Edited version
Heavy boots creak weathered wood,
field and porch helpless to heat,
resigned fan slowly shakes its head.
Toiled trousers flop onto faded curtains,
fashioned as a throw on old wicker.
The sympathetic chair nods twice
before swollen foot stays its rhythm.

Fingers crook brown bottle neck,
mongrel pants in welcome shade.
Chilled sips close appreciative eyes
as crowded corn field hums an insect beat.
Hard hand wraps frets on worn maple,
foot chock releases the rocker's rhythm
and the Bluesman takes his cue.




Heavy boots creak weathered wood,
field and porch helpless to heat,
resigned fan slowly shakes its head.
Toiled trousers flop onto faded curtains,
fashioned as a throw on old wicker.
The sympathetic chair nods twice,
swollen foot stays its rhythm.

Left fingers crook brown bottle neck,
right rub mongrel ear then scruff.
Chilled sips close appreciative eyes
as dust track field breaths insect beat.
Large hand wrap frets on worn maple
foot chock releases the rockers rhythm
and the Bluesman takes his cue.

I really enjoy the spareness of your words here. The alliteration is subtle but functions in much the same way as rhyme, to tie the poem together. The idea that all of these things are being done to the man, rather than him being protagonist, is really interesting and positions him as just another part of a dynamic -- but unhurried -- landscape.

Should "large hand wrap frets" be "wraps frets" or "large hands"? And an apostrophe in "rocker's". That's all I've got to correct

I feel soothed, having read this. Thank you.

This is a great poem too. I don't understand all of the words, and I admit it's not clear to me what each line is referring to. But I agree with what Leanne said about the alliteration, and it does have a soothing pace.

I wonder if it should say "breathes" instead of "breaths"?

Hmm...loved this. such a strong image came to mind of an "old boy" about his slow yet purposeful daily routine. It transported me to my own memories of watching an oldtime craftsman at work. Beautiful and so comforting. Like the passing of the seasons there is something serene and timeless in this peice. I can almost smell the wood shavings and see all his tools. Also the house and the dog are spot on. Penned almost to perfection.

---

...Forgot the guitar ..always part of the picture. requardless of the trade.

very clever, do a no reply poem and they come flocking .

(11-15-2012, 10:00 AM)TimeOnMyHands Wrote:  Heavy boots creak weathered wood,
field and porch helpless to heat,
resigned fan slowly shakes its head.
Toiled trousers flop onto faded curtains,
fashioned as a throw on old wicker. i struggle3d with this but worked it out and it's a great line.
The sympathetic chair nods twice,
swollen foot stays its rhythm. very tight 1st stanza. some good alliteration.

Left fingers crook brown bottle neck,
right rub mongrel ear then scruff.
Chilled sips close appreciative eyes
as dust track field breaths insect beat. can't work this line out
Large hand wrap frets on worn maple agree with leanne about wraps
foot chock releases the rockers rhythm rocker's
and the Bluesman takes his cue.
more alliteration.

a strong and very tight poem while i like it, i think that just maybe it's a little bit too tight. some good images in there and in a way the poem generates the noise of what's going on which gives it more depth.
there was one line i couldn't get my head round.

thanks for the read.

HI TOMH - I liked this poem very much and full of clear and powerful imagery which I mostly understood, though like others I failed to grasp some lines. I certainly felt the heat of day ... some specifics below

(11-15-2012, 10:00 AM)TimeOnMyHands Wrote:  Heavy boots creak weathered wood,
field and porch helpless to heat,
resigned fan slowly shakes its head. Great line - I have a ceiling fan that wobbles too!
Toiled trousers flop onto faded curtains,
fashioned as a throw on old wicker. Is wicker a chair?
The sympathetic chair nods twice, Such a descripive line - rocking chairs do indeed nod
swollen foot stays its rhythm.

Left fingers crook brown bottle neck, a beer bottle perhaps?
right rub mongrel ear then scruff.
Chilled sips close appreciative eyes
as dust track field breaths insect beat. "sings" or "chants" instead of "breaths" perhaps
Large hand wrap frets on worn maple
foot chock releases the rockers rhythm
and the Bluesman takes his cue.

Thank you for sharing

Thank you for all your comments I got a bit lost in this so I guess its a bit vague. Put simply, its a really hot day, man comes home from work, sits on his porch in his favourite old rocker (wicker), has a beer with a dog by his side, he hears the chirp of the insects in the field outside his porch, pick up his guitar and plays along with the rythme of the day.
I will take all your comments and tidy it up, Thanks TOMH

I picture Robert Johnson rocking on an old dilapitated porch. This was really nice. I felt like I was in this from the beginning. I liked the personification of the fan, the nod of the rocker, and the swollen foot lost in its rhythm.

This is the most complete pulled together poem from you I've read. This sort of specific detail and mood you set are really well done.

I really liked it. No nits from me.

Best,

Todd

(11-19-2012, 05:47 AM)TimeOnMyHands Wrote:  Thank you for all your comments I got a bit lost in this so I guess its a bit vague. Put simply, its a really hot day, man comes home from work, sits on his porch in his favourite old rocker (wicker), has a beer with a dog by his side, he hears the chirp of the insects in the field outside his porch, pick up his guitar and plays along with the rythme of the day.
I will take all your comments and tidy it up, Thanks TOMH

that's what i got will look the edit over later

(11-19-2012, 05:47 AM)TimeOnMyHands Wrote:  Thank you for all your comments I got a bit lost in this so I guess its a bit vague. Put simply, its a really hot day, man comes home from work, sits on his porch in his favourite old rocker (wicker), has a beer with a dog by his side, he hears the chirp of the insects in the field outside his porch, pick up his guitar and plays along with the rythme of the day.
I will take all your comments and tidy it up, Thanks TOMH

That's pretty much what I got from it, so it can't be too vague -- although like Todd, I had a Robert Johnson-esque image in my head.

(11-19-2012, 11:02 AM)Leanne Wrote:  

(11-19-2012, 05:47 AM)TimeOnMyHands Wrote:  Thank you for all your comments I got a bit lost in this so I guess its a bit vague. Put simply, its a really hot day, man comes home from work, sits on his porch in his favourite old rocker (wicker), has a beer with a dog by his side, he hears the chirp of the insects in the field outside his porch, pick up his guitar and plays along with the rythme of the day.
I will take all your comments and tidy it up, Thanks TOMH

That's pretty much what I got from it, so it can't be too vague -- although like Todd, I had a Robert Johnson-esque image in my head.

This is exactly the image I had in mind so glad it works and thanks for the confirmation. TOMH

(11-15-2012, 10:00 AM)TimeOnMyHands Wrote:  Edited version
Heavy boots creak weathered wood,
field and porch helpless to heat,
resigned fan slowly shakes its head.
Toiled trousers flop onto faded curtains, "Toiled" kept making me think of "soiled", but that could just be me.
fashioned as a throw on old wicker.
The sympathetic chair nods twice
before swollen foot stays its rhythm.

fingers crook brown bottle neck, Missing capital letter.
mongrel pants in welcome shade.
Chilled sips close appreciative eyes It took me a moment to grasp what this line meant, though I don't think that's a criticism. I like such moments.
as crowded corn field shimmers an insect beat. Excellent. "Insect beat" is the perfect metaphor.
Hard hand wraps frets on worn maple,
foot chock releases the rocker's rhythm
and the Bluesman takes his cue.

This poem uses syntax which feels strange at first but all makes sense and clicks together perfectly, a bit like Henry James' prose. I love how you manipulate tense and image to create a sense of narrative even though nothing actually happens. What you're basically doing is describing a scene the way a static portrait does, yet the poem feels vibrant and alive because of the present tense. Thanks very much for the read.

as crowded corn field shimmers an insect beat. the edit works well though i would suggest hums instead of shimmers, as one is sight and the other is sound which would tie in with the guitar thing you have going on.

(11-22-2012, 12:06 PM)billy Wrote:  as crowded corn field shimmers an insect beat. the edit works well though i would suggest hums instead of shimmers, as one is sight and the other is sound which would tie in with the guitar thing you have going on.

Ill take that, cheers Billy