a poem of a friend.
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a poem of a friend.
Spring Has Sprung
Spring has sprung like an old pocket watch whose
works have spilt upon a hardwood floor: Jewels
scurry in a twinkling; there! and there! Gears and
pinions of intricate complexity ( no ébauche utilized
here! ) dance like dreidels for a moment - only to es-
cape from sight; the escape-wheel curiously not so
4/3/2015
Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor STATELY
This is going very well, so let's set the deadline for Friday, April 10th. In the meantime, keep 'em coming!
It’s chilly in the morning. Welcome Spring
When April’s fresh-made flowers hint that soon
The trees will bud, but first a wondrous thing:
The shadow of our Earth will chill our Moon.
CHILDREN OF GOD
Exquisite feathers,
Together they soar,
Hovering the world,
Migrating in accord,
Seasons change,
Chase the light,
Spring is here,
Faith be north!!
springs
brings
tidings
of many things
warmth
and flowers
the rain powers
the breeze
and the trees
the wind
freeze
and everything is
in border
with a natural afforder
for a summer
to order
Double post. :)
Okay, it's award day! :) Despite some ill-advised backstage skulduggery, the entries ended up being really outstanding. Thanks to everyone who contributed.
Colb, I'm a sucker for internal rhyme, so I loved the way you used "feather" with "together," as well as the subtler slant rhymes given by "soar," "accord," and "north." My only advice would be to try to work in a higher vowel sound into a secondary rhyme ("ee" or "ay" or maybe "ing") as a kind of counter-point to the more somber "oh" sound that you use. It would give this really exultant poem a joyful sound to balance the seriousness that the sounds you use already bring to it. (Think of it as male and female voices, if that helps). But nice work. Really well done.
And Cacian, you do exactly what I'm advising Colb to do in your less subtle but very enthusiastic piece: using the lower "masculine" tones from "warmth" and "border;" but playing them against the higher "feminine" sounds from "breeze,"brings," tidings, etc. I also love it that your minimalism never sounds pompous. It's not:
Me
My life
Agony
All about
Me me me
Instead, your poem is like a basket of flowers, some brightly hued, some deeply colored. My only advice would be arrange these beautiful flowers a little more. Try using a somewhat alternating rhyme scheme rather than putting the same kind together in bunches. Variety is the spice of life, and your poetry is nothing if not spicy! :)
And Tailor, yours is a truly intricate work, like the metaphorical timepiece you describe. I loved the way you used words like "twinkling" and "intricate complexity" to suggest the sound of the gears and springs spilling onto the hardwood floor. This was, in fact, a very professional sounding poem. My only advice would be to develop the metaphor you have made into more of a theme. What happens in the fall? Do we find the fallen pieces of the watch brightly colored--but with rust? Does the inevitable fall of seasons and even youth give the springtime fall of the watch a tragic quality? Or is it merely a whimsical one? My advice would be to give this outstanding poem at least one more stanza. I'm sure you would do it proud.
And that means that the winner is...YesNo for his disarmingly effective Eclipsing the Moon in April. I hope I wasn't biased by the fact that I look on YesNo as a poetic mentor--his poetry being so much better than mine, and mine having improved so much in the brief time I have known him. His poem is a perfect example of what I was trying to express before. The ABAB rhyme scheme alternates higher and lower tones; the unrushed iambic pentameter draws the reader on in a conversationally paced but subtly musical way; as does the unforced alliteration of "fresh-made flowers." I love also that this piece was written not just about the early spring but also the eclipse that came with it: an event that brought a curious wonder to the change of seasons. That feeling of gentle curiosity was what I took from this wondrous little poem. Thanks YesNo, who will determine the next subject.
Congratulations YesNo !; and thank you Pompey Bum for your kind words. I will ponder your suggestion.
Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor STATELY
Thank you, Pompey Bum! Your description of masculine and feminine sounds makes sense. I also admire your poetry as well as the way you put together this critique. Since "sound" is now on my mind, that will be the theme for the next contest.
Subject: Sound
Deadline: About two weeks from now.
A glow came yellow and a trilling gold:
A sweetness sifting through the branches black;
I asked you did you hear--a silence fell
As gently as the light swelled on that place.
You told me there were things you'd never hear:
Songs taken with the damage and things done,
That flew away in silent feathered flight,
And whether dawn came, so came night.
I listened on in sorrow and afraid:
For you, for me, for where the garden lay.
I tried to hear it for you but I failed,
As soft light hardened into clearer day.
Nice poem Pompey!
Thank you, Lykren. That means a lot to me.
The Sound
tires turn, churn, crunch upon sandy asphalt
into a moderately populated parking lot: stop
doors spring open/close after hats and cameras
retrieved: three pad-pad-pad down the path
to the pedestrian bridge where step/clung-
step/clung becomes the song of a throng of
nature-loving devotees walking suspended
over railroad tracks to ultimately reach the
sandy flats and lap-lapped shore where geo-
ducks murmur hidden below knowing they're
within reach of giggling youth whose eager hands
scoop the raspy gravel in a race to obtain them
gulls cry and laugh as singles and pairs splish
through the shallow waters of Carkeek seeking
tidal treasures that may be discovered (but not
lightly taken, nor kept); ankle deep, knee deep,
waist deep - the cool water becomes a living or-
ganism: pulsing; a welcoming caress to one's spirit
a monstrous centipede, a train, wails in the distance
growing larger and larger, its wailing becoming bolder; the
rumble of wheel-works rolling on the tracks is heard; then
shortly passes away - the train dopplering out of view
out of the water, a walk through the brush - then a
wade through a canopied stream that whispers sweet
nothings as one proceeds knee deep in a solemn slog
down this withywindle to another footpath; leaving
behind a treasured shell; then trundle back into the car -
leaving the Sound behind: the memories of this day,
and the many happy days of youth past, vividly clear
4/18/2015
Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor STATELY
'dopplering' is a nice touch, Tailor.
The Sound
The sound of heart, beating
The rushing blood, streaming
The scratching needle, dropping
Silently in the agonizing
Body, in the veins flowing
Soothing pain, and killing
All sensation, and being.
Muscles relenting,
Body dropping
In silence.