10-11-2019, 10:52 PM
Before I get into the revision, just a housekeeping note (in general revisions are better done as edits placed above the original poems. Otherwise, people may not read your thread and will keep commenting on the original version. You could also rename the title adding Revison, Rev, or Rev 1 to the end (or some such). Then you could post a note that you've done a revision to bump the thread.
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Well, that was much improved. And sadly all revisions do not result in immediate improvement. This one did though. A few thoughts on this pass:
Todd
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Well, that was much improved. And sadly all revisions do not result in immediate improvement. This one did though. A few thoughts on this pass:
(10-11-2019, 10:04 AM)jt_lewis Wrote: Finding Solace in a Wood (rewrite 1)Best,
Ambling a forest path, soft earth --I like the pacing of these longer lines.
beneath his feet. Winding past
ancient trees. Tawny buck, branching antlers,
crossing the trail. Frozen
for a moment, then gone.
Picking a berry, spot of blood—Prickly vine,--some really nice choices with tawny and branching above and spot of blood especially.
but sweet,
purple black and juicy.
Beyond some pines he spies a lake,
crystal blue, and longing for its cleansing chill, he—
He stumbles.
Shackles fling him to the ground.
Imprisoned.
Here the master dictates.
Reality is found at the end of a whip.--You could cut found at if you wanted to
Loads
and heavy labor are now his lot.
Captive.
Worn to devastation.--This is a bit too melodramatic for me. It may work better with an image.
Living a life behind his eyes.
The forest, an assuaging lie.
In twilight he dines meager dole— --It feels like you might need an "on" here before meager.
beans and rice.
Over tinkling chain on chains
and the muted groans of tired men, --for parallel structure with the above you might want to cut "the"
under the first stars of the coming night,
a hoot owl calls.
…and longing for its cleansing chill, he—leaps,
gasping at the shock of cool, clear water.
He swims with strength unknown in years.
Plunging deep into the lake,
water embraces,
and he accepts its grasp
as freedom.--Just a thought , you might be better served cutting this line and ending with a bit of ambiguity.
Todd
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson
