18

[Miley]

Years before you tried to die,
we walked amongst the gifts of August:
rolling green, rolling golden
summer heat impressed 
upon dwindling twilight.

Dusted in fireflies,
a traveling dark
bound tree line and sky.
Suburbs softened on the hills, whispered,
then silenced.

We spent our nights on the golf-course,
blue asphalt weaving through Bermuda grass,
the cart path sliding in and out of shadow.

We never talked about how we’d grow
to miss those coyote-nights,
lounging in amber moonlight,
or about the pain growing, somewhere, far off and center
but we talked until

sprinklers squelched the air—
dozens, dotting the green,
each ticking In break-neck rhythm. 
The change was bigger than we knew. 

Water swung itself in circles.
Trees lifted from their roots.
Currents raked the rough,
foaming around the banks of sandtraps.

The fairway became a sink
With a par 4 drain, marked by a flag.


Dawn broke long ago.
Songbirds picked apart silence.
Dew formed, and rose,
and formed, and rose.
And the things that didn’t change sunk in the pit of the valley, 
in the cup of the 18th hole.

[Knot]

.
Hi Miley,
lots to like, but not the title and the golf references

Just a thought ...


we walked amongst the gifts of August:
rolling green, rolling golden
summer heat impressed
upon a/the dwindling twilight

Years before you tried to die,
a traveling dark
Dusted in fireflies,
bound tree line and sky.

and Suburbs softened,
whispered
on the hills,
then silence.

We spent our nights on the golf-course,
blue asphalt weaving through Bermuda grass,
the cart path sliding in and out of shadow.

We never talked about how we’d grow
to miss those coyote-nights,
lounging in amber moonlight,
or about the pain growing, somewhere,
far off and center
but we talked until ...................................'grow' then 'growing'?

sprinklers squelched the air—
dozens, dotting the green,
each ticking In break-neck rhythm.
The change was bigger than we knew.

Water swung itself in circles.
Trees lifted from their roots. .................... ?
Currents raked the rough, ......................... does one rake the rough (wouldn't that defeat its roughness?)
foaming around the banks of sandtraps. ........... this seems like a restatement of the previous verse, but better. Perhaps cut verse 5 entirely?

The fairway became a sink
With a par 4 drain, marked by a flag.

Dawn broke long ago.
Dew formed, and rose,
and formed, and rose.
and Songbirds picked apart the silence.
And all the things that didn’t change
sunk in the pit of the valley, ............... not entirely convinced by 'pit' but I think this makes for a better end line.
in the cup of the 18th hole.


Best, Knot

.

[TranquillityBase]

Years before you tried to die,
we walked amongst the gifts of August:
rolling green, rolling golden
summer heat impressed 
upon dwindling twilight.

Dusted in fireflies,
a traveling dark
bound tree line and sky.
Suburbs softened on the hills, whispered,
then silenced.

We spent our nights on the golf-course,
blue asphalt weaving through Bermuda grass,
the cart path sliding in and out of shadow.

We never talked about how we’d grow
to miss those coyote-nights,
lounging in amber moonlight,
or about the pain growing, somewhere, far off and center          this part seems vague in comparison to the other lines, and I don't quite get the meaning
but we talked until

sprinklers squelched the air—
dozens, dotting the green,
each ticking In break-neck rhythm. 
The change was bigger than we knew. 

Water swung itself in circles.
Trees lifted from their roots.
Currents raked the rough,
foaming around the banks of sandtraps.

The fairway became a sink
With a par 4 drain, marked by a flag.                     I didn't have a problem with the golf references until I got to this line, no idea what a par 4 means


Dawn broke long ago.
Songbirds picked apart silence.
Dew formed, and rose,
and formed, and rose.                                    repetition here doesn't seem needed
And the things that didn’t change sunk in the pit of the valley, 
in the cup of the 18th hole.             I understand the 18th is the last hole, but this seems to trivialize what comes before (that is, the whole poem, not just that stanza

Very much enjoyed reading this one.  I felt like I was with you all the way, except for the bits noted above. I agree with Knot that it deserves a better title.

TqB 

[Brian Roberts]

Years before you tried to die,
we walked amongst the gifts of August:
rolling green, rolling golden
summer heat impressed 
upon dwindling twilight.

Dusted in fireflies,
a traveling dark
bound tree line and sky.
Suburbs softened on the hills, whispered,
then silenced.

We spent our nights on the golf-course,
blue asphalt weaving through Bermuda grass,
the cart path sliding in and out of shadow.

We never talked about how we’d grow
to miss those coyote-nights,
lounging in amber moonlight,
or about the pain growing, somewhere, far off and center
but we talked until

sprinklers squelched the air—
dozens, dotting the green,
each ticking In break-neck rhythm. 
The change was bigger than we knew. 

Water swung itself in circles.
Trees lifted from their roots.
Currents raked the rough,
foaming around the banks of sandtraps.

The fairway became a sink
With a par 4 drain, marked by a flag.


Dawn broke long ago.
Songbirds picked apart silence.
Dew formed, and rose,
and formed, and rose.
And the things that didn’t change sunk in the pit of the valley, 
in the cup of the 18th hole.

I just wanted to relate that I really enjoyed this poem. It provoked nostalgia in me, riding alongside my dad in golf carts as a child. Stanzas 2 ,4, and 5 were magnificent. I agree with Knot, the penultimate line should be the final line. The imagery reminded me a bit of Faulkner's Light in August:“...in [b]August[/b] in Mississippi there’s a few days somewhere about the middle of the month when suddenly there’s a foretaste of fall, it’s cool, there’s a lambence, a soft, a luminous quality to the light, as though it came not from just today but from back in the old classic times."



 

[SnarlingThroughOurSmiles]

I loved reading this poem. It very much seemed like a montage in a coming-of-age movie right before the crisis of the movie hit, with Kiss Me by The Cranberries playing softly in the background

"We never talked about how we’d grow
to miss those coyote-nights,
lounging in amber moonlight,
or about the pain growing, somewhere, far off and center
but we talked until

sprinklers squelched the air—
dozens, dotting the green,
each ticking In break-neck rhythm.
The change was bigger than we knew."

I would maybe change this just a TINY bit by eliminating the space between "but we talked until/sprinklers squelched the air-" and putting "The change was bigger than we knew" as its own line, but it's really not a big deal

Also, re:
"Dew formed, and rose,
and formed, and rose."

I would maybe change so that each "formed, and rose" was separated to like
"Dew formed,
and rose,
and formed,
and rose"

Maybe it's just me but that better encapsulates that sort of chest rising/falling pattern of breathing

Overall I really liked it! Forgive me if this is insulting to you, but I'm getting strong Taylor Swift vibes from this, especially in relation to her songs August and Marjorie.

[Gerryswo]

Years before you tried to die,
we walked amongst the gifts of August:
rolling green, rolling golden
summer heat impressed
upon dwindling twilight.

Then opening of your poem “Years before you tried to die” immediately grabbed my attention. I was immediately drawn in and wanted to know the story behind that line. On your third line you mention “rolling green” as a gift of August. I’m not too sure what you mean by that. Are you referring to the putting green? If that were the case, wouldn’t it be rolling greens? If you’re referring to hills around the golf course wouldn’t you want to specify that as “rolling green hills”?

Dusted in fireflies,
a traveling dark
bound tree line and sky.
Suburbs softened on the hills, whispered,
then silenced.

We spent our nights on the golf-course,
blue asphalt weaving through Bermuda grass,
the cart path sliding in and out of shadow.

I like the imagery in this sentence/stanza. I can easily imagine the narrator, and whoever he or she is with, walking the bike paths of the golf course. I wonder where the shadows are coming from, though. You mention “coyote nights” in your next stanza which led me to think this golf course might be in a desert location (Arizona?), minimal trees, not a lot of opportunities for shadows.

We never talked about how we’d grow
to miss those coyote-nights,
lounging in amber moonlight,
or about the pain growing, somewhere, far off and center
but we talked until

I found the imagery of “coyote-nights to be very visceral. Again, I envision a dry, desert  environment. This may not be what you meant, but the fact that your description sent me there, I think, says you have a fine sense of being able to create a scene.
This is only the second time you’ve mentioned that something might be amiss with one of your characters. I like that. You are prolonging the suspence.

sprinklers squelched the air—
dozens, dotting the green,
each ticking In break-neck rhythm.
The change was bigger than we knew.

Anybody who has had a sprinkler in their yard would recognize your description of the sprinklers on the greens, even moreso those who have actually golfed. “Ticking In break-neck rhythm” I think should be “ticking in (no capital I) break-neck rhythm” And again the sense that something is amiss with “The change…knew” keeping the suspense going. Good job.

Water swung itself in circles.
Trees lifted from their roots.
Currents raked the rough,
foaming around the banks of sandtraps.

The fairway became a sink
With a par 4 drain, marked by a flag.

Dawn broke long ago.
Songbirds picked apart silence.
Dew formed, and rose,
and formed, and rose.
And the things that didn’t change sunk in the pit of the valley,
in the cup of the 18th hole.

I thought there was some powerful imagery in your last three stanzas, but I found myself wondering where all the water came from. Certainly not the sprinklers. If there was a metaphor hidden in there somewhere I wasn’t able to extract it.

In summary I found your poem easy to read (which in my opinion is always a good thing) and really full of some excellent imagery, of both a golfing and natural type. I particularly liked the story you weaved, even if I felt there was no resolution (that I understood anyway) at the end. Your poem read like it was easy to write, although I’m sure it wasn’t.
Really, good job. You should be proud.

[James Rhys]

I actually think that this is an incredibly accomplished poem.
I know that some don't like the golf course references but for me they add a lovely incongruity and enhance the outsider perspective. Line length though is a pet peeve of mine. Choose your format and work within it as much as possible. If you must extend a line, do it for effect; beginning or end. Other than that, great poem.

.

Years before you tried to die,
we walked amongst the gifts of August:
rolling green, rolling golden
summer heat impressed 
upon dwindling twilight.

Dusted in fireflies,
a traveling dark
bound tree line and sky.
Suburbs softened on the hills, whispered,
then silenced.

We spent our nights on the golf-course,
blue asphalt weaving through Bermuda grass,
the cart path sliding in and out of shadow.

We never talked about how we’d grow
to miss those coyote-nights,
lounging in amber moonlight,
or about the pain growing, somewhere, far off and center
but we talked until

sprinklers squelched the air—
dozens, dotting the green,
each ticking In break-neck rhythm. 
The change was bigger than we knew. 

Water swung itself in circles.
Trees lifted from their roots.
Currents raked the rough,
foaming around the banks of sandtraps.

The fairway became a sink
With a par 4 drain, marked by a flag.


Dawn broke long ago.
Songbirds picked apart silence.
Dew formed, and rose,
and formed, and rose.
And the things that didn’t change sunk in the pit of the valley, 
in the cup of the 18th hole.