The Lyme Grove

[Genuinebloke]

Edit #2 (long overdue - if only work did not get in the way!)

At the edge of the woods.
 
"Lock me up."
She held out
wrists upturned,
as my arms built a prison
that would never hold her.
Beyond the final tree
stood a gate in a wall of stone.
We pressed our faces to the bars.
This was as far as we could go.
 
Had she asked, I'd have lied.
It was honour that stopped
us rattling the cage,
picking the locks
and daring the bolt
to wriggle free,
so the hinges might groan
their grudging consent.
 
Looking back, one truth I see.
Our souls died at that gate.
Avoiding the eyes
of a blind horizon,
our inaction cultured
a creeping infection.
 
Behind us voices
teased tiny promises.
Singing lies of summer
that might yet last.
We grasped for that moment
but blood, once-fired, quickly cools,
leaving goose-bumps alone to stand to attention.
 
Without admitting
defeat, we returned home
to tame fires burning in our hearths
and those who love us simply.
Comfort. Survival. No blaze
like the summer we sought
and froze upon finding.
Fall descends quickly in those woods
and the frost bites harder than any we've known.



Edit #1

At the edge of the woods.
 
"Lock me up."
Her eyes offered
wrists upturned,
as my arms imprisoned
but never truly held.
Faces pressed to bars
of a gate in a wall of stone;
here is as far as we can go.
 
Had she asked, I'd have lied;
it was honour that stopped
us rattling the cage
and daring the bolt
to wriggle free,
so the hinges might groan their consent.
 
One truth; looking back,
we died at that gate.
Avoiding the eyes
of a blind horizon,
our inaction cultured
a creeping infection.
 
Behind us voices
teased tiny promises.
Singing lies of summer
that might yet last.
That moment we grasped
but blood once-fired soon cools,
until only clock hands point skyward.
 
Without admitting
defeat, we returned home
to tame fires burning in our hearths
and those who love us simply.
Comfort. Survival. No blaze
like the summer we sought
and froze upon finding.
For the fall comes quickly in those woods
and the frost bites harder than any we've known.


Original post

I am finding this one tricky. I want to tell a personal story which is then making it hard for me to be effective in self-editing. It may be that it just does not work, so any thoughts and feedback would be very useful at this point. Thanks!


The Lyme Grove
 
"Lock me up", her eyes
Held out wrists upturned
As my arms built a prison
That would never hold her.
With faces pressed to bars
In a gate set in stone;
The perimeter of our world
Of thirty metres square.
 
Here is far as we can go.
 
Had she asked, I'd have lied
It was honour that stopped
Us unpicking locks, vulnerable
To trespass and escape from within
Yet four hands never rose
To rattle the cage and dare the bolt
To wriggle free
So hinges might groan in condonance.
 
Behind us voices
Teased tiny promises
Singing lies of summer
That might yet last
For a moment we clutched
But blood once-fired quickly cools
Until only gooseflesh
And clock hands point skyward
 
So the breakout failed
And we died at the gate
Avoiding the gaze
Of a blind horizon.
With friendship uncertain
On paths not walked before us
Our inaction cultured
A creeping infection.
 
Without admitting
Defeat we retreated
A slow march, conjuring
From our mouths masks
Of rationality; each ensuring
The other was watertight
While denying the sink-
Holes opening in our chests.
 
We returned home to tame fires
Burning in our hearths
And those who love us simply.
Comfort. Survival. No blaze
Like the summer we sought
And froze upon finding
For the fall comes quickly in those woods
And frost bites harder than any we've known.

[phil194]

This was a challenging one, which I found both frustrating and kind of nice. I had to to work to get this one, haha. I think some of the imagery is a little unclear, but I got a general idea of what was going on. One small thing that I noticed was "unpicking locks" seems unnecessary. Either you pick locks, or you don't, but you don't unpick them. Also I did not understand the last two lines of the third stanza. Overall, I did like it, though. I think it has potential, but I think some of the symbolism could be made more relatable (though some of it is perfect as-is, like the horizon bits). For instance, the first and fifth stanzas were more difficult to grasp for me, whereas the other ones I could follow after reading it a few times.

[ellajam]

Hi, an interesting read. First, a note on punctuation. You start, stop, start. If you can make this work without you could edit it that way, but IMO it would be easier for writer and reader to just complete what you started. I've put some notes below, if you want more in depth critique this could be moved to the Mild workshop.

I am finding this one tricky. I want to tell a personal story which is then making it hard for me to be effective in self-editing. It may be that it just does not work, so any thoughts and feedback would be very useful at this point. Thanks!


The Lyme Grove

"Lock me up", her eyes
Held out wrists upturned A bumpy start, I thought "offer" might work instead of "held out" but held out has nice alternate meanings, it just didn't read well for me.
As my arms built a prison
That would never hold her.
With faces pressed to bars
In a gate set in stone;
The perimeter of our world
Of thirty metres square. These four lines are sentence fragments, I think you could make it read more smoothly.

Here is far as we can go.

Had she asked, I'd have lied
It was honour that stopped
Us unpicking locks, vulnerable
To trespass and escape from within
Yet four hands never rose
To rattle the cage and dare the bolt
To wriggle free
So hinges might groan in condonance.
I like these last three lines, especially dare the bolt.

Behind us voices
Teased tiny promises
Singing lies of summer
That might yet last
For a moment we clutched These 2 lines shift around but end up nowhere for me.
But blood once-fired quickly cools
Until only gooseflesh
And clock hands point skyward
Strong strophe, especially the last three lines with their implication of what does not rise.

So the breakout failed I thought you didn't break out, I'm missing something.
And we died at the gate
Avoiding the gaze
Of a blind horizon.
With friendship uncertain
On paths not walked before us These two lines are clunky.
Our inaction cultured
A creeping infection. Love these two.

Without admitting
Defeat we retreated
A slow march, conjuring
From our mouths masks
Of rationality; each ensuring
The other was watertight
While denying the sink-
Holes opening in our chests.
While I like the breaks here I'm unsure what you gain by dividing sinkholes. I guess the watertight and sink, but meh.

We returned home to tame fires
Burning in our hearths
And those who love us simply.
Comfort. Survival. No blaze
Like the summer we sought
And froze upon finding
For the fall comes quickly in those woods
And frost bites harder than any we've known.
"this" in front of frost might be nice.

Thanks for the read. I think you might be able to trim it down so it's not quite so difficult to get through but punctuation or a few well placed edits might do the trick. Good luck (and hard work) with it.

[tectak]

I am finding this one tricky. I want to tell a personal story which is then making it hard for me to be effective in self-editing. It may be that it just does not work, so any thoughts and feedback would be very useful at this point. Thanks!


The Lyme Grove
 
"Lock me up", her eyes
Held out wrists upturned
As my arms built a prison
That would never hold her.
With faces pressed to bars
In a gate set in stone;
The perimeter of our world
Of thirty metres square.
 
Here is far as we can go.
 
Had she asked, I'd have lied
It was honour that stopped
Us unpicking locks, vulnerable
To trespass and escape from within
Yet four hands never rose
To rattle the cage and dare the bolt
To wriggle free
So hinges might groan in condonance.
 
Behind us voices
Teased tiny promises
Singing lies of summer
That might yet last
For a moment we clutched
But blood once-fired quickly cools
Until only gooseflesh
And clock hands point skyward
 
So the breakout failed
And we died at the gate
Avoiding the gaze
Of a blind horizon.
With friendship uncertain
On paths not walked before us
Our inaction cultured
A creeping infection.
 
Without admitting
Defeat we retreated
A slow march, conjuring
From our mouths masks
Of rationality; each ensuring
The other was watertight
While denying the sink-
Holes opening in our chests.
 
We returned home to tame fires
Burning in our hearths
And those who love us simply.
Comfort. Survival. No blaze
Like the summer we sought
And froze upon finding
For the fall comes quickly in those woods
And frost bites harder than any we've known.

Hello,
I rather like this and that makes it likely that any "bits" which niggle I will find overly-irritating....as if they shouldn't be allowed to spoil the work. So. Stop capitalising every line BECAUSE (you will ask ) it is retro, confusing and pseudo-poetic. What's more, it niggles. Next...read the piece OUT LOUD to hear where it disappears into a Klein Bottle. Example.
"Lock me up", her eyes Held out wrists upturned As my arms built a prison That would never hold her.

This is a crazy sentence on many levels. It NEEDS punctuation to make sense. You can "feel" where the pauses must fall if you just voice the words. Neither line breaks not capital letters substitute for punctuation so look at it again.

Unpicking locks might be semantically clever but I cannot see it...I have lost a little confidence in your dexterity. No matter...I can be argued with. Tell me what "unpicking" a lock means.
Gooseflesh pointing skywards is similarly hard to accept when I am not sure that you are surer. I want to think it is my failure to "see" what you see but console myself with the thought that it may be YOUR inadequate ability to write comprehensibly. I hope I am wrong.

Perimeters are measured in metres not square metres. I know you know this but it is an awkward statement. It niggles not because it is a mathematical absurdity, heaven forbid, but because it is an error of intent....and it weakens my trust in your judgement. The fact that the whole thing breaks in to fragmented sentences compounds the issue.

here is AS far as we can go....

Condonance? Not sure. Are you? The act of forgiving....hmmmm.

Yes to the wholeness of it, though. I think that I may be asking too much at once but that is the nature of crit in a tight place. It all seems to be crowded together. The punctuation issues, the expression of dubious intent, the bizarre capitalising and consequentially awkward line breaks, the uncertainty in exactitude (hmmm....that word "condonance" is getting to me. I am thinking "compliance". I can't help it)...all of the afforementioned detracts from what is  after all, a nicely observed piece. This is well worth working on. If you want it moved to Serious just say so.  
Best,
tectak

[Genuinebloke]

Thank you all for some excellent feedback. I have a clear idea on what to work on, plus a strong sense that it is actually WORTH working on. I will come back with a revised version for more serious critique in due course (I presume that is all in keeping with how the forum works?).

[tectak]

Thank you all for some excellent feedback. I have a clear idea on what to work on, plus a strong sense that it is actually WORTH working on. I will come back with a revised version for more serious critique in due course (I presume that is all in keeping with how the forum works?).

Good egg,
More serious crit? Do you want it moving after editing?
Of little consequence, methinks, but there are more Lime Groves than Lyme Groves...see what I mean? What do YOU mean?
Best,
tectak

[Genuinebloke]

What would be standard practice (if there is such a thing)?
Should I edit here, then have it moved, or start a new thread with a revised version in another forum?
I like rules, so am keen to start as I would be expected to go on :-)

No standard practice except usually one thread per poem, and best to let members follow the edits (that's the interesting stuff ). If you want more thorough crit on the version you have up now, move it now. If you're want to wait until you edit place your edit above the original and ask to have it moved then.

Aside: I assumed Lyme was a regional spelling but now tectak's comment has me thinking of Lyme disease. hhhmmm, poetry's a fun thing.

Excellent. I have edited. Please could I be transferred to receive some serious crit on the revised version?
"Lyme" was a reference to a specific place, though this clearly lacks value to anyone who does not know the place :-) Have added a new working title.

Done, the edit is up for Serious critique. Good luck with it, ella

[tectak]

Edit #1

At the edge of the woods.
 
"Lock me up."
Her eyes offered
wrists upturned,If honesty is a virtue then I am unable to.make as much sense of this line as you obviously do. I can just get "Lock me up, her eyes offered (?). Wrists upturned as my arms imprisoned (her), but never truly (superfluous)  held." You can punctuate this line, as most, in different ways but I STILL cannot get  the sense to gel...so it ain't aspic.
as my arms imprisoned
but never truly held.
Faces pressed to bars
of a gate in a wall of stone; "of a-in a" could and should be worked on. It would help you if you made a complete sentence. As it is, this line needs to say " In a wall of stone there hung a gate. We pressed our faces against its bars.Here was (was becaused pressed) as far as we could (could because pressed) go." Now its your turn.
here is as far as we can go.
 
Had she asked, I'd have lied; Excellent though simple observation. Leave it in splendid isolation. Period after lied. You move on in the next line. Why link it with a covetous colon?
it was honour that stopped
us rattling the cage
and daring the bolt
to wriggle free,
so the hinges might groan their consent. Yes to this though I push opinion a little to suggest that "groan in grudging compliance" is more accurate. Your poem
 
One truth; looking back, Again with the colonic discharge. In what way are you subscribing meaning to the semicolon? "On looking back, one truth is clear. We died at that gate." I only mention this because you are creating high-acutance images but weakening their impact by smearing their outlines.
we died at that gate.
Avoiding the eyes
of a blind horizon,
our inaction cultured
a creeping infection. Now far be it for me to question meaning but this sounds too good to be true. Sometimes the sound is significant over the sense. For me, this is one of those times. I am as guilty of this word-worship as you. I once wrote "She will die in my mind like a flower; yesterday's beauty buried in tomorrow's memories". Sounds good to me even now but I have no idea what it means or ever meant. Crits liked it. Is that enough?
 
Behind us voices
teased tiny promises.
Singing lies of summer
that might yet last.
That moment we grasped
but blood once-fired soon cools, Pedantically, I am tempted to write, and no more after this, I promise, "We grasped the moment but blood, once fired, soon cools." Why do I suggest that you stop at this point? Because once again you make a wonderful commitment to clear thinking, you corral the thought, then muse off, exit stage left. How does the rapidly cooling blood time-out into "only" clock hands? Where is the synaptical link? If it were not so emphatically "only", what else could there be that would point skywards to allow the metaphor to clarify rather than obfuscate? Help.
until only clock hands point skyward.
 
Without admitting
defeat, we returned home
to tame fires burning in our hearths
and those who love us simply. Beautiful
Comfort. Survival. No blaze
like the summer we sought
and froze upon finding.
For the fall comes quickly in those woods "For the" is not needed. Somewhat contarily, and ask me not why, "the" definitive frost works
and the frost bites harder than any we've known.

An excellent edit. This piece is becoming very airworthy.It flies right.
You will, though, find structural anomalies in any poetry, moreso as the piece approaches touch-down and it get buffeted by the contrary opinions of windy crits. I think it is so close to landing that you should commit and prepare to throttle back. Don't do anything quickly, just trim the thing.
Best,
tectak


Original post

I am finding this one tricky. I want to tell a personal story which is then making it hard for me to be effective in self-editing. It may be that it just does not work, so any thoughts and feedback would be very useful at this point. Thanks!


The Lyme Grove
 
"Lock me up", her eyes
Held out wrists upturned
As my arms built a prison
That would never hold her.
With faces pressed to bars
In a gate set in stone;
The perimeter of our world
Of thirty metres square.
 
Here is far as we can go.
 
Had she asked, I'd have lied
It was honour that stopped
Us unpicking locks, vulnerable
To trespass and escape from within
Yet four hands never rose
To rattle the cage and dare the bolt
To wriggle free
So hinges might groan in condonance.
 
Behind us voices
Teased tiny promises
Singing lies of summer
That might yet last
For a moment we clutched
But blood once-fired quickly cools
Until only gooseflesh
And clock hands point skyward
 
So the breakout failed
And we died at the gate
Avoiding the gaze
Of a blind horizon.
With friendship uncertain
On paths not walked before us
Our inaction cultured
A creeping infection.
 
Without admitting
Defeat we retreated
A slow march, conjuring
From our mouths masks
Of rationality; each ensuring
The other was watertight
While denying the sink-
Holes opening in our chests.
 
We returned home to tame fires
Burning in our hearths
And those who love us simply.
Comfort. Survival. No blaze
Like the summer we sought
And froze upon finding
For the fall comes quickly in those woods
And frost bites harder than any we've known.

[Genuinebloke]

Edit #1

At the edge of the woods.
 
"Lock me up."
Her eyes offered
wrists upturned,If honesty is a virtue then I am unable to.make as much sense of this line as you obviously do. I can just get "Lock me up, her eyes offered (?). Wrists upturned as my arms imprisoned (her), but never truly (superfluous)  held." You can punctuate this line, as most, in different ways but I STILL cannot get  the sense to gel...so it ain't aspic.
as my arms imprisoned
but never truly held.
Faces pressed to bars
of a gate in a wall of stone; "of a-in a" could and should be worked on. It would help you if you made a complete sentence. As it is, this line needs to say " In a wall of stone there hung a gate. We pressed our faces against its bars.Here was (was becaused pressed) as far as we could (could because pressed) go." Now its your turn.
here is as far as we can go.
 
Had she asked, I'd have lied; Excellent though simple observation. Leave it in splendid isolation. Period after lied. You move on in the next line. Why link it with a covetous colon?
it was honour that stopped
us rattling the cage
and daring the bolt
to wriggle free,
so the hinges might groan their consent. Yes to this though I push opinion a little to suggest that "groan in grudging compliance" is more accurate. Your poem
 
One truth; looking back, Again with the colonic discharge. In what way are you subscribing meaning to the semicolon? "On looking back, one truth is clear. We died at that gate." I only mention this because you are creating high-acutance images but weakening their impact by smearing their outlines.
we died at that gate.
Avoiding the eyes
of a blind horizon,
our inaction cultured
a creeping infection. Now far be it for me to question meaning but this sounds too good to be true. Sometimes the sound is significant over the sense. For me, this is one of those times. I am as guilty of this word-worship as you. I once wrote "She will die in my mind like a flower; yesterday's beauty buried in tomorrow's memories". Sounds good to me even now but I have no idea what it means or ever meant. Crits liked it. Is that enough?
 
Behind us voices
teased tiny promises.
Singing lies of summer
that might yet last.
That moment we grasped
but blood once-fired soon cools, Pedantically, I am tempted to write, and no more after this, I promise, "We grasped the moment but blood, once fired, soon cools." Why do I suggest that you stop at this point? Because once again you make a wonderful commitment to clear thinking, you corral the thought, then muse off, exit stage left. How does the rapidly cooling blood time-out into "only" clock hands? Where is the synaptical link? If it were not so emphatically "only", what else could there be that would point skywards to allow the metaphor to clarify rather than obfuscate? Help.
until only clock hands point skyward.
 
Without admitting
defeat, we returned home
to tame fires burning in our hearths
and those who love us simply. Beautiful
Comfort. Survival. No blaze
like the summer we sought
and froze upon finding.
For the fall comes quickly in those woods "For the" is not needed. Somewhat contarily, and ask me not why, "the" definitive frost works
and the frost bites harder than any we've known.

An excellent edit. This piece is becoming very airworthy.It flies right.
You will, though, find structural anomalies in any poetry, moreso as the piece approaches touch-down and it get buffeted by the contrary opinions of windy crits. I think it is so close to landing that you should commit and prepare to throttle back. Don't do anything quickly, just trim the thing.
Best,
tectak


Original post

I am finding this one tricky. I want to tell a personal story which is then making it hard for me to be effective in self-editing. It may be that it just does not work, so any thoughts and feedback would be very useful at this point. Thanks!


The Lyme Grove
 
"Lock me up", her eyes
Held out wrists upturned
As my arms built a prison
That would never hold her.
With faces pressed to bars
In a gate set in stone;
The perimeter of our world
Of thirty metres square.
 
Here is far as we can go.
 
Had she asked, I'd have lied
It was honour that stopped
Us unpicking locks, vulnerable
To trespass and escape from within
Yet four hands never rose
To rattle the cage and dare the bolt
To wriggle free
So hinges might groan in condonance.
 
Behind us voices
Teased tiny promises
Singing lies of summer
That might yet last
For a moment we clutched
But blood once-fired quickly cools
Until only gooseflesh
And clock hands point skyward
 
So the breakout failed
And we died at the gate
Avoiding the gaze
Of a blind horizon.
With friendship uncertain
On paths not walked before us
Our inaction cultured
A creeping infection.
 
Without admitting
Defeat we retreated
A slow march, conjuring
From our mouths masks
Of rationality; each ensuring
The other was watertight
While denying the sink-
Holes opening in our chests.
 
We returned home to tame fires
Burning in our hearths
And those who love us simply.
Comfort. Survival. No blaze
Like the summer we sought
And froze upon finding
For the fall comes quickly in those woods
And frost bites harder than any we've known.

Thank you tectak. Excellent feedback. It's reassuring that the areas you comment upon are those which I knew were weak, though I could not put my finger on why. Your comments have given me fresh perspective. Like you say, I think I'll leave this one for a while and come back to it later for a fresh trim.
Have a good day.