Flight

[milo]

It is the lie of birds that you need wings,
the lie of time that gravity
brings you to the ground, presses
like a pillow against your face;
soft, unbreakable.

The clouds of summer call
like cold salt-cream, but wait
till autumn forms
as long striated runways in the sky,
then climb

higher than the jealous, root-bound
trees can stretch their branches,
hooked and bare like knuckled grasps.
Go to where the cliffs tower,
where the sea crashes far below and mists
up in a howl of billows, the pale blue
of a loose night shirt.

Link arms and dive
upwards till the sound of surf,
breaking bones on rocks,
dissolves in white-noise static.
Twist through the clouds
in their spectre-gray grave linens
to where the oxygen is rare
spun candy on your tongue,
cast off earth-heavy thoughts,
close your eyes
and fly.

[danny_]

this is really nice, milo. so many senses, vivid and present writing.

It is the lie of birds - that you need wings, i'm not sure you should mention this 'lie', unless you want to tie it in again at the end, perhaps. you sort of did with 'and fly', actually, as that really ties it off with the fact one can fly despite this lie. but.. maybe consider the opening emphasis you made with this lie and then kind of left it after that.
the lie of time that gravity
brings you to the ground, presses
like a pillow against your face;
soft, unbreakable. it's probably just me, but i'm not sure why this lie of gravity has the positive aspects of being soft like a pillow, when this poem really just wants to fly.

The clouds of summer call
like cold salt-cream, but wait - not sure why but i like that cold salt-cream, really works for me. not sure about this dashes
till autumn forms
as long striated runways in the sky, nice vision of those clouds that run in lines
then climb

higher than the the jealous, root-bound
trees can stretch their branches,
hooked and bare like knuckled grasps.
Go to where the cliffs tower, all of this stuff is good but the "go to" now is a little stumbling for me. maybe just needs a little clarity.
where the sea crashes far below and mists
up in a howl of billows, the pale blue
of a loose night shirt.

Link arms and dive
upwards till the sound of surf,
breaking bones on rocks,
dissolves in white-noise static. maybe just white-noise, no static.
Twist through the clouds
in their spectre-gray grave linens maybe just spectre-gray linens, as spectre already indicates the dead
to where the oxygen is rare
spun candy on your tongue, interesting... a stretch, almost odd, but i can sense how sweet the scarce oxygen may be
cast off earth-heavy thoughts,
close your eyes
and fly.

fun read, thank you, i've only done my best from my limited poetic experience to critique, but those are my honest reflections.

[Erthona]

It is the lie of birds - that you need wings, (for me the hyphen gets in the way, I don't think you need it)
the lie of time that gravity
brings you to the ground, presses ("wings" "brings" is a nice internal rhyme. Shouldn't presses be pressing?)
like a pillow against your face;
soft, unbreakable. (Rhythmically I could go with an "and" between "soft, unbreakable")

The clouds of summer call (As you are personifying clouds, I think you could drop the direct article for greater emphasis)
like cold salt-cream, but wait - (Again, I don't think the hyphen is doing what you think it is. Another nice internal rhyme with "wait" and "striated")
till autumn forms
as long striated runways in the sky, (It's possible that a more organic approach would work better here, something like "wrinkled".)
then climb (breaking this here only made me have to go back and read it again, I don't get the point)

higher than the the jealous, root-bound (earth-bound, they cannot be root bound in the sense you are meaning it, root-bound is a term used when plants are basically suffocating themselves because they have not been re-potted into a large pot)
trees can stretch their branches,
hooked and bare like knuckled grasps.
Go to where the cliffs tower,
where the sea crashes far below and mists (grasps-crashes, again nice internal rhyme)
up in a howl of billows, the pale blue (I'm all for terseness, but "mist up" needs more support. Maybe "and the mist billows up"?)
of a loose night shirt. (whatever you are trying to image here, it passes me by)

Link arms and dive (I'm not sure how one "dives upward" plus I have no idea whose arms are being linked )
upwards till the sound of surf,
breaking bones on rocks, (whose bones?)
dissolves in white-noise static.
Twist through the clouds (beginning this sentence with a dependent clause seems problematic, maybe "we/they twist"?)
in their spectre-gray grave linens ( maybe drop the "gray" and go with spectral, or maybe "ghost-gray grave" for some extra alliteration. I don't know, it just reads odd to me)
to where the oxygen is rare (although factual, the phrase is a bit overused. What it literally means is where there is little air and so one would pass out. It only makes sense in its idiomatic form, which means to "clear my thoughts", or "the elite". which is a bit cliche)
spun candy on your tongue, (I have no idea what this refers to, but I like the image)
cast off earth-heavy thoughts,
close your eyes
and fly.

Overall, this has some nice images, but maybe lacking some in substance:

Birds lie. Say we need wings. But we can fly in our imagination. Use it to fly into bliss/joy.
Sky=joy/happiness/serenity. The earth=negative/depressive thoughts.

Overall the main problem for me was the introduction of subject on which no background was given e.g.:

"of surf, breaking bones on rocks,"

Whose bones? Were the people whom the speaker was addressing? Had they let their body fall when climbing into the sky, or are they metaphorical bones, where bones=heavy depressive thoughts. The first makes little sense unless you are advocating suicide, and one has to guess a lot to come up with bones as metaphor, at least that's my take.

Dale

[crow]

--note, the title should be "Fly".

Milo,

I think I get it. Here's the thesis as I understand it: freedom, and its accompanying emotional state, are available to everyone. The aesthetic is contrasts. So we get, as proofs of our freedom, images of breaking bones and the rehearsal of freedom's classic symbols. We also get a denigration if those symbols, such that birds are liars, such that, by implication, we're actually freer than birds.

Finally, there is pulsating in the work the idea that freedom is mandatory. If, for instance, the birds are right, that you *need* wings, then freedom is mandatory.

If all that's so, I would suggest the following revisions:

It is the lie of birds that you need wings;
the lie of time that gravity
brings you to the ground, presses
like a pillow against your face;
soft, unbreakable.

--sub "suffocating" for unbreakable

[Summer clouds beckon]
like cold salt-cream[. B]ut wait
[til] autumn forms
[out: as] long[,] striated runways in the sky[.]
[T]hen climb

higher than the [out: "the"] jealous, root[ed]
trees can stretch their branches,
hooked and bare[-knuckled, graspingly].
[Fly] to tower[ing cliffs],
where the sea crashes far below and mists
up in howl[ing] billows, pale blue
[like] a loose nightshirt.

Link arms and dive
upward[no "s"] [til] the sound of surf,
breaking bones on rocks,
--the sound isn't breaking bones
dissolves in white-noise static.
--white noise and static are redundant
Twist through the clouds
in their spectre-gray grave linens
--???
to where the oxygen is rare
--???
spun candy on your tongue,
--???
cast off earth-heavy thoughts,
close your eyes[,]
and fly.

--the narrative suggestion is: don't listen to birds or gravity, but jump from a cliff. Just posing it that way in case it's interesting to you.

[Todd]

Hi milo,

It's good to read you again. Some comments for you.

Immediate takeaways, I appreciated the sonics. The consonance of the gr and then pr sounds. The imagery throughout moving up and down blending with the title and the theme. Some line notes:

It is the lie of birds - that you need wings,--I'm assuming that's supposed to be an em dash instead of a hyphen. I think i prefer the line without it. I get the effect it gives you in the speaker's tone. I worry that the pause detracts from a solid first line.
the lie of time that gravity--I enjoy this thought. It's sort of like Nick Flynn's idea in his Cartoon Physics part I poem. We suspend in the air before time in this case not gravity reveals the error. Nice layering of concerts great word to break on.
brings you to the ground, presses
like a pillow against your face;--great image for gravity, in the feel of it and in its fatality in this instance
soft, unbreakable.--solid end word, giving a slight lie to the speaker's argument alluding to gravity being a unbreakable law

The clouds of summer call--the last strophe seemed to lay out the proposition. This one from its content and end words seem to the speaker drawing courage and maybe even reconnecting with childhood daydreams
like cold salt-cream, but wait ---I like cold salt-cream for its phrasing. This is the childhood angle I hit on along with the previous line. Is this homemade ice cream?
till autumn forms
as long striated runways in the sky,--gorgeous phrasing and imagery
then climb--what a great strophe break and continuation

higher than the the jealous, root-bound
trees can stretch their branches,
hooked and bare like knuckled grasps.--solid image with the trees. They reach but even they aren't free. I like the word play that almost says bare knuckled implying subtly a fight
Go to where the cliffs tower,
where the sea crashes far below and mists
up in a howl of billows, the pale blue
of a loose night shirt.--the nature imagery is nice for its sense of movement, but it's the shirt which really works. Not just for how it shows the sea spray but how it implies the speaker in flight--as if his clothing is rippling in flight.

Link arms and dive--now there's more than one person. This is possibly a metaphor for humanity to unshackle themselves from their preconceived maxims using flight as the conceit
upwards till the sound of surf,
breaking bones on rocks, --good content, not all break free
dissolves in white-noise static.
Twist through the clouds
in their spectre-gray grave linens--love this image
to where the oxygen is rare--while I like this progression, oxygen is just one of those words that feels very modern next to everything else. It may be just my feel of the word. I don't mind just noting it.
spun candy on your tongue,--again great phrasing
cast off earth-heavy thoughts,--I like cast off because it fixes an anchor in my mind. Earth-heavy seems a bit clunky, not in concept but just the feeling that there must be a better choice out there.
close your eyes
and fly.--you have to end with these lines. This is the promised payoff--no complaints here.

I hope some of this will be helpful to you. I enjoyed the read.

Best,

Todd

---

Milo one thing I forget. You have the the on S3 L1.

[milo]

this is really nice, milo. so many senses, vivid and present writing.

It is the lie of birds - that you need wings, i'm not sure you should mention this 'lie', unless you want to tie it in again at the end, perhaps. you sort of did with 'and fly', actually, as that really ties it off with the fact one can fly despite this lie. but.. maybe consider the opening emphasis you made with this lie and then kind of left it after that.
the lie of time that gravity
brings you to the ground, presses
like a pillow against your face;
soft, unbreakable. it's probably just me, but i'm not sure why this lie of gravity has the positive aspects of being soft like a pillow, when this poem really just wants to fly.

The clouds of summer call
like cold salt-cream, but wait - not sure why but i like that cold salt-cream, really works for me. not sure about this dashes
till autumn forms
as long striated runways in the sky, nice vision of those clouds that run in lines
then climb

higher than the the jealous, root-bound
trees can stretch their branches,
hooked and bare like knuckled grasps.
Go to where the cliffs tower, all of this stuff is good but the "go to" now is a little stumbling for me. maybe just needs a little clarity.
where the sea crashes far below and mists
up in a howl of billows, the pale blue
of a loose night shirt.

Link arms and dive
upwards till the sound of surf,
breaking bones on rocks,
dissolves in white-noise static. maybe just white-noise, no static.
Twist through the clouds
in their spectre-gray grave linens maybe just spectre-gray linens, as spectre already indicates the dead
to where the oxygen is rare
spun candy on your tongue, interesting... a stretch, almost odd, but i can sense how sweet the scarce oxygen may be
cast off earth-heavy thoughts,
close your eyes
and fly.

fun read, thank you, i've only done my best from my limited poetic experience to critique, but those are my honest reflections.

Thank you for reading and commenting, Danny. I think you may be correct about the dashes, I am probably removing them.

---

It is the lie of birds - that you need wings, (for me the hyphen gets in the way, I don't think you need it)
the lie of time that gravity
brings you to the ground, presses ("wings" "brings" is a nice internal rhyme. Shouldn't presses be pressing?)

I believe "gravity presses" is correct. I almost always avoid passive voice and participles and "pressing" introduces both.

like a pillow against your face;
soft, unbreakable. (Rhythmically I could go with an "and" between "soft, unbreakable")

the original was, soft /and/ unbreakable. Technically the rhythm is better now (SOFTun BREAKa BUL) but there is a syntactic pause. Perhaps I will revert back for a bit.

The clouds of summer call (As you are personifying clouds, I think you could drop the direct article for greater emphasis)

this isn't really personification in the traditional sense, more like the equivalent of "ice cream calls to me" where "call" acts like entices.

like cold salt-cream, but wait - (Again, I don't think the hyphen is doing what you think it is. Another nice internal rhyme with "wait" and "striated")
till autumn forms
as long striated runways in the sky, (It's possible that a more organic approach would work better here, something like "wrinkled".)
then climb (breaking this here only made me have to go back and read it again, I don't get the point)

The break here serves double duty. The sentence, the stanza and the line - indeed the poem could end on the work climb. The next stanza is a continuation but also a switch to the next part of the poem.

higher than the the jealous, root-bound (earth-bound, they cannot be root bound in the sense you are meaning it, root-bound is a term used when plants are basically suffocating themselves because they have not been re-potted into a large pot)

"earth bound" is ok from a strictly literal sense but isn't as nice sonically or metaphorically. "root bound" trees would like to escape the earth, much like you can, but cannot. Because the earth technically does have more space for roots, it could be considered technically inaccurate, but "earth bound" would sounds rather boring (plus, I use it later). I will have to re-consider this if it is that off-putting.

trees can stretch their branches,
hooked and bare like knuckled grasps.
Go to where the cliffs tower,
where the sea crashes far below and mists (grasps-crashes, again nice internal rhyme)
up in a howl of billows, the pale blue (I'm all for terseness, but "mist up" needs more support. Maybe "and the mist billows up"?)

"mist billows up" once again, was in the original. Not sure why you don't care for "mists up", perhaps too non-violent?

of a loose night shirt. (whatever you are trying to image here, it passes me by)

Link arms and dive (I'm not sure how one "dives upward" plus I have no idea whose arms are being linked )

this is an issue I have been meaning to address. Of course, the "you" for the whole poem is second person plural, but up to this point, readers will assume a second person singular. The sudden shift to an address of all of /you/ is disorienting to some and, it seems, not in the good way I had hoped. Dive upward should be obvious so I am not sure what is giving you problems with that.

upwards till the sound of surf,
breaking bones on rocks, (whose bones?)
dissolves in white-noise static.
Twist through the clouds (beginning this sentence with a dependent clause seems problematic, maybe "we/they twist"?)

"Twist through the clouds" is not a dependent clause and it does not refer to a "we" or a "they". It is simple second person address (command) - ie: eat a peach, bring me a fork, jump in a lake, twist through the clouds, etc.

in their spectre-gray grave linens ( maybe drop the "gray" and go with spectral, or maybe "ghost-gray grave" for some extra alliteration. I don't know, it just reads odd to me)
to where the oxygen is rare (although factual, the phrase is a bit overused. What it literally means is where there is little air and so one would pass out. It only makes sense in its idiomatic form, which means to "clear my thoughts", or "the elite". which is a bit cliche)

I am not sure what this comment means, perhaps you are over-familiar with the expression "oxygen is rare". I am not that familiar with it but if it is cliche I will have to replace it somehow.

spun candy on your tongue, (I have no idea what this refers to, but I like the image)
cast off earth-heavy thoughts,
close your eyes
and fly.


Overall, this has some nice images, but maybe lacking some in substance:

I have run into this comment before and I have to admit it always perplexes me. How do you know when a poem has the exact correct amount of "substance"? I included all the substance that I thought belonged in this poem but I guess it is a delicate balancing act.

Birds lie. Say we need wings. But we can fly in our imagination. Use it to fly into bliss/joy.
Sky=joy/happiness/serenity. The earth=negative/depressive thoughts.

Overall the main problem for me was the introduction of subject on which no background was given e.g.:

"of surf, breaking bones on rocks,"

Whose bones? Were the people whom the speaker was addressing? Had they let their body fall when climbing into the sky, or are they metaphorical bones, where bones=heavy depressive thoughts. The first makes little sense unless you are advocating suicide, and one has to guess a lot to come up with bones as metaphor, at least that's my take.

Dale

As for the bones, it mostly refers to the surf breaking bones on the rocks. I don't think the answer to /whose/ bones is necessary for this poem but I will consider ways I can answer that without being even more obvious.

Thanks for your comments, they have given me much to think about.

---

--note, the title should be "Fly".

Milo,

I think I get it. Here's the thesis as I understand it: freedom, and its accompanying emotional state, are available to everyone. The aesthetic is contrasts. So we get, as proofs of our freedom, images of breaking bones and the rehearsal of freedom's classic symbols. We also get a denigration if those symbols, such that birds are liars, such that, by implication, we're actually freer than birds.

well, that wasn't my literal intention but if it works on that level for you, so much the better

Finally, there is pulsating in the work the idea that freedom is mandatory. If, for instance, the birds are right, that you *need* wings, then freedom is mandatory.

If all that's so, I would suggest the following revisions:

It is the lie of birds that you need wings;
the lie of time that gravity
brings you to the ground, presses
like a pillow against your face;
soft, unbreakable.

--sub "suffocating" for unbreakable

[Summer clouds beckon]
like cold salt-cream[. B]ut wait
[til] autumn forms
[out: as] long[,] striated runways in the sky[.]
[T]hen climb

higher than the [out: "the"] jealous, root[ed]
trees can stretch their branches,
hooked and bare[-knuckled, graspingly].
[Fly] to tower[ing cliffs],
where the sea crashes far below and mists
up in howl[ing] billows, pale blue
[like] a loose nightshirt.

Link arms and dive
upward[no "s"] [til] the sound of surf,
breaking bones on rocks,
--the sound isn't breaking bones
dissolves in white-noise static.
--white noise and static are redundant
Twist through the clouds
in their spectre-gray grave linens
--???
to where the oxygen is rare
--???
spun candy on your tongue,
--???
cast off earth-heavy thoughts,
close your eyes[,]
and fly.

--the narrative suggestion is: don't listen to birds or gravity, but jump from a cliff. Just posing it that way in case it's interesting to you.

you nailed the narrative suggestion exactly. If you truly believe you can fly, maybe you will, but, of course if you read the sub text (breaking bones, grave linens, etc) the poem splits into the "magical thinking" aspect and the literal reality.

Thanks for your comments, I will take them on board.

---

Hi milo,

It's good to read you again. Some comments for you.

Immediate takeaways, I appreciated the sonics. The consonance of the gr and then pr sounds. The imagery throughout moving up and down blending with the title and the theme. Some line notes:

It is the lie of birds - that you need wings,--I'm assuming that's supposed to be an em dash instead of a hyphen. I think i prefer the line without it. I get the effect it gives you in the speaker's tone. I worry that the pause detracts from a solid first line.
the lie of time that gravity--I enjoy this thought. It's sort of like Nick Flynn's idea in his Cartoon Physics part I poem. We suspend in the air before time in this case not gravity reveals the error. Nice layering of concerts great word to break on.
brings you to the ground, presses
like a pillow against your face;--great image for gravity, in the feel of it and in its fatality in this instance
soft, unbreakable.--solid end word, giving a slight lie to the speaker's argument alluding to gravity being a unbreakable law

The clouds of summer call--the last strophe seemed to lay out the proposition. This one from its content and end words seem to the speaker drawing courage and maybe even reconnecting with childhood daydreams
like cold salt-cream, but wait ---I like cold salt-cream for its phrasing. This is the childhood angle I hit on along with the previous line. Is this homemade ice cream?
till autumn forms
as long striated runways in the sky,--gorgeous phrasing and imagery
then climb--what a great strophe break and continuation

higher than the the jealous, root-bound
trees can stretch their branches,
hooked and bare like knuckled grasps.--solid image with the trees. They reach but even they aren't free. I like the word play that almost says bare knuckled implying subtly a fight
Go to where the cliffs tower,
where the sea crashes far below and mists
up in a howl of billows, the pale blue
of a loose night shirt.--the nature imagery is nice for its sense of movement, but it's the shirt which really works. Not just for how it shows the sea spray but how it implies the speaker in flight--as if his clothing is rippling in flight.

Link arms and dive--now there's more than one person. This is possibly a metaphor for humanity to unshackle themselves from their preconceived maxims using flight as the conceit
upwards till the sound of surf,
breaking bones on rocks, --good content, not all break free
dissolves in white-noise static.
Twist through the clouds
in their spectre-gray grave linens--love this image
to where the oxygen is rare--while I like this progression, oxygen is just one of those words that feels very modern next to everything else. It may be just my feel of the word. I don't mind just noting it.
spun candy on your tongue,--again great phrasing
cast off earth-heavy thoughts,--I like cast off because it fixes an anchor in my mind. Earth-heavy seems a bit clunky, not in concept but just the feeling that there must be a better choice out there.
close your eyes
and fly.--you have to end with these lines. This is the promised payoff--no complaints here.

I hope some of this will be helpful to you. I enjoyed the read.

Best,

Todd

---

Milo one thing I forget. You have the the on S3 L1.

Thanks for reading and commenting, Todd. I have removed the typo. I think you may be right about the dashes, it may be time to remove them and try without for a while (inline edit)

You also are the second person to bring to light the confusion brought by switching from revealing the second person plural in negative way so I will have to find a better way to do that.

Regards.

[beaufort]

Lots of room for interpretation on different levels.

I haven't read the other critiques, but this has appeal to me on a psychological and spiritual level, the linking of arms is key to how I read it, as is the diving upward and glimpse of what true freedom could be.

Reminded me of "The Woman Who Walked on Water", a short book by Lily Tuck, which I may reread.

Thanks.

[ellajam]

Hi, milo. I can't put off my critique any longer because I am dying to read all the comments and your responses. Here are a few notes.

It is the lie of birds that you need wings,
the lie of time that gravity
brings you to the ground, presses
like a pillow against your face;
soft, unbreakable.
The first line grabs me and the explanation works, just. I don't think of gravity as so gentle, but it's an interesting idea. Gravity and ground work well with the space between them. The semicolon seems off.

The clouds of summer call
like cold salt-cream, but wait
till autumn forms
as long striated runways in the sky,
then climb
Cold salt-cream and striated runways are lovely. The but seems off, maybe you could drop it if the opening "the" was changed to "though", or something better that you will think of.

higher than the jealous, root-bound
trees can stretch their branches,
hooked and bare like knuckled grasps.
Go to where the cliffs tower,
where the sea crashes far below and mists
up in a howl of billows, the pale blue
of a loose night shirt.
I can't get why knuckled grasps are bare, howl of billows is lovely.

Link arms and dive
upwards till the sound of surf,
breaking bones on rocks,
dissolves in white-noise static.
Twist through the clouds
in their spectre-gray grave linens
to where the oxygen is rare
spun candy on your tongue,
cast off earth-heavy thoughts,
close your eyes
and fly.
I like dive upwards and twist through the clouds. White-static noise is a bit cliche.
I don't think spectre-gray grave linens justifies an exception to avoiding consonant slide. Grave linens are better than shrouds, maybe you can do something about the gray, attaching it to spectre didn't smooth out the sound for me.
I like the oxygen/spun candy, earth-heavy is a bit common.

Thanks for posting this, a consistently enjoyable read. The sonics and the idea suit each other, yes, a flight.

[Truerenigma]

milo I may try and come come back with adequate crit.

I just wanted to say I love the night shirt, and have no problems with the second person address, it makes me feel that I understand the poem and it is speaking to me, but then I read poems very slowly so switch wasn't very jarring.

though I disagree with some of the reasoning behind it, I agree that the article to start s2 should probably go. I see no need for it.

Something about it is compelling: the battle in the subtext between rational and irrational I suppose, and the way it lets the reader decide whether or not there's anything to stop us from taking the dive.

Thanks for the poem.

---

I should add that I found some of the referant argumentsa bit overt for my taste, but then they are things that I like to think about when reading poems, so I don't know if that's really a bad thing, and others might find it more subtle. forgive my poor articulation here.

---

meh thinking about it, omitting the article in s2 might be overly expansive. come to think of it btw, wouldn't summer clouds be better than clouds of summer?

[Truerenigma]

I should add that I found some of the referant argumentsa bit overt for my taste, but then they are things that I like to think about when reading poems, so I don't know if that's really a bad thing, and others might find it more subtle.

this seems like such a silly matter of personal preference (which it is, and I just want to fit in) but the (virtually meaningless) complaint is really that the allegory is more readily available than the figure itself. The poem could perhaps deal a bit more directly with the physical figure in its landscape, but I think it works pretty well and i just love any excuse to use that fine arts metaphor.

[milo]

Lots of room for interpretation on different levels.

I haven't read the other critiques, but this has appeal to me on a psychological and spiritual level, the linking of arms is key to how I read it, as is the diving upward and glimpse of what true freedom could be.

Reminded me of "The Woman Who Walked on Water", a short book by Lily Tuck, which I may reread.

Thanks.

Thanks for reading and commenting, beaufort. It is good to see you on the boards again. I may have to read that book myself.

---

Hi, milo. I can't put off my critique any longer because I am dying to read all the comments and your responses. Here are a few notes.

It is the lie of birds that you need wings,
the lie of time that gravity
brings you to the ground, presses
like a pillow against your face;
soft, unbreakable.
The first line grabs me and the explanation works, just. I don't think of gravity as so gentle, but it's an interesting idea. Gravity and ground work well with the space between them. The semicolon seems off.

The clouds of summer call
like cold salt-cream, but wait
till autumn forms
as long striated runways in the sky,
then climb
Cold salt-cream and striated runways are lovely. The but seems off, maybe you could drop it if the opening "the" was changed to "though", or something better that you will think of.

higher than the jealous, root-bound
trees can stretch their branches,
hooked and bare like knuckled grasps.
Go to where the cliffs tower,
where the sea crashes far below and mists
up in a howl of billows, the pale blue
of a loose night shirt.
I can't get why knuckled grasps are bare, howl of billows is lovely.

Link arms and dive
upwards till the sound of surf,
breaking bones on rocks,
dissolves in white-noise static.
Twist through the clouds
in their spectre-gray grave linens
to where the oxygen is rare
spun candy on your tongue,
cast off earth-heavy thoughts,
close your eyes
and fly.
I like dive upwards and twist through the clouds. White-static noise is a bit cliche.
I don't think spectre-gray grave lines justifies an exception to avoiding consonant slide. Grave linens are better than shrouds, maybe you can do something about the gray, attaching it to spectre didn't smooth out the sound for me.
I like the oxygen/spun candy, earth-heavy is a bit common.

Thanks for posting this, a consistently enjoyable read. The sonics and the idea suit each other, yes, a flight.

Thanks for reading, ella. I was wondering if you would pop in to comment on the consonant slide alliteration. I have been searching for an alternative for some time now. You are correct about white-static noise, i will have to see if I can refer to the sound without it coming off as cliche.

---

milo I may try and come come back with adequate crit.

I just wanted to say I love the night shirt, and have no problems with the second person address, it makes me feel that I understand the poem and it is speaking to me, but then I read poems very slowly so switch wasn't very jarring.

though I disagree with some of the reasoning behind it, I agree that the article to start s2 should probably go. I see no need for it.

Something about it is compelling: the battle in the subtext between rational and irrational I suppose, and the way it lets the reader decide whether or not there's anything to stop us from taking the dive.

Thanks for the poem.

---

I should add that I found some of the referant argumentsa bit overt for my taste, but then they are things that I like to think about when reading poems, so I don't know if that's really a bad thing, and others might find it more subtle. forgive my poor articulation here.

---

meh thinking about it, omitting the article in s2 might be overly expansive. come to think of it btw, wouldn't summer clouds be better than clouds of summer?

Thanks for reading and commenting, true.

Yes, I thought quite a bit over "clouds of summer". As I am sure i have mentioned before, any abstract "of" construction comes across as a bit overt and I am generally the one to complain about them so i really have no excuse here. Other than the meter of course and the deliberate avoidance of the alliteration which tends to sound rather ugly here. Still, I should at least try it the other way.

The summer clouds call

The clouds of summer call

[Truerenigma]

Lots of room for interpretation on different levels.

I haven't read the other critiques, but this has appeal to me on a psychological and spiritual level, the linking of arms is key to how I read it, as is the diving upward and glimpse of what true freedom could be.

Reminded me of "The Woman Who Walked on Water", a short book by Lily Tuck, which I may reread.

Thanks.

Thanks for reading and commenting, beaufort. It is good to see you on the boards again. I may have to read that book myself.

---

Hi, milo. I can't put off my critique any longer because I am dying to read all the comments and your responses. Here are a few notes.

It is the lie of birds that you need wings,
the lie of time that gravity
brings you to the ground, presses
like a pillow against your face;
soft, unbreakable.
The first line grabs me and the explanation works, just. I don't think of gravity as so gentle, but it's an interesting idea. Gravity and ground work well with the space between them. The semicolon seems off.

The clouds of summer call
like cold salt-cream, but wait
till autumn forms
as long striated runways in the sky,
then climb
Cold salt-cream and striated runways are lovely. The but seems off, maybe you could drop it if the opening "the" was changed to "though", or something better that you will think of.

higher than the jealous, root-bound
trees can stretch their branches,
hooked and bare like knuckled grasps.
Go to where the cliffs tower,
where the sea crashes far below and mists
up in a howl of billows, the pale blue
of a loose night shirt.
I can't get why knuckled grasps are bare, howl of billows is lovely.

Link arms and dive
upwards till the sound of surf,
breaking bones on rocks,
dissolves in white-noise static.
Twist through the clouds
in their spectre-gray grave linens
to where the oxygen is rare
spun candy on your tongue,
cast off earth-heavy thoughts,
close your eyes
and fly.
I like dive upwards and twist through the clouds. White-static noise is a bit cliche.
I don't think spectre-gray grave lines justifies an exception to avoiding consonant slide. Grave linens are better than shrouds, maybe you can do something about the gray, attaching it to spectre didn't smooth out the sound for me.
I like the oxygen/spun candy, earth-heavy is a bit common.

Thanks for posting this, a consistently enjoyable read. The sonics and the idea suit each other, yes, a flight.

Thanks for reading, ella. I was wondering if you would pop in to comment on the consonant slide alliteration. I have been searching for an alternative for some time now. You are correct about white-static noise, i will have to see if I can refer to the sound without it coming off as cliche.

---

milo I may try and come come back with adequate crit.

I just wanted to say I love the night shirt, and have no problems with the second person address, it makes me feel that I understand the poem and it is speaking to me, but then I read poems very slowly so switch wasn't very jarring.

though I disagree with some of the reasoning behind it, I agree that the article to start s2 should probably go. I see no need for it.

Something about it is compelling: the battle in the subtext between rational and irrational I suppose, and the way it lets the reader decide whether or not there's anything to stop us from taking the dive.

Thanks for the poem.

---

I should add that I found some of the referant argumentsa bit overt for my taste, but then they are things that I like to think about when reading poems, so I don't know if that's really a bad thing, and others might find it more subtle. forgive my poor articulation here.

---

meh thinking about it, omitting the article in s2 might be overly expansive. come to think of it btw, wouldn't summer clouds be better than clouds of summer?

Thanks for reading and commenting, true.

Yes, I thought quite a bit over "clouds of summer". As I am sure i have mentioned before, any abstract "of" construction comes across as a bit overt and I am generally the one to complain about them so i really have no excuse here. Other than the meter of course and the deliberate avoidance of the alliteration which tends to sound rather ugly here. Still, I should at least try it the other way.

The summer clouds call

The clouds of summer call

yeah, I understand completely and of course I remember you saying it somewhere a hundred times over, it's one of many sample comments that I draw from when writing my own poems with a critical eye, and I agree is a tough choice - I'm sure glad I'm not the one who has to make it. I don't like the alliteration or the rhythm without of either, if I were you I would probably, erm, excuse me here, dig a little deeper. (I think I just through up a little in my mouth.)

It's a fine poem btw, and all this is just tuning and might be nit picky. (though It may be useful to think about if something comes if it.)

[Truerenigma]

I'm impressed with the small edits thus far btw, and it's much better without the dashes. I think marcella's got a good handle on the rest.

I'm doing the bobble head cause I have nothing else. Sometimes a nod is more useful than words.

[ellajam]

So far the only alternative for spectre-gray grave linens I've been able to come up with for your consideration is spectre-gauze grave linens. Nothing I can think of specifically gray sounds nice there, maybe this could lead you to some other spectre type word. Just a thought.

[billy]

i missed this one;
i can't really give constructive feedback because i like everything about it. some of the images are excellent.

i'll be honest and say i didn't see how time lies about gravity. (but that was me missing the obvious) once i'd read the poem a few times i had a hallelujah moment and saw the light so to speak. it's very hard for me to pull at it. i think something doesn't work and then it becomes evident and obvious. i have no idea what cold salt cream is but it was easy enough to imagine i did.

i have no idea why but;

i did read the static comment and felt the same way that it verged on cliche but i think it should stay as it was. they're the right words for the line. if i had a suggestion, it would be to remove the word static. as white-noise says shows it all.

in their spectre-gray grave linens
felt a little awkward. other than that i saw nothing out of place.

It is the lie of birds that you need wings,
the lie of time that gravity
brings you to the ground, presses
like a pillow against your face;
soft, unbreakable.

The clouds of summer call
like cold salt-cream, but wait i like the enjambment here and in many other places.
till autumn forms
as long striated runways in the sky,
then climb

higher than the jealous, root-bound
trees can stretch their branches,
hooked and bare like knuckled grasps.
Go to where the cliffs tower,
where the sea crashes far below and mists
up in a howl of billows, the pale blue
of a loose night shirt.

Link arms and dive
upwards till the sound of surf,
breaking bones on rocks,
dissolves in white-noise static.
Twist through the clouds
in their spectre-gray grave linens
to where the oxygen is rare
spun candy on your tongue,
cast off earth-heavy thoughts,
close your eyes
and fly.

[milo]

i missed this one;
i can't really give constructive feedback because i like everything about it. some of the images are excellent.

i'll be honest and say i didn't see how time lies about gravity. (but that was me missing the obvious) once i'd read the poem a few times i had a hallelujah moment and saw the light so to speak. it's very hard for me to pull at it. i think something doesn't work and then it becomes evident and obvious. i have no idea what cold salt cream is but it was easy enough to imagine i did.

i have no idea why but;

i did read the static comment and felt the same way that it verged on cliche but i think it should stay as it was. they're the right words for the line. if i had a suggestion, it would be to remove the word static. as white-noise says shows it all.

in their spectre-gray grave linens
felt a little awkward. other than that i saw nothing out of place.

It is the lie of birds that you need wings,
the lie of time that gravity
brings you to the ground, presses
like a pillow against your face;
soft, unbreakable.

The clouds of summer call
like cold salt-cream, but wait i like the enjambment here and in many other places.
till autumn forms
as long striated runways in the sky,
then climb

higher than the jealous, root-bound
trees can stretch their branches,
hooked and bare like knuckled grasps.
Go to where the cliffs tower,
where the sea crashes far below and mists
up in a howl of billows, the pale blue
of a loose night shirt.

Link arms and dive
upwards till the sound of surf,
breaking bones on rocks,
dissolves in white-noise static.
Twist through the clouds
in their spectre-gray grave linens
to where the oxygen is rare
spun candy on your tongue,
cast off earth-heavy thoughts,
close your eyes
and fly.

Thanks for reading and commenting, billy. you actually commented extensively on this the first time I posted it many moons ago which led to it in its current form so it's good that much of it works for you now.

Cheers.

[Truerenigma]

in their spectre-gray grave linens

while you are thinking about this line, consider losing "in their" with possessive clouds.

come to think of it cutting the line may be an option worth considering - you might be able to work the linens in another way, maybe the static bit somehow. Do these clouds have dryer sheets?

[milo]

in their spectre-gray grave linens

while you are thinking about this line, consider losing "in their" with possessive clouds.

come to think of it cutting the line may be an option worth considering - you might be able to work the linens in another way, maybe the static bit somehow. Do these clouds have dryer sheets?

Yah, you may be right, not sure if that line is pulling its weight at all. I hate to lose "grave linens" but there may be no way around it.

[ellajam]

in their spectre-gray grave linens

while you are thinking about this line, consider losing "in their" with possessive clouds.

come to think of it cutting the line may be an option worth considering - you might be able to work the linens in another way, maybe the static bit somehow. Do these clouds have dryer sheets?

Yah, you may be right, not sure if that line is pulling its weight at all. I hate to lose "grave linens" but there may be no way around it.

I think you need it, it weights what is above and below it. Think harder.

[Brownlie]

It is the lie of birds  that you need wings,
the lie of time that gravity
brings you to the ground, presses
like a pillow against your face; -Pillow suggests ale r p and maybe death.
soft, unbreakable.

The clouds of summer call
like cold salt-cream, but wait - good enjambment.
till autumn forms
as long striated runways in the sky,
then climb

higher than the jealous, root-bound - Maybe get rid of jealous here.
trees can stretch their branches,
hooked and bare like knuckled grasps.
Go to where the cliffs tower,
where the sea crashes far below and mists
up in a howl of billows, the pale blue
of a loose night shirt.

Link arms and dive
upwards till the sound of surf,
breaking bones on rocks,
dissolves in white-noise static.
Twist through the clouds
in their spectre-gray grave linens l
to where the oxygen is rare
spun candy on your tongue,
cast off earth-heavy thoughts,
close your eyes
and fly.

I like the oxymoron of diving upwards. The word till and the seasonal references also seem to correlate with the idea of time as well. I get at least the hint of suicide from this, but I've been known to be wrong.