Thinking Spot

[maximuswolf]

Thinking Spot

In darkness, I walk the path pressed down, created by the  back and forth of my numerous footsteps before. Surrounded by the forest and the darker shadows cast, my feet walk forward fully aware where each step should go without the need of sight. The moonlight frost is brighter ahead where the path opens to planted fields and my eyes adjust to a lighter shade of night. I walk the edges quietly to the lone dying oak, looking into the sky, it’s leafless branches silhouetted by the moon seem to clutch around me. Finding my usual seat, a large exposed root, it’s bark worn and smoother caused by the wet stone of numerous sittings before. This is my thinking spot, the place where questions are asked, memories summoned and the universe becomes a wishing well.


The river breezes over the numerous shaped rocks where depths become shallows, the flows seeking each crevice for the path of least resistance. Like human breath on an instrument the rapids perform their symphony of fluid notes.  I hear the sounds of footprints being made in sandbars by nocturnal creatures.  The crickets and frogs sing bass and tenor in perfect harmony.  The wheat field becomes the dance floor for the fireflies above, egos flashing bright, calling lovers to the mating waltz.

Above, the moon is waxing crescent and endless stars shimmer tones of brightness.  The commercial planes fly in the lower reaches of the stratosphere, mostly north and south, but high enough they cannot be heard. Their numerous lights echo into the clouds colors of red and green.  

I sit in darkness to ponder.  I should find peace here, but my mind comes alive with awe and wonder. A thousand questions arise!  Often I can find no answers, just the burdens of secrets and mysteries.  I have now decided in this moment it's better to hush thoughts, rather enjoy not all the events that led to this moment, but the moment itself. That moment when my thinking spot becomes  holy ground and tears are allowed to flow.

Often without thinking, I still find myself talking to the heavens, sometimes to a God I'm unsure about, but mostly to my Mom. I don't allow divine claim on what's real or not, but I so enjoy the conversations.  

[UselessBlueprint]

Line breaks for readability, not to discount your formatting. Nevertheless, very prosey and very wordy.


I'll use your first paragraph as an example here, as it lends itself well to my points. The bracketed phrases should be condensed. Crossed out portions, well, they should probably be crossed out.

Thinking Spot

[In darkness, I walk the path pressed down,]
created by the [back and forth] of my numerous footsteps before.
Surrounded by the forest and [the darker shadows cast,]
[my feet] walk forward fully aware
[where each step should go without the need of sight.]     the word I prefer is 'proprioception' - says a lot with one word
The moonlight frost is brighter ahead 
where the path opens to planted fields    not bad
and my eyes adjust to a lighter shade of night.
I walk the edges quietly
to the lone dying oak, looking into the sky,
it’s leafless branches silhouetted by the moon    you already made the presence of the moon obvious
[seem to clutch around me.]
Finding my usual seat, a large exposed root,
[it’s bark worn and smoother]
[caused by the wet stone of numerous sittings before.]
This is my thinking spot,
the place where questions are asked,
memories summoned and the universe
becomes a wishing well.    I'd say use a metaphor here, not a metamorphosis. 'universe is a wishing well' instead of 'becomes'

Basically, try to compact it. You seem to have some fair images in your head there, but it lacks clarity for me.

[Southern Scarab]

Thinking Spot

In darkness, I walk the path pressed down, created by the  back and forth of my numerous footsteps before. Surrounded by the forest and the darker shadows cast, my feet walk forward fully aware where each step should go without the need of sight. The moonlight frost is brighter ahead where the path opens to planted fields and my eyes adjust to a lighter shade of night. I walk the edges quietly to the lone dying oak, looking into the sky, it’s leafless branches silhouetted by the moon seem to clutch around me. Finding my usual seat, a large exposed root, it’s bark worn and smoother caused by the wet stone of numerous sittings before. This is my thinking spot, the place where questions are asked, memories summoned and the universe becomes a wishing well.


The river breezes over the numerous shaped rocks where depths become shallows, the flows seeking each crevice for the path of least resistance. Like human breath on an instrument the rapids perform their symphony of fluid notes.  I hear the sounds of footprints being made in sandbars by nocturnal creatures.  The crickets and frogs sing bass and tenor in perfect harmony.  The wheat field becomes the dance floor for the fireflies above, egos flashing bright, calling lovers to the mating waltz.

Above, the moon is waxing crescent and endless stars shimmer tones of brightness.  The commercial planes fly in the lower reaches of the stratosphere, mostly north and south, but high enough they cannot be heard. Their numerous lights echo into the clouds colors of red and green.  

I sit in darkness to ponder.  I should find peace here, but my mind comes alive with awe and wonder. A thousand questions arise!  Often I can find no answers, just the burdens of secrets and mysteries.  I have now decided in this moment it's better to hush thoughts, rather enjoy not all the events that led to this moment, but the moment itself. That moment when my thinking spot becomes  holy ground and tears are allowed to flow.

Often without thinking, I still find myself talking to the heavens, sometimes to a God I'm unsure about, but mostly to my Mom. I don't allow divine claim on what's real or not, but I so enjoy the conversations.  

Too much tell and not enough show. It reads more like a journal or a diary entry than a poem, honestly.
I agree with eric_never that you should emphasize the nature of introspection itself, rather than describing point blank that you are inspired or feeling some type of communion. What's on your mind, and what about thinking it over in this particular place is poetic?

I guess it just begs a lot of unanswered questions. I'd like more 'what' if that makes sense :/ there's so much unfocused description.

That being said, you clearly have a very meaningful experience or feeling you'd like to express, you just need to introduce it in a more impactful, substantial way. Reorganizing your poem would go a long way as well. In particular,

...just the burdens of secrets and mysteries.  I have now decided in this moment...

is so sudden and blunt. 'then I felt this way' doesn't guide me through your experience, it just narrates it.

keep working on it, and thank you for the read

[operadiva]

This is definitely something we can all relate to! But i really just wanted more of a personal experience. Because we all have our thinking place, I really wanted to know more about the specific thoughts you have while you are there. It's like show and tell. You showed us the spot, but didn't really tell us what happens. Maybe more time describing your thoughts as opposed to where you are thinking. You also got in a rut with word repetition. This is something I struggle with sometimes. I use the same word a lot. In this poem, the words 'numerous and moment' were just used too frequently. It would have been okay if there seemed to be a reason for the repetition, but in this case, it sounded more like words that weren't necessary. I love the concept, and generally enjoy the imagery you are going for, but I think some of it just seemed unsuccessful or excessive. Honesty is something I look for in poetry. I want your truth. 

Thank you for your time and energy.

[Achebe]

If you're after a prose poem, you need to be more precise and detailed in your description. Precise, because you can't have 'frost' and fireflies, frogs, and crickets in the same season. Detailed, because' nocturnal creatures' is a cop out.
You can't have lines like my mind comes alive with awe and wonder in a poem. It tells nothing of interest to the reader, although it may be of interest to you. If you want to hold the reader's interest, you have to show him how your mind comes alive, etc.

[89layers]

Hi,

I'm sorry but I was very overwhelmed by the presentation and exhausted by the excessive descriptiveness.

It read much more like an excerpt out of a novel.

However, I think it said a lot without really saying too much at all.

I think you can definitely work with the idea of a thinking spot, talking to self and God (and I'm assuming a deceased parent) but maybe there is some meat in what you talk to them about that you do not divulge to the reader?

Best

Thinking Spot

In darkness, I walk the path presses down, created by the  back and forth of my numerous footsteps before. Surrounded by the forest and the darker shadows cast, my feet walk forward fully aware where each step should go without the need of sight. The moonlight frost is brighter ahead where the path opens to planted fields and my eyes adjust to a lighter shade of night. I walk the edges quietly to the lone dying oak, looking into the sky, it’s leafless branches silhouetted by the moon seem to clutch around me. Finding my usual seat, a large exposed root, it’s bark worn and smoother caused by the wet stone of numerous sittings before. This is my thinking spot, the place where questions are asked, memories summoned and the universe becomes a wishing well.


The river breezes over the numerous shaped rocks where depths become shallows, the flows seeking each crevice for the path of least resistance. Like human breath on an instrument the rapids perform their symphony of fluid notes.  I hear the sounds of footprints being made in sandbars by nocturnal creatures.  The crickets and frogs sing bass and tenor in perfect harmony.  The wheat field becomes the dance floor for the fireflies above, egos flashing bright, calling lovers to the mating waltz.

Above, the moon is waxing crescent and endless stars shimmer tones of brightness.  The commercial planes fly in the lower reaches of the stratosphere, mostly north and south, but high enough they cannot be heard. Their numerous lights echo into the clouds colors of red and green.  

I sit in darkness to ponder.  I should find peace here, but my mind comes alive with awe and wonder. A thousand questions arise!  Often I can find no answers, just the burdens of secrets and mysteries.  I have now decided in this moment it's better to hush thoughts, rather enjoy not all the events that led to this moment, but the moment itself. That moment when my thinking spot becomes  holy ground and tears are allowed to flow.

Often without thinking, I still find myself talking to the heavens, sometimes to a God I'm unsure about, but mostly to my Mom. I don't allow divine claim on what's real or not, but I so enjoy the conversations.  

[maximuswolf]

Line breaks for readability, not to discount your formatting. Nevertheless, very prosey and very wordy.


I'll use your first paragraph as an example here, as it lends itself well to my points. The bracketed phrases should be condensed. Crossed out portions, well, they should probably be crossed out.

Thinking Spot

[In darkness, I walk the path pressed down,]
created by the [back and forth] of my numerous footsteps before.
Surrounded by the forest and [the darker shadows cast,]
[my feet] walk forward fully aware
[where each step should go without the need of sight.]     the word I prefer is 'proprioception' - says a lot with one word
The moonlight frost is brighter ahead 
where the path opens to planted fields    not bad
and my eyes adjust to a lighter shade of night.
I walk the edges quietly
to the lone dying oak, looking into the sky,
it’s leafless branches silhouetted by the moon    you already made the presence of the moon obvious
[seem to clutch around me.]
Finding my usual seat, a large exposed root,
[it’s bark worn and smoother]
[caused by the wet stone of numerous sittings before.]
This is my thinking spot,
the place where questions are asked,
memories summoned and the universe
becomes a wishing well.    I'd say use a metaphor here, not a metamorphosis. 'universe is a wishing well' instead of 'becomes'

Basically, try to compact it. You seem to have some fair images in your head there, but it lacks clarity for me.

thank you....very helpful...i like a lot of your suggestions.

---

If you're after a prose poem, you need to be more precise and detailed in your description. Precise, because you can't have 'frost' and fireflies, frogs, and crickets in the same season. Detailed, because' nocturnal creatures' is a cop out.
You can't have lines like  my mind comes alive with awe and wonder in a poem. It tells nothing of interest to the reader, although it may be of interest to you. If you want to hold the reader's interest, you have to show him how your mind comes alive, etc.

frost is more...the look...this is a path i actually stomped down in the woods  and coming to the field the moonlight reminds me of frost on the ground...obvious moonlight doesn't create frost...but i think i could leave frost out.....obvious i can't see the creatures, just hear them in the night...although i could guess what they are....but maybe a point here....thanks

[FilthyDeluxe]

I like the imagery and the last couple of lines. I find the same, am I talking to a god that doesn't exist or my mother who once did? How can I be talking to her if there's no Him? I love it when a piece of work jags in my brain this way