The Skylark

[Bizzy]

I was surfing the net trying to identify the birds singing outside my window when I chanced on a recording of a skylark's song which transported me back to childhood summers running in the fields around my home and hearing it for the first time.

The Skylark
Sweat pricking my skin, heart hammering; supine in the grass.
Lungs labour; ribs ache; temples throb.
The sun is a languid, warm caress; bright on closed lids.
The blood’s roar abates, sound and sense return.
A gentle susurrus on the leaves; birdsong fills the sky.
No lips form the trickling tones,
Some unearthly process births the piercing notes
That swoop and soar above my head.
An unassuming bird; brown and dowdy,
Hiding his other-worldly song within.

[brandontoh]

I was surfing the net trying to identify the birds singing outside my window when I chanced on a recording of a skylark's song which transported me back to childhood summers running in the fields around my home and hearing it for the first time.

The Skylark
Sweat pricking my skin, heart hammering; supine in the grass.
Lungs labour; ribs ache; temples throb.
The sun is a languid, warm caress; bright on closed lids.
The blood’s roar abates, sound and sense return.
A gentle susurrus on the leaves; birdsong fills the sky.
No lips form the trickling tones,
Some unearthly process births the piercing notes
That swoop and soar above my head.
An unassuming bird; brown and dowdy,
Hiding his other-worldly song within.

This is a rather simple poem with rich imageries and good word choices. If I were to nit-pick, I'd say that 'blood's roar' and 'unearthly process' could be changed. Those phrases sort of jerks me out of the mood you're trying to create I think.

Also, while the imageries are rich, the poem doesn't elicit a feeling of nostalgia. It's purely descriptive, and if you really do want to get the feeling of nostalgia across some extra lines or changes need to be made.

I really like the last line, by the way. It's an enjoyable read. Hope I'm of help. =) Thanks for the read.

[heslopian]

I like the sharp the rhythm of the first three lines, established by all those commas and semi-colons. The poem's an interesting mix of melodramatic and soothing. The first half is all "sweat pricking" and "blood's roar", while the second uses words like "trickling" and "unassuming". If I had to make one criticism it would be that there's not a great deal of texture; it's more about describing feelings than place or character. Some of its lines, however, are beautifully crafted and melodius, especially L7. Thank you for the read

[billy]

i had to read it a few times, leave and come back to read it a few more.
at first it felt overburdened with lttle let up as for a breath but then it sort of clicked into place and i was able to get through smoothly. without the intro, how would we know why your heart was hammering etc. i loved the poem but think you could have led us into the skylark better. remove the intro and pretend it's not your poem. a line or two would improve the beginning no end.

[Bizzy]

i had to read it a few times, leave and come back to read it a few more.
at first it felt overburdened with lttle let up as for a breath but then it sort of clicked into place and i was able to get through smoothly. without the intro, how would we know why your heart was hammering etc. i loved the poem but think you could have led us into the skylark better. remove the intro and pretend it's not your poem. a line or two would improve the beginning no end.

I think the introduction over-stated the nostalgia theme - but accept that placing it in a particular setting would improve it - so here's my first edit.

The Skylark

Feet pounding on the track where sun-baked ridges wait
Fit to trip the unwary runner.
At the top I stop, flung, full-length on the mossy bank
Gasping like a landed fish.
Sweat pricks my skin, heart hammers;
Lungs labour; ribs ache; temples throb.
The sun is a languid, warm caress; bright on closed lids.
The blood’s roar abates, sound and sense return.
A gentle susurrus on the leaves; birdsong fills the sky.
No lips form the trickling tones,
Some unearthly process births the piercing notes
That swoop and soar above my head.
An unassuming bird; brown and dowdy,
Hiding his other-worldly song within.