When autumn (Edit 3)

[cidermaid]

Sorry having a few probs with the text formatting again.  it won't let me have just one size or font... keeps changing them when I try to correct the line spacing...I'm just happy i managed to get the bold to turn off.  If any one can sort this i would be greatful.  it is hard on the eyes to read as it is.


Edit 3.  Billy

Youth is wasted on the young.  (Why old people are grumpy)


When autumn comes, sun spot dappled,
the racing green spread slows; drips
an excess of bright berried success
Sucked, from the last daylight saved hour.

Oak decked frames are laid to waste font
by sharp edged winds that pluck
at plumped out leisure and leave
wrinkled lines of weathered haste.

All vigour and growth shrivel back,
swallowed by shadowy degrees,
sliver frosted onto a granite set face
that clocks seasonal demarcations.

Daisy-chained summer grace, twist
into bare branched veins on gnarly twigs.
Clouded memories bleed vaguely grey
into clear blue, spring fed eyes.  
                                                                                                                        
Do not ask why a winter solstice
blazes red round the paler shades;
this is the stored up harvest,
trampled, crushed and aged.

It rages
at wasteful decay
and thrusts languid sap up for the push
to spring days; aiming to make one more summer of hay.




Edit 2


Youth is wasted on the young

When autumn comes, the sun spot dappled
racing green spread slows; droops,
bejewelled with bright berried success,
sucked from the last daylight saved hour.

Vacated seats of ease are laid to waste
by sharp edged winds that pluck
the plumped out leisure and leave behind
the wrinkled lines of weathered haste.

Oak decked frames shrivel back,
swallowed by shadowy degrees,
sliver frosted onto a granite face
that clocks seasonal demarcations.

Daisy-chained summer grace, twists
into bare branched veins on gnarly twigs.
Clouded memories bleed vaguely grey
into clear blue, spring fed eyes.
                                                                                                                        
Do not ask why a winter solstice
blazes and burns at paler shades;
this is the stored up harvest,
trampled, crushed and aged.

It rages
against the wasteful decay
and thrusts the languid sap up for the push
to spring days; aiming to make just one more summer of hay.

 

 

Note between edits.

Thank you everyone who has commented to date on this one.   I think I need to do a major edit on what I have presented to date...most notably, the title for starters.  
[sup]"Why I am grumpy"   "Youth is wasted on the young" are currently contenders!
Hope to have edit 2 done soon...ish
1st edit.[/sup]
When autumn comes
the golden up-lit broad lands and leafy lanes,
bejewelled with berries that have sucked the last
daylight saved hour from the sun,  dry out.
The remains, the empty husks, are laid to waste
by sharp edged winds that pluck
the plumped out leisure and leave behind
the wrinkled lines of weathered haste.

Shrivelled back into a semi dormant state, swallowed
by shadowy degrees of a granite set face,
that clocks the demarcation of daisy-chained
summer grace into bare branched veins;
gnarled and knotted by time - twists
of clouded memories, that bleed vaguely grey
into the clear blue of spring fed eyes.

When you see a winter solstice, do not ask why
it blazes and burns at the paler shades;
this is the stored up harvest,                                                                                                                                             
trampled, crushed and aged.
It rages against the wasteful decay and thrusts
the languid sap up for the push for spring days,
aiming to make just one more summer of hay.
 
 
 

original draft.

When autumn comes
the golden up-lit broad lands and leafy lanes,
bejewelled with berries that have sucked the last
daylight saved hour from the sun, turn and dry out.
Husks of their former glory, laid to waste
by sharp edged winds that pluck
the plumped out leisure and leave behind
the wrinkled lines of weathered haste.

Shrivelled back into a semi dormant state, swallowed
by the shadowy degrees of a granite face,
that clocks the demarcation of daisy-chained
summer of grace, into bare branched veins;
gnarled and knotted by time; twists
of clouded memories, that bleed vaguely grey
into the clear blue eyes of a spring sky.

When you see a winter solstice, do not ask why
it blazes and cuts through the paler shades;
this is the stored up harvest,
trampled, crushed and aged.
It rages against the wasteful decay and thrusts
new shoots through the push of spring
to make one more summer of hay.
 
 
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[BenjaminShaw]

When autumn comes
the golden up-lit broad lands and leafy lanes, I really enjoy the beginning here. There are a lot of great images.
bejewelled with berries that have sucked the last
daylight saved hour from the sun, turn and dry out. with these five ending lines maybe you could sharpen up the punctuation, especially this period here: semi-colon?
Husks of their former glory, laid to waste
by sharp edged winds that pluck
the plumped out leisure and leave behind
the wrinkled lines of weathered haste.

Shrivelled back into a semi dormant state, swallowed Spelling error, but really no matter-- shrivelled is shriveled
by the shadowy degrees of a granite face,
that clocks the demarcation of daisy-chained
summer of grace, into bare branched veins;
gnarled and knotted by time; twists
of clouded memories, that bleed vaguely grey maybe no comma before the "that"
into the clear blue eyes of a spring sky.

When you see a winter solstice, do not ask why
it blazes and cuts through the paler shades; this is great
this is the stored up harvest,
trampled, crushed and aged.
It rages against the wasteful decay and thrusts
new shoots through the push of spring
to make one more summer of hay.

I enjoy your themes of rebirth and change... it has a hopeful sort of quality about it that makes me happy. A very good poem.
 
 
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[cidermaid]

Thanks for stopping by and taking the time to comment benjamin.
My spellchecker does not like one L in shriveled (I presume it is an american / english spelling thing as the internet had it both ways).
I've put an edit up.
AJ

[cidermaid]

A first for me to bump one of my own..but i was hoping to do some further work on this one.
Lots of reads no comments -  just be honest and tell me if it is unspeakably dull, I'll move on and find something else to write about.

[Wjames]

[sup]1st edit.[/sup]
When autumn comes
the golden up-lit broad lands and leafy lanes,
bejewelled with berries that have sucked the last
daylight saved hour from the sun,  dry out. I don't really get anything from the daylight savings time thing.
The remains, the empty husks, are laid to waste I don't think the second "the" is needed.
by sharp edged winds that pluck
the plumped out leisure and leave behind
the wrinkled lines of weathered haste.

Shrivelled back into a semi dormant state, swallowed
by shadowy degrees of a granite set face, I don't think you need the comma here.
that clocks the demarcation of daisy-chained
summer grace into bare branched veins;
gnarled and knotted by time - twists
of clouded memories, that bleed vaguely grey
into the clear blue of spring fed eyes. This stanza's really really wordy, and there's just way too much going on for it to be one sentence imo.

When you see a winter solstice, do not ask why
it blazes and burns at the paler shades;
this is the stored up harvest,                                                                                                                                             
trampled, crushed and aged. I really like this image.
It rages against the wasteful decay and thrusts
the languid sap up for the push for spring days,
aiming to make just one more summer of hay.
 
 
 

original draft.

When autumn comes
the golden up-lit broad lands and leafy lanes,
bejewelled with berries that have sucked the last
daylight saved hour from the sun, turn and dry out.
Husks of their former glory, laid to waste
by sharp edged winds that pluck
the plumped out leisure and leave behind
the wrinkled lines of weathered haste.

Shrivelled back into a semi dormant state, swallowed
by the shadowy degrees of a granite face,
that clocks the demarcation of daisy-chained
summer of grace, into bare branched veins;
gnarled and knotted by time; twists
of clouded memories, that bleed vaguely grey
into the clear blue eyes of a spring sky.

When you see a winter solstice, do not ask why
it blazes and cuts through the paler shades;
this is the stored up harvest,
trampled, crushed and aged.
It rages against the wasteful decay and thrusts
new shoots through the push of spring
to make one more summer of hay.
 
 
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I really liked the poem with the exception of the second stanza, I think you could get away with removing it entirely.

[cidermaid]

Hi wjames - thanks for the comments.
This one is definiatly missing the mark in terms of making any connects.
I will have a think about your comments. I think you are right about the overly long sentance, that needs addressing.  Not so sure I can live without all of ST2.
I am actually thinking it is the title that might need some work.   (In truth the idea was taken from another poem and I really wanted to steal that title "Why old people are grumpy"   ... I suppose I could call it:-  Why I am grumpy!)

The daylight savings thing and most of St2 are rooted in the ideaof time stealing vigour and youth from us.  The sting of remembering the things of youth only after it is all used up)...perhaps another title could be "Youth is wasted on the young"

Thanks for stopping by
AJ.

[billy]

i did read and pass this one but just because of a lack of time. i'll comment on the edit.

i stopped wit the edit as i don't want to litter the page. for me the poem feels too involved with things that don't really matter to the poem {the poem is too full with descriptive narrative}


Shrivelled back into a semi dormant state, swallowed
by shadowy degrees of a granite set face,
that clocks the demarcation of daisy-chained
summer grace into bare branched veins;
gnarled and knotted by time - twists
of clouded memories, that bleed vaguely grey
into the clear blue of spring fed eyes.

the above is an example of what i mean. it feels to full, i love phrases like [spring fed eyes] and bare [branched veins] but they're buried under an excess of image.

this isn't a re write but an idea of what i mean. feel free to hate me for it



Shrivelled back, a semi dormant state,
bare branched veins;
gnarled and knotted by time
that bleed vaguely grey
into the blue of spring fed eyes.

for me it's not one of your better poem but there is definitely a good poem in there.

sorry for being long winded with the feedback

[sup]1st edit.[/sup]
When autumn comes
the golden up-lit broad lands and leafy lanes, words like up lit don't really work for me, i imagine underground lighting. it feel like the line is a weak starter. but it does set the tone for a nature poem
bejewelled with berries that have sucked the last bejewelled reads as one of those more cliched singular words. no suggestion on an alternative.
daylight saved hour from the sun,  dry out. the enjambment feels a bit off, i know it's the ground that's drying out but i keep seeing the sun dry out [this could just be me and how my minds wired up]
The remains, the empty husks, are laid to waste a suggestion would be a slight change [The remains; empty husks laid to waste]
by sharp edged winds that pluck
the plumped out leisure and leave behind while i like the L sounds, i can't work out why the word [leisure is used in this instance]
the wrinkled lines of weathered haste.

Shrivelled back into a semi dormant state, swallowed
by shadowy degrees of a granite set face,
that clocks the demarcation of daisy-chained
summer grace into bare branched veins;
gnarled and knotted by time - twists
of clouded memories, that bleed vaguely grey
into the clear blue of spring fed eyes.

When you see a winter solstice, do not ask why
it blazes and burns at the paler shades;
this is the stored up harvest,                                                                                                                                             
trampled, crushed and aged.
It rages against the wasteful decay and thrusts
the languid sap up for the push for spring days,
aiming to make just one more summer of hay.
 
 
 

original draft.

When autumn comes
the golden up-lit broad lands and leafy lanes,
bejewelled with berries that have sucked the last
daylight saved hour from the sun, turn and dry out.
Husks of their former glory, laid to waste
by sharp edged winds that pluck
the plumped out leisure and leave behind
the wrinkled lines of weathered haste.

Shrivelled back into a semi dormant state, swallowed
by the shadowy degrees of a granite face,
that clocks the demarcation of daisy-chained
summer of grace, into bare branched veins;
gnarled and knotted by time; twists
of clouded memories, that bleed vaguely grey
into the clear blue eyes of a spring sky.

When you see a winter solstice, do not ask why
it blazes and cuts through the paler shades;
this is the stored up harvest,
trampled, crushed and aged.
It rages against the wasteful decay and thrusts
new shoots through the push of spring
to make one more summer of hay.
 
 
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[Alexand3r]

might be because my mother tongue is not english, but it seems to me that you concentrated to much on using flowery words and metaphors and in the process left the content behind, like it was only a secondary part of the poem. When reading poems, i often notice that the most powerful ones often have simple wording, but express something so fundamentally right that you go like "this is like a law of nature! what he/she wrote describes this in its own way, but still perfectly". Here, i'm so busy with romantic visions of idealised autumn scenes! that true feeling of autumn, the smell of damp leaves, cold misty mornings, the way morning mist dampens the worlds sounds and so on.... you see, i miss the impressions autumn has on people, this melancholy pared with beauty, and then the knowledge that everything in nature will come back again, but maybe some things in my life are just gone/will come for the first time.... what i would do: just go out one morning /evening (because those are the special times of day, especially in autumn) and then somewhre calm, just take deep breaths, try to hear everything, smell everything and then try to find out what makes this epxerience feel like autumn to you! just random thoughts
greez
Alex

[cidermaid]

Hi alex for your thoughtful and detailed read and reply to my poem.   Many of your comments are spot on for an autumn poem and the passion with which you lay out an autumn sceen make me think that this would be a great subject for you to dive into, for a creation of your own.  (I will have to keep a watch to see if you do indeed write an autumn poem now - I would want to read it from your feedback comments)

Sadly in this case my poem was never intended to actually be anything to do with autumn, i fear that the fact that no-one who has read this to date has made any of the connections to the metaphors i intended must entirly rest on my shoulders as a failed writing effort.

back to the drawing board with this one  for me...no doubt I will be back with a much edited version of this at some point.   The title being the first thing I will change.
Meanwhile that was a great crit that you have offered and I really do thank you for the time and thought that you have given me.
All the best AJ.

might be because my mother tongue is not english, but it seems to me that you concentrated to much on using flowery words and metaphors and in the process left the content behind, like it was only a secondary part of the poem. When reading poems, i often notice that the most powerful ones often have simple wording, but express something so fundamentally right that you go like "this is like a law of nature! what he/she wrote describes this in its own way, but still perfectly". Here, i'm so busy with romantic visions of idealised autumn scenes! that true feeling of autumn, the smell of damp leaves, cold misty mornings, the way morning mist dampens the worlds sounds and so on.... you see, i miss the impressions autumn has on people, this melancholy pared with beauty, and then the knowledge that everything in nature will come back again, but maybe some things in my life are just gone/will come for the first time.... what i would do: just go out one morning /evening (because those are the special times of day, especially in autumn) and then somewhre calm, just take deep breaths, try to hear everything, smell everything and then try to find out what makes this epxerience feel like autumn to you! just random thoughts
greez
Alex

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[cidermaid]

Put up another edit.
I am begining to hate this poem. Anyone else ever seen a great title / idea in someone elses work and thought hey that's got me going on an idea of how I could re- work this...dashed out what you had in mind...thinking this is working out okay...and then hit a wall...because actually it doesn't work at all?
it has become a bit of a mission in writing disciple to do these edits and make this idea work, but I fear I have killed it in the process.
Thank you to those who have offered crit so far, I appreciate your time to read and crit.
AJ.

[billy]

third attempt at feedback
the title works and gives more information to the reader.
it reads much better but still feels a little heavy
good effort.

Edit 2


Youth is wasted on the young

When autumn comes, the sun spot dappled
racing green spread slows; droops, green's
bejewelled with bright berried success, bejewelled still doesn't work for me, i can't see it as in keeping with the 1st two lines. [with bright berried success] on the other seems almost perfect on its own
sucked from the last daylight saved hour. sucked feels to harsh
Vacated seats of ease are laid to waste is [of ease are] really needed? for me it fills in too much for the reader
by sharp edged winds that pluck
the plumped out leisure and leave behind i can't work out what [the plumped out leisure] refers to, is it needed?
the wrinkled lines of weathered haste. no need for [the]
Oak decked frames shrivel back,
swallowed by shadowy degrees, by or in?
sliver frosted onto a granite face
that clocks seasonal demarcations. for me this stanza says much but doesn't have enough clarity re the two preceding lines
Daisy-chained summer grace, twists no need for the comma
into bare branched veins on gnarly twigs.
Clouded memories bleed vaguely grey
into clear blue, spring fed eyes. while it feels word heavy it does work
                                                                                                                        
Do not ask why a winter solstice up to now it's had no outright question, why change it with this line?
blazes and burns at paler shades; blazes and burns are pretty much the same thing to a man of fire
this is the stored up harvest,
trampled, crushed and aged. these two lines together work well. needs a better lead-in
It rages
against the wasteful decay no need for [the]
and thrusts the languid sap up for the push no need for the first [the]
to spring days; aiming to make just one more summer of hay. no need for just

[cidermaid]

@ Billy.  Hi I really do appreciate both of the crits you have given me on this one and did not want you to feel that I had just slammed up another edit without any reference to the thoughts you had given me.  I am getting very frustrated with a poem that I had put together just as a “Oh good I’ve finally got a bit of muse going on”
Three efforts later and I feel like I am not making any connection between my readers and what I was trying to communicate.
So ... tantrum time with this one. 
Warning spoiler:-
Using pastoral autumn images I wanted to write about the autumn years of life.  Youth has sprung, middle age has spread and acquired a suitable amount of baubles....and in the autumn years you are not quite ready to sit down and wait to die.  Meanwhile that blasted winter solstice is being counted down on that nicey sundial that your partner brought at the garden centre!   (In direct answer to the stanza that says too much comment)

So having explained this
Green’s  From my write I was not thinking of personifying the trees here, I actually think I need to add back in the at the start of the line that i took out in an edit.  slackness during editing.
I wanted bejewelled for the dripping prosperity image (although I agree with you about this as a word sound and that also that bright berried almost say this anyway.
Sucked. Wanted a harsh image...the time clocks go back an hour...so like a person who does not want to give up smoking who is told this is the last cigarette in the world...so a not ready to be decrepit person wants to reclaim any past time that they can.
Agree I could loose the vacated seats of ease. Was thinking of all those flash holidays spent wasting precious time sat around just gawping at the view. But, is probably too involved.  My tiny little brain gets a bit trapped in an eddy of thought sometimes!
Plumped out leisure is admittedly a run on from the seats line but also is a reassertion to the central pastoral image of how the wind sucks the flesh of the autumn berries and they shrivel up.  The plumped out leisure of the last days of summer that gave those berries girth is wasted away by the harsh winds of age. Ditto for man.
Agree with you about taking out the “the”.
Could be either by or in on the next point but I had settled on by and still feel happy with it.

I am currently thinking that the oak decked frames lines is where the confusion might be coming from.   Again my mind gets carried along a line too far – Oaks being an image of people in common use ( of righteousness / stature).  Decking being something only mature / wealthy people tend to have.   Un-oiled / maintained oak decking will shrink over a harsh winter. Pastoral image Oak trees shed their leaves and the bare branches are not so glorious.
?  The question line: I thought I had made it a non question line by conditioning it with do not ask..   will think on this further.
Blazes / burns.  Yep agree with you here – good catch.  I did look at this before and then kept it - I'll sit here in my wrongness.
The / the and just  again these are all valid points that I will change in any edits.

Billy I wanted to write this reply to let you see just how valuable your comments are, and to let you know that I do fully take into consideration each and every point.   I felt that this poem had flopped anyway so it was no great loss if I put up some spoiler notes.   I just wanted to give you a nod of appreciation for your time and effort.  
Thank you for all that you do – you’re a complete star.
  ><
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[billy]

lmao; i never imagined you not appreciating feedback, i was just apologizing before hand for any anguish caused because i saw you seemingly struggle with it.

[cidermaid]

Hi Billy - sorry misinterpreted your smilie - thought you were grumpy for some reason...so turned the smoke blower on

Another edit just going up - Yay!   (Bloody poetry)