It's the 2026 Revise-a-Poem Challenge (Comments welcome!)

[SpermFactory]

Invites reader bias, to flag the background with Novella colored associations.

Naw.

Trying to remeber
Johnny once was a pugilist.

Trying to remeber
Johnny Novella a onetime pugilist.

I like once was a pugilist better. @sapio is right about the Novella, novelistic, story telling elements missing. I still think you can do better with your Johnny Novella line. Also, consistency. The ‘…remeber…’ in ‘Trying to remeber’ is a brain damaged touch if you don’t follow through in other ways in your poem.

 

[42BelowsBack]

Naw.




I like once was a pugilist better. @sapio is right about the Novella, novelistic, story telling elements missing. I still think you can do better with your Johnny Novella line. Also, consistency. The ‘…remeber…’ in ‘Trying to remeber’ is a brain damaged touch if you don’t follow through in other ways in your poem.

Take Three

Day by day
F5ve or s6x hours a week

Amateur pugilist Johnny Novella
tries to remeber his mind. not him.

Is a page in novelistic incident.
…..

 

[NivKay]

A ditty I know, still @NivKay,

I saw a Sicilian man make fire by rubbing two sticks. He did so for a wise purpose in him. My bones felt the pull of fires ancient ritualistic magic. I get that when you see the Scots only version, you see this door call open. The intrinsic magic of ones ancient language pathways.

It’s Good strange; the change in positioning of, There is an impish blade, cruel. Strange in the sense that it cuts different just by shifting where the line occurs. Can’t put my finger on it? But, an avid reader of poetry I don’t need to understand everything to feel a poem breathing.

Because of your extensive loved experience of the power of language, I question, the trope bleeding pen? As perhaps an opportunity to somehow weave in Scots Celtic i.e. an ma bleedin pen. A question being how to avoid inclusion becoming gimmicky?

The ancient language fire burns bright and magical. The Scots version is easy to follow. Once one has the English language version in mind. How to position so the through light shines one against the other? That for me is the question.

Thank you for sharing all four versions.

I conclude in idle self delight. How do ones poems communicate? Through mottes and baileys built in bridges.

To be honest, the Scots version did not ring true for me. After I had written it, and posted it here, I felt a far better version would have been to recontextualise the Scots so that it wouldn’t sound so gimmicky!

In any case, the Scots was just there as window dressing.

 

[SpermFactory]

Clever. We are workshopping poems. In the revision thread. Most excellent.

 

[SpermFactory]

Take Three

Day by day
F5ve or s6x hours a week

Amateur pugilist Johnny Novella
tries to remeber his mind. not him.

Is a page in novelistic incident.
…..

“I love you Adrian”

I have rethought my naw regarding Sapio’s suggest ‘Invites reader bias, to flag the background with Novella colored associations.’ ROCKY isn’t about gratuitous violence. It’s about a character overcoming. Johnny Novella is stuck. I acknowledge you’re not writing about Rocky.

I agree with Sapio the poem is slim. I also like @NivKays exposition on his own poem ‘…. recontextualise the Scots so that it wouldn’t sound so gimmicky!’

Personally I feel you should have a look at the ‘remeber’ ‘F5ve’ ‘s6x’ thing. If it’s distracting, ditch it like a gimmick.

 

[NivKay]

So I guess about a year ago I figured I’d read through the Bible just because I never have and it ended up being a really interesting experience. I kind of like all religious literature but I had avoided that one for a long time because of living in the US, but I was kinda surprised at A. how beautiful a lot of the language and imagery is a lot of the time, but also B. it’s still got some not so great stuff in it, but it’s really vastly different than the oppressively bleak view of the Old and New Testaments a lot of people in the US try to sell. And I was also interested to learn that stuff like Revelation functioned as coded resistance literature protesting against a colonialist government that had no qualms about murdering people in brutal and humiliating ways.

Anyways I wrote this mostly thinking about Palestine and CECOT but I never quite finished it. I’m still not quite happy with it but I changed some stuff and I at least finished my seven septets so some of them didn’t have only six lines anymore. And today just seemed like a good day to revisit it for a bit.

Here’s the old version

Have you heard the Good News? The Tower is
Falling! *Kairos* is come! The veil lifted!
And the Kingdom shall now be uncovered!
Today we all choose whether we wish to
Dwell in the Kingdom of the World, or the
Kingdom of Heaven, within and without.

Have you heard the Good News? Empire is
Ending! The time for action has now come!
Centurions slaughter white-robed martyrs!
Their fear palpable as they gun us down
Or throw us in pits of concrete and steel
Or ship us all over the ends of an
Earth crying out for justice and mercy.

Have you heard the Good News? Revelation is
Coming! Pestilence stalks in the darkness!
Rome bombs the Holy Land! Famine is come!
All throughout the Kingdom of Heaven is
Within us, we create it around us.
Our actions today can call light to light.

Have you heard the Good News? Angels are
Crying! Cornered Beasts roar in defiance!
Trembling at our charity and peace!
The rich quake with fear at the poor, the sick
The homeless, the oppressed, the refugee.
The powerful cannot hide the stains of
Ruin and despair they paint much longer.

Have you heard the Good News? False prophets are
Lying! They bray for bloodshed in the name
Of a lamb already sacrificed too
Many times! No amount of carnage will
Keep them from the outer darkness, only
Repentance they lie to themselves about.

Have you heard the Good News? A change is now
Coming! Multitudes among the nations
Shout out for a new, fair world to be born!
We tire of this time where the few have
The many and the many have the few!
Archons forget that the first shall be last
And the blessed meek shall inherit the Earth.

So, have you heard the Good News? Death is now
Dying! Though the Sun may go dark and the
Star Wormwood falls, we must be that shining
Lamppost on a hill, as we all build the
City where all peoples are welcome, the
Gates never shut, and its Living Waters
Nourish forever and ever. Amen.

And here’s the revised version

Have you heard the Good News? The Tower is
Falling! Kairos is come! The veil lifted!
And the Kingdom shall now be uncovered!
And Leviathan fed to us starving!
Today we all choose whether we wish to
Dwell in the Kingdom of the World, or the
Kingdom of Heaven, within and without.

Have you heard the Good News? Empire is
Ending! The time for action has now come!
Centurions slaughter white-robed martyrs!
Their fear palpable as they gun us down
Or throw us in pits of concrete and steel
Or ship us all over the ends of an
Earth crying out for justice and mercy.

Have you heard the Good News? Revelation is
Coming! Pestilence stalks in the darkness!
Rome bombs the Holy Land! Famine is come!
The end will be where the beginning is!
All throughout the Kingdom of Heaven is
Within us, we create it around us.
Our actions today can call light to light.

Have you heard the Good News? Angels are
Crying! Cornered Beasts roar in defiance!
Trembling at our charity and peace!
The rich quake with fear at the poor, the sick
The homeless, the oppressed, the refugee.
The powerful cannot hide the stains of
Ruin and despair they paint much longer.

Have you heard the Good News? False prophets are
Lying! They bray for bloodshed in the name
Of a lamb already sacrificed too
Many times! Their gruesome empire covered
In the corpses of beaten scapegoats and
Murdered white doves is soon to be torn down!
Our borders don’t have to be drawn in blood!

Have you heard the Good News? A change is now
Coming! Multitudes among the nations
Shout out for a new, fair world to be born!
We tire of this time where the few have
The many and the many have the few!
Rulers forget that the first shall be last
And the blessed meek shall inherit the Earth.

So, have you heard the Good News? Death is now
Dying! Though the Sun may go dark and the
Star Wormwood falls, we must be that shining
Lamppost on a hill, as we all build the
City where all peoples are welcome, the
Gates never shut, the Living Waters flow
Freely and the Dragon’s shadow is gone.

Week 4 Revised 1 Total 3

Thus spake Zarathustra who descends from the mountains!
Thank you for this. The Voice, high modal and imperious, pleading and plaintive - lovely!

 

[NivKay]

Thanks in advance. Your punch bag This poem is not hitting. Gloves off. Have at it.

Time Punched.

Day by day
Five or six hours a week?

Trying to remeber
Johnny once was a pugilist.

His mind. not him. A page
in novelistic incident.


What happened to him
in Berlin?

In huge unrelated incidents.
no matinee. His feet are kicking.

He says “let it go”
that did not happen.


Skipping everyday.
Or is he.

Drowning five or six
alarm clocks a week?

In five or six beats a minute,
—he slows to remember his life


in a ring, minute by minute
as though that makes sense?

I actually thought the line ‘ novelistic incidents’ didn’t need the name change to Johnny novella. I feel that would have been a little too… overwritten? But I do think we need some kind of access to these ‘incidents’ you know.. more couplets, varying incidents..

 

[42BelowsBack]

I actually thought the line ‘ novelistic incidents’ didn’t need the name change to Johnny novella. I feel that would have been a little too… overwritten? But I do think we need some kind of access to these ‘incidents’ you know.. more couplets, varying incidents..

‘Over written.’ NvK Thank you for this very timely advice On the incident, okay. Yup. This is why I hate revising poems. But since I have so shamelessly shared my opinions I thought it only fair. I meant the poem.

 

[Angeline]

So today of all days, when I'm in the thick of snowmageddon, I'm thinking about this poem and my love of snow (just not at the moment lol). I wrote it way back in 2004 and it's another favorite of mine, but I know it could be better. For starters my title sucks. I think the second section, especially, needs something. Any feedback/suggestions are much appreciated.


Wanting Snow

i.
Wanting snow, wanting gray,
anticipating harbinger clouds
looming and the crackle of
air stinging dry

until

*
one flake

**
and then another

***
and still more fall
and group and mass,
filling the air, falling

down

****

down,

gracing the ground
with an illusion of purity,
punctuating branches
with complex simplicity.

ii.
In fallen snow life imitates art.

White lines cross narrow surfaces,
delicate as pen-and-ink illustrations
that flow like a coda on the flight of birds,

wider swaths curve to streetlamps,
strangely iridescent and compelling,
playing light impressions over landscape,

and late at night when the city’s
blanketed expanse seems unending
in contrasts, Steigliz’s ghost
haunts avenues, camera in hand,
stalking relentless ice.

iii.
Cities in snow are beautiful,
sifted drifts rest on wrought iron spikes,
crystal stilettos are deadly,
hang half-hid by gables.
Bemused gargoyles perch on stone,
sporting milk mustaches

They should be ashamed
of themselves!

All the motion of architecture
is rearranged. The silence
in a map of footsteps
speaks louder than the clang
of skyscrapers.

iv.
Early morning is best
for snow walking. The dawn
of solitude is broken,
crunched by boots,
the crash of icicles falling,
the steady hiss of my breath
puffing pockets in a wool scarf.

Later I’ll be a face in a window,
swaddled in hot chocolate
and Segovia.

 

[42BelowsBack]

I soooo want to put snow in the last line.

Later I’ll be a snow face in a window,
swaddled in hot chocolate
and Segovia.

Alas it doesn’t work!

 

[Angeline]

I soooo want to put snow in the last line.

Later I’ll be a snow face in a window,
swaddled in hot chocolate
and Segovia.

Alas it doesn’t work!

You wanna throw a snowball at that face. Admit it!

What about warm? A warm face?

Or maybe "a face hidden in a window" ? "watching from a window" ?

 

[42BelowsBack]

You wanna throw a snowball at that face. Admit it!

What about warm? A warm face?

Or maybe "a face hidden in a window" ? "watching from a window" ?

Haha don’t over write it. It was warm as it was and yes haha.

 

[SapioSexual9]

In any case, the Scots was just there as window dressing.

My husband grew up in a polyglot home. Speaking 8 or 9 languages. According to him, the Scots stopped speaking their language a long time ago. I would agree it’s probably best.

 

[NivKay]

i.
Wanting snow, wanting gray,
anticipating harbinger clouds
looming and the crackle of
air stinging dry

until

*
one flake

**
and then another

***
and still more fall
and group and mass,
filling the air, falling

down

****

down,

gracing the ground
with an illusion of purity,
punctuating branches
with complex simplicity.

@Angeline far be it for me to critique your work, how would I even presume - after many visions and revisions - to disturb your universe? After all, I have only the utmost respect for you, almost ardour (is that even allowed?)

But if I may...I feel that you needn't have split the lines like that - "until"..."one flake"..."down" ... I am aware that is merely my opinion, but the thinking here is that you can achieve the same effect in stanzaic form:

Wanting snow, wanting gray,
anticipating harbinger clouds
looming and the crackle of
air stinging dry until
one, and then another
and still the flakes fall
and group and mass,
falling filling the air...

Note in the last line, I shift falling and filling and discard the comma, so that falling, as a phenomenon fills the air - falling flakes filling the air .

Cities in snow are beautiful,
sifted drifts rest on wrought iron spikes,
crystal stilettos are deadly,
hang half-hid by gables.
Bemused gargoyles perch on stone,
sporting milk mustaches

I felt that the line "Cities in snow are beautiful" seemed to stymie the flow of the whole poem, of the snow falling and gathering density, as you zoom out from street, to streetlamps, to the whole city. So, I thought perhaps taking that first line out, and incorporate "Cities" somewhere else in the stanza. But I wasn't sure about this thought either, so herein ends my catechism.

 

[NivKay]

My husband grew up in a polyglot home. Speaking 8 or 9 languages. According to him, the Scots stopped speaking their language a long time ago. I would agree it’s probably best.

Scots is designated a "vulnerable" language, and some census suggest about 45% still speak in Scotland. I know relatives in Stirling still do, although, I don;t know enough of it to be sure of anything. Scots certainly does your head in!

 

[NivKay]

So, I posted this poem in the Poem-a-week- thread and in my Non-erotic thread, but I dug this up again. The poem is primarily my thoughts surrounding the estrangement between my brother and i, which has been going on for years. But it also dawned on me that it fits with the times we're in, brother killing innocent brother.

This is the original version:

Putrescence

We walked down to the sea’s brittle calm,
One morning in that long ago.
We hardly spoke – when I recall the moment,
I hear only the sea’s voice – and I followed
You, brother, just as I had a long time before,

The sight of you when you came to save me
From the teacher’s wrath – you were one of the
Older boys, the ones who walked like giants
And the rest of us, eight and trembling with curiosity,
Could only gawk at the chasm between us and your kind.
I learnt kindness from you. I remember you smiled,
Never chided, patient, calm, a comfort.

And so I followed you, down the shore line, mutable, tumultuous,
Till the years bled and waned, till the distances
That mark our lives grew, festered, like unspoken sores, putrid.

Brother, I never knew you,
Never knew your words,
but you knew me, didn’t you? You saw me,
That day when you saved me,
And chose to forget, forget
Kindness, forget the impulse to save.

Now, once again, we are at that brittle shoreline,
And I lead you to it, perhaps, to help you remember
Kindness, patience, to call the spirit of your giant
Back from the Hadean dark.

But you are not there.
And the sea speaks in Iniquity’s tongue.

I've only just begun edits, so I haven't done too much...but this is what I've got so far. Any thoughts, suggestions welcome!

Putrescence

We walked down to the edge of the sea’s brittle calm,
One morning in that long ago.
Hardly speaking – only the sea’s voice remains,
In my recollection – and I followed
You, brother, just as I had a long time before,

That sight of you when you came to save me
From the teacher’s wrath – you were one of the
Older boys, the ones who walked like giants
And the rest of us, eight and trembling with curiosity,
Could only gawk at the chasm between us and your kind.
I learnt kindness from you that day. I remember you smiled,
Never chided, patient, calm, a comfort.

And so I followed you, down the shore line, mutable, tumultuous,
Till the years bled and waned, till the distances
That mark our lives grew, festered, liked unspoken sores, putrid.

Brother, I never knew you,
Never knew your words,
but you knew me, didn’t you? You saw me,That day when you saved me,
And chose to forget, forget
Kindness, forget the salvation you gave me.

Now, once again, we are at that brittle shoreline,
And I lead you to it. Perhaps, to help you remember
Kindness, patience, to call the spirit of your giant
Back from the Hadean dark.

But you are not there.
And the sea speaks in Iniquity’s tongue.


The 'salvation' line in the third last stanza makes me cringe...

 

[42BelowsBack]

I think @

Scots is designated a "vulnerable" language, and some census suggest about 45% still speak in Scotland. I know relatives in Stirling still do, although, I don;t know enough of it to be sure of anything. Scots certainly does your head in!

Very interesting. I think always listen to the people themselves.

Many many years ago. On an overseas trip I uninvited, attended a vulnerable Language symposium. I think Sapio’s husband is speaking in terms of language Functionality. Scots being seen as dialectal on a continuum of Broad English.

Of course it was a poem aka shit fight as there were no existing criteria distinguishing a language from a dialect back then. However I did come away with my own understanding of the intrinsic link between language and identity.

 

[42BelowsBack]

Th

@Angeline far be it for me to critique your work, how would I even presume - after many visions and revisions - to disturb your universe? After all, I have only the utmost respect for you, almost ardour (is that even allowed?)

But if I may...I feel that you needn't have split the lines like that - "until"..."one flake"..."down" ... I am aware that is merely my opinion, but the thinking here is that you can achieve the same effect in stanzaic form:

Wanting snow, wanting gray,
anticipating harbinger clouds
looming and the crackle of
air stinging dry until
one, and then another
and still the flakes fall
and group and mass,
falling filling the air...

Note in the last line, I shift falling and filling and discard the comma, so that falling, as a phenomenon fills the air - falling flakes filling the air .


I felt that the line "Cities in snow are beautiful" seemed to stymie the flow of the whole poem, of the snow falling and gathering density, as you zoom out from street, to streetlamps, to the whole city. So, I thought perhaps taking that first line out, and incorporate "Cities" somewhere else in the stanza. But I wasn't sure about this thought either, so herein ends my catechism.

This is superbly written feedback. Thanks for sharing Niv. We live and learn.

 

[SapioSexual9]

@Angeline far be it for me to critique your work, how would I even presume - after many visions and revisions - to disturb your universe? After all, I have only the utmost respect for you, almost ardour (is that even allowed?)

But if I may...I feel that you needn't have split the lines like that - "until"..."one flake"..."down" ... I am aware that is merely my opinion, but the thinking here is that you can achieve the same effect in stanzaic form:

Wanting snow, wanting gray,
anticipating harbinger clouds
looming and the crackle of
air stinging dry until
one, and then another
and still the flakes fall
and group and mass,
falling filling the air...

Note in the last line, I shift falling and filling and discard the comma, so that falling, as a phenomenon fills the air - falling flakes filling the air .


I felt that the line "Cities in snow are beautiful" seemed to stymie the flow of the whole poem, of the snow falling and gathering density, as you zoom out from street, to streetlamps, to the whole city. So, I thought perhaps taking that first line out, and incorporate "Cities" somewhere else in the stanza. But I wasn't sure about this thought either, so herein ends my catechism.

This is superbly written feedback. Thanks for sharing Niv. We live and learn.

Agreed. This superbly written feedback. Made easy for @NivKay by the source material. We sure do live and learn. 42 You’ve been demoted Joking. We love you mansplaining Caveman. You bring us together. It’s just that when it comes to feedback, NivKay is kicking your ass. (I know @SpermFactory. It’s a poets collective not a competition).

 

[SapioSexual9]

So today of all days, when I'm in the thick of snowmageddon, I'm thinking about this poem and my love of snow (just not at the moment lol). I wrote it way back in 2004 and it's another favorite of mine, but I know it could be better. For starters my title sucks. I think the second section, especially, needs something. Any feedback/suggestions are much appreciated.


Wanting Snow

i.
Wanting snow, wanting gray,
anticipating harbinger clouds
looming and the crackle of
air stinging dry

until

*
one flake

**
and then another

***
and still more fall
and group and mass,
filling the air, falling

down

****

down,

gracing the ground
with an illusion of purity,
punctuating branches
with complex simplicity.

ii.
In fallen snow life imitates art.

White lines cross narrow surfaces,
delicate as pen-and-ink illustrations
that flow like a coda on the flight of birds,

wider swaths curve to streetlamps,
strangely iridescent and compelling,
playing light impressions over landscape,

and late at night when the city’s
blanketed expanse seems unending
in contrasts, Steigliz’s ghost
haunts avenues, camera in hand,
stalking relentless ice.

iii.
Cities in snow are beautiful,
sifted drifts rest on wrought iron spikes,
crystal stilettos are deadly,
hang half-hid by gables.
Bemused gargoyles perch on stone,
sporting milk mustaches

They should be ashamed
of themselves!

All the motion of architecture
is rearranged. The silence
in a map of footsteps
speaks louder than the clang
of skyscrapers.

iv.
Early morning is best
for snow walking. The dawn
of solitude is broken,
crunched by boots,
the crash of icicles falling,
the steady hiss of my breath
puffing pockets in a wool scarf.

Later I’ll be a face in a window,
swaddled in hot chocolate
and Segovia.

I like the tinkles of snow. They are very playful and feminine. It’s like they trickle down from 2004. When you wrote this poem. Dear @Angeline, What ever you decide. Don’t let this poem lose your 2004 voice.

 

[NivKay]

Agreed. This superbly written feedback. Made easy for @NivKay by the source material. We sure do live and learn. 42 You’ve been demoted Joking. We love you mansplaining guy. You bring us together. It’s just that when it comes to feedback, NivKay is kicking your ass. (I know @SpermFactory. It’s a poets collective not a competition).

Can I just say, there are some very lovely arses here... and I love all you arses...truly...and I would like to finish by saying, we only kick the arses we love... but seriously.. I hope I haven't offended. If I have, then i am truly sorry..am I forgiven?

 

[SapioSexual9]

You wanna throw a snowball at that face. Admit it!

What about warm? A warm face?

Or maybe "a face hidden in a window" ? "watching from a window" ?

Haha don’t over write it. It was warm as it was and yes haha.

Idiot.

 

[NivKay]

I like the tinkles of snow. They are very playful and feminine. It’s like they trickle down from 2004. When you wrote this poem. Dear @Angeline, What ever you decide. Don’t let this poem lose your 2004 voice.

Here here!!

 

[SpermFactory]

Public Service Announcement.

I REDIRECT EVERY DOLLAR TO THE PURPOSE OF THIS POEM REVIEW THREAD. Poems get a bedroom.
I GOT THE MEMO, EMOJI NEW CODE: LIKES ARE LOVES FOR POEMS IN THIS THREAD ONLY (ISN’T SHE GREAT, ISN’T SHE GREAT).

THANK YOU FOR YOUR ATTENTION TO THIS MATTER.

 

[Angeline]

Thank you all. I'm tired (it has been a loooong, snowy, sleety day in my world). I will respond more fully and (I hope!) coherently tomorrow. I you all, too!