Poetry in Progress ~ construction zone

[annaswirls]

Haha, REO speedwagon, that's so depressing. I've been fiddling. thanks.

sorry, I should keep such thoughts to myself. Keep up the fiddle, or put it down and start a new one. Sometimes poems are meant to be like early labor pains. Not what gives birth to the final product but necessary in and of themselves as part of the process.

 

[bflagsst]

new one

I've two versions of the same silly/sappy poem below, if you could tell me which you prefer, I'd be eternally grateful. Actually, I'd be more than grateful(more than eternally) if you told me why you preferred one and not the other or if you had an idea how to make 'em better. thanks.


If you were mine
you'd have me all to yourself,
you'd have my bells and whistles,
and very best broom,

If you were sad
I'd stand on my hands, turn to cobbles
and sweep you from the floor,

I'd wrap you in a winter quilt,
never let your limbs grow cold,

I'd love you 'til the raspberries turned to jam.

---

If you were mine
you'd have me all to yourself,

You'd have my bells and whistles,
and very best broom,

I'd stand on my hands if you were sad,
turn to cobbles and sweep you from the floor,

I'd wrap you in a winter quilt,
never let your limbs grow cold,

I'd love you 'til the raspberries in preserve,
turned to jam.

 

[PandoraGlitters]

I've two versions of the same silly/sappy poem below, if you could tell me which you prefer, I'd be eternally grateful. Actually, I'd be more than grateful(more than eternally) if you told me why you preferred one and not the other or if you had an idea how to make 'em better. thanks.


If you were mine
you'd have me all to yourself,
you'd have my bells and whistles,
and very best broom,

If you were sad
I'd stand on my hands, turn to cobbles
and sweep you from the floor,

I'd wrap you in a winter quilt,
never let your limbs grow cold,

I'd love you 'til the raspberries turned to jam.

---

If you were mine
you'd have me all to yourself,

You'd have my bells and whistles,
and very best broom,

I'd stand on my hands if you were sad,
turn to cobbles and sweep you from the floor,

I'd wrap you in a winter quilt,
never let your limbs grow cold,

I'd love you 'til the raspberries in preserve,
turned to jam.

I like the couplets, but I'd use end punctuation at the end of sentences rather than commas. Or, if the entire poem is one list, the Y in you'd should be lower case.

 

[bflagsst]

thanks pandoraG. I'll probably let it sit and come back to it in a few weeks.

 

[annaswirls]

I prefer the first, but mainly because I do not like the preserves in the second.

I like "turn to cobbles" although I don't know what it means... wait probably Because I don't know what it means.

You are right, it is a bit silly/sappy. I want something evil to happen.

haha

or at least some contrast.

nothing is that sweet, at least for long.

perhaps your rasberry jam might grow mold and still.... mine.




half kidding. That is just my preference because I am a cynical old hag.

Some serious suggestions:

First: I think it might be helpful to take out some of the pronouns.

Also: There so many images to follow--the broom and the later sweeping are connected, that is good.

Here are some others:

bells and whistles
cobbles
handstands
winter quilt...
and end with the jam.

Nothing wrong with any of these images. Perhaps do what you did with the broom and sweeping her from the floor with the other images-- take a few and then expand them to bring some coherency to the poem. Especially the raspberry jam. If you bring in the fresh berries somewhere before (or some illusion to it) then it would feel much more satisfying at the end.

I changed "if you were sad" to "when you were sad" because there is never an If when it comes to sadness.

Good Luck

If you were mine
you'd have me all to yourself,
bells and whistles,
and very best broom

When you were sad
I'd stand on my hands, turn to cobbles
and sweep you from the floor,
wrap you in a winter quilt,
never let limbs grow cold,

and love you 'til raspberries turned to jam.

I've two versions of the same silly/sappy poem below, if you could tell me which you prefer, I'd be eternally grateful. Actually, I'd be more than grateful(more than eternally) if you told me why you preferred one and not the other or if you had an idea how to make 'em better. thanks.


If you were mine
you'd have me all to yourself,
you'd have my bells and whistles,
and very best broom,

If you were sad
I'd stand on my hands, turn to cobbles
and sweep you from the floor,

I'd wrap you in a winter quilt,
never let your limbs grow cold,

I'd love you 'til the raspberries turned to jam.

---

If you were mine
you'd have me all to yourself,

You'd have my bells and whistles,
and very best broom,

I'd stand on my hands if you were sad,
turn to cobbles and sweep you from the floor,

I'd wrap you in a winter quilt,
never let your limbs grow cold,

I'd love you 'til the raspberries in preserve,
turned to jam.

 

[bflagsst]

"nothing is that sweet, at least for long.

perhaps your rasberry jam might grow mold and still.... mine."

Thanks for your insight, Annaswirls. I guess I was too veiled with my contrasts. I wanted the last image to remind the reader of the decay of fruit, how after mold it can ferment and turn to goop and look like jam. Which would follow from the overly possessiveness of 'wrap you in a...never let your limbs grow..." and the initiation of the contrast with the giving of a broom as metaphor for housewife/domestic. I've had the conversation and it's always veiled, at least with my girlfriend. How it's a nice idea but there's the suspicion of possession/domination lurking beneath the text.

Pronouns are a different story, I always put too many in, but I like the clarity of the repetition. Either way, I've got to do something with the bells and whistles, if you were sad, and final line.

 

[Epmd607]

Joe, I think "You'd have" followed by "You'd have" is the problem. I like the couplets better too. Here's how I'd re-write(liberties taken cuz I've known you for years

If you were mine
you'd have me all to yourself,

I'd stand on my hands when you were sad,
turn to cobbles and sweep you from the floor,

You'd have my favorite spot in the garden,
my very best broom,

I'd wrap you in a winter quilt,
never let your limbs grow cold,

I'd love you 'til the raspberries cured;
'til they turned to jam.

--I was going with your idea of preserves, but I still don't think it got across 'fermenting because of neglect.' I don't know what cobbles means either, but I get the stifling love poem vs. sentimental love poem.

"nothing is that sweet, at least for long.

perhaps your rasberry jam might grow mold and still.... mine."

Thanks for your insight, Annaswirls. I guess I was too veiled with my contrasts. I wanted the last image to remind the reader of the decay of fruit, how after mold it can ferment and turn to goop and look like jam. Which would follow from the overly possessiveness of 'wrap you in a...never let your limbs grow..." and the initiation of the contrast with the giving of a broom as metaphor for housewife/domestic. I've had the conversation and it's always veiled, at least with my girlfriend. How it's a nice idea but there's the suspicion of possession/domination lurking beneath the text.

Pronouns are a different story, I always put too many in, but I like the clarity of the repetition. Either way, I've got to do something with the bells and whistles, if you were sad, and final line.

 

[bflagsst]

what you doing up so early reading messageboards?

Joe, I think "You'd have" followed by "You'd have" is the problem. I like the couplets better too. Here's how I'd re-write(liberties taken cuz I've known you for years

If you were mine
you'd have me all to yourself,

I'd stand on my hands when you were sad,
turn to cobbles and sweep you from the floor,

You'd have my favorite spot in the garden,
my very best broom,

I'd wrap you in a winter quilt,
never let your limbs grow cold,

I'd love you 'til the raspberries cured;
'til they turned to jam.

--I was going with your idea of preserves, but I still don't think it got across 'fermenting because of neglect.' I don't know what cobbles means either, but I get the stifling love poem vs. sentimental love poem.

I don't know much about making jams or preserving things in jars, but I'm pretty sure you cure meat and not fruits. I need another word in place of 'cured'. I like your change with the garden 'though.

I guess I should come clean about 'turn to cobbles'. It started out as silly nonsense but I think I can defend it now. It would go with stand on hands, turn things over, become something different to take muse somewhere new. Thanks, st. stephen.

 

[annaswirls]

Correct, you do not cure fruit.

However, making fruit into jam requires (usually) adding a lot of sugar and cooking it down. Sometimes straining out the seeds.

Entirely different than decay. To me, to make jam means to preserve something, to concentrate it, make it sweeter....

Thanks for being a good sport about critique. I like your writing, but in this case, I do think your meaning was too well veiled.

I do like the cobble reference and it makes perfect sense now-- with the standing on hands. I thought the TO in turn to cobbles meant you would turn into cobbles...

hope you had a nice weekend--

are you doing survivor?

I don't know much about making jams or preserving things in jars, but I'm pretty sure you cure meat and not fruits. I need another word in place of 'cured'. I like your change with the garden 'though.

I guess I should come clean about 'turn to cobbles'. It started out as silly nonsense but I think I can defend it now. It would go with stand on hands, turn things over, become something different to take muse somewhere new. Thanks, st. stephen.

 

[IAboy]

I have a poem that I'm working on right now. IF anyone could tell me what you think of it and how I might make it better I would appreciate it.

Here it is....

Strength is more than lifting heavy objects
It’s lifting your heart up when it’s been crushed
Courage is more than bravery under fire
It’s living life slowly with purpose.
Life should never be rushed.
It should be lived each day know that each day we live
We have our own strength to show others
And inspire them by what we give
We redefine romance each time we set our heart
Out there for those to see and sometimes
its our mind that is set apart
From what we should know we cannot do
Strength is believing that we will survive
I’ve survived and so can you.

 

[bflagsst]

I have a poem that I'm working on right now. IF anyone could tell me what you think of it and how I might make it better I would appreciate it.

Here it is....

Strength is more than lifting heavy objects
It’s lifting your heart up when it’s been crushed
Courage is more than bravery under fire
It’s living life slowly with purpose.
Life should never be rushed.
It should be lived each day know that each day we live
We have our own strength to show others
And inspire them by what we give
We redefine romance each time we set our heart
Out there for those to see and sometimes
its our mind that is set apart
From what we should know we cannot do
Strength is believing that we will survive
I’ve survived and so can you.

You need a comma after the first 'each day', or have to move 'know that each day we live' down a line to keep consistent. You also have a lower case 'its' that needs to be capitalized and also needs an apostrophe, near the bottom of the poem. "living life slowly with purpose" the 'slowly' is awkward, something more elegant/less plain would be better suited for your inspirational poem.

From experience, I've deduced that there are no courageous feelings when one is under fire. I only mention this because I don't think the pairing is strong, "living life slowly with purpose" as bravery doesn't give the reader a clear distinction between the lines. How is not rushing life or living life slowly, purposeful? You can live life plenty slow if you're purposefuly lazy.

I like your poem, but it's sort of sterile for me. You say you've survived and you have the strength but there's no examples from your daily life. It's almost like a speech in Plato about the virtue of strength that Socrates is about to pick apart. Poetry for me is about the personal everyday experience, bringing something that's clearly you to the old forms/themes of 'love', 'strength' etc.

 

[bflagsst]

I did have a good weekend, thanks Annaswirls. The idea of the 'til it turns to jam really has nothing to do with preserving fruit. It was originally either the fruit was sitting on the counter so long(because of my fixation on muse) that it got to that place past decay where it's just goop or it was gonna be the fruit was in preserve for so long that it turned into mush similar to the former.

I tried to figure out survivor but I don't think I have enough time to do that and my other dylan thomas type poetry project. But I've been reading everyone's submissions and when peep are forced to write poems they usually get some gem lines and gem poems out of the bunch.

Correct, you do not cure fruit.

However, making fruit into jam requires (usually) adding a lot of sugar and cooking it down. Sometimes straining out the seeds.

Entirely different than decay. To me, to make jam means to preserve something, to concentrate it, make it sweeter....

Thanks for being a good sport about critique. I like your writing, but in this case, I do think your meaning was too well veiled.

I do like the cobble reference and it makes perfect sense now-- with the standing on hands. I thought the TO in turn to cobbles meant you would turn into cobbles...

hope you had a nice weekend--

are you doing survivor?

 

[Epmd607]

"what you doing up so early reading messageboards?"

cyberstalking you. I'm gonna find out your home address and come to your house and bake cookies with your wifey...actually, I already did that yesterday! hahaha

 

[IAboy]

You need a comma after the first 'each day', or have to move 'know that each day we live' down a line to keep consistent. You also have a lower case 'its' that needs to be capitalized and also needs an apostrophe, near the bottom of the poem. "living life slowly with purpose" the 'slowly' is awkward, something more elegant/less plain would be better suited for your inspirational poem.

From experience, I've deduced that there are no courageous feelings when one is under fire. I only mention this because I don't think the pairing is strong, "living life slowly with purpose" as bravery doesn't give the reader a clear distinction between the lines. How is not rushing life or living life slowly, purposeful? You can live life plenty slow if you're purposefuly lazy.

I like your poem, but it's sort of sterile for me. You say you've survived and you have the strength but there's no examples from your daily life. It's almost like a speech in Plato about the virtue of strength that Socrates is about to pick apart. Poetry for me is about the personal everyday experience, bringing something that's clearly you to the old forms/themes of 'love', 'strength' etc.

Thank you so much for your input. This is my first time and I could use all the help I could get. I will write again and make sure that I take my time and do my homework first this time.

Thanks again. IT's people like you who will help me become better at this.

 

[annaswirls]

I would try to help but it is impossible for me to concentrate while your tush is on my computer screen.

Thank you so much for your input. This is my first time and I could use all the help I could get. I will write again and make sure that I take my time and do my homework first this time.

Thanks again. IT's people like you who will help me become better at this.

 

[NorthernPA4U]

So, is this too wordy?


The Man Who Wasn't There
--------------------------

He ran with the passing storm.

I found her sitting on the beach,
Her eyes red, her tear-stained face now dry.
She reached out her hand, pulled me down.
We talked about life,
Of little boys whose fingers twirl in your hair and whose hands clutch at your heart,
Of older girls just starting life, dating, loving for the first time,
Of scenes of majestic beauty by the sea, in the frozen north, at the plains of Eden,
Of kindred spirits found serendipitously.
At sunset I arose, lifted her up,
It had been a beautiful day.
One of many.

One time
She heard his voice
Brought in by the whispers of the wind.
She ran down the beach, towards the place where they used to meet,
Searching.
But the wind died, the voice seemingly expired.
When she came back,
She put her arms around my waist.
We grew closer still.

I began to build a castle by the sea,
Each brick placed carefully on the one before,
Each brick fired in my hopes and dreams.
I could envision
Her talking to my mother, both smiling, staring in my direction,
Her hugging my daughter, listening to heart wrenching sobs, sharing her own past, loving,
Her grandson, a man, running his fingers through her silken hair,
Her son, the prodigal, returning to a feast, the faithful son at her side, both beaming,
Family gatherings with the clans,
Two spirits watching the trees sway in the breeze, or the sunrise over the ocean, or from a balloon high above the earth,
Her head on my chest, our legs entwined, our souls woven together,
Hot, wet, sweaty, steamy, exhausting marathons of sex, engulfing us, draining us,
Nights, mornings, days, weeks of foreplay, building lusty, aching, painful desires which burst in uncontrollable orgasms.
The castle had a dungeon, soundproof, dark,
With its cuffs, restraints, swings, instruments of pleasure.
Knowingly, she saw, smiled, radiant, full of love, and want, and need.
For the first time,
Ever,
The drawbridge to the residence of my heart was completely lowered.
She entered, and by my side began to lay bricks of her own.
It seemed to me
The castle I was building
Gleamed brilliantly in the light of the Son.

The summer passed.
The castle was nearly finished.
The storm season I had foreseen was coming.
Then
The Man Who Wasn't There
Came back.
The storms raged.
Hurricane-force winds ripped at Us.
The tide surged, pulling at her with terrible force.
Waves crashed thunderously upon the beach.
The castle I had built
Was exposed to have
Its foundation in the sand
And in an instant
The walls I had built so painstakingly, lovingly, brick by brick,
Came crashing down.

After the storm
I saw her on the beach
Her arms wrapped around the neck
Of The Man Who Would Be There
While I
Clambered for the rocky cliffs above
Searching in vain
For a single brick to begin rebuilding anew.

 

[NorthernPA4U]

Also, I might as well as ask about this before I go looking for Greek names that would find the accent pattern:

(1) Will this be acceptable as the beginning of a ballad? I know each stanza as I have them written is really more like TWO stanzas from a ballad which I COULD force apart, if necessary.
(2) Will anyone complain about my use of the trigger? (And, I suppose, if anyone did, should I be concerned? This is what counter-attack inspired in me.)
(3) Will anyone complain that I OBVIOUSLY stole the first two lines (and inspiration) from Casey at the Bat, so long as I acknowledge it?

The <x> will be a single syllable Greek name, the <x,x> a two syllable Greek name, which I haven't identified yet, if no one objects to the poem.

Note: Mytilene is the capital of Lesbos, a Greek island and governmental administrative group. Aiolikos is the football team based there. Really.

So, that said, here are the first four stanzas:


The outlook wasn't brilliant for
Mytilene's squad that day,
'Cos Aiolikos trailed by one,
Scant seconds left to play,
A red card had knocked <x,x> out
So they were down to ten,
The cloudy skies were moving in,
The gloom spread to the men.

A Greek Association match
To top the football run
Between the standings leaders when
The match had just begun,
And now its end appeared to loom
Before the Lesbos team
When Coach <x,x> a timeout called,
His forehead spewing steam.

"They're pressing, guys, they think they have
Us underneath their thumb,
If we can force play to the side,
We'll win within the scrum,
Then we'll unleash the well known Les-
Bian counter attack.
I know we'll have another chance
To get ourselves on track.

A sharper pass along the right
To <x> will start us out,
You keep your passes crisp, boys, and
The crowd will start to shout.
Amid the uproar, we will get
<x, x> to dribble through.
I think we'd get a shot on goal,
Perhaps we could get two."


Is this going to work according to the Survivor rules?

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Also, I might as well as ask about this before I go looking for Greek names that would find the accent pattern:

(1) Will this be acceptable as the beginning of a ballad? I know each stanza as I have them written is really more like TWO stanzas from a ballad which I COULD force apart, if necessary.
(2) Will anyone complain about my use of the trigger? (And, I suppose, if anyone did, should I be concerned? This is what counter-attack inspired in me.)
(3) Will anyone complain that I OBVIOUSLY stole the first two lines (and inspiration) from Casey at the Bat, so long as I acknowledge it?

The <x> will be a single syllable Greek name, the <x,x> a two syllable Greek name, which I haven't identified yet, if no one objects to the poem.

Note: Mytilene is the capital of Lesbos, a Greek island and governmental administrative group. Aiolikos is the football team based there. Really.

So, that said, here are the first four stanzas:


The outlook wasn't brilliant for
Mytilene's squad that day,
'Cos Aiolikos trailed by one,
Scant seconds left to play,
A red card had knocked <x,x> out
So they were down to ten,
The cloudy skies were moving in,
The gloom spread to the men.

A Greek Association match
To top the football run
Between the standings leaders when
The match had just begun,
And now its end appeared to loom
Before the Lesbos team
When Coach <x,x> a timeout called,
His forehead spewing steam.

"They're pressing, guys, they think they have
Us underneath their thumb,
If we can force play to the side,
We'll win within the scrum,
Then we'll unleash the well known Les-
Bian counter attack.
I know we'll have another chance
To get ourselves on track.

A sharper pass along the right
To <x> will start us out,
You keep your passes crisp, boys, and
The crowd will start to shout.
Amid the uproar, we will get
<x, x> to dribble through.
I think we'd get a shot on goal,
Perhaps we could get two."


Is this going to work according to the Survivor rules?

I don't think the beat is quite there yet (ask Angeline about the rhythm lol)

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Okay do your worst! Rhymiing couplets or not?


Roll up! roll up! I invite you to see
This crazy person that I call me
Born with a shock of long black hair
It all fell out and then grew in fair.
A more mixed up soul it's hard to find
Fierce when needed but mostly kind.
Stubborn, selfish, argumentative too
Love or hate her she's there for you.
Witty and funny and somtimes good
Serious at times and misunderstood.

 

[NorthernPA4U]

I see my pronunciation of Aiolikos was off, but that line is easy enough to change ... other than shoehorning a bad pronunciation of "Lesbian counter attacks" into this (where one would have to pronounce it Lez'-bi-an' rather than Lez'-bi-an and coun-ter' rather than coun'-ter), where else would you say the rhythm is off?

 

[NorthernPA4U]

Okay do your worst! Rhymiing couplets or not?


Roll up! roll up! I invite you to see
This crazy person that I call me
Born with a shock of long black hair
It all fell out and then grew in fair.
A more mixed up soul it's hard to find
Fierce when needed but mostly kind.
Stubborn, selfish, argumentative too
Love or hate her she's there for you.
Witty and funny and sometimes good
Serious at times and misunderstood.

Well, they are certainly rhyming couplets, and I like the poem, and think it makes for a good submission.

BUT ...

The couplet being asked for as far as the form submission goes is a heroic couplet, which is iambic pentameter. And she's asking for 20 lines.

Nor is it long enough for the dramatic monologue trigger.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

It's not finished yet this is an 'in construction thread' I didn't want to carry on if it wasn't right

 

[NorthernPA4U]

It's not finished yet this is an 'in construction thread' I didn't want to carry on if it wasn't right

Yup, I just mentioned it not knowing exactly what you intended the poem to be.

If you want to submit it as a free-form poem (poet's choice) I like it quite like it is, actually. But it won't meet the Heroic Couplets form standard.

It's a good poem, but when Lauren updated the last few forms she identified the couplets to be, specifically, Heroic Couplets, which implies iambic pentameter. I don't think you have five beats on any of these lines, sorry.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

oh stuff it I don't know what iambic anythings are I give up on the whole damn thing

 

[IAboy]

I would try to help but it is impossible for me to concentrate while your tush is on my computer screen.

Is that a bad distraction or a Good distraction?