05-27-2016, 03:56 PM
(I originally had the edit in a separate thread because I was new and didn't know what I was doing. So, I've copied the critique from that thread and put it here so that I could blend the two threads.)
Billy wrote: so much to like with this one, some of the observational imagery is almost palpable, i think some of the shorter words could be removed without damaging the poem but they don't really interfere with the reading. pressing and pressure used twice felt like the only real thing i'd advise trying to do something wit. other than that it was a solid read with some great micro imagery.
Edit 1
I grieve for the shorn-short grasses great ess'
that wanted to seed,
and for the dandelions
that won't witness
their hair turning white.
Life presses and pressures
them up toward the blades.
Every month or so, we make the choice:
to neuter the grass.
I grieve for the thistles, the clover, the saplings
whose cycle is again rebuffed.
They would have provided
shade and shelter
from my curious children
and other predators.
Every month or so we make the choice:
the land will remain barren.
I grieve for the tree-dwelling caterpillar,
with yellow and orange tiger stripes
and gentle porcupine spines.
My children ecstatically worshiped it,
then dropped and crushed it underneath
pudgy-pink, innocent feet –
its life as short as their attention spans.
I grieve for the red shed next door,
decomposing on foreclosed property.
A fallen gutter, a broken window –
time is pressing down on it,
pressuring it into the dirt.
Moss has overtaken its roof;
the earth owns its title.
I grieve for the fallen orange Popsicle
diminishing in the shredded grass
like decay captured in time-lapse film. lines 1 to 3 are my favourite image.
We wash it with the garden hose,
eroding its purpose like chalk-soft rock,
while my hungry 2-year-old melts into tears. while this image ties in so closely to the one of decay
Billy wrote: so much to like with this one, some of the observational imagery is almost palpable, i think some of the shorter words could be removed without damaging the poem but they don't really interfere with the reading. pressing and pressure used twice felt like the only real thing i'd advise trying to do something wit. other than that it was a solid read with some great micro imagery.
Edit 1
I grieve for the shorn-short grasses great ess'
that wanted to seed,
and for the dandelions
that won't witness
their hair turning white.
Life presses and pressures
them up toward the blades.
Every month or so, we make the choice:
to neuter the grass.
I grieve for the thistles, the clover, the saplings
whose cycle is again rebuffed.
They would have provided
shade and shelter
from my curious children
and other predators.
Every month or so we make the choice:
the land will remain barren.
I grieve for the tree-dwelling caterpillar,
with yellow and orange tiger stripes
and gentle porcupine spines.
My children ecstatically worshiped it,
then dropped and crushed it underneath
pudgy-pink, innocent feet –
its life as short as their attention spans.
I grieve for the red shed next door,
decomposing on foreclosed property.
A fallen gutter, a broken window –
time is pressing down on it,
pressuring it into the dirt.
Moss has overtaken its roof;
the earth owns its title.
I grieve for the fallen orange Popsicle
diminishing in the shredded grass
like decay captured in time-lapse film. lines 1 to 3 are my favourite image.
We wash it with the garden hose,
eroding its purpose like chalk-soft rock,
while my hungry 2-year-old melts into tears. while this image ties in so closely to the one of decay