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Joined: Mar 2014
"About ten years from now", he said,
"It might hurt less...", you being dead.
A blink of eye, that time I know,
Will pass on by with much to show
Of gifts you gave I treasure dear
Until their day to share appears.
To birth my life was not enough;
The Earth's charm seen 'tis naught a bluff,
You taught so well of life to trust.
Without you now, at times, a bust -
The sense of whom desires hand
Of mine to take and make a stand.
When helping hand helped shed your fear,
Too young for memories seen clear,
Elicits truth through stories told
Preparing where my path unfolds.
A wish you spoke I wish you wrote
Oft flutters for a queasy float.
Move on I will and grant you yours
On through the never ending moors.
Though memories fade day by day
Of swimmer wading shelter made,
The thoughts of you lift up my day.
I'll not have it another way.
"About ten years from now", he said,
"It might hurt less...", you being dead.
A blink of eye, that time I know,
Will pass on by with much to show
Of gifts you gave I treasure dear
Until their day to share appears.
To birth my life was not enough;
The Earth's charm seen 'tis naught a bluff,
You taught so well of life to trust.
Without you now, at times, a bust -
The sense of whom desires hand
Of mine to take and make a stand.
Are you comfortable with the awkward usage that goes on for most of this poem? Do you think the rhymes seem forced?
When helping hand helped shed your fear,
Too young for memories seen clear,
Elicits truth through stories told
Preparing where my path unfolds.
A wish you spoke I wish you wrote
Oft flutters for a queasy float.
Move on I will and grant you yours
On through the never ending moors.
Though memories fade day by day
Of swimmer wading shelter made,
The thoughts of you lift up my day.
I'll not have it another way.
Posts: 8
Threads: 2
Joined: Mar 2014
(03-20-2014, 04:42 AM)rowens Wrote: Are you comfortable with the awkward usage that goes on for most of this poem? Do you think the rhymes seem forced?
I am comfortable with it. Even in prose writing, I tend to write in awkward phrasings, or so I have been told many, many times.
I did not think the rhymes in this piece seemed forced, so I will assume that I was wrong since you took the time to ask.
You taught so well of life to trust.
Without you now, at times, a bust -
The sense of whom desires hand
Of mine to take and make a stand.
A wish you spoke I wish you wrote
Oft flutters for a queasy float.
Move on I will and grant you yours
On through the never ending moors.
You can write anyway you want. Besides the awkward phrasing and the forced rhyme, there isn't much to the poem. The content is small, the awkwardness stands out everywhere. If you're trying to write with an old style you still need content.
Posts: 8
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Joined: Mar 2014
(03-20-2014, 09:51 PM)rowens Wrote: You can write anyway you want. Besides the awkward phrasing and the forced rhyme, there isn't much to the poem. The content is small, the awkwardness stands out everywhere. If you're trying to write with an old style you still need content.
Thank you very much for your comment. I realize that much of the content is cryptic and held between the lines and neigh impossible to glean for someone who did not know her.
I need to be more clear and expressive and apply less ingenuity in order to write of complex events, emotions, etc through simple word associations.
You taught so well of life to trust.
Without you now, at times, a bust -
The sense of whom desires hand
Of mine to take and make a stand.
There isn't much ingenuity in that. More ingenuity wouldn't hurt.
Posts: 8
Threads: 2
Joined: Mar 2014
A wish you spoke I wish you wrote
Oft flutters for a queasy float.
Move on I will and grant you yours
On through the never ending moors.
The ingenuity of simplicity I wrote of is most strongly applied in this stanza. My mother's last wish for me was that I would be able to move on from my daughters' mother due to her cheating on me and leaving to be with someone else, only to come back when realizing how badly she missed having more time with our daughters and the superior security I had to offer.
My mother was a professional lifeguard and her favorite lesson to teach was of learning how to float on one's back in complete stillness, surrendering to the ebbs and flows of the water.
Surrendering to what moving on will bring has been a source of much queasiness in that part of it is accepting the likelihood of the remainder of my life being one of solitude apart from the relationship with my daughters.
I sacrificed a bit of ingenuity of expression when writing this poem in order to finally write one with steady, consistent meter throughout.
It sounds like a poem. But the way it's written and what it's saying almost makes the subject feel trivial. And I doubt the subject is trivial. Given the context, I know it's not. But the poem has little context in itself, the content of the lines feels small because of the way you manipulate syntax to force the rhyme and meter. Much of it is ineffective for those reasons.
