Not For The Thin-Skinned

[annaswirls]

Hi echoes, Fly and Carrie, thank you so much for your thoughts and comments. I know it takes time to make comments, so thank you. You are much appreciated. I'm printing them off and will spend the weekend working on the poem and see how it goes.

will you put the revision here? I read their comments and have nothing else to say.

 

[flyguy69]

...I ...have nothing else to say.

Now there's a first!

Mornin' Swirly!

 

[annaswirls]

Now there's a first!

Mornin' Swirly!

mornin' Squirrelly!

I am in a funk and I don't know why, I should quick hide before I say something stupid (er)

 

[wildsweetone]

will you put the revision here? I read their comments and have nothing else to say.

Will do! Thank you.

 

[echoes_s]

hand stretched to reach the mind
to touch and soothe
straighten fragmented lines
from curled aprehension apprehension
of time

for a moment thought focused,
eyes direct and open
words and sentences
make sense
life alive

The first two strophes are fine, but nothing thrilling, and I'm quite sure why after just one read.

It is summer
the sky crayon blue
found only in dreams
clouds could be the nightmare
if you wanted

The strophe above is where the thrills begin. I'm sure crayon blue has been used to describe the sky. I don't know, but I like it! What I like even more is "clouds could be the nightmare if you wanted." It sounds like something I'd write. You're so brilliant.

but not here

An apple tree in full green
brimmed with nogistalgia nostalgia
trimmed as a rough edge
of naturalness
each leaf

a silent rattle
in babies hands
tiny balls inside
constant flitter
of dark and light shadows

it is time to remove
the garden bench
from my window again
just to watch the outside
once again

I really like the rest of it. I'd concentrate most of the revisions on the first two strophes.

wow! Thanks Eve. Sorry it took a couple days to come back, but I am back and will be. I will put this aside for a week or bit and work on it again.

 

[echoes_s]

echoes_s - I'm not sure if I've clicked in to what you're saying, but here's my thoughts for you to ponder.



hand stretched to reach the mind
to touch and soothe
straighten fragmented lines (fragmented can be straight but broken)
from curled aprehension (apprehension)
of time

for a moment thought focused, (who is thought focused?)
eyes direct and open
words and sentences
make sense
life alive

It is summer (can you show me, instead of stating the fact? - oh i see you do below... is 'It is summer' needed then?)
the sky crayon blue (oh I love this phrase!)
found only in dreams
clouds could be the nightmare
if you wanted

but not here

An apple tree in full green
brimmed with nogistalgia(nostalgia)
trimmed as a rough edge
of naturalness (the word 'naturalness' seems too much. would 'nature' work?)
each leaf

a silent rattle (silent?)
in babies hands (one rattle in several babies hands?)
tiny balls inside
constant flitter (flitter or filter?)
of dark and light shadows

it is time to remove
the garden bench
from my window again (how is the garden bench in the window?)
just to watch the outside
once again ('again' is twice, close together)

and then I lose sight of where I am going with this (maybe bring it back - i.e. the poem seems to go from someone who has a 'broken' mind, through to being able to see clearly. Is the clarity permanent? Or is it a temporary state of mind? If the latter, is it worth showing the return to gradual deterioration?)

and thank you Wildsweetone...I am not ignoring this, you asked many questions...lol, have a quite a lot of thinking right on the line from where I was thinking, but are looking at it from a different perspective, so I am thinking how to word this and place as much thought in answers as you have in questions.

 

[champagne1982]

I passioned this one on the 13 o'clock thread. I think it may have merit.

On Waking Up Before Dawn

How is it that we often find the woods
a place where night wraps tight
her sheets and tucks us in beneath
a star bright canopy? The milky way
spills from the centre of the darkness
to fall over the horizon and beyond.
I fear what waits, close on the other side,
I have been and back again
and knew only dreamless sleep.
Whisper now and promise me
there is more that waits over the edge.
More than the centre of the night.
More than cold, dark sleep. Wake me
into your morning on the other side.​

 

[CharleyH]

I passioned this one on the 13 o'clock thread. I think it may have merit.

On Waking Up Before Dawn

How is it that we often find the woods
a place where night wraps tight
her sheets and tucks us in beneath
a star bright canopy? The milky way
spills from the centre of the darkness
to fall over the horizon and beyond.
I fear what waits, close on the other side,
I have been and back again
and knew only dreamless sleep.
Whisper now and promise me
there is more that waits over the edge.
More than the centre of the night.
More than cold, dark sleep. Wake me
into your morning on the other side.​

Personally I think it is a beautiful poem of death, one more joyful and hopeful than certainly I have written, and yet ...Well, I love the imagery, for I do not ever think myself qualified to comment on form. Nonetheless, the woods reminds me somewhat of the dream-state Alice running to find something other than this life, and darkness, which has no centre, has a core beyond what we can conceptualize - particularly when we fall over what is known to us, and what we see ... the horizon. The death and brought back aspect 'been and back again' intrigues me, yet in a way I want to know more about this than that it was dreamless because the whole poem to that point seems to have hope in something 'other'. Here you change the POV midway for me, going from a hopeful and warm place filled with light- the milky way ... life has been found you suggest - hmmm and yet if gone and back again .... I am unclear of the fear?

Mine are haphazard thoughts on ONLY my first reading, but I do like it, just that I personally feel (on first reading) that the metaphors seem backwards?

Might it be better to waiver from acceptance to fear to acceptance and then fear again to get this thought of been there done that, but afraid thought across ... rather than simply going from acceptance/comfort to fear? Or do you need to make it more clear that this life you know now is unlike the uncertainty of the hereafter? In which case the metaphors you use, which do match from life to death, need to be reworked ....

Like I said - a first reading and just some thoughts.

 

[champagne1982]

Personally I think it is a beautiful poem of death, one more joyful and hopeful than certainly I have written, and yet ...Well, I love the imagery, for I do not ever think myself qualified to comment on form. Nonetheless, the woods reminds me somewhat of the dream-state Alice running to find something other than this life, and darkness, which has no centre, has a core beyond what we can conceptualize - particularly when we fall over what is known to us, and what we see ... the horizon. The death and brought back aspect 'been and back again' intrigues me, yet in a way I want to know more about this than that it was dreamless because the whole poem to that point seems to have hope in something 'other'. Here you change the POV midway for me, going from a hopeful and warm place filled with light- the milky way ... life has been found you suggest - hmmm and yet if gone and back again .... I am unclear of the fear?

Mine are haphazard thoughts on ONLY my first reading, but I do like it, just that I personally feel (on first reading) that the metaphors seem backwards?

Might it be better to waiver from acceptance to fear to acceptance and then fear again to get this thought of been there done that, but afraid thought across ... rather than simply going from acceptance/comfort to fear? Or do you need to make it more clear that this life you know now is unlike the uncertainty of the hereafter? In which case the metaphors you use, which do match from life to death, need to be reworked ....

Like I said - a first reading and just some thoughts.

As I wrote this, I felt once more, the incredible sadness I would feel on waking from one of my death dreams. See, I had open heart surgery a few years ago, so I indeed have been and back and one of the effects of that trauma, is to have these dreams. I can't really recall what they were about, but I would wake in the night sobbing.

So, to feel such profound despair definitely muddles the thought process.

As to hope,

there is always hope.

Thank you.

Here's the result after a bit of rearranging.

On Waking Up Before Dawn

How is it that we often find the woods
a place where night wraps tight
her sheets and tucks us in beneath
a star bright canopy? The milky way
spills from the centre of the darkness
to fall over the horizon and beyond.
Whisper now and promise me
there is more that waits over the edge.
More than the centre of the night.
More than cold, dark sleep.
I fear what lies, close on the other side,
I have been and back again
and knew only dreamless sleep. Wake me
into your morning, that I may know for sure.​

 

[CharleyH]

As I wrote this, I felt once more, the incredible sadness I would feel on waking from one of my death dreams. See, I had open heart surgery a few years ago, so I indeed have been and back and one of the effects of that trauma, is to have these dreams. I can't really recall what they were about, but I would wake in the night sobbing.

So, to feel such profound despair definitely muddles the thought process.

As to hope,

there is always hope.

Thank you.

Here's the result after a bit of rearranging.

On Waking Up Before Dawn

How is it that we often find the woods
a place where night wraps tight
her sheets and tucks us in beneath
a star bright canopy? The milky way
spills from the centre of the darkness
to fall over the horizon and beyond.
Whisper now and promise me
there is more that waits over the edge.
More than the centre of the night.
More than cold, dark sleep.
I fear what lies, close on the other side,
I have been and back again
and knew only dreamless sleep. Wake me
into your morning, that I may know for sure.​

I have not had open heart surgery, and yet have been at the face of death - in myself, through my brother, Mother and father. We are a family of early death it seems. You, my love, in this poem ... are holding back ... do not be afraid, and if you are shout it That is poetry.

You barely re-wrote it by the way

Just ... let go. Passion follows.

 

[champagne1982]

I have not had open heart surgery, and yet have been at the face of death - in myself, through my brother, Mother and father. We are a family of early death it seems. You, my love, in this poem ... are holding back ... do not be afraid, and if you are shout it That is poetry.

You barely re-wrote it by the way

Just ... let go. Passion follows.

No, I didn't rewrite, I just moved bits around.

I don't want to fall into that fear. I still have the long wait to see when I have to experience surgery again. I need to shine hope into the dark corners of that hesitation because if I let the stars go out, I may not have a morning to wake up in after.

Instead, a quiet poem of beauty in death is better, for me, than a black and screaming one about living.

 

[champagne1982]

On Waking Up Before Dawn

How is it that we often find the woods
a place where night wraps tight
her sheets and tucks us in beneath
a star bright canopy? The milky way
spills from the centre of the darkness
to fall over the horizon and beyond.
Whisper now and promise me
there is more than darkness over the edge,
more than the centre of the night,
more than cold, dark sleep.
I fear the loneliness that lies, close
on the other side. I have been and back
and knew only dreamless sleep,
there is no comfort in this. Wake me
into your morning, that I may see
the day and know the warmth of you.
_____________________

I re-read your posts about this, Charley, and with a bit of thought, realized that you need to know why I fear the dreamlessness of the sleep. I hope this version dips a little deeper into my reasoning and makes the plea at the end have more sense in it.

 

[flyguy69]

On Waking Up Before Dawn

How is it that we often find the woods
a place where night wraps tight
her sheets and tucks us in beneath
a star bright canopy? The milky way
spills from the centre of the darkness
to fall over the horizon and beyond.
Whisper now and promise me
there is more than darkness over the edge,
more than the centre of the night,
more than cold, dark sleep.
I fear the loneliness that lies, close
on the other side. I have been and back
and knew only dreamless sleep,
there is no comfort in this. Wake me
into your morning, that I may see
the day and know the warmth of you.
_____________________

I re-read your posts about this, Charley, and with a bit of thought, realized that you need to know why I fear the dreamlessness of the sleep. I hope this version dips a little deeper into my reasoning and makes the plea at the end have more sense in it.

I think your rewrite helps, Champ. The ending of this poem is stronger for me than the beginning, which presents confusing images.

I read the first sentance with "the woods" as the subject, not object, and the assumed verb "to be," but that leaves me wondering who finds this situation "often." Are readers to understand this to be a common experience? This sentance, though pretty, doesn't tell me anything because I can't tell if being "wrapped tight" is like dying, or if being "tucked under a canopy of stars" is joyful.

I also don't understand the milky way spilling "beyond," yet the narrator seeking a promise that there is more than darkness there. Didn't you just tell us there were stars there?

Who is the addressee of the poem? It seems to seek assurances that no mortal can grant, yet asks for very human warmth.

I think you conclude with some very powerful images; I would establish them earlier and let the metaphors support them. This poem is about fear and sleep and loneliness, not so much about stars and woods.

Good luck.

 

[champagne1982]

My darlings,

This is definitely not a task for a soul with a thin skin. I haven't felt this raw over these thoughts, in quite some time. It seems every time I read this and rework it, I am almost overwhelmed with grief. Perhaps the purging will do my heart good.

On Waking Up Before Dawn

I wish that I will never find
that place where night wraps tight
her sheets and tucks me in beneath
a star bright canopy. I see the milky way
spill across the sky and fall,
then disappear when I close my eyes.

What's there, beneath the horizon
and beyond? My Love, whisper now
and promise me there is more;
more than darkness over the edge,
more than the centre of the night,
more than cold, dark sleep.

I fear the loneliness that lies, close
on the other side. I have been and back
and knew only dreamless sleep,
there is no comfort in this. Wake me
into your morning, that I may see
the day and know the warmth of you.​

 

[flyguy69]

My darlings,

This is definitely not a task for a soul with a thin skin. I haven't felt this raw over these thoughts, in quite some time. It seems every time I read this and rework it, I am almost overwhelmed with grief. Perhaps the purging will do my heart good.

On Waking Up Before Dawn

I wish that I will never find
that place where night wraps tight
her sheets and tucks me in beneath
a star bright canopy. I see the milky way
spill across the sky and fall,
then disappear when I close my eyes.

What's there, beneath the horizon
and beyond? My Love, whisper now
and promise me there is more;
more than darkness over the edge,
more than the centre of the night,
more than cold, dark sleep.

I fear the loneliness that lies, close
on the other side. I have been and back
and knew only dreamless sleep,
there is no comfort in this. Wake me
into your morning, that I may see
the day and know the warmth of you.​

Wonderful, Carrie. This flows as a story-- a nice capitulation of your journey to the edge and back. I like this very much.

I wondered about the very first line: when the narrator hopes to never find that place. Are you saying that place is death, and that you never want to die, or is that place the precipice of death, and very scary? If the latter, I understand that you have been there once and don't want to return. I don't want to tell you what to write, but the notion that you have already been there is very powerful and would make a very strong opening.

 

[champagne1982]

You can see my final version in the new poems thread either today or tomorrow, I imagine. I want to thank my 2 muses, fly and charley. You both were wonderful.

 

[wildsweetone]

.....

 

[champagne1982]

Hello WSO, I've given you some thoughts about this poem, mine are in red and any suggested word changes are in bold. I think this poem has potential and what you need with it is a marathon edit/rewrite session to maintain a steady voice.

Winter winds lift the Spirit to dance
to sashay across a sapphire night Here, I don't see a dark night at all, sapphire is evocative of a colour brighter than midnight to me. Cobalt is darker, so is black.
swirling like a sycamore seed
tossed and twisted at the wind’s delight. This may be a language usage difference or maybe I'm just too picky, but this line would somehow read better to me as, to the wind's delight.

Unfettered by blood or needs of flesh
she rests to appease her vaguest whim I find this too cliche, or maybe it's just an over-used metaphor. Can you find a better way to describe how ephemeral the spirit is?
upon the spike of a lavender stalk
as the night moves on, cold light grows dim. Didn't we start in a darker night? Was I off the mark, thinking you were talking about midnight when you were actually in an evening? If I was right, maybe you need to let us in on where the light that's growing dimmer is sourced. Is your spirit being the moonlight? If it's something like that analogy, you need to be clearer. Treat your audience, in this instance, as easily led.

Consummate As an aside, I keep looking at this and reading 'consomme.' her soul! the cool wind LOL. This confirms you're not in the northern hemisphere, I've never felt a 'cool' winter wind. breathes
then - “Help!” a tortured young life calls
leaving the night garden's safety
she catches the wrenched wretched being before it falls.

Sharing comfort with a single torn heart
an enveloping warmth, nurturing and calm
reaches out crossing barricades
touching lost souls, a soothing balm.

Promenade morning’s pink airbrushed sky
world awakes, dawn chorus begins
in sunshine’s rays white rose opens wide
day’s renewal erases all sins. These last two stanzas are lovely. Some may find them a bit adjective heavy, but I like the word choices. It's all a matter of taste and you can only please your own.

I hope I was helpful and that I haven't taken over your poem. Keep me up on the changes, please.

 

[wildsweetone]

Thank you sweet lady, your thoughts are very much appreciated. I'm struggling to concentrate at the moment but I'll keep plugging away at this poem. Thank you for giving me more to think about.

 

[flyguy69]

I don't know if you want more from me or not, sweetie, but here are some thoughts (my old ones still pertain):

You have added some details that help greatly. In the process, however, some parts seem overwritten to me. I have highlighted in Dark Orchid the parts that seem to repeat points already made or add unnecessary details, simply because I have never used Dark Orchid before. I also think you need some stronger words for some images. I have highlighted in Sandy Brown words that lack the punch the image calls for.

I agree about the third strophe: "consummate" seems wrong unless you are adding an obligatory sex scene (which, of course, I always endorse!), and the imagery remains unclear. Is this spirit gifted with a healing power? How or why? Who is the wind talking to when it issues its command? Who is hurt, and how? Is the "night garden" a metaphor for life in general?

The grammar in the final strophe confuses me. If I were to spend more time on it I could probably make more sense of it, but most readers won't want to have to work that hard. Myself included!

Just another pile of stuff to think about!

Good luck

QUOTE=wildsweetone]*thinking out loud*

taking another look at The Spirit Soars. I have played about with this poem for the last little while. I looked at all your comments and saw similarities that made me realise I had very little concrete imagery. I know I didn't want to 'tie down' the spirit of those words but so far have been unable to let go and just allow her to fly as she wishes.

here is what i've done so far.



Winter winds lift the Spirit to dance
to sashay across a sapphire night
swirling like a sycamore seed
tossed and twisted at the wind’s delight.

Unfettered by blood or needs of flesh
she rests to appease her vaguest whim
upon the spike of a lavender stalk
as the night moves on, cold light grows dim. Why is it groing dim as dawn approaches?

Consummate her soul! the cool wind breathes
then - “Help!” a tortured young life calls
leaving the night garden's safety
she catches the wrenched being before it falls.

Sharing comfort with a single torn heart
an enveloping warmth, nurturing and calm
reaches out crossing barricades
touching lost souls, a soothing balm.

Promenade morning’s pink airbrushed sky
world awakes, dawn chorus begins
in sunshine’s rays white rose opens wide
day’s renewal erases all sins Did the "wrenched being" sin? I thought that the Spirit's touch did the healing.

as you can probably see, i am stuck with the third verse. i don't like it *thinking* i don't like it because it doesn't flow. it's stilted and the rhythm is messy. i don't think i like the word consummate... not that's wrong, i like that word but think the rest doesn't fit with it. okay ignore me now... i'll go and work on this some more.

ps if you comment, please make ME do the work. *smiling* i'm really learning lots!

[/QUOTE]

 

[wildsweetone]

thank you dear for your new thoughts; you're much appreciated. i know i still have some prior points of yours to work in and shall do that as i go along. And hey! I like how you colour coded your words! Thanks for that!

 

[flyguy69]

thank you dear for your new thoughts; you're much appreciated. i know i still have some prior points of yours to work in and shall do that as i go along. And hey! I like how you colour coded your words! Thanks for that!

You're welcome, Wild One! And don't, of course, try to make it my poem. If what I said fits with your goals and style, use it. If it takes you someplace awkward and uncomfortable, ignore it.

 

[wildsweetone]

ah dear man, awkward and uncomfortable is where the best lessons are.

*smiling*

 

[flyguy69]

ah dear man, awkward and uncomfortable is where the best lessons are.

*smiling*

I once left a sheaf of my erotic verse at my mother-in-law's house. I certainly learned my lesson.

 

[champagne1982]

I once left a sheaf of my erotic verse at my mother-in-law's house. I certainly learned my lesson.

Was it "An Ode To My Mother-In-Law's [insert dirty word here]" type of poem? I mean, really...