A Witch

[groberts01]

Edit 2:
There is a hill bowed under clouds, alone,
and woven with roots, covered with wild hair of
tall grass, brown moor moss, forget-me-nots.
When night came she arrived on bare feet
and walked a slow path upwards; wandering. 'Till
the swooping sky started crying for her.

A spirit, witch, fairy; she gave the clouds
her poetry, exchanged for grey fog,
their rumbling stole the hunger from her belly
then from her chest, and used it to pack the air
with thunder. Starry black fists shook her shoulders
until she was a body as empty as a new coffin.

This way her life's crack-bam and zitz-zic-schrak
cut through the night as blades of lightning
and spilt into a storm with the look of boiling car-oil
and stirred the sky into a battlefield, a playground, a murderer.

So the eye of the storm dropped to her knees,
lips blue and flat-lining, lids half-closed.
She pressed the length of her body
still and white to the waves of sodden ground.
Though storms will only last so long, time passed
and she grew colder.

Edit:
There's a hill bowing alone under clouds,
woven with roots and long hair
styled with wild grasses and wildflowers:
shrinking violets, knapweed and forget-me-nots.

Come night, she arrived with bare feet
and tip-toed a slow, wandering, upwards path,
then drew back her shoulders, and sighed,
Hard. The breath left her lungs like an ass
from a dirty cage, and the hill wore the sky
as a big cape. The fabric swelled
and started crying

for her. So the clouds took her poetry
and hurried to replace it with grey fog.
Next, their rumbling stole her hunger,
reaping her belly then her treasure chest.
Starry black fists digested it as it climbed,
packed it into the air, as thunder,
until she was a body as empty as a new coffin.

Like this her life’s crack-bam and zitz-zic-schrak,
cut open the night as great blades of lightening
and spilt into a storm like boiling car-oil.
At each shot of the starter-pistol
races began between frights of tearing wind
which rode as horses across the flashing night.
This was her manic rapture. It stirred the sky
into a battlefield, a playground, a murderer.

So the storm's eye dropped to her knees soundlessly,
blue lips flat-lining, lids half-closed.
She pressed the length of her body,
still and white to the waves of sodden ground.
And though a storm will only last so long,
time passed, and she grew colder.


Original:
There's a hill bowed alone under clouds,
Woven with roots and the long hair
of wild grasses, wildflowers and forget-me-nots.
Come night, she arrived with bare feet
To tip-toe a slow, wandering path,
Until she reached the peak.
Then shedrew back her shoulders, and sighed,
Hard. So the breath left her lungs like an animal
From a dirty cage. The hill wore the sky
As a big cape,
And it began to cry for her.

So the clouds took her poetry
and hurried to replace it with grey fog.
Next, their rumbling stole her hunger,
Reaping first her belly then her heart.
Starry black fists digested it as it climbed,
They packed it into the air, so it became the thunder.

Like this her life’s crack-bam and zitz-zic-schrak,
Cut open the night as great blades of lightening,
And spilt into a Storm like boiling car-oil.
At each shot of the starter-pistol
Races began between frights of tearing wind
Which rode as horses across the flashing night.
A mania like rapture stirred the sky
Into a battlefield, a playground, a murderer.

So the Eye dropped to her knees soundlessly,
Her blue lips flat-lining, her lids half-closed.
She pressed the length of her body,
Still and white to the waves of sodden ground.
And though a storm will only last so long,
Time passed, and she grew colder.

And as the storm rose up
she started to die.

[Brownlie]

This is pretty cool. There are some metrical hiccups, but I think they may actually add to the style here.

There's a hill bowed alone under clouds, -- Alone to under reads as spondee to me.
Woven with roots and the long hair-- W shouldn't be capitalized. Fixing the capitals would be a quick fix for the poem.
of wild grasses, wildflowers and forget-me-nots. -- I'm not a flower expert. The sound is cool in this line, but is a forget-me-not a wildflower? There are also seems to be some redundancy with the repetition of "wild," but it may be justifiable.  
Come night, she arrived with bare feet
To tip-toe a slow, wandering path,
Until she reached the peak. -- There is a sort of clarity, but there are also generalized words like peak or bare feet or wild grasses that may be enhanced by more detail.
Then she drew back her shoulders, and sighed, -- If you put back after shoulders it would read more rhythmically clear to me, but I like your positioning.
Hard. So the breath left her lungs like an animal -- Maybe a more specific animal.
From a dirty cage. The hill wore the sky
As a big cape,
And it began to cry for her.

So the clouds took her poetry
and hurried to replace it with grey fog.
Next, their rumbling stole her hunger,
Reaping first her belly then her heart. -- I'm generally skeptical of heart, but perhaps you could work it into your overall style. As long is its not in a collocation like bleeding heart or something.
Starry black fists digested it as it climbed,
They packed it into the air, so it became the thunder.

Like this her life’s crack-bam and zitz-zic-schrak,
Cut open the night as great blades of lightening,
And spilt into a Storm like boiling car-oil.
At each shot of the starter-pistol -- Interesting segueway
Races began between frights of tearing wind -- I think between frights may be a spondee, but a few spondees may be good.
Which rode as horses across the flashing night.
A mania like rapture stirred the sky
Into a battlefield, a playground, a murderer.

So the Eye dropped to her knees soundlessly, -- eye of a tornado?
Her blue lips flat-lining, her lids half-closed.
She pressed the length of her body,
Still and white to the waves of sodden ground.
And though a storm will only last so long,
Time passed, and she grew colder.

And as the storm rose up
she started to die.

Seems cool. I left some comments that may or may not be helpful.

[billy]

first off, i think it worthy of being in serious.

2nd, on reading the first stanza felt a little wordy [just a little] not sure the last two lines work, okay i am sure; for me they don't work they hinder. the storm reads as though it's been and gone yet in the couplet it only just rises up. it's to much of stretch. for me the poem ends with colder; let the reader imagine. words with a strike through are unnecessary [only suggestions, ]  you have some good metaphor and alliteration.
i get the feel of the witch though i'm not sure i equate the storm with cold perhaps something else instead of cold to show the connection.

some of the images are crisp and original. the main think that does jar, are the caps that start each line. sometimes they work, sometimes they don't

There's a hill bowed alone under clouds, i'd suggest a comma after [bowed] a good strong line to begin the poem with
Woven with roots and the long hair
of wild grasses, wildflowers and forget-me-nots. i like the alliterative W's
Come night, she arrived with bare feet
To tip-toe a slow, wandering path,
Until she reached the peak. feels a little weak
Then she drew back her shoulders, and sighed,
Hard. So the breath left her lungs like an animal
From a dirty cage, [and] the hill wore the sky
As a big cape,
And it began to cry cried for her.

So the clouds took her poetry
and hurried to replace it with grey fog.
Next, their rumbling stole her hunger,
Reaping first her belly then her heart.
Starry black fists digested it as it climbed,
They packed it into the air, so it became the  [as] thunder.

Like this her life’s crack-bam and zitz-zic-schrak,
Cut open the night as great blades of lightening,
And spilt into a Storm like boiling car-oil. comma splits the simile
At each [a] shot of the starter-pistol
Races began between frights of tearing wind
Which rode as horses across the flashing night.
A mania like rapture stirred the sky mania and rapture feel contradictory.
Into a battlefield, a playground, a murderer. i do so like this line this line give the storm menace, i would suggest playground of murder

So the Eye dropped to her knees soundlessly, what eye. the eye of the storm?
Her blue lips flat-lining, her lids half-closed. another solid image. i can see the pressure on the lips
She pressed the length of her body,
Still and white to the waves of sodden ground.
And though a storm will only last so long,
Time passed, and she grew colder. this for me is where the poem is best ended.

And as the storm rose up
she started to die.

[groberts01]

Thanks for your critique!
Yes, I was trying to say that the woman had become the eye of the storm. I've edited to hopefully make this clearer.

[tectak]

There's a hill bowed alone under clouds,Interesting use of "bowed alone" couple.It is a little over-poetic in that by using "bowed" as an adjective you leave confusion. If you could clarify. "There's a bowed hill, alone, under clouds" or " There's a hill, bowed alone, under clouds". This is not pedantic. It is an attempt to remove uncertainty of intent.
Woven with roots and the long hairThere never was a good poetical reason to capitalise every line start. Now it is simply pretentious serving only to confuse. As you are not making any attempt at meter, your poem..your choice....you DO need to help the reader along. Stumbling on awkward ground irritates the reader. Broken (or no) meter is fine if the subject matter is chaotic but thus far I am getting smooth imagery but jagged syntax. One or the other.
of wild grasses, wildflowers and forget-me-nots.This line is very weak. It is not as though there is a shortage of wild flowers that you cannot name genus but only generalise. Again, it is mostly a failure of syntax that forces your hand. You write " ... and the long hair of wild grasses, wildflowers and forget-me-nots". Long, hairy forget-me-nots? No. Only a suggestion:
" woven with roots and long hair of wild grass,
mixed with moor moss and forget-me-nots". Note that this form removes that "the" word. "The" is definitive. Used as you have, it implies that you are referring to a defined "long hair". Not any old long hair, not long hair over there, not long hair we wear...but THE long hair. "the" is an excuse for an adjective. Try enriching imagery by putting something descriptive in front of "long hair" or just leave out "the".  

Come night, she arrived with bare feet I am having difficulty accepting an arrival without feet.  I note that you are writing in past tense. That's fine, but "come night" is future-predictive. It has not yet happened...better, maybe, "When night came, she arrived on bare feet". You are thinking your way through the piece in a time-continuum known only to you. Thought does that. Once you have written it, right it. This is in Serious Workshopping and you should NOT be displaying basic errors.
To tip-toe a slow, wandering path,
Until she reached the peak. Again, you could make much more of this. As it is, you merely note a not unnatural progression...if you wander up a hill, you stop going up when you reach the peak. This is over-wordy. That means it uses a lot of words to say not a lot.
Then she drew back her shoulders, and sighed, Ask yourself why you felt you needed to say "Then". You use no meter and so there is no reason to add a half foot here and there. She is at the top of a hill. What did she do? Easy. "She drew back her shoulders and sighed hard". You do not need all the commas BUT I can see that you are trying to inject dramatic pauses. That is commendable. The caesura between "...sighed" and the next word to come is a breathless pause. A comma will not do it. Try a colon if you must, but for this reader a period would suffice. Frankly, the next word is part of the problem. "Sighing hard" is probably a bit of a contextual conflict....but it gets worse. See next.
Hard. So the breath left her lungs like an animal Oh dear. Classical error here. I do it myself, which makes it classical. Now, do you mean to compare her breath to an animal, her breath to an animal's breath, her breath's leaving to an animal leaving a cage (dirty?), her lungs to a cage, all of the above but only to an animal from a DIRTY cage? It is a mess of mixed metaphorical musings. Think VERY hard what you mean to say and then say it in CLEAR but metaphorical way. Metaphors should CLARIFY not obscure.
From a dirty cage. The hill wore the sky
As a big cape, You are feeling sleepy....you are going to sleep....look into my eyes...you see a cape....describe the cape.....errrrr.....BIG. Yes, you are now sick to death with this poem and you are worn out trying to think how to write poetry and you just want it all to end....so you give up on it and go to bed, your mind buzzing with ands, as'es, so's, nexts, thens and ats. Next day.....
And it began to cry for her.

So the clouds took her poetry Yipppeee....a good night's sleep. Let's go! So.....oh bugger, you did it again. DROP THE "so". It is of NO consequence. It is not even conditional.
and hurried to replace it with grey fog. Hmmmm. Why and why the hurry? the answer will be forthcoming...
Next, their rumbling stole her hunger, Nope. Where the hell is this off to now? Have you had breakfast yet. Why is she hungry? Are you fully awake? Hold it. Just relax. Calm down and READ your work. Read it from the beginning. Look for continuity. Help the reader to understand what you are seeing through words that are not orbiting around in your head. Pin them to the page with order and precision and intent. You are becoming self-indulgent and uncaring. You are writing as if you believe no one will care to read your work. Tough. Look at your next line...
Reaping first her belly then her heart. Reaping a belly? No. Not good enough...not even granting poetic license. It is just plain wrong.
Starry black fists digested it as it climbed, What is IT? You do not say....and in not saying, you immediately think you have and so plough on....
They packed it into the air, so it became the thunder.....but I still do not know what "it" is, and now "they" are here, too. Who the hell are "they"? You do not say. Hang on. Let me get the gist of this, if you pack "it" in to the air, "it" unarguably becomes thunder...if you say "so". Hmmmmm....it's a puzzle alrighty.

Like this her life’s crack-bam and zitz-zic-schrak, Utter prize-winning gobbledygook. I can make no sense whatsoever from your syntax but worse, far worse, I have not the energy to try. You win. I give up.
Cut open the night as great blades of lightening, LIGHTNING. lightening means "to lighten".
And spilt into a Storm like boiling car-oil. What kind of coffee is that....you have gone completely hyper.
At each shot of the starter-pistol
Races began between frights of tearing wind
Which rode as horses across the flashing night.
A mania like rapture stirred the sky
Into a battlefield, a playground, a murderer. Now I really must go. There are Auks squabbling in my ink-well and I think the wardrobe is following me. Damn this eternal battle with the flying orange...I will kill it, I swear.

So the Eye dropped to her knees soundlessly,
Her blue lips flat-lining, her lids half-closed.
She pressed the length of her body,
Still and white to the waves of sodden ground.
And though a storm will only last so long,
Time passed, and she grew colder.

And as the storm rose up
she started to die.

Hi,
there are just too many problems with this to list. I do not want you to lose what it is that goes tick-tock in your head, but the beat is just too fast for you. I am talking about THIS piece and this piece only. You need to cut out all the nonsense, write clear english, stick to your comfort zone, clarify by sharp metaphors, punctuate with precision and never give up.
As an attempt at poetry it is totally without merit, having none of the required parameters, but that alone would not eliminate it as a piece of poetic endeavour. You worked hard to get it this far, now bang it in to shape. This is Serious Workshopping and that is why you posted your words here. Workshop it.
Best,
tectak

[groberts01]

I have every intention of workshopping it!

There's a hill bowed alone under clouds,Interesting use of "bowed alone" couple.It is a little over-poetic in that by using "bowed" as an adjective you leave confusion. If you could clarify. "There's a bowed hill, alone, under clouds" or " There's a hill, bowed alone, under clouds". This is not pedantic. It is an attempt to remove uncertainty of intent. Thanks for explaining this to me.
Woven with roots and the long hairThere never was a good poetical reason to capitalise every line start. Now it is simply pretentious serving only to confuse. As you are not making any attempt at meter, your poem..your choice....you DO need to help the reader along. Stumbling on awkward ground irritates the reader. Broken (or no) meter is fine if the subject matter is chaotic but thus far I am getting smooth imagery but jagged syntax. One or the other.
of wild grasses, wildflowers and forget-me-nots.This line is very weak. It is not as though there is a shortage of wild flowers that you cannot name genus but only generalise. Again, it is mostly a failure of syntax that forces your hand. You write " ... and the long hair of wild grasses, wildflowers and forget-me-nots". Long, hairy forget-me-nots? No. Only a suggestion:
" woven with roots and long hair of wild grass,
mixed with moor moss and forget-me-nots". Note that this form removes that "the" word. "The" is definitive. Used as you have, it implies that you are referring to a defined "long hair". Not any old long hair, not long hair over there, not long hair we wear...but THE long hair. "the" is an excuse for an adjective. Try enriching imagery by putting something descriptive in front of "long hair" or just leave out "the". I was aware of this, I thought it made the grass seem important, being 'the grass'. But I hear what you're saying. 

Come night, she arrived with bare feet I am having difficulty accepting an arrival without feet.  (Perhaps saying that someone is 'with bare feet' is something said only in my region to mean they aren't wearing any shoes. I didn't realise that.)I note that you are writing in past tense. That's fine, but "come night" is future-predictive. It has not yet happened...better, maybe, "When night came, she arrived on bare feet". You are thinking your way through the piece in a time-continuum known only to you. Thought does that. Once you have written it, right it. This is in Serious Workshopping and you should NOT be displaying basic errors. Thanks for pointing it out, I hadn't noticed this mistake.
To tip-toe a slow, wandering path,
Until she reached the peak. Again, you could make much more of this. As it is, you merely note a not unnatural progression...if you wander up a hill, you stop going up when you reach the peak. This is over-wordy. That means it uses a lot of words to say not a lot.
Then she drew back her shoulders, and sighed, Ask yourself why you felt you needed to say "Then". You use no meter and so there is no reason to add a half foot here and there. She is at the top of a hill. What did she do? Easy. "She drew back her shoulders and sighed hard". You do not need all the commas BUT I can see that you are trying to inject dramatic pauses. That is commendable. The caesura between "...sighed" and the next word to come is a breathless pause. A comma will not do it. Try a colon if you must, but for this reader a period would suffice. Frankly, the next word is part of the problem. "Sighing hard" is probably a bit of a contextual conflict....but it gets worse. See next.
Hard. So the breath left her lungs like an animal Oh dear. Classical error here. I do it myself, which makes it classical. Now, do you mean to compare her breath to an animal, her breath to an animal's breath, her breath's leaving to an animal leaving a cage (dirty?), her lungs to a cage, all of the above but only to an animal from a DIRTY cage? It is a mess of mixed metaphorical musings. Think VERY hard what you mean to say and then say it in CLEAR but metaphorical way. Metaphors should CLARIFY not obscure. I see what you mean. Back to the drawing board.
From a dirty cage. The hill wore the sky
As a big cape, You are feeling sleepy....you are going to sleep....look into my eyes...you see a cape....describe the cape.....errrrr.....BIG. I'm afraid I like the stark simplicity of the word 'big', and I probably won't change it Yes, you are now sick to death with this poem and you are worn out trying to think how to write poetry and you just want it all to end....so you give up on it and go to bed, your mind buzzing with ands, as'es, so's, nexts, thens and ats. You're right, my messy use of little words is frequently appalling - I'll work on it.Next day.....
And it began to cry for her.

So the clouds took her poetry Yipppeee....a good night's sleep. Let's go! So.....oh bugger, you did it again. DROP THE "so". It is of NO consequence. It is not even conditional. I was trying to imply a kind of magic throughout this poem. She's a witch, and whatever is going on on top of this hill is being controlled by her. I'm saying that in this fantasy world a crying sky would definitely lead to clouds taking your poetry.
and hurried to replace it with grey fog. Hmmmm. Why and why the hurry? the answer will be forthcoming... Ok, I get it - the descriptive words I use should all serve a purpose. I'll be more aware of my tendency to use filler words in future.
Next, their rumbling stole her hunger, Nope. Where the hell is this off to now? Have you had breakfast yet. Why is she hungry? Are you fully awake? The storm's taking the witch's vitality - poetry, hunger, zitz-zic-shrak. Hold it. Just relax. Calm down and READ your work. Hey, I did! I'm just not very good. These comments are really helpful in teaching me what to look out for. Read it from the beginning. Look for continuity. Help the reader to understand what you are seeing through words that are not orbiting around in your head. Pin them to the page with order and precision and intent. You are becoming self-indulgent and uncaring. You are writing as if you believe no one will care to read your work. Tough. Look at your next line...
Reaping first her belly then her heart. Reaping a belly? No. Not good enough...not even granting poetic license. It is just plain wrong.
Starry black fists digested it as it climbed, What is IT? You do not say....and in not saying, you immediately think you have and so plough on....
They packed it into the air, so it became the thunder.....but I still do not know what "it" is, and now "they" are here, too. Who the hell are "they"? You do not say. Hang on. Let me get the gist of this, if you pack "it" in to the air, "it" unarguably becomes thunder...if you say "so". Hmmmmm....it's a puzzle alrighty.

Like this her life’s crack-bam and zitz-zic-schrak, Utter prize-winning gobbledygook. I can make no sense whatsoever from your syntax but worse, far worse, I have not the energy to try. You win. I give up.
Cut open the night as great blades of lightening, LIGHTNING. lightening means "to lighten".
And spilt into a Storm like boiling car-oil. What kind of coffee is that....you have gone completely hyper. That was the idea!
At each shot of the starter-pistol
Races began between frights of tearing wind
Which rode as horses across the flashing night.
A mania like rapture stirred the sky
Into a battlefield, a playground, a murderer. Now I really must go. There are Auks squabbling in my ink-well and I think the wardrobe is following me. Damn this eternal battle with the flying orange...I will kill it, I swear. Haha, I really like nonsense writing, so I can't take that as an insult to the poem.

So the Eye dropped to her knees soundlessly,
Her blue lips flat-lining, her lids half-closed.
She pressed the length of her body,
Still and white to the waves of sodden ground.
And though a storm will only last so long,
Time passed, and she grew colder.

And as the storm rose up
she started to die.

Hi,
there are just too many problems with this to list. I do not want you to lose what it is that goes tick-tock in your head, but the beat is just too fast for you. I am talking about THIS piece and this piece only. You need to cut out all the nonsense, write clear english, stick to your comfort zone, clarify by sharp metaphors, punctuate with precision and never give up.
As an attempt at poetry it is totally without merit, having none of the required parameters I'm going to have to disagree., but that alone would not eliminate it as a piece of poetic endeavour. You worked hard to get it this far, now bang it in to shape I will!. This is Serious Workshopping and that is why you posted your words here. Workshop it.
Best,
tectak

I do have trouble putting myself in the mind of a reader so that what I write means something to anyone other than me. Thanks for your critique.

[tectak]

I have every intention of workshopping it!

There's a hill bowed alone under clouds,Interesting use of "bowed alone" couple.It is a little over-poetic in that by using "bowed" as an adjective you leave confusion. If you could clarify. "There's a bowed hill, alone, under clouds" or " There's a hill, bowed alone, under clouds". This is not pedantic. It is an attempt to remove uncertainty of intent. Thanks for explaining this to me.
Woven with roots and the long hairThere never was a good poetical reason to capitalise every line start. Now it is simply pretentious serving only to confuse. As you are not making any attempt at meter, your poem..your choice....you DO need to help the reader along. Stumbling on awkward ground irritates the reader. Broken (or no) meter is fine if the subject matter is chaotic but thus far I am getting smooth imagery but jagged syntax. One or the other.
of wild grasses, wildflowers and forget-me-nots.This line is very weak. It is not as though there is a shortage of wild flowers that you cannot name genus but only generalise. Again, it is mostly a failure of syntax that forces your hand. You write " ... and the long hair of wild grasses, wildflowers and forget-me-nots". Long, hairy forget-me-nots? No. Only a suggestion:
" woven with roots and long hair of wild grass,
mixed with moor moss and forget-me-nots". Note that this form removes that "the" word. "The" is definitive. Used as you have, it implies that you are referring to a defined "long hair". Not any old long hair, not long hair over there, not long hair we wear...but THE long hair. "the" is an excuse for an adjective. Try enriching imagery by putting something descriptive in front of "long hair" or just leave out "the". I was aware of this, I thought it made the grass seem important, being 'the grass'. But I hear what you're saying. 

Come night, she arrived with bare feet I am having difficulty accepting an arrival without feet.  (Perhaps saying that someone is 'with bare feet' is something said only in my region to mean they aren't wearing any shoes. I didn't realise that.)I note that you are writing in past tense. That's fine, but "come night" is future-predictive. It has not yet happened...better, maybe, "When night came, she arrived on bare feet". You are thinking your way through the piece in a time-continuum known only to you. Thought does that. Once you have written it, right it. This is in Serious Workshopping and you should NOT be displaying basic errors. Thanks for pointing it out, I hadn't noticed this mistake.
To tip-toe a slow, wandering path,
Until she reached the peak. Again, you could make much more of this. As it is, you merely note a not unnatural progression...if you wander up a hill, you stop going up when you reach the peak. This is over-wordy. That means it uses a lot of words to say not a lot.
Then she drew back her shoulders, and sighed, Ask yourself why you felt you needed to say "Then". You use no meter and so there is no reason to add a half foot here and there. She is at the top of a hill. What did she do? Easy. "She drew back her shoulders and sighed hard". You do not need all the commas BUT I can see that you are trying to inject dramatic pauses. That is commendable. The caesura between "...sighed" and the next word to come is a breathless pause. A comma will not do it. Try a colon if you must, but for this reader a period would suffice. Frankly, the next word is part of the problem. "Sighing hard" is probably a bit of a contextual conflict....but it gets worse. See next.
Hard. So the breath left her lungs like an animal Oh dear. Classical error here. I do it myself, which makes it classical. Now, do you mean to compare her breath to an animal, her breath to an animal's breath, her breath's leaving to an animal leaving a cage (dirty?), her lungs to a cage, all of the above but only to an animal from a DIRTY cage? It is a mess of mixed metaphorical musings. Think VERY hard what you mean to say and then say it in CLEAR but metaphorical way. Metaphors should CLARIFY not obscure. I see what you mean. Back to the drawing board.
From a dirty cage. The hill wore the sky
As a big cape, You are feeling sleepy....you are going to sleep....look into my eyes...you see a cape....describe the cape.....errrrr.....BIG. I'm afraid I like the stark simplicity of the word 'big', and I probably won't change it Yes, you are now sick to death with this poem and you are worn out trying to think how to write poetry and you just want it all to end....so you give up on it and go to bed, your mind buzzing with ands, as'es, so's, nexts, thens and ats. Next day.....
And it began to cry for her.

So the clouds took her poetry Yipppeee....a good night's sleep. Let's go! So.....oh bugger, you did it again. DROP THE "so". It is of NO consequence. It is not even conditional. I was trying to imply a kind of magic throughout this poem. She's a witch, and whatever is going on on top of this hill is being controlled by her. I'm saying that in this fantasy world a crying sky would definitely lead to clouds taking your poetry.
and hurried to replace it with grey fog. Hmmmm. Why and why the hurry? the answer will be forthcoming... Ok, I get it - the descriptive words I use should all serve a purpose. I'll be more aware of my tendency to use filler words in future.
Next, their rumbling stole her hunger, Nope. Where the hell is this off to now? Have you had breakfast yet. Why is she hungry? Are you fully awake? The storm's taking the witch's vitality - poetry, hunger, zitz-zic-shrak. Hold it. Just relax. Calm down and READ your work. Hey, I did! I'm just not very good. These comments are really helpful in teaching me what to look out for. Read it from the beginning. Look for continuity. Help the reader to understand what you are seeing through words that are not orbiting around in your head. Pin them to the page with order and precision and intent. You are becoming self-indulgent and uncaring. You are writing as if you believe no one will care to read your work. Tough. Look at your next line...
Reaping first her belly then her heart. Reaping a belly? No. Not good enough...not even granting poetic license. It is just plain wrong.
Starry black fists digested it as it climbed, What is IT? You do not say....and in not saying, you immediately think you have and so plough on....
They packed it into the air, so it became the thunder.....but I still do not know what "it" is, and now "they" are here, too. Who the hell are "they"? You do not say. Hang on. Let me get the gist of this, if you pack "it" in to the air, "it" unarguably becomes thunder...if you say "so". Hmmmmm....it's a puzzle alrighty.

Like this her life’s crack-bam and zitz-zic-schrak, Utter prize-winning gobbledygook. I can make no sense whatsoever from your syntax but worse, far worse, I have not the energy to try. You win. I give up.
Cut open the night as great blades of lightening, LIGHTNING. lightening means "to lighten".
And spilt into a Storm like boiling car-oil. What kind of coffee is that....you have gone completely hyper. That was the idea!
At each shot of the starter-pistol
Races began between frights of tearing wind
Which rode as horses across the flashing night.
A mania like rapture stirred the sky
Into a battlefield, a playground, a murderer. Now I really must go. There are Auks squabbling in my ink-well and I think the wardrobe is following me. Damn this eternal battle with the flying orange...I will kill it, I swear. Haha, I really like nonsense writing, so I can't take that as an insult to the poem.

So the Eye dropped to her knees soundlessly,
Her blue lips flat-lining, her lids half-closed.
She pressed the length of her body,
Still and white to the waves of sodden ground.
And though a storm will only last so long,
Time passed, and she grew colder.

And as the storm rose up
she started to die.

Hi,
there are just too many problems with this to list. I do not want you to lose what it is that goes tick-tock in your head, but the beat is just too fast for you. I am talking about THIS piece and this piece only. You need to cut out all the nonsense, write clear english, stick to your comfort zone, clarify by sharp metaphors, punctuate with precision and never give up.
As an attempt at poetry it is totally without merit, having none of the required parameters I'm going to have to disagree., but that alone would not eliminate it as a piece of poetic endeavour. You worked hard to get it this far, now bang it in to shape I will!. This is Serious Workshopping and that is why you posted your words here. Workshop it.
Best,
tectak

I do have trouble putting myself in the mind of a reader so that what I write means something to anyone other than me. Thanks for your critique.

Good egg,
but do not forget that this forum is for Workshopping your work. We can expect to see a finely crafted piece in the near future....yes?
Best,
tectak

[Leah S.]

Edit:
There's a hill bowing alone under clouds,
woven with roots and long hair
styled with wild grasses and wildflowers:
shrinking violets, knapweed and forget-me-nots.

Come night, she arrived with bare feet
and tip-toed a slow, wandering, upwards path,
then drew back her shoulders, and sighed,
Hard. The breath left her lungs like an ass enjambment poorly chosen here, causing me to smell her ass-breath
from a dirty cage, and the hill wore the sky and then imagine an ass walking out of a cage on its butt cheeks.
as a big cape. The fabric swelled
and started crying

for her. So the clouds took her poetry
and hurried to replace it with grey fog.
Next, their rumbling stole her hunger,
reaping her belly then her treasure chest. Not sure about replacing 'heart' with 'treasure chest'. Why not just 'chest'?
Starry black fists digested it as it climbed, Your imagery has really grabbed me by now, but I don't like 'digested'. I want something to go with 'packed'. Maybe 'squeezed' or 'kneaded'?
packed it into the air, as thunder,
until she was a body as empty as a new coffin.

Like this her life’s crack-bam and zitz-zic-schrak, This is great.
cut open the night as great blades of lightening
and spilt into a storm like boiling car-oil. 'engine oil' maybe?
At each shot of the starter-pistol
races began between frights of tearing wind
which rode as horses across the flashing night.
This was her manic rapture. It stirred the sky
into a battlefield, a playground, a murderer.

So the storm's eye dropped to her knees soundlessly, Is she the storm's eye, or is she in the storm's eye? If you intended it to be ambiguous, you need to be a bit more adroit in your phrasing.
blue lips flat-lining, lids half-closed.
She pressed the length of her body,
still and white to the waves of sodden ground. Needs a comma after 'white'.
And though a storm will only last so long, Weak... How about, "Though a storm only lasts so long, time passed..."
time passed, and she grew colder.


Original:
There's a hill bowed alone under clouds,
Woven with roots and the long hair
of wild grasses, wildflowers and forget-me-nots.
Come night, she arrived with bare feet
To tip-toe a slow, wandering path,
Until she reached the peak.
Then shedrew back her shoulders, and sighed,
Hard. So the breath left her lungs like an animal
From a dirty cage. The hill wore the sky
As a big cape,
And it began to cry for her.

So the clouds took her poetry
and hurried to replace it with grey fog.
Next, their rumbling stole her hunger,
Reaping first her belly then her heart.
Starry black fists digested it as it climbed,
They packed it into the air, so it became the thunder.

Like this her life’s crack-bam and zitz-zic-schrak,
Cut open the night as great blades of lightening,
And spilt into a Storm like boiling car-oil.
At each shot of the starter-pistol
Races began between frights of tearing wind
Which rode as horses across the flashing night.
A mania like rapture stirred the sky
Into a battlefield, a playground, a murderer.

So the Eye dropped to her knees soundlessly,
Her blue lips flat-lining, her lids half-closed.
She pressed the length of her body,
Still and white to the waves of sodden ground.
And though a storm will only last so long,
Time passed, and she grew colder.

And as the storm rose up
she started to die.

[groberts01]

Hard. The breath left her lungs like an ass enjambment poorly chosen here, causing me to smell her ass-breath
from a dirty cage, and the hill wore the sky and then imagine an ass walking out of a cage on its butt cheeks.

Ha! I hadn't noticed the above.

Thanks for the feedback.