the first taste - edit 2

[kolemath]

EDIT 2

THE FIRST TASTE

12 years old and chasing adolescence,
skimming bikes across the pavement

with beer we stole from Dad's garage,
we rode into the woods
and sat below the pines
then checked the path behind us.

Convinced by silence no one followed,
I opened up my backpack,
revealing golden cans to friends.

We cracked the cans, (which burst),
--bike-ride-shake-beer-rain--choked down foam,
pretended drunkenness,
with tripping steps to lurching bikes and slurring words.

And as a man without the courage to pretend,
I swerve these roads still looking for an end.


EDIT 1

THE FIRST TASTE

Warm outside below our piece of sky,
12 year-old boys chasing adolescence
on mountain bikes skimming neighborhood pavement
with beer from Dad’s garage stolen on the sly.

From pavement to trails, we hid in the woods,
sat below the pines, checked the path behind us.
Convinced by silence we weren’t followed,
I unzipped my backpack and unveiled the warm drinks.

We cracked the cans which exploded
bike-ride-shaken-pressurized-fizz-shower,
and choked down the foamy rest, pretending drunkenness,
tripping steps, swerving bikes, slurring words.

And as a man without the courage to pretend
I serve these roads still looking for an end.




The First Taste
 
Warm Virginia pine trees reaching the sky,
mountain bikes on the neighborhood pavement,
beer from dad’s garage stolen on the sly,
twelve-year-old boys after adolescence.
Into the woods we’d take a path to hide,
and sit in a ditch near the railroad tracks.
From a school backpack, we tore open wide
unveiling cans cooling hands that instant.
The cool fizz blew open the can’s insides,
and showered out a fit of shaken spit.
Dumb, I glanced at my friends with no reply
and drank the rest, a half at best, half fizz.
Pretending drunkenness back swerving bikes,
we pretended the adults of cursed life.
And now, without the courage to pretend,
I still swerve the road looking for the end.

[Caleb Murdock]

The First Taste
 
Warm Virginia pine trees reaching the sky, -- "warm" trees, interesting.  if you are trying to keep to ten syllables, how about cutting "warm" and putting "to" after reaching?
mountain bikes on the neighborhood pavement,
beer from dad’s garage stolen on the sly, -- I like this line
twelve-year-old boys after adolescence. -- is 12 "after" adolescence, or in adolescence?  I'd switch "escaping" for "after", but then you'd have 11 syllables
Into the woods we’d take a path to hide, -- "we'd take a path to hide" -- a little convoluted
and sit in a ditch near the railroad tracks. -- are the railroad tracks in the woods?  did you decide to stop hiding?  or are you saying that you went through the woods to the tracks because you wouldn't be seen going through the woods? -- a little clarity is needed
From a school backpack, we tore open wide -- "tore open wide" sounds too dramatic for opening a backpack
unveiling cans cooling hands that instant. -- sounds a bit convoluted
The cool fizz blew open the can’s insides, -- can't picture it; did the cans explode? or did the beer fizz out when you opened the cans?
and showered out a fit of shaken spit. -- now you've lost me:  spit?  I've heard beer referred to as gopher piss, but not spit
Dumb, I glanced at my friends with no reply
and drank the rest, a half at best, half fizz. -- by "half fizz" I think you mean that the half-can that you got to drink didn't have much fizz left in it, right?
Pretending drunkenness back swerving bikes, -- not very good sentence structure
we pretended the adults of cursed life. -- ditto; not clear at all
And now, without the courage to pretend,
I still swerve the road looking for the end. -- nice ending, but does the poem reveal an experience that should create such nostalgia?  why did the experience mean so much to you beyond stealing some beer?  if this is a "coming of age" experience, you need to explain why it had such an impact on you

Ultimately, I understand everything you are saying in the poem, but it required several readings and interpretation on my part.  The language isn't very natural.  It's too condensed and convoluted.  I agree that poetry, in general, is more dense than prose, but it's possible to overdo it.

I'm not sure if you are writing in iambic pentameter or just limiting yourself to ten syllables per line, but it isn't a crime to go a syllable over here or there.

[justcloudy]

Kole,

The meter/rhyme is taking over this piece-- the story shouldn't be secondary, but is. You have lots of nice little bits in here that would shine if given the chance. As an exercise, take this poem and totally rewrite it without meter and rhyme. See what you get. Maybe you'll like that version better. Maybe it can direct you to revise this one so it sounds more natural. Either way you win.

-jc

[Caleb Murdock]

Kole,

The meter/rhyme is taking over this piece-- the story shouldn't be secondary, but is. You have lots of nice little bits in here that would shine if given the chance.  As an exercise, take this poem and totally rewrite it without meter and rhyme. See what you get. Maybe you'll like that version better. Maybe it can direct you to revise this one so it sounds more natural. Either way you win.

-jc

Interesting.  I originally said the same thing:  Rewrite the poem in rhythmic prose and then hammer it into shape.  But I was worried that I was being too forward by suggesting a wholesale rewrite, so I deleted that comment from my critique.  You said it very well:  The meter/rhyme are overwhelming the message, which is really quite lovely.

[Lizzie]

The First Taste
 
Warm Virginia pine trees reaching the sky,   
mountain bikes on the neighborhood pavement,
beer from dad’s garage stolen on the sly,    -- The first three lines work well for me to establish the scene. I'm there with you.
twelve-year-old boys after adolescence.      -- I think you mean that the boys are in search of adolescence? Maybe you could say reach for, search for, etc.
Into the woods we’d take a path to hide,
and sit in a ditch near the railroad tracks.
From a school backpack, we tore open wide 
unveiling cans cooling hands that instant.
The cool fizz blew open the can’s insides,       -- This line and as well as "tore open wide" seem like aggressive, racy imagery. Intentional?
and showered out a fit of shaken spit.         
Dumb, I glanced at my friends with no reply
and drank the rest, a half at best, half fizz.
Pretending drunkenness back swerving bikes,
we pretended the adults of cursed life.            -- I understand the meaning of these lines, but they read awkwardly. I agree that the form of the poem needs to give a little here.
And now, without the courage to pretend,
I still swerve the road looking for the end.

[kolemath]

Thanks for your toughts @jc, @cm, @liz. I set out to write a sonnet when this idea came to mind.  I should have set out to write a poem instead.  Thanks for lifting the rose colored glasses for me!    -Kole

[kolemath]

thanks to everyone for helping me think this one through.  the first draft quickly went from one of my favorite poems to something I couldn't stand reading. the above edit is the product of much hammering and tough love

[milo]

EDIT 1

THE FIRST TASTE

Warm outside below our piece of sky,
12 year-old boys chasing adolescence
on mountain bikes skimming neighborhood pavement
with beer from Dad’s garage stolen on the sly.

not bad as an introduction, mostly scene setting which is expected.  I think with boys chasing adolescence, you may not need the 12 year-old. 
"on the sly" is just filler, but with the rhyme it feels both forced and awkward.
is "neighborhood" pulling its weight?

From pavement to trails, we hid in the woods,
sat below the pines, checked the path behind us.
Convinced by silence we weren’t followed,
I unzipped my backpack and unveiled the warm drinks.

"From pavement" is unnecessary with your statement of pavement above and sets up a strange structural logic with "we hid in the woods"
"unveiled the warm drinks" is a little awkward.

We cracked the cans which exploded
bike-ride-shaken-pressurized-fizz-shower,
and choked down the foamy rest, pretending drunkenness,
tripping steps, swerving bikes, slurring words.

And as a man without the courage to pretend
I serve these roads still looking for an end.

"foamy rest" is strange.
I don't quite get "serve"

I think your edit is on the right path.  Maybe some word choice work ahead of you.  Also, it seems you can't decide if you want meter or not.  Probably best to make that choice at some point.

Thanks for posting.
Hope this helps.

[kolemath]

Thanks a lot, milo! I've posted a revision for meter.  I begin with trochees and end with iambs--(at least i think that's what's happening)--plus a line of all stressed syllables. I'm hoping this contrast in meter captures the shift in content too.

I appreciate your readings!

[justcloudy]

Edit 2 is lovely Kole! The story comes through well-- it's amusing and poignant-- and it's a pleasure to read. Nicely done, what a great example of workshopping!

-jc