It's been a while guys. I've been pretty busy and the whole Boston thing is weighing in heavily (I live in the immediate vicinity of the bombings and the shootings).

Anyways, I'd like to share a quick poem for critique. I'm trying to diversify by style (I usually write very terse, postmodernish poems), so it might not be very good. I'm looking for some serious critique though, because I find that my style isn't quite enough to flesh out my thoughts.

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A lighthouse on the western cliff.
There it stood. Unmoving.
And still stands. Unmoving.
Breaking the crest of each wave.

Hallowed by sailors,
Hollowed by times.
Its windows darkened,
Echoing the crash of each wave.

Every direction, ships warmed
By reflections of their own lamps.
Emptied panes cobwebbed in cracks,
Swallowing the colors of each wave.

New waves lick old stones
Encrusted in salt and sand.
Stifled cries, extinguished flames.
Waiting for another keeper.

I really liked this. The images you put forth are the kind I like to use and read. I'm not sure if I like the tempo change starting in the third stanza though. I do believe you need one, but maybe try changing the structure of the lines a bit. The fourth stanza is fine. I'll have my critique below.


A lighthouse on the western cliff.
There it stood. Unmoving.
And still stands. Unmoving.
Breaking the crest of each wave. I like "There it stood, unmoving/And still stands, unmoving;/Breaking the crest of each wave." It's just that I feel that the periods are a bit much of a pause.

Hallowed by sailors,
Hollowed by times.
Its windows darkened,
Echoing the crash of each wave. I was once told by an english teacher that you have to be careful using "the" in your poem, because it can take away from the poem rather than add to it. So I'd suggest "Echoing crashes of each wave". Follows the meter a bit better too.

Every direction, ships warmed "In every direction ships are warmed"
By reflections of their own lamps. <--Again, I think a comma is better than a period
Emptied panes cobwebbed in cracks, I like the imagery, but this line is a bit of a tongue twister. I'm not sure how to fix it, but maybe you can find a way.
Swallowing the colors of each wave. "Swallowing the dull colors of each wave."

New waves lick old stones
Encrusted in salt and sand.
Stifled cries, extinguished flames.
Waiting for another keeper.

Hello, I'm new here.

I like the image of the lighthouse and how you have conjured it up. It seems to me half of a poem, though. I tend to keep strong images in my head for a bit until I find a metaphorical direction for a complete poem. The interest of many affecting poems comes from the interplay between one idea and another. Perhaps a relationship you had, perhaps an age-old idea...

Thanks

Michael

(04-22-2013, 03:34 AM)jormungandr Wrote:  It's been a while guys. I've been pretty busy and the whole Boston thing is weighing in heavily (I live in the immediate vicinity of the bombings and the shootings).

Anyways, I'd like to share a quick poem for critique. I'm trying to diversify by style (I usually write very terse, postmodernish poems), so it might not be very good. I'm looking for some serious critique though, because I find that my style isn't quite enough to flesh out my thoughts.

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A lighthouse on the western cliff.
There it stood. Unmoving. do the light houses in boston normally move that you feel it necessary to mention this?
And still stands. Unmoving. You repeat it? Is it that rare that lighthouses in Boston stand still?
Breaking the crest of each wave.

Hallowed by sailors,
Hollowed by times. This is really just boring prose. I get it, sailors love lighthouses. Times? bah. Times "hollow" lighthouses? wtf?
Its windows darkened,
Echoing the crash of each wave.

Every direction, ships warmed you either mean "warned" or you are confused about how light works
By reflections of their own lamps. This is just inaccurate prose at best.
Emptied panes cobwebbed in cracks, how are panes 'emptied' that just doesn't make sense. The old cobwebs of cracks in glass is pretty much done to death btw
Swallowing the colors of each wave. yah, ummm, this doesn't really work

New waves lick old stones
Encrusted in salt and sand.
Stifled cries, extinguished flames. where did these stifled cries come from? is someone being murdered in the lighthouse? we will never know because this author is not going to tell us.
Waiting for another keeper.

as a whole, it is pretty dull. What images it has are tired or just completely fallacious. The language is stale and there is nothing here relevatory or fresh enough to demand either a re-write or a reread.

Still, thank you for sharing and good luck in all of your endeavors and all.

milo

hello.
unfortunately, whatever the metaphorical purpose or merit of this poem (i won't comment on that - but I will say that personally the sensation must be the idea's equal), I am slightly obsessed with poems (and anything else) about the ocean and the sea, the coast, etc. and as such found this more than a little disappointing. But, i did like the penultimate two lines 'New waves lick old stones / Encrusted in salt and sand'. Although, 'encrusted', er... I'm not sure. The language is bland, and really doesn't work.
But, again I have to say that it is possibly a personal thing on that score. The painter Francis Bacon had an obsession with Velasquez's Pope Innocent X, and I have the same thing with Dylan Thomas's 'Prologue', every other poem on this topic falls infinitely short.