Trouble

[Ribo]

Edited version 1.1 - below thanks for the feedback...thinking about other comments...


The path behind our childhood home
ran fast to trouble unbeknown.
A farmers gate, a barn of hay,
lay in-wait that sunny day.

With tales and waves to Mum and Dad,
we took to where we should not had.
Mum thinks we’re going to the park.
We promised we’d be back by dark.

The gate was rusted, old and iron,
but scale it not for want of tryin’.
Push and pull and shake and crack,
the gate lay down, now at our back.

A harvest moon one week prior,
had filled the barn to top, no higher.
We scampered hay-bale, slid and fell.
Jumping, tripping, all was well.

Laughed and rolled from bale to stack.
Time it fell right off the track.
Sunlight dimmed and now was gone,
back home to rush. Come on! Come on!

Leaving fast, we flashed a match,
to find our way out from the patch.
A stumble over rake and scythe,
took the fire from our eyes.

Oil from tractors mixed with straw.
A fuse to light, our barn - no more!
A blaze to see for miles around,
and then us running to the crowd.

-----------------------------------

Original post below:

The path behind our childhood home
ran fast to trouble unbeknown.
A farmers gate, a barn of hay,
lay in-wait that summers day.

With tales and waves to Mum and Dad,
we set our feet where we should not had.
Mum thinks we’re going to the park.
We promised we’d be back by dark.

The gate was rust, old and iron,
but scale it not for want of tryin’.
Push and pull and shake and crack,
the gate lay down, now at our back.

A harvest moon one week prior,
had filled the barn to top, no higher.
We scampered bail and slid and fell.
Jumping, tripping, all was well.

Laughed and rolled from fort to stack.
Time it fell right off the track.
Sunlight dimmed and now was gone,
back home to rush, come on, come on.

Leaving fast we flashed a match,
to find our way out from the patch.
A stumble over rake and pitch,
took our fire to the ditch.

Oil from tractors mixed with straw.
A fuse to light, our barn - no more!
A blaze to see for miles around,
and then us running from the ground.

[Erthona]

Ribo,

I'm not sure that iambic tetrameter is the best meter for this poem (I personally think it is better for the comedic poem, although this is lighthearted until the end), but it is a valiant attempt regardless. You might consider dropping the rhyming couplets and going with an abab rhyme pattern, to give it a little more serious tone.  L6 is out of meter.

There seems some possibly gratuitous, or erroneous phrases. Such as

"A harvest moon one week prior, had filled the barn to top"  I'm not sure how a moon fills a barn.

I have done things similar, even so I think your description needs some tightening. You introduce the terms "fort" and "stack" as though the reader should know what they are. Same with "bail". Even thirty years ago this would have still been common knowledge, but now I think it would more likely to be associated being jailed, or bailing out, rather than a hay bail. Maybe similar problems with rake and pitch, especially pitch fork. To my knowledge,when describing the implement it is generally referred to as pitch fork, because pitch, when used as a noun generally refers to "coal tar". So I think you are using the abbreviation to solely stay within meter. I think you need to find a better solution.

The last line I would ask, "is the ground chasing you?"   " us running from the ground"

It's a fun nostalgic look at farm life, just needs a little more clarity. Don't assume your reader will know the terms related to the farm, you are using. Most people have never been on a farm, and few movies or TV shows actually show the workings of a farm these days. Keep that in mind when thinking about what you might need to explain.


Dale    

[tigrflye]

The path behind our childhood home
ran fast to trouble unbeknown.
A farmers gate, a barn of hay,
lay in-wait that summers day.

With tales and waves to Mum and Dad,
we set our feet where we should not had. I stumble on this. My thought would be a period after "feet". And then simply "We should not have."
Mum thinks we’re going to the park.
We promised we’d be back by dark.

The gate was rust, old and iron, missing something in the meter? Like..the gate was rusted, old and iron..  ?
but scale it not for want of tryin’. this.. just a bit confusing.. why couldn't you scale it? But you could break it..
Push and pull and shake and crack, good opportunity to really describe how you made it crack
the gate lay down, now at our back.

A harvest moon one week prior,
had filled the barn to top, no higher. I think it's cute the "harvest" moon filled it with hay.
We scampered bail and slid and fell.
Jumping, tripping, all was well.

Laughed and rolled from fort to stack.
Time it fell right off the track.
Sunlight dimmed and now was gone,
back home to rush, come on, come on. maybe "Come on! Come on!"

Leaving fast we flashed a match, Leaving fast, we flashed a match
to find our way out from the patch.
A stumble over rake and pitch,
took our fire to the ditch.

Oil from tractors mixed with straw.
A fuse to light, our barn - no more!
A blaze to see for miles around,
and then us running from the ground.

I enjoyed the story.. I anticipated the danger that would come at the end.. so I am glad you provided some. I think there are a few missed opportunities to provide clearer pictures.
Thank you for sharing.

[Brownlie]

The path behind our childhood home
ran fast to trouble unbeknown. -- Not sure about unbeknown.
A farmers gate, a barn of hay,
lay in-wait that summers day. -- I think Shakespeare ruined summers day, or summer's day, or whatever.


With tales and waves to Mum and Dad,
we set our feet where we should not had.
Mum thinks we’re going to the park.
We promised we’d be back by dark.

The gate was rust, old and iron,
but scale it not for want of tryin’.
Push and pull and shake and crack,
the gate lay down, now at our back.

A harvest moon one week prior,
had filled the barn to top, no higher.
We scampered bail and slid and fell.
Jumping, tripping, all was well.

Laughed and rolled from fort to stack.
Time it fell right off the track.
Sunlight dimmed and now was gone,
back home to rush, come on, come on.

Leaving fast we flashed a match,
to find our way out from the patch.
A stumble over rake and pitch,
took our fire to the ditch.

Oil from tractors mixed with straw.
A fuse to light, our barn - no more!
A blaze to see for miles around,
and then us running from the ground.

I'm not really knowledgeable on Faulkner, but this poem reminded me of that story Barn Burning. Maybe this type of rhyme scheme is valued by some, but it seems distracting. I'm no Laureate ok, there are children who write better than me (http://www.rattle.com/poetry/children/y2014/). However, I'm hesitant to endorse this sort of rhyming.

[ellajam]

Hi, Ribo, welcome. The more I think about this one the more the rhyming couplets suit it as it remains a child's tale through to the end. The boys are hellbent on destruction as shown by their actions at the gate, yet they "accidentally" burn down the barn, sticking to their story: We were careless boys, not arsonists. This put it to me as a story told right after the fact rather than years later, justifying the choice of rhyme scheme. Some notes are below.

Edited version 1.1 - below thanks for the feedback...thinking about other comments...


The path behind our childhood home
ran fast to trouble unbeknown.
A farmers gate, a barn of hay,
lay in-wait that sunny day. I believe "in wait" is correct. August might be an interesting choice in place of sunny.

With tales and waves to Mum and Dad,
we took to where we should not had. For me, this line is too twisted for the sake of rhyme to keep as is.
Mum thinks we’re going to the park.
We promised we’d be back by dark.

The gate was rusted, old and iron,
but scale it not for want of tryin’. Barely understandable, again forced for rhyme.
Push and pull and shake and crack,
the gate lay down, now at our back.

A harvest moon one week prior,
had filled the barn to top, no higher. "No higher" seems there just for the rhyme.
We scampered hay-bale, slid and fell.
Jumping, tripping, all was well.

Laughed and rolled from bale to stack.
Time it fell right off the track. "It" seems to be there just for meter.
Sunlight dimmed and now was gone,
back home to rush. Come on! Come on! Why not "we rushed back home"?

Leaving fast, we flashed a match,
to find our way out from the patch.
A stumble over rake and scythe,
took the fire from our eyes. "Took fire from our hand and eyes"?

Oil from tractors mixed with straw.
A fuse to light, our barn - no more!
A blaze to see for miles around,
and then us running to the crowd.

-----------------------------------

Original post below:

The path behind our childhood home
ran fast to trouble unbeknown.
A farmers gate, a barn of hay,
lay in-wait that summers day.

With tales and waves to Mum and Dad,
we set our feet where we should not had.
Mum thinks we’re going to the park.
We promised we’d be back by dark.

The gate was rust, old and iron,
but scale it not for want of tryin’.
Push and pull and shake and crack,
the gate lay down, now at our back.

A harvest moon one week prior,
had filled the barn to top, no higher.
We scampered bail and slid and fell.
Jumping, tripping, all was well.

Laughed and rolled from fort to stack.
Time it fell right off the track.
Sunlight dimmed and now was gone,
back home to rush, come on, come on.

Leaving fast we flashed a match,
to find our way out from the patch.
A stumble over rake and pitch,
took our fire to the ditch.

Oil from tractors mixed with straw.
A fuse to light, our barn - no more!
A blaze to see for miles around,
and then us running from the ground.

I think some of the odd language and twisted syntax hinder the reader. The poem is very close to successful, I think you could edit this into something that reads beautifully.

Good luck with it.

[tectak]

Edited version 1.1 - below thanks for the feedback...thinking about other comments...


The path behind our childhood home
ran fast to trouble unbeknown. This line needs help. If you insist on AABB rhyme scheme, the simplest, then keep it simple. " led us to troubles still unknown."
A farmers gate, a barn of hay, The farmer's gate, barn full of hay
lay in-wait that sunny day. lay temptingly that  summer day
No more rewrites. You get the (simple) picture. Your poem

With tales and waves to Mum and Dad,Unless your parents were called Mum and Dad, an incredible coincidence, capitals are not needed...no matter how much you loved them
we took to where we should not had. Absolutely ghastly. Almost criminal grammar. You should had of been shot. Conversely, you are the victim...of rhyme-crime. Forced rhyme? This is extruded. Change it
Mum thinks we’re going to the park. Check your meter...it could be right but hmmmm.
We promised we’d be back by dark.

The gate was rusted, old and iron, Only iron rusts. It is what iron does in oxygen. It is Iron Oxide. Rust. I cannot help myself. The gate was old, of rusty iron;
unscaled, but not for want of trying.......crap rhyme but you started it
but scale it not for want of tryin’. Oh good grief. Are you Vogon?
Push and pull and shake and crack, Just how does one, or two for that matter, crack? Look, it is a nice idea but if you cannot rhyme, don't. Credit, though, for trying. Just remember that YOU are in charge of the poem...not vice versa. Whip it in to place. Make it obey you. Do not lie down and whimper out weak rhymes. Change it to make you happy. Your poem BUT:
We pushed and pulled, we shook it 'till
the hinges broke, the gate fell still....or something.
the gate lay down, now at our back.

A harvest moon one week prior, from one week prior. Meter again
had filled the barn to top, no higher.
We scampered hay-bale, slid and fell. Explain "scampered hay-bale" . You cannot. Nor can I. It is nonsense. You are on the wrong site to write  nonsense and be praised....and that is the good news.
Jumping, tripping, all was well.

Laughed and rolled from bale to stack.
Time it fell right off the track.
Sunlight dimmed and now was gone,
back home to rush. Come on! Come on! Omit this stanza completely. It is unworthy...and If  thine eye offends thee.....

Leaving fast, we flashed a match,
to find our way out from the patch. Wha? Wh? Whe? Patch? Patch? You were in a barn....last seen
A stumble over rake and scythe,
took the fire from our eyes. No. Enough. You are challenged by rhyme and you are defeated. Give in with honour. I cannot help you

Oil from tractors mixed with straw.
A fuse to light, our barn - no more!
A blaze to see for miles around,
and then us running to the crowd. A thankful ending.....at least for this reader.

You had a good idea. You wrote a poem about it. It did not take long to write. You did not read it out loud. You did not listen to what you had written. You got pissed with it after a stanza or two. You put it to death. You stuck it up on this site. I crit it. Will you respond? I doubt it. Do you care? Then tell me I am wrong.
Best,
tectak

-----------------------------------

Original post below:

The path behind our childhood home
ran fast to trouble unbeknown.
A farmers gate, a barn of hay,
lay in-wait that summers day.

With tales and waves to Mum and Dad,
we set our feet where we should not had.
Mum thinks we’re going to the park.
We promised we’d be back by dark.

The gate was rust, old and iron,
but scale it not for want of tryin’.
Push and pull and shake and crack,
the gate lay down, now at our back.

A harvest moon one week prior,
had filled the barn to top, no higher.
We scampered bail and slid and fell.
Jumping, tripping, all was well.

Laughed and rolled from fort to stack.
Time it fell right off the track.
Sunlight dimmed and now was gone,
back home to rush, come on, come on.

Leaving fast we flashed a match,
to find our way out from the patch.
A stumble over rake and pitch,
took our fire to the ditch.

Oil from tractors mixed with straw.
A fuse to light, our barn - no more!
A blaze to see for miles around,
and then us running from the ground.

[Beacherjosh]

This poem's rhyme scheme really made it a difficult read for me. Some of the rhymes seem forced, and some near/slant rhymes contrast all the other perfect rhymes, although i do see how it could be a perfect rhyme depending on the reader's accent. The meter is also off in a few places.
"A harvest moon one week prior,
had filled the barn to top, no higher."
some on said they didn't under stand how a moon can fill a barn, but I understood this as the "harvest moon" just being a way of saying the hay filled the barn. Overall your concepts come though very clear, but the meter and rhyming do not support you subject mater and tone in my opinion.

[Ribo]

Thanks folks,

I'm very new to poetry and I will take any feedback on the chin, especially from tectak. One's harshest critic can be ones best help I find. I certainly need to study more in meter and forms but ellajam I think hit this on the head and I appreciate someone seeing this. It is a kids story, a kids excuse of sorts or a confession and meant to conjour pictures of a simpler time where one could get "in trouble", something that at the time seemed to be the end of the world but in reality was very minor, however obviously burning down a full barn of hay is not a minor thing so this again speak to the naivety of the kids to think this would fall in the category of  just "trouble" with mum and dad.

Josh - you make a very good point about accent - when we read we tend to do so in our own but as a writer is can be an interesting challenge to try and force the reader to adopt a different accent. If you've ever read any books by Irvine Welsh you'll understand how this can be done expertly. I am not so talented however i do believe in the power of sentence construction to this goal, outside of learned structured grammar. In fact if we write in perfect English it is very challenging to dissolve realism into our words. This last sentence, i hope, is case-in-point to some.

This said, as a Brit I certainly do find myself writing with an accent in my head that I am familiar with. This often is something that creates debate with the fellow writers I chose to endure time with. I've lived and traveled in many countries, until I recently settled in Washington DC, but my life till the age of 20 was spent in ever changing parts of England. I found myself being quite literate in a plethora of different English dialects and mannerisms over these formative years. This tends to leak out of me.

This story was recanted to me by a good friend of mine from the south of England many years ago on a camping trip and most of the wording, and rhyming works for me in his accent without sounding forced. This is not to say the piece doesn't need some work and again I welcome the feedback and appreciate you all for taking the time to do so.

[tectak]

Thanks folks,

I'm very new to poetry and I will take any feedback on the chin, especially from tectak. One's harshest critic can be ones best help I find. I certainly need to study more in meter and forms but ellajam I think hit this on the head and I appreciate someone seeing this. It is a kids story, a kids excuse of sorts or a confession and meant to conjour pictures of a simpler time where one could get "in trouble", something that at the time seemed to be the end of the world but in reality was very minor, however obviously burning down a full barn of hay is not a minor thing so this again speak to the naivety of the kids to think this would fall in the category of  just "trouble" with mum and dad.

Josh - you make a very good point about accent - when we read we tend to do so in our own but as a writer is can be an interesting challenge to try and force the reader to adopt a different accent. If you've ever read any books by Irvine Welsh you'll understand how this can be done expertly. I am not so talented however i do believe in the power of sentence construction to this goal, outside of learned structured grammar. In fact if we write in perfect English it is very challenging to dissolve realism into our words. This last sentence, i hope, is case-in-point to some.

This said, as a Brit I certainly do find myself writing with an accent in my head that I am familiar with. This often is something that creates debate with the fellow writers I chose to endure time with. I've lived and traveled in many countries, until I recently settled in Washington DC, but my life till the age of 20 was spent in ever changing parts of England. I found myself being quite literate in a plethora of different English dialects and mannerisms over these formative years. This tends to leak out of me.

This story was recanted to me by a good friend of mine from the south of England many years ago on a camping trip and most of the wording, and rhyming works for me in his accent without sounding forced. This is not to say the piece doesn't need some work and again I welcome the feedback and appreciate you all for taking the time to do so.

Good egg,
go to work on it,
Best,
tectak

[jsoutiere92]

Edited version 1.1 - below thanks for the feedback...thinking about other comments...


The path behind our childhood home
ran fast to trouble unbeknown.
A farmers gate, a barn of hay,
lay in-wait that sunny day.

With tales and waves to Mum and Dad,
we took to where we should not had.
Mum thinks we’re going to the park.
We promised we’d be back by dark.

The gate was rusted, old and iron,
but scale it not for want of tryin’.
Push and pull and shake and crack,
the gate lay down, now at our back.

A harvest moon one week prior,
had filled the barn to top, no higher.
We scampered hay-bale, slid and fell.
Jumping, tripping, all was well.

Laughed and rolled from bale to stack.
Time it fell right off the track.
Sunlight dimmed and now was gone,
back home to rush. Come on! Come on!

Leaving fast, we flashed a match,
to find our way out from the patch.
A stumble over rake and scythe,
took the fire from our eyes.

Oil from tractors mixed with straw.
A fuse to light, our barn - no more!
A blaze to see for miles around,
and then us running to the crowd.

-----------------------------------

Original post below:

The path behind our childhood home
ran fast to trouble unbeknown.
A farmers gate, a barn of hay,
lay in-wait that summers day.

With tales and waves to Mum and Dad,
we set our feet where we should not had.
Mum thinks we’re going to the park.
We promised we’d be back by dark.

The gate was rust, old and iron,
but scale it not for want of tryin’.
Push and pull and shake and crack,
the gate lay down, now at our back.

A harvest moon one week prior,
had filled the barn to top, no higher.
We scampered bail and slid and fell.
Jumping, tripping, all was well.

Laughed and rolled from fort to stack.
Time it fell right off the track.
Sunlight dimmed and now was gone,
back home to rush, come on, come on.

Leaving fast we flashed a match,
to find our way out from the patch.
A stumble over rake and pitch,
took our fire to the ditch.

Oil from tractors mixed with straw.
A fuse to light, our barn - no more!
A blaze to see for miles around,
and then us running from the ground.

Storytelling is for prose, I believe, and while this has the making of a poem in structure, for me, the message is missing. Did I read this just to imagine a barn burning down? There is something else that I would need.

[Erthona]

jsoutiere92  wrote: "Storytelling is for prose, I believe, and while this has the making of a poem in structure, for me, the message is missing. Did I read this just to imagine a barn burning down? There is something else that I would need."

The "Iliad"                        Homer
The "Odyssey"                 Homer
The "Aeneid"                    Virgil  
The "Divine Comedy"       Dante Alighieri
"Paradise Lost"                 John Milton
"The Faerie Queene"         Spenser.
"Christabel"                      Coleridge
"Idylls of the King"            Tennyson

[bgre9184]

It is assumable that anyone who reads this can reflect back to their own mischief childhood so I found the topic of the poem to be good. My own bit of advice (though myself am a novice) I think the rhyme pattern would be best to use the ABAB pattern often seen by Shakespeare in the majority of his sonnets. Personally I find poems that have an AAAA BBBB AAAA etc. pattern to be dull and often leads me to not finish reading it. Hope this helped!

[Erthona]

bgre9184 Just so you have a name for them, those rhyme patterns you don't like are called rhyming couples. It is basically a aa bb cc and so on pattern, which is what Ribo attempts here. People like it because it is the simplest rhyme pattern there is. BTW, there is a rhyming couplet at the end of Shakespearean sonnet.

Dale