Loveless edit 1

[Pilgrim]

(My first)...and now my first real edit based in suggestions. Thanks for all the great thoughts. Learning what true expression means is a journey for an old guy like me.

Loveless

Relentlessly, waves crash upon the rocks.
Where do you think sand comes from?
Castles; between your toes; in the bucket; in your eyes.

Uncompromisingly, storms assault the earth.
Where do you think rivers come from?
Rolling; restless; turbulent; churning.

Recklessly, fists bludgeon my soul.
Where do you think tears come from?
Painful; hurtful; cleansing; racking.

Furiously, heels thrash against my head.
Where do you think loveless comes from?
Solitary; crippling; dejected; alone.

Love.

Don't have it, don't want it, don't need it.

Waves; storms; fists; heels.
Beating me lovelessly.

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(My first)...and now my first real edit based in suggestions. Thanks for all the great thoughts. Learning what true expression means is a journey for an old guy like me.

Loveless

Relentlessly, waves crash upon the rocks.
Where do you think sand comes from?
Castles; between your toes; in the bucket; in your eyes.

Uncompromisingly, storms assault the earth.
Where do you think rivers come from?
Rolling; restless; turbulent; churning.

Recklessly, fists bludgeon my soul.
Where do you think tears come from?
Painful; hurtful; cleansing; racking.

Furiously, heels thrash against my head.
Where do you think loveless comes from?
Solitary; crippling; dejected; alone.

Love.

Don't have it, don't want it, don't need it.

Waves; storms; fists; heels.
Beating me lovelessly.

Hello, Wordsworth.

Clearly, your poem is about a soul, spirit, personality, in torment. I wondered just who was the intended recipient of this outpouring of emotion. A hurtful lover? Or perhaps a diary entry – where such painful emotions are often recorded for resolution’s sake.

I wondered about some of your metaphors and analogies. Fists (corporeal) bludgeoning soul (spiritual) worried me. As did heels thrashing against head – which made me wonder whether the narrator had suffered physical and well as emotional assault.

Your line: ‘Don't have it, don't want it, don't need it.’ sounded just a trifle petulant. And I think your poem sits on that precarious border between affront and self-pity.

Nevertheless, poetry is the ideal medium for expression, and indeed release, of emotion so long as the poet rather than the emotion is in control. There is some advice, somewhere, which suggests that we should always leave a space between the occurrence of an event and its expression in poetic form.

May I suggest that you put this piece as it stands in a bottom drawer and come back to it in three months?

Regards and best wishes.

Pilgrim.