Little Whale ( Revised)

This poem has been a major source of my time over the last few weeks, i am fond of it, but have been constantly re-working it. I have posted both of my two final attempts- the first bieng the revised version, and the second the 100th draft- what works better for you, the reader, i think there are bits in the second poem ( the 100th draft one) that are good and i am not totally sure if they should be left out- also the ending does not feel quiet right- i know where i want to be going but just can seem to capture the thought/idea

i know its a lot to ask, but any advice/suggestions would be much appreciated

with love

Vincent

Little Whale ( Revised)

Against the wall of a motel walkway we made you.
We zipped up, wiping spittle from our lips
then I watched him walk away.
That is all I know of him,
I buried the mistake
In a graveyard congested
with plots
baring my name.
Then you appeared
through two strips of blue
In the toilet of a café,
and the memory, like a zombie returned.
My first thought of you was to vomit.
But my love, I have seen lovers weeping
with happiness
and mourners at a funeral beaming-
(this world is not determined by first-emotion alone)
I will admit at first, vanity loathed you,
reflecting the stretched sack of my stomach
In shop windows, or on bad days
convincing me to buy fashion magazines.
At night you lashed out like laundry on full spin.
in the morning you threw back all that I enjoyed-
eggs sunny side up. Steak ever so slightly seared.
It was then my love I’d urge you to arrive.
Yet there was Jazz.
It suited you like warm bed sheets gently dropped.
In the long sweltering summer afternoons
I’d press against the speakers
and imagine you swinging
in the hammock of my womb.
Daughter of jazz,bundled companion,
the burning pleasure in my angry breast,
your creation as you'll discover was not ideal
but nor is the world you’ll soon know
everyone here is giddied, flawed,
fluttering from their catastrophes
like sparks from a burning car.
Yet the storm has passed,
the leaves resume their quaint arrangement
the waves are ironed and calm-
I am ready little whale
come now; this air is awaiting your breath.

Little Whale ( Original)

Against the wall of a motel walkway we made you.
not a word was exchanged,
he zipped his pants, we wiped spit from our lips
and parted into the forever night.
You my unborn gift are the consequence of that night,
appearing to me through two strips of blue
in the toilet of a café.
My first ever thought of you
Followed through with vomit
But my love be aware, even those madly in love
cry, as though overwhelmed by sensation.
My vanity loathed you
Reflecting the stretched sack of my stomach
In shop windows.
At night as the months
slipped by
like grain through the hungry child’s hand
you lashed out like laundry on full spin.
Little whale, at times, I urged you to taste the air.
Much of what I loved you threw back-
Eggs sunny side up, steak ever so slightly seared
rejected with unsuspected delivery
like a bomb exploding before its time.

Yet there was Jazz.
A little sedative for us both
It suited you like warm bed sheets gently dropped
I imagined you rocking to the exterior murmur
In your shady hammock womb
Whenever I pressed against a speaker.
You, daughter of jazz, my bundled companion
Are the burning pleasure in my angry breast.
The pristine sheeted expectant cot,
Your creation as you'll discover was not ideal
but nor is the world that spins
everybody is giddied, flawed
fluttering from their catastrophes
like sparks from a burning car.

Scar me with your coming
I will cherish that clowns smile
I am ready little whale
Come now, break through,
and breathe deep your new world.