Walking in Snow shoes.

[cidermaid]

Please note this is a mentoring project (Under TOMH). We have decided to move the thread into a workshop enviroment as part of the mentoring process. It will be moved back to "Milo's forum" after spending some time in the workshop. My appreciation to anyone who might choose to contribute or comment.

Edit.

I feel the imperfections,
ions in each unique wood flake,
aching under silent fields of snow;
onerous gram weighted peeks and troughs.

Offers of pristine carbon dated sheets
eat at tired thoughts that slide,
idle in freefall, foot prepped they stretch;
etched clouds of sun-downing starlings.

Lingering they cling; half formed ideas,
earless dreary droplets on bare branches.
Essence starved, highly metalled, they drip
rippled dross that cools on the un-tilled field.

Eldritch forces shield the pressed perfection,
on which fragments of calm collide and splinter.
Terse aborted concepts leap sky-born,
ornate in flight they swirl in flightless flocks.

Oxygen boosted the fledglings flee,
easing off the aborted roost; a reflective river
verse that swirls in random bursts of unborn images,
gestated under a clouded sun-lit canopy.

Peels of thoughts switch and swoop low;
own the virgin field of snow, by virtue of a kiss.
Issues melt, the fluid thought compacts,
acts upon a single, graphite drop and falls.

Alternate climatic creative waves; twice
ice hard dead upon the page are left unread.
Edited, the final decent is progressive and smooth;
the imperfections are covered and soothed.


Original

I feel the imperfections;
each a unique ‘Snow-flake’,
of gram weighted troughs and ridge tops
on pristine, carbon dated sheets.
My tired thoughts seek to settle and roost
like a cloud of sun-downing starlings.

Each bare branched idea
clings, half formed to the tip
of a bonsai tree. Whilst slips of chaos,
drip cooling molten dross
on the un-tilled fields of pressed perfection;
splintering the compressed calm of my mind.

Startled concepts leap sky-borne.
In sightless swirling flocks
they flee the blotched approach;
fledglings on a maiden flight
that quicly merge and coalesce. Birthed
in rivers of delight, the image forms and grows.

Swooping low to kiss a virgin field of snow,
the fluid thought compacts
into a single, graphite coloured flow.
Twice, the creative wave reaches a climax
and falls as if dead upon an un-read page.
The final decent is decisive and smooth.

The imperfections are covered and soothed.

---

A couple of quick comments.

'Snow-flake' is a brand of wood shavings sold in the Uk. Please comment if this is too abstract or makes the line in the poem unaccessable.

Secondly, I might be a mod but I am not too proud to earnestly desire the opportunity of having a poem mentored by someone. I am surprised by the slow response to this feature. (Also I figure if i am to be able to offer this to someone else at some point in the future, the best way to learn the art, would be to be tutored in this as a skill).
So if anyone might feel so inclined, I would love to have give this a go. (Is this poem is particularly deserving? - No not really! But just... well why not. For this reason I have posted it perhaps a bit raw off the press.)
I'll leave it here a week before re-posting in a workshop.

(From original post: Small edit made to third line 1st stanza)

[Keith]

I feel the imperfections;
each a unique ‘Snow-flake’,
of gram weighted troughs and ridge tops
on pristine, carbon dated sheets.
My tired thoughts seek to settle and roost
like a cloud of sun-downing starlings.

Each bare branched idea
clings, half formed to the tip
of a bonsai tree. Whilst slips of chaos,
drip cooling molten dross
on the un-tilled fields of pressed perfection;
splintering the compressed calm of my mind.

Startled concepts leap sky-borne.
In sightless swirling flocks
they flee the blotched approach;
fledglings on a maiden flight
that quicly merge and coalesce. Birthed
in rivers of delight, the image forms and grows.

Swooping low to kiss a virgin field of snow,
the fluid thought compacts
into a single, graphite coloured flow.
Twice, the creative wave reaches a climax
and falls as if dead upon an un-read page.
The final decent is decisive and smooth.

The imperfections are covered and soothed.

---

A couple of quick comments.

'Snow-flake' is a brand of wood shavings sold in the Uk. Please comment if this is too abstract or makes the line in the poem unaccessable.

Secondly, I might be a mod but I am not too proud to earnestly desire the opportunity of having a poem mentored by someone. I am surprised by the slow response to this feature. (Also I figure if i am to be able to offer this to someone else at some point in the future, the best way to learn the art, would be to be tutored in this as a skill).
So if anyone might feel so inclined, I would love to have give this a go. (Is this poem is particularly deserving? - No not really! But just... well why not. For this reason I have posted it perhaps a bit raw off the press.)
I'll leave it here a week before re-posting in a workshop.

(From original post: Small edit made to third line 1st stanza)

Hi AJ I'm not sure I'm qualified for this but like you I am interested in the process, so we could try and learn together, with big brother watching of course.

Challenges I see for me and you :-
1. One paragraph is a lot for me to write.
2. I never have enough time so responses could be slow.
3. I have a very limited knowledge of poetry and its workings.

Point three is probably the biggest blocker as the idea of mentoring in a subject I have a limited understanding of is quite daunting.

So all this said, now is the time to say thanks but no thanks. I will understand completely. I have read your poem quite a few times, then a few times more so I'm ready to begin if you agree. Best Keith

[billy]

only just read this thread looking forward to see how it and you progress

[cidermaid]

Hi Keith,
I would love to work with you. Thanks for offering. Like you say, perhaps we can learn together.

Looking forward too getting started. AJ

[Keith]

Great, firstly I think its important for me to say I really enjoyed your poem, but for now I will leave it at that. So then, lets get started.
One approach would be to strip this bare with blunt explanations of each stanza i.e. what you want to tell the reader and the main points you want to put over. I will have my own thoughts that are just that, my own. But we need to have the same understanding for this to go any where. I guess this is a bit weird because we wouldn't normally have people watching, so to speak.

What do you think ? do you feel comfortable with that approach ?

[cidermaid]

More than comfortable -Willing to try anything (poetry related).
will get back with some notes soon.

[cidermaid]

Hi Keith…hope you’re sitting comfortably! (sorry this is a long paragraph)
Initial thought process : I wanted to re-explore the process of the surreal poetry exercise, which in itself had eventually yielded “On the block” which was about the writing process generally…and behind this thought was some inspiration from other poems I had been reading – about snow. This one in particular “Through fields of virgin snow I roam…” by Sergey Alexandrovich Yesenin.
And in particular the first two lines:- Through fields of virgin snow I roam,
Fresh lilies bursting in my heart.
…made me think about the process of writing. (My thoughts being the virgin field of snow was the cold and hostile paper…beautiful in its own right, but soiled once I have defiled it with my marks; and the white lilies, again were beautiful creative thoughts, but with my heart they just get to burst and die because they are trapped there)….so off I trotted back to my poem feeling suitably inspired. (Oh dear! )
So stanza by stanza
Walking in snow shoes. I hate my title. At the time it reflected my total lack of satisfaction with what I had written. (Ie clumsy and lacking in many ways to my mind). But now I don’t like the title because, as Milo would say it feels “faux poetic” and I think it does not add any understanding or depth to the poem.
I feel the imperfections; A direct lift from my previous poem. Wanted the poems to be linked as a pair. In this case I wanted the sense of touch (finger touch) to be brought out.
each a unique ‘Snow-flake’, wanted to be a double link with the image of snow and of wood fibre made into paper. Want the beauty of this to begin to be seen through the image.
of gram weighted troughs and ridge tops running my fingers over the paper with a blind man’s perspective. (Slowly and with care for details) Every least little ripple or lump has meaning and speaks words of individually.
on pristine, carbon dated sheets. Beauty, born from the ages. Linked to the trees.
My tired thoughts seek to settle and roost wanted a jarring effect in these lines. The effect of the joy of fresh fallen snow that someone rushes out to see and enjoy and yet the very act of this defiles the snow. Settle and roost was an unexpected thought that wrote itself which I liked.
like a cloud of sun-downing starlings. …so allowed it to flow on into the next line…And yet there is a form of beauty, it is just set amongst noise and chaos.

Had a huge pause whilst writing here because the poem had taken over…decided the poem was more competent than I …but then changed my mind and this rest of the poem is the result of me trying wrestle control back…but decided at the end that this was what the poem was about so decided to go with the result as it fitted with the surreal origins to my mind.
…so…This next stanza I am winning, but I think the result is ugly. Next stanza, I give up and the poem takes over again. (I like the affect better but what happened to my poem?) Only in stanza 4 do I finally get comfortable with the process and feel I am not fighting with my poem. This was why I posted it for mentoring. I often read the comment “don’t let the poem take over” “you control the poem not the other way round” But had never experienced this before. It was definitely a surreal experience arguing with my own poem!

Each bare branched idea Representing a line of poetry. The rawness and stripped down process before any art is applied. A winter branch,
clings, half formed to the tip Like a last leaf before the darkness of winter has stripped everything away. I cling to any creative thoughts but they seem fragile and as likely to blow away in the wind or crumble to dust.
of a bonsai tree. Whilst slips of chaos, The wrestling continues… bonsai tree = line lifted directly from other poem – my pencil. (also made from trees - that tell lies). Seeking to project an image of confused and formless thoughts.
drip cooling molten dross off the end of the pencil, back to defiling the snow field
on the un-tilled fields of pressed perfection; the blank paper…many of them. The sterile and daunting empty page before you.
splintering the compressed calm of my mind. I am trying to be in a beautiful place, so that I can make beautiful images and instead the poem is causing a lot of anger issues.

Startled concepts leap sky-borne. The flightiness of the creative process. I think I have it and then it is out of reach.
In sightless swirling flocks The way that the shape of thoughts is made in the mind from out of no-where and they seem to grow and take form, unconnected and unprompted by whatever you are doing at the time. The unconscious mind.
they flee the blotched approach; the frustration of trying to hard to be a poet, the more you try the worse it gets. You cannot force the write it has to come naturally.
fledglings on a maiden flight but just as you are ready to give up it begins to take shape before your eyes and without any effort on your part.
that quickly merge and coalesce. Birthed
in rivers of delight, the image forms and grows. The joy of writing and the creative process in general.

Swooping low to kiss a virgin field of snow, an image of lightness of touch and beauty. The simplicity and rush of finding your muse and embracing your first love. (of writing)
the fluid thought compacts
into a single, graphite coloured flow. Being in the zone 
Twice, the creative wave reaches a climax
and falls as if dead upon an un-read page. The editing proesss.
The final decent is decisive and smooth. The final edit

The imperfections are covered and soothed. The poem was right! The image of starlings coming in for an evening roost is a far more interesting one as a metaphor for the creative process. (The paper and pencil are just tools).

---

So the poem is just a draft I have made no attempt to look at metre or structure. As I said when first posted I wanted to explore the mentoring process. I have a question in my mind about this idea of how a poem is formed after writing this one.

[Keith]

AJ Thank you for the detailed explanations, I now have the same basis as you with my understanding of how this was constructed and the aim of your piece.

I have highlighted some key words in your text that I believe allow the reader to keep place and a basic understanding of your theme whilst still absorb the beauty of your lines and images.

Since each stanza is based on a clear idea and theme, I would suggest that we take it two at a time. For the moment I suggest we park the title, unless you want to use it to link to your other poem instead of using your opening line?

I feel the imperfections;
each a unique ‘Snow-flake’,
of gram weighted troughs and ridge tops
on pristine, carbon dated sheets.
My tired thoughts seek to settle and roost
like a cloud of sun-downing starlings.

Each bare branched idea
clings, half formed to the tip
of a bonsai tree. Whilst slips of chaos,
drip cooling molten dross
on the un-tilled fields of pressed perfection;
splintering the compressed calm of my mind.


Some feedback S1 and 2
I probably should not be doing this as part of the process but hey I'm learning.
At the moment some of your ideas are unclear to me as a reader, the title is miss leading and the double use of snow flake is lost unless you know the brand and many won't. S1 L5&6 I thought to be an inspired way to say you needed to rest from the poem but your explanation has thrown me. Fields of pressed perfection made me think of apples. Molten dross sounds out of place in snow.

So S1&2
I feel the imperfections; Link, Touch,
each a unique ‘Snow-flake’, Snow, wood fibre, Paper, pure beauty.
of gram weighted troughs and ridge tops A micro view, blind mans touch, hands on paper, want the perfect lines. on pristine, carbon dated sheets. Beauty, old, link trees
My tired thoughts seek to settle and roost
like a cloud of sun-downing starlings. running into fresh snow to realise you have just spoiled it.


Each bare branched idea line of poetry ready for growth
clings, half formed to the tip fragile creative thoughts
of a bonsai tree. Whilst slips of chaos,
drip cooling molten dross struggle, wreck the clean page
on the un-tilled fields of pressed perfection; blank pages, daunting
splintering the compressed calm of my mind. anger breaks the beauty


I would ask you to:-
1. Take each line, think of what you have said you want to put across and make sure it does it.
2. Try a different way to say the same things
3. Only make small changes if you feel they are required or an improvement.

Lets try this, see if it works, if it does we can do the next two stanzas, if it doesn't we can try a different approach.

[milo]

just poking my head in to say I am loving what you guys are doing here, it is fun and informative for us all.

[cidermaid]

Thanks for the encouragment Milo

Brilliant breakdown Keith and some great mentoring suggestions. I will take a day or two to think about these processes and see what i come up with.
AJ.

[cidermaid]

Editing notes.
The title I will leave for now because I can’t work out what direction the final poem will be at this stage so finding putting a descriptive label on it just confusing.
Stanza 1. Re-focused aim:- to link the idea of snow (as the blank medium ) that invites conquest and creative flow. Beautiful in its own right and yet sterile and hostile. (I like the idea that a mountain climber has to ascend a summit just because it is there. A pole has to be reached and conquered… a blank page has to be written or painted on. I think all of this was in my original thinking somewhere).

Stage 1. (Tried to apply myself to what was asked…didn’t think this was working in that I did not feel any improvement or new freedom in my expression – I had new words added in but it still felt a bit dead).

I feel the imperfections;
gram weighted ridges and troughs.
Unique snow flakes, each obliquely
placed in pristine carbon dated sheets.
Tired thoughts seek a foothold to settle and roost
like clouds of sun-downing starlings.

Stage 2…took your suggestion a step further (played pick-up-sticks with the words and just let my mind say what I wanted with no reference to style, form or poetic art). After which I applied the same technique and picked out the key words (as I saw them).

I feel the fresh snow field, Feel, snow field
laden with unique imperfections unique
gram weighted peeks and troughs. gram
Pristine carbon dated sheets Pristine,sheets
obliquely near complete. Obliquely.
My tired thoughts seek to settle and roost; tired, thoughts, roost
a cloud of sun-downing starlings. Cloud, starlings
Denied a foothold they slide on by. Denied, slide


Stage 3. Tried to draw the two stages back into some semblance of a cohesive stanza, without loosing the intent of the words. (words in italics my poem story that I wanted to tell)

I feel the imperfections, I’m feeling my way as I get connected with my environment
each a unique wood flake Pleasure, natural beauty, the draw
in silent snow fields …but smothering and cold – inhospitable, a vast area.
of gram weighted peeks and troughs. more intimate inspection, like a blind man feeling my way
Pristine carbon dated sheets, and find aged perfection multiplied …that rejects alteration
obliquely near complete. It’s being deliberately bloody difficult just for the sake of it!
Tired thoughts try to settle and roost, The effort of the creation – the need to bring it home.
like a cloud of sun-downing starlings, Something I can’t get hold of, out of reach, flighty.
denied a foothold they slide on by. Blocked and diverted.


Hi Keith, I think carried out your suggested work plan. But only managed to get stanza one done so far. A bit of a slow worker. I think I have made progress in terms of expressing what i really wanted to say.
Meanwhile i am a little twitchy about thinking fo form (if any) before I go too far with this. Any ideas.

[Keith]

Editing notes.
The title I will leave for now because I can’t work out what direction the final poem will be at this stage so finding putting a descriptive label on it just confusing.
Stanza 1. Re-focused aim:- to link the idea of snow (as the blank medium ) that invites conquest and creative flow. Beautiful in its own right and yet sterile and hostile. (I like the idea that a mountain climber has to ascend a summit just because it is there. A pole has to be reached and conquered… a blank page has to be written or painted on. I think all of this was in my original thinking somewhere).

Stage 1. (Tried to apply myself to what was asked…didn’t think this was working in that I did not feel any improvement or new freedom in my expression – I had new words added in but it still felt a bit dead).

I feel the imperfections;
gram weighted ridges and troughs.
Unique snow flakes, each obliquely
placed in pristine carbon dated sheets.
Tired thoughts seek a foothold to settle and roost
like clouds of sun-downing starlings.

Stage 2…took your suggestion a step further (played pick-up-sticks with the words and just let my mind say what I wanted with no reference to style, form or poetic art). After which I applied the same technique and picked out the key words (as I saw them).

I feel the fresh snow field, Feel, snow field
laden with unique imperfections unique
gram weighted peeks and troughs. gram
Pristine carbon dated sheets Pristine,sheets
obliquely near complete. Obliquely.
My tired thoughts seek to settle and roost; tired, thoughts, roost
a cloud of sun-downing starlings. Cloud, starlings
Denied a foothold they slide on by. Denied, slide


Stage 3. Tried to draw the two stages back into some semblance of a cohesive stanza, without loosing the intent of the words. (words in italics my poem story that I wanted to tell)

I feel the imperfections, I’m feeling my way as I get connected with my environment
each a unique wood flake Pleasure, natural beauty, the draw
in silent snow fields …but smothering and cold – inhospitable, a vast area.
of gram weighted peeks and troughs. more intimate inspection, like a blind man feeling my way
Pristine carbon dated sheets, and find aged perfection multiplied …that rejects alteration
obliquely near complete. It’s being deliberately bloody difficult just for the sake of it!
Tired thoughts try to settle and roost, The effort of the creation – the need to bring it home.
like a cloud of sun-downing starlings, Something I can’t get hold of, out of reach, flighty.
denied a foothold they slide on by. Blocked and diverted.


Hi Keith, I think carried out your suggested work plan. But only managed to get stanza one done so far. A bit of a slow worker. I think I have made progress in terms of expressing what i really wanted to say.
Meanwhile i am a little twitchy about thinking fo form (if any) before I go too far with this. Any ideas.

Hi AJ great to see this developing the way it has and its really interesting and helpful to see your thought process laid out like his. Free verse seems to fit and it would be a big departure if you want to introduce a fixed meter or rhyme. Another option would be to use more alliteration or mix it up with end of line rhymes picking up the start of the next line like in a Conchalonn, I think that's what it's called

So lets stick with the fist stanza and by way of an example of what I mean and that's all it is. It's not a suggestion on what I think you should write, that is up to you and your 3rd iteration of S1 looks pretty solid to me. So as I said by way of an example


for example:-
I feel the imperfections,
flakes of wood fall unique,
silent in deep snow fields,
gram weighted troughs and peeks.
Sheets, pristine and carbon dated,
obliquely near complete.
Thoughts try to settle and roost,
clouds of sun-down starlings,
denied a foothold as they slide.

I hope this makes some sense

[cidermaid]

Editing notes

Stage one – an attempt to turn into a Conchalonn and add some alliteration / assonance. Initially I did not think it would work as an idea…now I am thinking so far so good, (great suggestion as an exercise in development by the way – actually quite inspired I think). At the moment I’m not sure if it would become a little tedious by the end of a longer poem….not sure if I can maintain this much creativity(…but then as a concept even this works, as the basic story line is the creative process of writing a poem ). Also think that perhaps the poem is taking over (again) because of what for me are filler words just to fit the form; so in keeping with the exercises to date perhaps this would be a miss but would value your input on these thoughts. I think I think too much !

(Just about to start playing around with the end rhyme ideas to see how they play…will be back after Monday - busy weekend – have a great weekend yourself AJ.)

I feel the imperfections,
ions in each unique wood flake,
aching under silent fields of snow;
onerous gram weighted peeks and troughs.

Offers of pristine carbon dated sheets
eat at my tired thoughts that slide,
idle in freefall past denied feet.
Metered images stretch like sun-downing starlings.

(Don’t like the last line in this but struggling with my second “eet” sound might need to change the line above. Wanted : -etched images).

[Keith]

Editing notes

Stage one – an attempt to turn into a Conchalonn and add some alliteration / assonance. Initially I did not think it would work as an idea…now I am thinking so far so good, (great suggestion as an exercise in development by the way – actually quite inspired I think). At the moment I’m not sure if it would become a little tedious by the end of a longer poem….not sure if I can maintain this much creativity(…but then as a concept even this works, as the basic story line is the creative process of writing a poem ). Also think that perhaps the poem is taking over (again) because of what for me are filler words just to fit the form; so in keeping with the exercises to date perhaps this would be a miss but would value your input on these thoughts. I think I think too much !

(Just about to start playing around with the end rhyme ideas to see how they play…will be back after Monday - busy weekend – have a great weekend yourself AJ.)

I feel the imperfections,
ions in each unique wood flake,
aching under silent fields of snow;
onerous gram weighted peeks and troughs.

Offers of pristine carbon dated sheets
eat at my tired thoughts that slide,
idle in freefall past denied feet.
Metered images stretch like sun-downing starlings.

(Don’t like the last line in this but struggling with my second “eet” sound might need to change the line above. Wanted : -etched images).

Thanks AJ hope you had a good weekend, This is looking really good, I must admit I wasn't sure if it was achievable but you are looking strong so carry on. I would say based on the evidence try and finish the Conchalonn then take stock of what you have achieved thus far.

How does this sound ? only a suggestion

Offers of pristine carbon dated sheets
eat at my tired thoughts that slide,
idle in freefall ready to settle and stretch,
etch a cloud of sun-downing starlings.

Thanks. Keith

[Todd]

I really appreciate the work you two are doing here. It's a great example for everyone. I appreciate the willingness to risk on both your parts.

Great Job! I like following the process.

[cidermaid]

Thanks Todd.

Hi Keith,
Your advise has been spot on and really helpful. To re-work the whole poem, I think I might be "gone for some time" so I hope you can have some time to spend on your own recent post. (At least a week before i am back) Thanks for everything AJ.

[Keith]

Thanks Todd.

Hi Keith,
Your advise has been spot on and really helpful. To re-work the whole poem, I think I might be "gone for some time" so I hope you can have some time to spend on your own recent post. (At least a week before i am back) Thanks for everything AJ.

Thanks to Todd and Milo for the encouragement so far. I hope we are not straying too far from what is expected.

AJ Thanks for putting up with my ramblings so far, I will be very happy to carry on whenever you are ready. Best Keith

[billy]

lookin good guys. it's great to see how other peoples minds work :J:

[cidermaid]

Editing notes.
Here's my first pass at turning the whole into a conchalonn. Not totally happy with some of my connecting rhyme sounds. Also as I feared it seems to have grown somewhat and I am struggling to see where I can edit without loosing the integrity of what i wanted to say. So for now I am happy that i think I have captured my original thought / idea to write a poem about the process and struggles of writing a poem and that i have taken control over some of the images that the poem was writing and kept my snow field & climber images balanced with my starlings at sunset images. I be interested to hear your thoughts on this new direction as it is quite a departure from the original in places.

I feel the imperfections,
ions in each unique wood flake,
aching under silent fields of snow;
onerous gram weighted peeks and troughs.

Offers of pristine carbon dated sheets
eat at tired thoughts that slide,
idle in freefall, foot prepped they stretch;
etched clouds of sun-downing starlings.

Lingering they cling; half formed ideas,
earless dreary droplets on bare branches.
Essence starved, highly metalled, they drip
rippled dross that cools on the un-tilled field.

Eldritch forces shield the pressed perfection,
on which fragments of calm collide and splinter.
Terse aborted concepts leap sky-born,
ornate in flight they swirl in flightless flocks.

Oxygen boosted the fledglings flee,
easing off the aborted roost; a reflective river
verse that swirls in random bursts of unborn images,
gestated under a clouded sun-lit canopy.

Peels of thoughts switch and swoop low;
own the virgin field of snow, by virtue of a kiss.
Issues melt, the fluid thought compacts,
acts upon a single, graphite drop and falls.

Alternate climatic creative waves; twice
ice hard dead upon the page are left unread.
Edited, the final decent is progressive and smooth;
the imperfections are covered and soothed.

[Keith]

Editing notes.
Here's my first pass at turning the whole into a conchalonn. Not totally happy with some of my connecting rhyme sounds. Also as I feared it seems to have grown somewhat and I am struggling to see where I can edit without loosing the integrity of what i wanted to say. So for now I am happy that i think I have captured my original thought / idea to write a poem about the process and struggles of writing a poem and that i have taken control over some of the images that the poem was writing and kept my snow field & climber images balanced with my starlings at sunset images. I be interested to hear your thoughts on this new direction as it is quite a departure from the original in places.

I feel the imperfections,
ions in each unique wood flake,
aching under silent fields of snow;
onerous gram weighted peeks and troughs.

Offers of pristine carbon dated sheets
eat at tired thoughts that slide,
idle in freefall, foot prepped they stretch;
etched clouds of sun-downing starlings.

Lingering they cling; half formed ideas,
earless dreary droplets on bare branches.
Essence starved, highly metalled, they drip
rippled dross that cools on the un-tilled field.

Eldritch forces shield the pressed perfection,
on which fragments of calm collide and splinter.
Terse aborted concepts leap sky-born,
ornate in flight they swirl in flightless flocks.

Oxygen boosted the fledglings flee,
easing off the aborted roost; a reflective river
verse that swirls in random bursts of unborn images,
gestated under a clouded sun-lit canopy.

Peels of thoughts switch and swoop low;
own the virgin field of snow, by virtue of a kiss.
Issues melt, the fluid thought compacts,
acts upon a single, graphite drop and falls.

Alternate climatic creative waves; twice
ice hard dead upon the page are left unread.
Edited, the final decent is progressive and smooth;
the imperfections are covered and soothed.

Flippin eke AJ, you've been busy. I think you have done a fantastic job on this and to get here from the original is quite an achievement. Dare I suggest you next move would be to step back and put it up in the workshop. I'm not sure if that's what you wanted but it would be good to get some feedback at this point from some other readers. We can reconvene once you have the results and discuss next steps. Great job so far. I will comment with others or on my own if you decide not to workshop. Keith