03-31-2016, 06:45 AM
Tree in the distance, twisted and writhing, dactyl-trochee-dactyl-trochee
Serpentine branches, reaching and trying, dactyl-trochee-dactyl-trochee
Each day slowly it grew reaching t'ward skies, iambic pentamater
Endlessly searching for god knows what prize, dactyl-dactyl-dactyl-hanging foot
Oh tree, it pains me, you fight everyday, iamb-dactyl-iamb-dactyl
This poem starts out nicely, in terms of meter, as noted above. Unfortunately it quickly devolves into inconsistency as any metrical patter is concerned, leaving the burden of cohesion and energy solely on the back of the rhyming couplets, which quickly takes on the sound of a ball peen hammer to the temples, with the exception of an xyxy rhyme pattern in the last four line. This seems almost a strange parody of a sonnet. However, whatever form was in the writer's mind equates to no form of which this reader is aware.
In terms of the content, it has a distinctly English Romantic period tone. It is concerned with nature, and conceives that nature may in fact be more wise than man. Of course it lacks Wordsworthian "We murder to dissect" element. The writer personifies the tree, giving it various attributes. The missing element is the speaker has no intuition and can receive no wisdom from the tree and so is simply left to "ponder". No better off than when he began. Although the poem begins somewhere, it unfortunately does not progress pass that point.
Best,
dale
Serpentine branches, reaching and trying, dactyl-trochee-dactyl-trochee
Each day slowly it grew reaching t'ward skies, iambic pentamater
Endlessly searching for god knows what prize, dactyl-dactyl-dactyl-hanging foot
Oh tree, it pains me, you fight everyday, iamb-dactyl-iamb-dactyl
This poem starts out nicely, in terms of meter, as noted above. Unfortunately it quickly devolves into inconsistency as any metrical patter is concerned, leaving the burden of cohesion and energy solely on the back of the rhyming couplets, which quickly takes on the sound of a ball peen hammer to the temples, with the exception of an xyxy rhyme pattern in the last four line. This seems almost a strange parody of a sonnet. However, whatever form was in the writer's mind equates to no form of which this reader is aware.
In terms of the content, it has a distinctly English Romantic period tone. It is concerned with nature, and conceives that nature may in fact be more wise than man. Of course it lacks Wordsworthian "We murder to dissect" element. The writer personifies the tree, giving it various attributes. The missing element is the speaker has no intuition and can receive no wisdom from the tree and so is simply left to "ponder". No better off than when he began. Although the poem begins somewhere, it unfortunately does not progress pass that point.
Best,
dale
How long after picking up the brush, the first masterpiece?
The goal is not to obfuscate that which is clear, but make clear that which isn't.
The goal is not to obfuscate that which is clear, but make clear that which isn't.