Poetry in Progress ~ construction zone

[vampiredust]

This is from a poem I wrote in the passion thread. I've cleaned it up a bit and made a few changes. Still not sure about it.
-------------------------------
Watching a fisherman gather Lugworms on Tenby beach

A pile of wet sand stands
like a cairn next to an open
pit. He emerges carrying
sludge; sifting through

crushed shells and seaweed,
he finds nothing. Following a
trail of sand nests, he corners
an elusive S, trapping it with

the edge of his shovel; carefully
lifting it out with his thumb and
forefinger. The razor shell nearby
digs back in to the sand, breathless.

 

[flyguy69]

Just my opinion, vd: I don't find this one particularly interesting. The language and the imagery just don't engage me.

A couple of issues for me-- the use of "cairn" (a pile of rocks) as a simile for a pile of sand. While "cairn" certainly connotes a memorial, the images are so simlar that the simile doesn't add anything new.

The fisherman is as lifeless as his shovel. Since he makes exactly the same response (indeed; no response at all) to finding or not finding his quarry, I'm left not caring about him.

The razor shell seems thrown in. It is the first thing that seems to care about the event (even the "elusive S" gets simply lifted from its environs), but it has no relationship to any other image. Also, "breathlessness" seems oddly applied to a mollusc.

Sorry to not be more positive, but I think your editing efforts might be better directed toward another poem. This one for instance.

This is from a poem I wrote in the passion thread. I've cleaned it up a bit and made a few changes. Still not sure about it.
-------------------------------
Watching a fisherman gather Lugworms on Tenby beach

A pile of wet sand stands
like a cairn next to an open
pit. He emerges carrying
sludge; sifting through

crushed shells and seaweed,
he finds nothing. Following a
trail of sand nests, he corners
an elusive S, trapping it with

the edge of his shovel; carefully
lifting it out with his thumb and
forefinger. The razor shell nearby
digs back in to the sand, breathless.

 

[wildsweetone]

This is from a poem I wrote in the passion thread. I've cleaned it up a bit and made a few changes. Still not sure about it.
-------------------------------
Watching a fisherman gather Lugworms on Tenby beach

A pile of wet sand stands
like a cairn next to an open
pit. He emerges carrying
sludge; sifting through

crushed shells and seaweed,
he finds nothing. Following a
trail of sand nests, he corners
an elusive S, trapping it with

the edge of his shovel; carefully
lifting it out with his thumb and
forefinger. The razor shell nearby
digs back in to the sand, breathless.

the original poem from the passion thread
Watching a fisherman gather Lugworms on Tenby beach

Piles of wet sand stand
like cairns next to open
pits. He emerges, carrying
sludge. Sifting through

crushed shells and seaweed,
he finds nothing. Following a
trail of sand nests, he corners
an elusive S, trapping it with

the edge of his shovel; carefully
lifting it out with his thumb and
forefinger. The razor-shell nearby
digs back in to the sand, breathless.

Chris, in my opinion the original poem has more action than the one you have edited.

The first sentence in your edited version sounds lifeless and doesn't make me want to read more, but the first sentence in the original is alive, making me question why the piles of sand are there, and what pits are you talking about. There is interest.

The next sentence (you've broken it into two complete sentences in the original) 'he finds nothing' does not want me to find out more about this person, whereas the original has me right there and watching him search, hoping he'll find something.

The one thing I notice most about both these versions is that your 'stamp' of poetics I look for in your writing, is missing. These poems are very basic without the stunning twist you often slip into your writing.

I think there is potential.

Perhaps you could 'animate' the razor-shell a little more, making it not merely 'dig' but show how it could splatter sand everywhere making piles of its own as it scuttles back into its safe dark zone.

Maybe you could use the razor-shell's voice to tell the poem from its own perspective.

I hope something in what I've said helps.

 

[The Mystery Valiant]

And what shall I do?

I have a poem here that some say they liked the first two Stanza's. But they felt that the rest of the poem needed some work to fulfill the promise of that first sentence. Give it a gander and let me know.

“A Woven Secret”


A secret I would tell, if we slipped into the rain.
Where call a slovenly pitch for amnesty to false feathered friend’s.
Wealthy charges shout “It’s not true!”
Peer pressure pony pull to your never ending lust.
Illusion raking the sifting fabric.
Collar and gown, paradox within service or dominance.
Turn your back and melt into all our inheritance.
With eternally wasted energy, the fog obliterates the chosen sanity.

Carrion minds feast over purposely honored white.
To take care of you, all you have wilts into ancient vaults.
Caverns darken and fall you shall, caution and speed are dancing at this fool.
Deep, are willfully shared secrets and shallow are your needs .
Twist to the wind, capture my pain.
Know the truth and believe this.
You own, rule, empower, answer, and lighten. It was yours in the first place.


The Mystery Valiant
6-28-1992

 

[vampiredust]

I have a poem here that some say they liked the first two Stanza's. But they felt that the rest of the poem needed some work to fulfill the promise of that first sentence. Give it a gander and let me know.

“A Woven Secret”


A secret I would tell, if we slipped into the rain.
Where call a slovenly pitch for amnesty to false feathered friend’s.
Wealthy charges shout “It’s not true!”
Peer pressure pony pull to your never ending lust.
Illusion raking the sifting fabric.
Collar and gown, paradox within service or dominance.
Turn your back and melt into all our inheritance.
With eternally wasted energy, the fog obliterates the chosen sanity.

Carrion minds feast over purposely honored white.
To take care of you, all you have wilts into ancient vaults.
Caverns darken and fall you shall, caution and speed are dancing at this fool.
Deep, are willfully shared secrets and shallow are your needs .
Twist to the wind, capture my pain.
Know the truth and believe this.
You own, rule, empower, answer, and lighten. It was yours in the first place.


The Mystery Valiant
6-28-1992

I don't get something, TMV. Why do you end every sentence with a full stop instead of continuing on to the next line? I've noticed this a lot in your poetry and was wondering if it was intentional.

Imho, it doesn't help the rythmn. The reader has to continually stop and start rather then pausing and carrying on.

 

[bluerains]

I like a poem if I hear music and this one could bring "Jai guru deva" to mind across the universe...nothing will change my world..if you find a bit more flow and rhythm , you have alliteration ...but the flow and beat have not been created...just my thoughts...I enjoyed your choice of topic...find your music in this and it will sing...

I have a poem here that some say they liked the first two Stanza's. But they felt that the rest of the poem needed some work to fulfill the promise of that first sentence. Give it a gander and let me know.

“A Woven Secret”


A secret I would tell, if we slipped into the rain.
Where call a slovenly pitch for amnesty to false feathered friend’s.
Wealthy charges shout “It’s not true!”
Peer pressure pony pull to your never ending lust.
Illusion raking the sifting fabric.
Collar and gown, paradox within service or dominance.
Turn your back and melt into all our inheritance.
With eternally wasted energy, the fog obliterates the chosen sanity.

Carrion minds feast over purposely honored white.
To take care of you, all you have wilts into ancient vaults.
Caverns darken and fall you shall, caution and speed are dancing at this fool.
Deep, are willfully shared secrets and shallow are your needs .
Twist to the wind, capture my pain.
Know the truth and believe this.
You own, rule, empower, answer, and lighten. It was yours in the first place.


The Mystery Valiant
6-28-1992

 

[The Mystery Valiant]

I don't get something, TMV. Why do you end every sentence with a full stop instead of continuing on to the next line? I've noticed this a lot in your poetry and was wondering if it was intentional.

Imho, it doesn't help the rythmn. The reader has to continually stop and start rather then pausing and carrying on.

Well, it might help if you look at the date I wrote the poem. I was still practicing putting them together. I really wasn't all that intersted in poetry at that time. I was playing my guitar, trying to become a rock god. Somehow, it just didn't work out. I didn't submit my first poem for publication until 1996, with "The National Library of Poetry". Now called "The International Library of Poetry". Give it another gander after reading this reply and see if you might find anything else.


http://english.literotica.com/stories/showstory.php?id=264347

 

[vampiredust]

Well, it might help if you look at the date I wrote the poem. I was still practicing putting them together. I really wasn't all that intersted in poetry at that time. I was playing my guitar, trying to become a rock god. Somehow, it just didn't work out. I didn't submit my first poem for publication until 1996, with "The National Library of Poetry". Now called "The International Library of Poetry". Give it another gander after reading this reply and see if you might find anything else.


http://english.literotica.com/stories/showstory.php?id=264347

TMV, my comment didn't just refer to this one. I read the date and everything else

"The International Library of Poetry" = shysters. They are another face of poetry.con, conmen supremos; they would accept a regurgitated burger as a poem.

 

[The Mystery Valiant]

Yes..., I understand that.

But right now I'm working with this one. As you have brought this up, it bothers me that you feel my poetry has no rhythm and needs to be cut into shorter breaths. I have read poetry, I do know that I have read some rather lenghty line's in some famous poem's. So I don't quite understand why this is so hard for you to understand as a form of poetry. Maybe I'm jumping to conclusions or maybe even making the wrong assumptions. But I always understood that when going from one line to the next, a comma is not a dead stop, but a slight pause. From what I've seen of some poetry here, there are too many in which, one line drops to another line and continues so without punctuation. It gets to the point where it disrupts the imagery and rhythm of the poem. At least for me it does. Yes, it is intentional. I can't understand how it can be otherwise.

Is this that disturbing for you? Because it's what and how I learned about poetry. I guess I must offer up that apparently I work on a different rhythm than other's. Because that's what is in my soul. I can't finish a line incomplete and detracting from the power of a single line. I really don't what or how to say that this is poetry as I understand it.

I also noticed just now that you mis-spelled "Rhythm". Yes there is a lot of mis-spelling going on because people are typing and haven't taken time to have a spell-checker working. But then I can ask the question, "is that intentional?"

 

[vampiredust]

that's just an annoying tick

 

[The Mystery Valiant]

Once again, and hopefully..., with rhythm

Altered, not great. But working.

“A Woven Secret”


A secret I would tell,
if we slipped into the rain.
They chant a dented pitch,
of amnesty and fame.
Wealthy charges shout,
“It’s not true!”

Just a peer pressure pony pull,
to your never ending lust.
Illusion barter a sifting fabric.
Collar and gown,the fuss.
Paradox with cold service,
or dominance.

Turn your back,
melt into our inheritance.
With eternally wasted energy,
so obliterates the chosen sanity.
Carrion minds feast over,
purposely honored white.

Be in placid decay,
wilted shadow, stilted day,
into ancient choking vaults.
Caverns darken, fall you shall.
Caution and speed are dancing play,
at this roiling fool,
of the twisted rule.

Deep,
are willfully shared secrets,
and shallow these needs.
Twist to the wind,
and so capture my pain.
Know the truth and,
believe this.

You own, rule,
empower,
answer, and enlighten.
It was yours in the first place.


The Mystery Valiant
7-7-2006

 

[vampiredust]

Not sure about this

This is a revised version of something I wrote in the passion thread (it should also be up in the new poems soon)

The balloon seller, Brighton pier

Inflated insects with aluminium
bellies blow in the wind, whilst
the attendant sends smoke signals
to potential customers.

But that doesn't work, so they wait
for their stomachs to pop, releasing
gaseous ghosts. There is no afterlife.
Tourists pass them by, some taking

pictures to put on useless websites;
others cursing silently, thinking
they are captured demons. Nobody buys,
nobody ever does.

----------
Am confused about the ending, I was thinking of having it all on the last line rather than split.
----------

 

[Neteru]

She mourns

Once again a woman cries
as tears of sorrow fall from her eyes

she mourns

The years invested
The time wasted

she mourns

Not heeding the warning signs
Not letting you go the first time

she mourns

The piece of her that dies
from all the deceit and lies

She mourns

A heart newly torn
The death of innocence


But like the phoenix
she is reborn

And yet, still she mourns

Although she rises with strength anew
Now she is more like you

And she mourns.

 

[Neteru]

I sense you,
eyes gazing upon me
with ravenous hunger
Your scent evoking images of exotic moonlit nights,
dry sultry breezes and tropical storms

I hear
your whispers that promise erotic fulfillment,
the soft moans of pleasure as,
I become you, you become me and we become one
atop silk sheets bathed in candlelight
drinking from the fountain of sensuality

I feel your desire
a need so strong it flows through
the pores of my skin,
sexual electricity in the air envelopes us,
tension mounting riding us like the waves of a tsunami
every cell of our bodies cry out for release

thought processes cease
driven by primal, elemental need
grappling for the apex , reaching for the other side of desire
loins afire untlil we explode together
you and I
loving by means of
imagery and mental stimuli.

 

[Neteru]

Just Friends

We were meant to be
We share one soul
Two halves of an organism
One without the other
We could never be whole
Through the lean and mean years
You were always there to comfort me
And wipe away my tears
And I have been the shoulder you've
relied upon when facing rejection and
fears
You are my rock my protection
Keeping me from harm
I am the one you come to when you
need comforting arms
For every low we've reached, for
every plateau breached
We have been there for each other
Like lovers
And will be there until our lives end
This surely must be love
So why are we just friends

 

[champagne1982]

This is a revised version of something I wrote in the passion thread (it should also be up in the new poems soon)

The balloon seller, Brighton pier

Inflated insects with aluminium
bellies blow in the wind, whilst
the attendant sends smoke signals
to potential customers.

But that doesn't work, so they wait
for their stomachs to pop, releasing
gaseous ghosts. There is no afterlife.
Tourists pass them by, some taking

pictures to put on useless websites;
others cursing silently, thinking
they are captured demons. Nobody buys,
nobody ever does.

----------
Am confused about the ending, I was thinking of having it all on the last line rather than split.
----------

I really like the scene setting in this poem. You've made it very easy to visualize those colourful critters. How about taking the ending up to the beginning and use it to introduce the conflict right away? I think I'd feel more empathy for the balloon seller all the way through the poem than just that brief moment at the ending if you did.

 

[EriAliSaa]

Rewrite help-Morning After

Ok. This I did on the fly in the 100 words challenge liked it enough to submit it. I would like to make it better but I am lost on how. Physical descriptions alude me, or I make them seem out of place.

Seemingly cleaved,
Chiseled from marble,
A great master's work.

My inspiration is waking up to the rear veiw of a statue of Adonis in human form. I couldn't get started trying to think about how to describe a perfect butt. And I am just as lost now.

I fixed some typos I missed. No sure what problems exist with the rest. I thought I was trying to change things up here and there style wise, but it doesn't look like I did.

The draw so irresistable.
A touch,
Brings a knowing smile.

Cocky bastard.
A kiss,
A taste,
A bite,
A pinch.

It likes,
Who cares.
Thick wavy hair,
Pulling it down,
Bringing it near.

Pretty package.
Pretty empty package.
Adonis in looks,
Worthy of time,
It is not.

Hazy thoughts,
Long ago last night.
Light through a window,
A door.
A farewell.
A prayer for forgotfulness.

Small capsules,
Cool liquid,
Sigh.
Die-it,
More like it.

Shiny red orb,
Cranberry lips.
Crackling echoes,
Deafening destruction.
Stark white core,
Match of those that exposed it.

Don't you hate the morning after?

Please any constructive questions or comments would be helpful.

 

[EriAliSaa]

This is a revised version of something I wrote in the passion thread (it should also be up in the new poems soon)

pictures to put on useless websites;
others cursing silently, thinking
they are captured demons. Nobody buys,
nobody ever does.

----------
Am confused about the ending, I was thinking of having it all on the last line rather than split.
----------

Can I ask why? To me it seems to work well as is.

 

[HotKittySpank]

Seemingly cleaved,
Chiseled from marble,
A great master's work.

My inspiration is waking up to the rear veiw of a statue of Adonis in human form.

(I like this idea, perhaps mentioning the 'rear view' would be enough?

like:

A great master's work
in rear view)

The draw so irresistable.
A touch,
Brings a knowing smile.

(so this is before he left or after?)

Cocky bastard.
A kiss,
A taste,
A bite,
A pinch.

(then he left?)

It likes,
Who cares.
Thick wavy hair,
Pulling it down,
Bringing it near.

Pretty package.
Pretty empty package.
Adonis in looks,
Worthy of time,
It is not.

Hazy thoughts,
Long ago last night.
Light through a window,
A door.
A farewell.
A prayer for forgotfulness. <- spelling)

Small capsules,
Cool liquid,
Sigh.
Die-it,
More like it.

(ha! been there!)

Shiny red orb,
Cranberry lips.
Crackling echoes,
Deafening destruction.
Stark white core,
Match of those that exposed it.

(don't follow this above - ?)

Don't you hate the morning after?

Please any constructive questions or comments would be helpful.

My little notes are above in ( ) . I'm really not one to critique another's work as my own is so often lacking. But, I do understand the sentiment here. The only thing that is really throwing me is the last bit regarding your lips. uhh, hope this helps... --hks

 

[flyguy69]

Ok. This I did on the fly in the 100 words challenge liked it enough to submit it. I would like to make it better but I am lost on how. Physical descriptions alude me, or I make them seem out of place.

Seemingly cleaved,
Chiseled from marble,
A great master's work.

My inspiration is waking up to the rear veiw of a statue of Adonis in human form. I couldn't get started trying to think about how to describe a perfect butt. And I am just as lost now.

I fixed some typos I missed. No sure what problems exist with the rest. I thought I was trying to change things up here and there style wise, but it doesn't look like I did.

The draw so irresistable.
A touch,
Brings a knowing smile.

Cocky bastard.
A kiss,
A taste,
A bite,
A pinch.

It likes,
Who cares.
Thick wavy hair,
Pulling it down,
Bringing it near.

Pretty package.
Pretty empty package.
Adonis in looks,
Worthy of time,
It is not.

Hazy thoughts,
Long ago last night.
Light through a window,
A door.
A farewell.
A prayer for forgotfulness.

Small capsules,
Cool liquid,
Sigh.
Die-it,
More like it.

Shiny red orb,
Cranberry lips.
Crackling echoes,
Deafening destruction.
Stark white core,
Match of those that exposed it.

Don't you hate the morning after?

Please any constructive questions or comments would be helpful.

It's a little listy for my taste, Erin. Since the subject matter doesn't seem to need a list, you might try fewer images with more embellishment. And, as always, avoid telling your audience he is a cocky bastard. Show them.

 

[Maria2394]

undergrowth

as soon as i posted this on "passion" i saw things i wanted to change...


~~~~


the kudzu
is climbing, up, up
shingles
have become earthen
ears for the lady
to grasp
as she rasps

how hot, how hot
come let me cool
you, fan you with
my creeping tongue
up she grows, she clings
she grows, and no one
notices the crumple
of roots
peeking above the soil
provides a home
for ivy and jasmine
kudzu hot
ground cover,
cool

~~~~



Lady Kudzu is climbing
up, up
shingles become earthen
ears for the lady to grasp
as she rasps
to an absent breeze-

how hot, how hot

come let me cool
you, fan you with
my creeping tongues

up she grows, she clings
no one notices
the crumple of roots
peeking above the broken soil
provides a home
for her cousins,
ivy and jasmine

Deep South summer, kudzu hot
ground cover soothing
oh, so cool

~~~~


suggestions WELCOMED in fact, begged for

 

[vampiredust]

Can I ask why? To me it seems to work well as is.

I didn't like the way it affected the rythm of the piece. It sounded odd, enjambing the way it did.

But i might leave it. Then again, i might not.

 

[EriAliSaa]

I didn't like the way it affected the rythm of the piece. It sounded odd, enjambing the way it did.

But i might leave it. Then again, i might not.

The sense that I got was that it brings it all to a close. Sort of in a way finishing with fin. Of course if that was not what you were going for then you will want to change it

Thought about what you said HKS about the rear view part... been trying to rework a little not finding what grabs me yet but it is all appreciated.

Last bit with the lips, an attempt at describing eating a Red Delicious.

Fly Guy thank you. Cocky Bastard was supposed to be a thought bubble. It it is rather out of place in 'listy' actions I will have to separate that out.

 

[Sealace]

My inspiration is waking up to the rear veiw of a statue of Adonis in human form. I couldn't get started trying to think about how to describe a perfect butt. And I am just as lost now.

Erin,
Forgive my presumption, but I think you might have tried to write the wrong poem. Don't get me wrong, it is up to you to write what you want to write, but to ME the thing that is more interesting than trying to describe the perfect butt is to write a poem about how hard it is to describe it. Or why the perfect butt even matters. I would suggest brainstorming your reactions, try to find the signifigance of the physical instead of trying to describe it.

~J

 

[Sealace]

as soon as i posted this on "passion" i saw things i wanted to change...


~~~~


the kudzu
is climbing, up, up
shingles
have become earthen
ears for the lady
to grasp
as she rasps

how hot, how hot
come let me cool
you, fan you with
my creeping tongue
up she grows, she clings
she grows, and no one
notices the crumple
of roots
peeking above the soil
provides a home
for ivy and jasmine
kudzu hot
ground cover,
cool

~~~~



Lady Kudzu is climbing
up, up
shingles become earthen
ears for the lady to grasp
as she rasps
to an absent breeze-

how hot, how hot

come let me cool
you, fan you with
my creeping tongues

up she grows, she clings
no one notices
the crumple of roots
peeking above the broken soil
provides a home
for her cousins,
ivy and jasmine

Deep South summer, kudzu hot
ground cover soothing
oh, so cool

~~~~


suggestions WELCOMED in fact, begged for

hmmm I think I prefer the original!

I like the respect you give Kudzu, but I would stick to only calling her Lady once. I don't think you need to change much else, line breaks were changed, making it easier to get. Nice! I think you could cut a bit here and there (easy for me to say, it is not my poem! I can't do it to my own, so chop chop I do it to yours! hehe! you know I do this because I love you and it is late and my scissors are itchy. Don't hate me for playing with your poem. I know it might seem presumptious, but it is more of an exercize, thank you for letting me play


kudzu is climbing
shingles become earthen
ears for the lady to grasp
as she rasps
let me cool you
with my creeping tongue

she grows, she clings
and no one
thanks the crumple
of roots, shaded estate
for ivy and jasmine


hmmm I think I cut too much. poor kudzu has such a bad rep and I just chop chop chopped her poem.

to bed with me!