do not have black hair, and vice versa. Sorry to seem picky but I wanted to share why this didn’t work for me in a way that was as constructive as possible.
August 1st, 2008 at 3:33 am
At one point I thought “she” might be a deer.
And “nares”? Really? I had to look that up and can’t help but feel “nostrils” would have done. Unless he’s a hawk. Is he a tattooed hawk? Is he?
If this is a story about a hawk that loves a deer, I’m bumping it up an extra star for that alone.
I actually kind of liked it but it was a bit OTT.
August 1st, 2008 at 3:36 am
Oh and freckled girls can dye their hair. OR… OR her hair was actually MADE FROM RAVENS!
Jebus, this story rocks. Will there be a sequel?
August 1st, 2008 at 3:59 am
Freckles and black hair does happen. A friend and his sister have always had jet black hair, with that midnight blue shimmer. She has more freckles than anyone I know.
Nothing wrong with nares…
I lost being able to “see” the girl as well, but it was only because I could “feel” the loss of the backwoodsman.
August 1st, 2008 at 4:11 am
This is more a poem than a story to me - when taken in that context, I found it quite enjoyable. Thanks!
August 1st, 2008 at 4:28 am
I agree with Teresa; in fact I was about to comment just that, when I saw Teresa’s comment. I like it well enough a poem, but it doesn’t work (for me) as a story.
August 1st, 2008 at 4:49 am
agreed. pretty nice poem. not nice fiction.
August 1st, 2008 at 6:17 am
Aaaww! Picky, picky, picky… some of the esrly comments you got about this piece struck me as a bit cold. I, for one, thoroughly enjoyed it; but what do I know?
August 1st, 2008 at 6:47 am
Prose poem comes to mind. A love prose poem. Thanks for mixing it up DJ.
August 1st, 2008 at 6:47 am
I agree with Sarah’s comments-sorry, but I think trying the same thoughts as a poem might work better. Also- there were too many similes here for my taste. I think I counted 6 in that one short passage. The similes that work for me are the ones that are striking, completely original and so true that they ring out. I still remember one that I read in high school- “the sound of the tires on the wet pavement was like bacon frying”- that one works for me because it compares two very dissimilar things and finds a surprisingly true connection between them. The April showers and harvest moon similes didn’t really grab me.Still, taking risks as a writer is all part of the process, so if this was something new you were trying- then I think that’s great.
August 1st, 2008 at 7:33 am
Great imagery, DJ.
For me, you captured nostalgia perfectly, so much so that I felt as at peace by the end as the main character did, rather than being robbed of the moment by sadness that could have pervaded because of loss.
August 1st, 2008 at 8:51 am
Another vote here for this piece as being more a relative of poetry than prose. To me, the similes of the rainbow and the moon in the first paragraph were not as strong as the rest of that section. I loved the part about the smoke and the tattoo, the old hard-fisted backwoodsman - powerful and concrete and visual.
August 1st, 2008 at 10:01 am
I want to thank everyone for their comments, EDF is a great place for feedback–yes, I did take a bit of a risk mixing poem and prose–worked for some, not for others. But I appreciate every one taking time to point out its strengths and weaknesses.
–dj
August 1st, 2008 at 10:20 am
I like it, DJ. Though I must agree that more of the poem came through, it’s definitely a story. I like that the leaves trickle.
August 1st, 2008 at 1:47 pm
Its okay…but i do agree it does seem a bit sentimental. But then again we brits arent into that quite as much. I liked the language but felt a metaphor or similie for abosulutely everything was a bit over the the top.
Not bad, not great.
August 1st, 2008 at 2:08 pm
I’m a Brit and I loved it. I thought it was a brave story about weak people. That’s the impression I got because obviously one dies and one doesn’t. I assumed that the tattooed fellow is still alive while his pale pink love has died because of something he couldn’t do to protect her. I have to say that I could be wrong but I thought the implication was that he’s all talk and she’s dead because of it. That’s why he’s so full of angst about it.
I read it about a day and a half ago and I still have the prose in my head. I think it’s superb. Whatever talk about it being this or that is lost on me. It’s a great story and told well for everyone to enjoy.
August 1st, 2008 at 4:32 pm
Thanks Anteater, you seemed to have captured what I attempted to convey.
I once had a willowy, dark-haired friend with pale blue eyes and freckles. She was kind of a model for the story-poem. She’s alive and well, unlike the woman in the story.
And, I must say, I’m shocked at the Brits. What of Wordsworth–or old Bill Shakespeare for that matter! I always thought of Brits as sentimental, emotional, and warm.
–dj
August 2nd, 2008 at 12:52 am
We’re warm, DJ! Honest!
August 3rd, 2008 at 6:27 pm
Well, I always thought so, Sarah.
August 4th, 2008 at 6:19 am
The title and first line were definitely, hooks, and drew me to read this story. I enjoyed the lyricism, but felt it needed to be reduced to be more powerful. The fourth para did not hold my attention. The end was expected. I would have liked to see more of the smoke rings and the tattoo.