02-18-2014, 03:13 AM
(Could I have this moved to the novice forum for a more in-depth critique?)
I decided on the persona for this poem, see if you can guess what it is:
Winter's Anger, First Edit
I was out gathering wood in the pale sunlight
Of winter, then I saw a bloody form in the white
Yes, I found a lump misshapen.
I gave it a thump
And uncovered the bump;
Just a rabbit, a coney, a lapin.
I knew it had frozen to death
From the cruel winter's breath,
Unable to make it home.
While I with my coat
And plenty of hope
Back to my hearth did roam.
'Twas there in my cabin I saw the rabbit--
Or a spirit, the creature thereof.
I nearly jumped from my boots
At the sight in the room,
And the spirit disappeared, in a puff.
I rubbed at my eyes,
Shocked and surprised,
For the death was no fault of mine.
Left not knowing what to think
Fearing my sanity was over the brink,
I pondered and wondered, "For what crime?"
With trembling limbs I crept into bed
And slowly, so slowly, rested my head;
Fear cowered over me like snow.
I awoke to the cold,
And never less bold,
I found that I could not go.
The fire in its place did fade
Yet within my hut I stayed;
The rabbit, again, was there.
It munched on a carrot
Though frozen and hairless
Such a spectre, sad and sere.
The loathsome creature blocked the door
And I heard the angry wind roar
As my cabin shook in the fury of the storm.
When at last the blizzard abated
And when at last the foul spirit had faded
Crushed by a tree, my front porch lie forlorn.
Were it not for the spectre, I would be dead
And my tale here would never be read.
But was it real, or merely a vision?
Each day I leave a carrot on a stone
And by the next morning, behold, it is gone;
I had survived winter's anger arisen.
Original
I'm not really all that comfortable with sharing my poems, and I'm kind of afraid to find out just how bad I am, but here goes nothing:
Winter's Anger
One day I walked a trudging through the snow
The temperature outside at twenty below,
When I spied a lump mishapen.
I gave it a thump
And uncovered the bump;
A rabbit, a coney, a lapin.
It had frozen to death
From the cruel winter's breath,
Unable to make it home.
While I with my coat
And plenty of hope
To my hearth did roam.
'Twas there in the cabin
I saw the rabbit,
Or a spirit, the creature thereof.
I nearly jumped from my boots
At the sight in the room--
The spectre disapeared in a puff.
I rubbed at my eyes,
Shocked and surprised,
For the death was no fault of mine.
No, it was a warning,
For the next morning
As I found out in time.
With trembling limbs I crept into bed
And slowly, so slowly, rested my head;
Fear cowered over me like snow.
I awoke to the cold,
And never less bold,
I found that I could not go.
The fire in its place did fade
Yet within my hut I stayed;
The rabbit, again, was there.
It munched on a carrot
Though frozen and hairless
Such a spectre, sad and sere.
The loathsome creature blocked the door
And I heard the angry wind roar
As my cabin shook in the cold winter's day.
When at last it abated
And when the rabbit had faded
A tree on my woodshed did lay.
Were it not for the spectre, I would be dead
And my tale here would never be read.
But was it real, or merely a vision?
Each day I leave a carrot on a stone
And by the next morning, behold, it is gone;
I had survived winter's anger arisen.
(P.S. Please tell me about any spelling errors, spellcheck doesn't seem to work in Mozilla Firefox. Thanks!)
I decided on the persona for this poem, see if you can guess what it is:
Winter's Anger, First Edit
I was out gathering wood in the pale sunlight
Of winter, then I saw a bloody form in the white
Yes, I found a lump misshapen.
I gave it a thump
And uncovered the bump;
Just a rabbit, a coney, a lapin.
I knew it had frozen to death
From the cruel winter's breath,
Unable to make it home.
While I with my coat
And plenty of hope
Back to my hearth did roam.
'Twas there in my cabin I saw the rabbit--
Or a spirit, the creature thereof.
I nearly jumped from my boots
At the sight in the room,
And the spirit disappeared, in a puff.
I rubbed at my eyes,
Shocked and surprised,
For the death was no fault of mine.
Left not knowing what to think
Fearing my sanity was over the brink,
I pondered and wondered, "For what crime?"
With trembling limbs I crept into bed
And slowly, so slowly, rested my head;
Fear cowered over me like snow.
I awoke to the cold,
And never less bold,
I found that I could not go.
The fire in its place did fade
Yet within my hut I stayed;
The rabbit, again, was there.
It munched on a carrot
Though frozen and hairless
Such a spectre, sad and sere.
The loathsome creature blocked the door
And I heard the angry wind roar
As my cabin shook in the fury of the storm.
When at last the blizzard abated
And when at last the foul spirit had faded
Crushed by a tree, my front porch lie forlorn.
Were it not for the spectre, I would be dead
And my tale here would never be read.
But was it real, or merely a vision?
Each day I leave a carrot on a stone
And by the next morning, behold, it is gone;
I had survived winter's anger arisen.
Original
I'm not really all that comfortable with sharing my poems, and I'm kind of afraid to find out just how bad I am, but here goes nothing:
Winter's Anger
One day I walked a trudging through the snow
The temperature outside at twenty below,
When I spied a lump mishapen.
I gave it a thump
And uncovered the bump;
A rabbit, a coney, a lapin.
It had frozen to death
From the cruel winter's breath,
Unable to make it home.
While I with my coat
And plenty of hope
To my hearth did roam.
'Twas there in the cabin
I saw the rabbit,
Or a spirit, the creature thereof.
I nearly jumped from my boots
At the sight in the room--
The spectre disapeared in a puff.
I rubbed at my eyes,
Shocked and surprised,
For the death was no fault of mine.
No, it was a warning,
For the next morning
As I found out in time.
With trembling limbs I crept into bed
And slowly, so slowly, rested my head;
Fear cowered over me like snow.
I awoke to the cold,
And never less bold,
I found that I could not go.
The fire in its place did fade
Yet within my hut I stayed;
The rabbit, again, was there.
It munched on a carrot
Though frozen and hairless
Such a spectre, sad and sere.
The loathsome creature blocked the door
And I heard the angry wind roar
As my cabin shook in the cold winter's day.
When at last it abated
And when the rabbit had faded
A tree on my woodshed did lay.
Were it not for the spectre, I would be dead
And my tale here would never be read.
But was it real, or merely a vision?
Each day I leave a carrot on a stone
And by the next morning, behold, it is gone;
I had survived winter's anger arisen.
(P.S. Please tell me about any spelling errors, spellcheck doesn't seem to work in Mozilla Firefox. Thanks!)
*Warning: blatant tomfoolery above this line
