Whippoorwill (rewritten)

[tectak]

Whippoorwill (rewritten)
hopefully an improvement.

Childhood memories of
warm southern nights;
The rhythmic squeak of the
front porch swing porch's
in cadence with thousands of frogs,
cicadas and crickets createpick one, squeaks or creates
a raucous cacophony of pulsating rhythm. rhytmic cacophony is an oxymoron, this could be unintentional so I'm just pointing it out.
The whippoorwill is heard above the rest
repeating his name.
Such is the music of warm southern nights,
the harmony of life in concert with time.

Childhood memories,
Had the old man blinked?
The porch swing is gone,
along with the porch.
Asphalt lay hot in the sun,
where the shade tree once stood. 'The shade tree' is a specific tree that the reader was just introduced to? All trees are shady, not the greatest of terms. If it is an overly shady tree be sure to make that apparent.
Traffic noise, horns honking and sirens
has replaced the iambic meter of the 'iambic meter' doesn't really fit with the language used in the rest of the poem, it stuck out to me
whippoorwill.
So goes the music of warm southern nights,
the progress of man in concert with time. i like these two lines a lot, wrapped up the verses very well

Overall it is pretty good, i like it. =}

[/color]
This critique, though, is not good or even pretty. You are damning the piece with false praise. Give the writer pointers, say where it is good and why...say where it is only "pretty good" and why. Offer alternatives, give your opinion on structure, word choice, meter, imagery....anything but the puerile "I like it".
Mod.

---

Of Whippoorwills and the Truth

I have sat on the porch on
a warm Southern night?
listened to the Whippoorwill tell me
who he is,
over and over and over?
I could feel that melancholy pull from
those simple memories of my youth?
The recollections of my rebellious past
reminding me of the time my Mama
spent hoping and praying that
I would one day find that
elusive buried treasure of contentment.
All the times my dad tried
to show me the way and I
stubbornly shrugged my shoulders and walked away.
Now I struggle to look myself in the eye because
I hear the Truth much more clear today,
as it imitates the Whippoorwill;
I Told You So! I Told You So! I Told You So!
Oh the bitter sweet memories of those
warm Southern nights, as the Whippoorwill continues
to remind me who he is,
over and over and over.
Just as the Truth continues to remind me,
I have more than I deserve,
over and over and over.




Whippoorwill (rewritten)
hopefully an improvement.

Childhood memories of
warm southern nights;
The rhythmic squeak of the No capital after a semicolon. You are specifically NOT starting a new sentence
front porch swing
in cadence with thousands of frogs, [/b] You use "cadence" incorrectly. Look it up. find a new word then eg " Competing with a thousand frogs" for sake of some attempt at establishing meter [/b]
cicadas and crickets create
a raucous cacophony of pulsating rhythm. Still an oxymoron. "Raucous cacophony" cannot have rhythm...pulsating particularly. "..a raucous cacophony heedless of rhythm". Your poem.
The whippoorwill is heard above the rest Meter is clunky and the next line trips the reader completely. You are publishing and will be damned for it. Look:
" Yet hear above the noisome wall
the whippoorwill repeats his call" Your poem but the allusion to a wall of sound solidifies the imagery. You can do better than me...I've never heard the bloody bird
repeating his name.
Such is the music of warm southern nights,
the harmony of life in concert with time. Sounds better than is. Harmony in concert with..hmmmm. I may be wrong but " The song of life sung in concert with time" does IMO make a little more sense AND releases the duality of "in concert".

Childhood memories,
Had the old man blinked? You are being lazyy, now. Proof reading is not your forte. Why the capital on "Had"" when two lines down not on "along"?
The porch swing is gone,
along with the porch. It would be hard to imagine otherwise so just say the porch swing has gone to avoid using porch twice in one sentence.
Asphalt lay hot in the sun, Whoa! Tenses in turmoil. I corrected one with "...swing has gone.." so now it's your turn. When was the asphalt laying, or does it lay now? Or maybe it "lies hot where the shade tree once stood" If I am right, a shade tree is specifically placed, or left in place, to provide shade...so with that in mind, I can live with it...even like it
where the shade tree once stood
Traffic noise, horns honking and sirens
has replaced the iambic meter of the I would not use any term relating to meter in a poem like this which has none
whippoorwill.
So goes the music of warm southern nights,
the progress of man in concert with time. Dreadfully predictable and even gratuitous ending. If it were not for the repetition of "music of warm southern nights" I would suggest you simply drop the last line as it relates to absolutely nothing that has gone before. The sudden recruitment of cars a'honking indicates a sudden flow of blood to the brain which inspires you to a poetic end...but it is the end of another poem. This one is about a Whippoorwill.
Hmmm. Change the title? Warm Southern Nights?

It got bitty due to over-working. You need to make a firm decision on what you are writing about...that central metaphor thing again. I don't know whether we are waxing on whippoorwills, warm nights, whistful wanderings, world woes or water biscuits...well, maybe not water biscuits but if the last line had been "..and I always have water biscuits
with my glass of red, preferably a good Merlot, or sometimes white, wine" I would not have been surprised.
You can make something good out of this. Leave it for a while on simmer until it has reduced by half...taste, adjust seasoning...
Best,
tectak

---

Of Whippoorwills and the Truth

I have sat on the porch on
a warm Southern night?
listened to the Whippoorwill tell me
who he is,
over and over and over?
I could feel that melancholy pull from
those simple memories of my youth?
The recollections of my rebellious past
reminding me of the time my Mama
spent hoping and praying that
I would one day find that
elusive buried treasure of contentment.
All the times my dad tried
to show me the way and I
stubbornly shrugged my shoulders and walked away.
Now I struggle to look myself in the eye because
I hear the Truth much more clear today,
as it imitates the Whippoorwill;
I Told You So! I Told You So! I Told You So!
Oh the bitter sweet memories of those
warm Southern nights, as the Whippoorwill continues
to remind me who he is,
over and over and over.
Just as the Truth continues to remind me,
I have more than I deserve,
over and over and over.




Whippoorwill (rewritten)
hopefully an improvement.

Childhood memories of
warm southern nights;
The rhythmic squeak of the[b] No capital after a semicolon. You are specufucally NOT starting a new sentence
front porch swing
in cadence with thousands of frogs, [/b] You use "cadence" incorrectly. Look it up. find a new word then eg " Competing with a thousand frogs" for sake of some attempt at establishing meter [/b]
cicadas and crickets create
a raucous cacophony of pulsating rhythm. Still an oxymoron. "Raucous cacophony" cannot have rhythm...pulsating particularly. "..a raucous cacophony heedless of rhythm". Your poem.
The whippoorwill is heard above the rest [b] Meter is clunky and the next line trips the reader completely. You are publishing and will be damned for it. Look:
" Yet hear above the noisome wall
the whippoorwill repeats his call" Your poem but the allusion to a wall of sound solidifies the imagery. You can do better than me...I've never heard the bloody bird
repeating his name.
Such is the music of warm southern nights,
the harmony of life in concert with time. Sounds better than is. Harmony in concert with..hmmmm. I may be wrong but " The song of life sung in concert with time" does IMO make a little more sense AND releases the duality of "in concert".

Childhood memories,
Had the old man blinked? [b] You are being lazyy, now. Proof reading is not your forte. Why the capital on "Had"" when two lines down not on "along"?
The porch swing is gone,
along with the porch. It would be hard to imagine otherwise so just say the porch swing has gone to avoid using porch twice in one sentence.
Asphalt lay hot in the sun, Whoa! Tenses in turmoil. I corrected one with "...swing has gone.." so now it's your turn. When was the asphalt laying, or does it lay now? Or maybe it "lies hot where the shade tree once stood" If I am right, a shade tree is specifically placed, or left in place, to provide shade...so with that in mind, I can live with it...even like it
where the shade tree once stood
Traffic noise, horns honking and sirens
has replaced the iambic meter of the I would not use any term relating to meter in a poem like this which has none
whippoorwill.
So goes the music of warm southern nights,
the progress of man in concert with time.[b] Dreadfully predictable and even gratuitous ending. If it were not for the repetition of "music of warm southern nights" I would suggest you simply drop the last line as it relates to absolutely nothing that has gone before. It indicates a spontaneous flow if blood to the brain which inspires you to a poetic end...but it is the end of another poem. This one is about a Whippoorwill.
Hmmm. Change the title? Warm Southern Nights?

It got bitty due to over-working. You need to make a firm decision on what you are writing about...that central metaphor thing again. I don't know whether we are waxing on whippoorwills, warm nights, whistful wanderings or water biscuits...well, maybe not water biscuits but if the last line had been "..and I always have water biscuits
with my glass of red or sometimes white, wine" I would not have been surprised.
You can make something good out of this. Leave it for a while on simmer until it has reduced by half...taste, adjust seasoning...
Best,
tectak