Saints preserved Edit 0.0001

[tectak]

Edit 0.001
Death walks like mist, through windless dawn,
pulled pale from sanguine seas.
Wraiths scurry from the sunlight, drawn
to shadows under trees.

Crows' nests, abandoned, lie in grass;
white bones, stick-thin and dry.
Black widow's rags, the birds croak past,
drowning the gull's wild cry.

Like sailor's souls, gulls wheel in winds
tempted by dry land;
they stay aloft, for fear their sins
blow in the stinging sand.

Grey sandstone tablets scattered round,
though fractured, still proclaim
that down below in salted ground
the briney boys remain.

Ah, how they cursed and how they hauled
against the lashing rain;
then one by one they fell and called
on shipmates lost...none came.

Inland most lie, beneath black yews;
the rest were swept to sea.
Good seamen all, none would accuse,
for all is destiny.
tectak 1965

Posted



Death walks like mist, through windless dawn,
pulled pale from sanguine seas.
Wraiths scurry from the sunlight, drawn
to shadows under trees.

Crows' nests, abandoned, fall to grass;
white bones, stick-thin and dry.
Black widow's rags, the birds croak past,
drowning the gull's wild cry.

Like sailor's souls, gulls wheel in winds
tempted by dry land;
they stay aloft, as though their sins
were blown in stinging sand.

Grey sandstone tablets scattered round,
though fractured, still proclaim
that down below in salted ground
the briney boys remain.

Ah, how they cursed and how they hauled
against the lashing rain;
then one by one they fell and called
on shipmates lost...none came.

Inland most lie, beneath black yews;
the rest were swept to sea.
Good seamen all, none would accuse,
for all is destiny.
tectak 1965

Posted with some humilty to demonstrate poetry without using big words...you know who you are

[StanleyZ]

Death walks like mist, through windless dawn,
pulled pale from sanguine seas.
Wraiths scurry from the sunlight, drawn
to shadows under  trees.

Crows' nests, abandoned, fall to grass;
white bones, stick-thin and dry.
Black widow's rags, the birds croak past,
drowning the gull's wild cry.

Like sailor's souls, gulls wheel in winds
tempted by dry land;
they stay aloft, as though their sins
were blown in stinging sand.

Grey sandstone tablets scattered round,
though fractured, still proclaim
that down below in salted ground
the briney boys remain.

Ah, how they cursed and how they hauled
against the lashing rain;
then one by one they fell and called
on shipmates lost...none came.

Inland most lie, beneath black yews;
the rest were swept to sea.
Good seamen all, none would accuse,
for all is destiny.
tectak 1965

Posted with some humilty to demonstrate poetry without using big words...you know who you are

Did you really write this in 1965? Wow, I imagine you have quite an extensive oeuvre. It is kind of funny though, because the first time I read this I thought to myself that it was lacking something that your more recent poems have. Not a line or phrase, but a better understanding of how to use language. The rhyming in this piece is excellent, you have an amazing talent, but there is the always implicit fact that a death themed poem shouldn't sound like a children's lullaby. Creepy... But the dreariness of death is only half of this poem, after all the crows fold to the inspiring image of gulls. I really love the stanza about the sailors' graves. That marked a turn in the poem that increased my appreciation for the title. Your personification in the first stanza made sense, because you took wind out of the equation. When I read "Death walks like..." I thought here we go again. Mist might not have anything to do with walking, but if you imagine a misty, windless dawn that sense of zero gravity really gives the mist a motion similar to walking, or looming. It works, and I know it takes really skill to fit something functional like that into a strict meter. The crows' nests falling out of the tree kind of conflicted with the motionless wind. Maybe the crows acted the force upon the nests to make it fall? No. The crows are long dead, only a faint croak is left. That less moan of deaths imminence, though, is immediately combated with the soaring gulls, I like how they become such an empathized opposite, and that you state they are like the sailors soul, fighting on past those dark images of the first few stanzas. This poem becomes a case of the cycle of life. The dawn brings nothing but the idea of death, yet at the end of the day those who have lived still matter to nature itself. They live on in nature in fact. It is destiny.

[tectak]

Death walks like mist, through windless dawn,
pulled pale from sanguine seas.
Wraiths scurry from the sunlight, drawn
to shadows under  trees.

Crows' nests, abandoned, fall to grass;
white bones, stick-thin and dry.
Black widow's rags, the birds croak past,
drowning the gull's wild cry.

Like sailor's souls, gulls wheel in winds
tempted by dry land;
they stay aloft, as though their sins
were blown in stinging sand.

Grey sandstone tablets scattered round,
though fractured, still proclaim
that down below in salted ground
the briney boys remain.

Ah, how they cursed and how they hauled
against the lashing rain;
then one by one they fell and called
on shipmates lost...none came.

Inland most lie, beneath black yews;
the rest were swept to sea.
Good seamen all, none would accuse,
for all is destiny.
tectak 1965

Posted with some humilty to demonstrate poetry without using big words...you know who you are

Did you really write this in 1965? Wow, I imagine you have quite an extensive oeuvre. It is kind of funny though, because the first time I read this I thought to myself that it was lacking something that your more recent poems have. Not a line or phrase, but a better understanding of how to use language. The rhyming in this piece is excellent, you have an amazing talent, but there is the always implicit fact that a death themed poem shouldn't sound like a children's lullaby. Creepy... But the dreariness of death is only half of this poem, after all the crows fold to the inspiring image of gulls. I really love the stanza about the sailors' graves. That marked a turn in the poem that increased my appreciation for the title. Your personification in the first stanza made sense, because you took wind out of the equation. When I read "Death walks like..." I thought here we go again. Mist might not have anything to do with walking, but if you imagine a misty, windless dawn that sense of zero gravity really gives the mist a motion similar to walking, or looming. It works, and I know it takes really skill to fit something functional like that into a strict meter. The crows' nests falling out of the tree kind of conflicted with the motionless wind. Maybe the crows acted the force upon the nests to make it fall? No. The crows are long dead, only a faint croak is left. That less moan of deaths imminence, though, is immediately combated with the soaring gulls, I like how they become such an empathized opposite, and that you state they are like the sailors soul, fighting on past those dark images of the first few stanzas. This poem becomes a case of the cycle of life. The dawn brings nothing but the idea of death, yet at the end of the day those who have lived still matter to nature itself. They live on in nature in fact. It is destiny.

Hello stanley,
Thanks for reading. Yes, I wrote a lot of stuff like this back then. A limited vocabulary! I can only just remember a little churchyard and tiny church somewhere in the ne coast if England...broken tombstones, yew trees, seascape, bright red dawn (sailors warning), sea fret....crows and gulls. The thing is, it HAD to rhyme because that is what poetry did...times change.
Just a few points. It was based on a local sailing tragedy but historic even then. The gravestones told the story. Crow's nest has a dual meaning. There had been a recent storm and several nests were in the grass. As the sun got up an onshore breeze pulled in mist and surface dry sand swizzed along the shoreline. Why am I telling you all this? Well, it is to remind us both that visualising is everything...thoughts are better described with veracity and short words than hyperbole and long words. I find it much harder to write like this now...and I regret that. After "seeing" many things one gets not just complacent but blind. It is good to look at things with an astounded attitude.
Best,
tectak
PS. There is a good deal wrong with the piece (and the genre) so don't expect more of the same.

[billy]

some good images in the poem i didn't really catch on till the 3rd stanza that it was about those who died at sea.
humility in the footnote has an i missing
not too shoddy a poem with a few small nits.

Death walks like mist, through windless dawn, not sure walks is the right word for this simile, would [a] be of use between though [a] windless dawn; or remove the comma after mist
pulled pale from sanguine seas. nice p's and s's
Wraiths scurry from the sunlight, drawn i do like this line. though i'm not sure why.
to shadows under  trees. would by work better than to though i suppose i'm being pedantic here
Crows' nests, abandoned, fall to grass;
white bones, stick-thin and dry.
Black widow's rags, the birds croak past,
drowning the gull's wild cry. this verse threw me as it changed tack and i can't see why?
Like sailor's souls, gulls wheel in winds more gull's
tempted by dry land;
they stay aloft, as though their sins
were blown in stinging sand. this line feels like it wants to be resaid. a suggestion would be [held] instead of [blown]
Grey sandstone tablets scattered round,
though fractured, still proclaim
that down below in salted ground
the briney boys remain. okay, now i'm getting what the poems about. people lost at sea. now the 2nd verse is making sense.
Ah, how they cursed and how they hauled
against the lashing rain;
then one by one they fell and called
on shipmates lost...none came. this one ties all the connections together.
Inland most lie, beneath black yews;
the rest were swept to sea.
Good seamen all, none would accuse,
for all is destiny.
tectak 1965 i know this is you but i see it as the ships name and when it was lost though i like 1765 better
Posted with some humilty to demonstrate poetry without using big words...you know who you are

[tectak]

some good images in the poem i didn't really catch on till the 3rd stanza that it was about those who died at sea.
humility in the footnote has an i missing
not too shoddy a poem with a few small nits.

Death walks like mist, through windless dawn, not sure walks is the right word for this simile, would [a] be of use between though [a] windless dawn; or remove the comma after mist
pulled pale from sanguine seas. nice p's and s's
Wraiths scurry from the sunlight, drawn i do like this line. though i'm not sure why.
to shadows under  trees. would by work better than to though i suppose i'm being pedantic here
Crows' nests, abandoned, fall to grass;
white bones, stick-thin and dry.
Black widow's rags, the birds croak past,
drowning the gull's wild cry. this verse threw me as it changed tack and i can't see why?
Like sailor's souls, gulls wheel in winds more gull's
tempted by dry land;
they stay aloft, as though their sins
were blown in stinging sand. this line feels like it wants to be resaid. a suggestion would be [held] instead of [blown]
Grey sandstone tablets scattered round,
though fractured, still proclaim
that down below in salted ground
the briney boys remain. okay, now i'm getting what the poems about. people lost at sea. now the 2nd verse is making sense.
Ah, how they cursed and how they hauled
against the lashing rain;
then one by one they fell and called
on shipmates lost...none came. this one ties all the connections together.
Inland most lie, beneath black yews;
the rest were swept to sea.
Good seamen all, none would accuse,
for all is destiny.
tectak 1965 i know this is you but i see it as the ships name and when it was lost though i like 1765 better
Posted with some humilty to demonstrate poetry without using big words...you know who you are

Hi billy and thanks,
I love humilty! First line is "thRough" not "though", hence the commas but you may have a point. Added "a" would, though, bugger up meter.
There are link words stanza end to stanza start: trees-nests, gulls-sailors souls, sand-sandstone tombstones, briney boys-sailors,shipmates lost-buried inland.I used to get fixated by that kind of thing...some say nothing has changed.
The churchyard had a sign...All Saints. That's all I can remember except that at 18 I though that all those buried there had been beatified. Idiot.

[billy]

Hi billy and thanks,
I love humilty! There are link words stanza end to stanza start: trees-nests, gulls-sailors souls, sand-sandstone tombstones, briney boys-sailors,shipmates lost-buried inland.I used to get fixated by that kind of thing...some say nothing has changed.
The churchyard had a sign...All Saints. That's all I can remember except that at 18 I though that all those buried there had been beatified. Idiot.

yes, i saw the connections after the third verse. and i think that was a good thing. it created a build up into the ah moment of thinking . i got it.

[tectak]

[quote='tectak' pid='175601' dateline='1412236358']

Hi billy and thanks,
I love humilty! There are link words stanza end to stanza start: trees-nests, gulls-sailors souls, sand-sandstone tombstones, briney boys-sailors,shipmates lost-buried inland.I used to get fixated by that kind of thing...some say nothing has changed.
The churchyard had a sign...All Saints. That's all I can remember except that at 18 I though that all those buried there had been beatified. Idiot.

yes, i saw the connections after the third verse. and i think that was a good thing. it created a build up into the ah moment of thinking . i got it.
[/quote
Just for the record, and after some considerable searching through my memory bank:
The cemetery is Old St. Stephens at Robin Hood's Bay. The shipwreck was in 1881 when a cargo ship, The Lumley, was lost in a prolonged violent storm. The churchyard is very atmospheric. It was 50years ago when I was there...er...camping!
tectak

[StanleyZ]

Death walks like mist, through windless dawn,
pulled pale from sanguine seas.
Wraiths scurry from the sunlight, drawn
to shadows under  trees.

Crows' nests, abandoned, fall to grass;
white bones, stick-thin and dry.
Black widow's rags, the birds croak past,
drowning the gull's wild cry.

Like sailor's souls, gulls wheel in winds
tempted by dry land;
they stay aloft, as though their sins
were blown in stinging sand.

Grey sandstone tablets scattered round,
though fractured, still proclaim
that down below in salted ground
the briney boys remain.

Ah, how they cursed and how they hauled
against the lashing rain;
then one by one they fell and called
on shipmates lost...none came.

Inland most lie, beneath black yews;
the rest were swept to sea.
Good seamen all, none would accuse,
for all is destiny.
tectak 1965

Posted with some humilty to demonstrate poetry without using big words...you know who you are

Did you really write this in 1965?  Wow, I imagine you have quite an extensive oeuvre. It is kind of funny though, because the first time I read this I thought to myself that it was lacking something that your more recent poems have. Not a line or phrase, but a better understanding of how to use language. The rhyming in this piece is excellent, you have an amazing talent, but there is the always implicit fact that a death themed poem shouldn't sound like a children's lullaby. Creepy... But the dreariness of death is only half of this poem, after all the crows fold to the inspiring image of gulls. I really love the stanza about the sailors' graves. That marked a turn in the poem that increased my appreciation for the title. Your personification in the first stanza made sense, because you took wind out of the equation. When I read "Death walks like..." I thought here we go again. Mist might not have anything to do with walking, but if you imagine a misty, windless dawn that sense of zero gravity really gives the mist a motion similar to walking, or looming. It works, and I know it takes really skill to fit something functional like that into a strict meter. The crows' nests falling out of the tree kind of conflicted with the motionless wind. Maybe the crows acted the force upon the nests to make it fall? No. The crows are long dead, only a faint croak is left. That less moan of deaths imminence, though, is immediately combated with the soaring gulls, I like how they become such an empathized opposite, and that you state they are like the sailors soul, fighting on past those dark images of the first few stanzas. This poem becomes a case of the cycle of life. The dawn brings nothing but the idea of death, yet at the end of the day those who have lived still matter to nature itself. They live on in nature in fact. It is destiny.

Hello stanley,
Thanks for reading. Yes, I wrote a lot of stuff like this back then. A limited vocabulary! I can only just remember a little churchyard and tiny church somewhere in the ne coast if England...broken tombstones, yew trees, seascape,  bright red dawn (sailors warning), sea fret....crows and gulls.  The thing is, it HAD to rhyme because that is what poetry did...times change.
Just a few points. It was based on a local sailing tragedy but historic even then. The gravestones told the story. Crow's nest has a  dual meaning. There had been a recent storm and several nests were in the grass. As the sun got up an onshore breeze pulled in mist and surface dry sand swizzed along the shoreline. Why am I telling you all this? Well, it is to remind us both that visualising is everything...thoughts are better described with veracity and short words than hyperbole and long words. I find it much harder to write like this now...and I regret that. After "seeing" many things one gets  not just complacent but blind. It is good to look at things with an astounded attitude.
Best,
tectak
PS. There is a good deal wrong with the piece (and the genre) so don't expect more of the same.

You say there is a good deal wrong with this piece, and the genre. Could you elaborate? I do not boast my ability to scantion poetry, but this piece rotates between iambic tetrameter and trimeter. A ballad? There must be a reason this meter is still around. What is it you find wrong with the genre?

[tectak]

Did you really write this in 1965?  Wow, I imagine you have quite an extensive oeuvre. It is kind of funny though, because the first time I read this I thought to myself that it was lacking something that your more recent poems have. Not a line or phrase, but a better understanding of how to use language. The rhyming in this piece is excellent, you have an amazing talent, but there is the always implicit fact that a death themed poem shouldn't sound like a children's lullaby. Creepy... But the dreariness of death is only half of this poem, after all the crows fold to the inspiring image of gulls. I really love the stanza about the sailors' graves. That marked a turn in the poem that increased my appreciation for the title. Your personification in the first stanza made sense, because you took wind out of the equation. When I read "Death walks like..." I thought here we go again. Mist might not have anything to do with walking, but if you imagine a misty, windless dawn that sense of zero gravity really gives the mist a motion similar to walking, or looming. It works, and I know it takes really skill to fit something functional like that into a strict meter. The crows' nests falling out of the tree kind of conflicted with the motionless wind. Maybe the crows acted the force upon the nests to make it fall? No. The crows are long dead, only a faint croak is left. That less moan of deaths imminence, though, is immediately combated with the soaring gulls, I like how they become such an empathized opposite, and that you state they are like the sailors soul, fighting on past those dark images of the first few stanzas. This poem becomes a case of the cycle of life. The dawn brings nothing but the idea of death, yet at the end of the day those who have lived still matter to nature itself. They live on in nature in fact. It is destiny.

Hello stanley,
Thanks for reading. Yes, I wrote a lot of stuff like this back then. A limited vocabulary! I can only just remember a little churchyard and tiny church somewhere in the ne coast if England...broken tombstones, yew trees, seascape,  bright red dawn (sailors warning), sea fret....crows and gulls.  The thing is, it HAD to rhyme because that is what poetry did...times change.
Just a few points. It was based on a local sailing tragedy but historic even then. The gravestones told the story. Crow's nest has a  dual meaning. There had been a recent storm and several nests were in the grass. As the sun got up an onshore breeze pulled in mist and surface dry sand swizzed along the shoreline. Why am I telling you all this? Well, it is to remind us both that visualising is everything...thoughts are better described with veracity and short words than hyperbole and long words. I find it much harder to write like this now...and I regret that. After "seeing" many things one gets  not just complacent but blind. It is good to look at things with an astounded attitude.
Best,
tectak
PS. There is a good deal wrong with the piece (and the genre) so don't expect more of the same.

You say there is a good deal wrong with this piece, and the genre. Could you elaborate? I do not boast my ability to scantion poetry, but this piece rotates between iambic tetrameter and trimeter. A ballad? There must be a reason this meter is still around. What is it you find wrong with the genre?

Hello stanley,
The genre has had its day. The idea of simplistic rhyme forcing the writer to use words with double intent i.e. to make sense AND to rhyme, is generally considered to be too difficult for many and too contrived for others. Rhyming verse IS difficult but as a discipline it satisfies the needs of the wordsmith but not the aloof poet...you know, the kind of "poet" who writes "poetically" by using achaic english, makes use of dramatic phrases ( Ah, but that I should knowest thee in all but name....blah blah), or insists on capitalising every line, writing everything in lower case, making shapes with words, using bizarre enjambment or "artistic" line-breaks etc.
Of course, there is a place for everything....but not always a time
So what is wrong with the piece as it stands? Well, to be frank, it IS contrived as it MUST be...but it shows. That is a weakness.
Best,
tectak