Dead before death. (Edit 2)

[cidermaid]

Edit 2

Dead before death.

Captured early by time decomposing.
With morbid stubbornness, her stagnant life
oozes in incremental drips of putrid atrophy.
Every mortal, fatally flawed action;
simple things, finger tips teasing her hair, cares
wind blown, are rebuffed and woodenly resisted.

She crystallised; entombed within,
embalmed in over salted brine, in which nothing
can grow or thrive. Laid out in firm resolution
awaiting death, embracing every rigor mortised
reduction. Until life is brought down to the lowest,
gravest spec of dust. Six feet of cold empty excavation.

She wears her death well,
a cherished shroud upon her breast,
An ill borne blossom out of season, she refuses to thrive.
A fruitlet that falls for no reason.

She died too young.



Edit 1

Dead before death.

Captured early by the ravages of time.
Spiky and stubborn in her composure.
Mortally wounded. Fatally flawed.
She can not enjoy the simple things. The wind
blowing through her hair…it, set and bored stiff,
yet resistant to all movement and change.

She crystallised; entombed within,
embalmed in over salted brine, in which nothing
can grow or thrive. Laid out in firm resolution
awaiting death, embracing every morbid, rigor mortised
reduction. Until life is brought down to the lowest,
gravest spec of dust. Six feet of cold empty excavation.

She wears her death well,
a cherished shroud upon her breast,
An ill borne blossom out of season, she refuses to thrive.
A fruitlet that falls for no reason.

She died too young.




Original post
Tectak inspired me - he did a set rhymed poem, which he doesn't enjoy or get into normally, so I've tried one without a formal stucture or rhyme. I find this v hard, but determined to work this out. (This is another "new prompt" poem. Inspiration taken from Christina Rossetti sonnet of same title).

Dead before death.

Captured early by the ravages of time.
Spiky and stubborn in her composure.
Mortally wounded. Fatally flawed.
She could not enjoy the simple things. The wind
blowing through her hair…it, set and bored stiff,
yet, resistant to all movement and change.

She crystallised, entombed within,
embalmed in over salted brine, in which, nothing
could grow or thrive. Laid out in firm resolution
awaiting death, embracing every morbid, rigor mortised,
reduction. Until life was brought down to the lowest,
gravest spec of dust. Six feet of cold empty excavation.

She wore her death well,
a cherished shroud upon her breast,
A blossom borne out of season, she refused to thrive.
A fruitlet that falls for no reason.

She died too young.

[tectak]

[quote='cidermaid' pid='119202' dateline='1363185870']
Tectak inspired me - he did a set rhymed poem, which he doesn't enjoy or get into normally, so I've tried one without a formal stucture or rhyme. I find this v hard, but determined to work this out. (This is another "new prompt" poem. Inspiration taken from Christina Rossetti sonnet of same title).

Dead before death.

Captured early by the ravages of time.
Spiky and stubborn in her composure.
Mortally wounded. Fatally flawed.
She could not enjoy the simple things. The wind
blowing through her hair…it, set and bored stiff,
yet, resistant to all movement and change.

She crystallised, entombed within,
embalmed in over salted brine, in which, nothing
could grow or thrive. Laid out in firm resolution
awaiting death, embracing every morbid, rigor mortised,
reduction. Until life was brought down to the lowest,
gravest spec of dust. Six feet of cold empty excavation.

She wore her death well,
a cherished shroud upon her breast,
A blossom borne out of season, she refused to thrive.
A fruitlet that falls for no reason.
She died too young.

Hi cider,
I am much pleased that I inspired you and grateful for you recent support on another thread....but it won't save you
OK. This piece hangs together nicely. The words have texture, consistency and generally, the tone suits the content. There is, though, a problem. The words are in a battle with your punctuation. I wondered where all the commas had gone, so sparsely distributed in many postings...now I know!
Examples:
The wind blowing through her hair…it, set and bored stiff, yet, resistant to all movement and change. Read it. If you cannot tell that this is hopelessly wrong I cannot help. You will continue to use commas like hundreds an thousands.
Next, I will try to correct but this is what you wrote:
She crystallised, entombed within, embalmed in over salted brine, in which, nothing
could grow or thrive.
She crystalised; embalmed with over salted brine , in which nothing could grow or thrive, entombed from within.

Or:
Laid out in firm resolution, she awaits death; embracing every morbid reduction until life is brought down to the lowest, gravest spec of dust. Six feet of cold, empty excavation. "Rigor mortised" is not possible and is unnecessary. We know she is a stiff.

The final stanza is lovely. Shall we enliven the forum? I am not sure about "borne" . It is conventially accepted that "born out of wedlock" is the only time the "born" word is correctly used, because it is referencing birth. At all other times, the transport or carrying word, "borne" should be used. I would argue, though, that you are using birth in a metaphorical way. So I think "born" is correct. Argue.
So all is well but please read your work out loud to get your pauses right. Simple rule: As you read you will set a "speed" . A comma, at your reading speed, is a pause to a count of one, a semi colon is a pause count of two; a colon, count four: a full stop, count to suit dramatic effect...and of course, it ends the sentence.
Best,
tectak
ps I particularly enjoy rhyming verse. I did not enjoy writing "When true love lies" because it was so strict and thus restrictive. It is very important to me that the reader us unaware of the strong rhyme i.e. it must not seem forced. So I cheated. The "ies" words, along with giga-gerund and frog "ion" ending are the simplest to rhyme. "Rappers" locked on to the "ion" end as it is easy for simpletons to get themselves excited with their skill. That is why you hear "In ma estim-ation, your procrastin-ation, will be yoh indica-tion that you have missed yoah sta-tion" and so and so on. Likewise I got suckered with the "ies" ending. I drove me mad. Too much choice is a bad thing....!

[cidermaid]

Hi Tectak. Thanks for the reply and your thoughts. As ever concise, meaningful and well thought out.
I did of course accept the realisation of the consequences of putting myself into your known domain....and thought on my own head be it. But actually I am latterly convinced that inside all that external, gruff abruptness beats the heart of a big softy. So, although I am one of the biggest wusses out, when it comes to confrontation, I think I will press in. (Thought I would get a few more commas out of my system before I set to with the revision!)
My apologies for the misrepresentation of your thoughts. In part I had read your original post erroneously and taken it to mean you had previously kept away from this type of poetry writing out of preference for other forms. The idea of someone resolving to do something out of their normal box was inspirational to me.

Re the use of borne. I was presenting this as in Not to be borne, unbearable. (As an ongoing attitude...in that she is not a stiff).

I think if I did not hold myself back when writing and actually used my normal, daily vocabulary of words, I would be regularly rebuffed for using archaic language all the time. Perhaps we should start a thread of what does or doesn't constitute an out of use word. Whilst I completely understand and accept that the spoken word is constantly evolving and changing, I personally resent the dumbing down of the written word to the mental level of the pre-pubescent street and text talk.

I hope the argument suits...Enjoy!

I wait to see if any further comments come in before i do a revision. (Which will be greatly influenced by your puntuation assistance).
I'm also now seeing a lot of tense conflicts within my text that I did not think carefully enough about before posting - apoligies for failure in proof reading. In my defence i was really keen to get my experiment out there, (and equally so convinced that it was rubbish that i had an almost self fulfiling attitude of application in my creative process. I have a real block when it comes to anything that hints at writing free verse...I just don't get it).
AJ.

[cidermaid]

My apologies to those who read this as first posted. In my haste to have a go at getting out of my comfort zone, I had not done my proof reading and the resultant mess of commas, used like hundreds n thousands, can be attributed to the hurried last moment changes of line presentation of a poet all at sea in her thoughts. Sorry about that. This sort of basic error should be dealt with before posting. :

Also not sure if rigor mortised is actually correct. (I am trying to convey the mind set rather than a physical actuality. Any suggestions).
AJ

[Mattie]

Edit 1

Dead before death.

Captured early by the ravages of time.
Spiky and stubborn in her composure.
Mortally wounded. Fatally flawed.
She can not enjoy the simple things. The wind
blowing through her hair…it, set and bored stiff,
yet resistant to all movement and change.

She crystallised; entombed within,
embalmed in over salted brine, in which nothing
can grow or thrive. Laid out in firm resolution
awaiting death, embracing every morbid, rigor mortised
reduction. Until life is brought down to the lowest,
gravest spec of dust. Six feet of cold empty excavation.

She wears her death well,
a cherished shroud upon her breast,
An ill borne blossom out of season, she refuses to thrive.
A fruitlet that falls for no reason.

She died too young.




Original post
Tectak inspired me - he did a set rhymed poem, which he doesn't enjoy or get into normally, so I've tried one without a formal stucture or rhyme. I find this v hard, but determined to work this out. (This is another "new prompt" poem. Inspiration taken from Christina Rossetti sonnet of same title).

Dead before death.

Captured early by the ravages of time.
Spiky and stubborn in her composure.
Mortally wounded. Fatally flawed.
She could not enjoy the simple things. The wind
blowing through her hair…it, set and bored stiff,
yet, resistant to all movement and change.

She crystallised, entombed within,
embalmed in over salted brine, in which, nothing
could grow or thrive. Laid out in firm resolution
awaiting death, embracing every morbid, rigor mortised,
reduction. Until life was brought down to the lowest,
gravest spec of dust. Six feet of cold empty excavation.

She wore her death well,
a cherished shroud upon her breast,
A blossom borne out of season, she refused to thrive.
A fruitlet that falls for no reason.

She died too young.

Hi

I love your choice of meanful words
layed open casket
for all to look and stare
six feet of cold empty excavation

in peace last word first request
jolt the reader into action
Thanks for sharing.

[Keith]

Hi AJ
You can't beat a good comma frenzy to get something out and off your chest. The edit smoothes this out alot, I read this as though someone had given up on life too soon, simple pleasures no longer wanted I also really enjoyed the word play and the last stanza is a perfect summation of one who stopped living too soon, very much enjoyed. Thanks TOMH

[NakedBear]

That was pretty darn good. The sense was well carried that her life and death were so similar that she was effectively dead (for a few moments, on the second reading, I thought it possible she was dead).
The line about salt brine suggested to me that she was pickled, i.e. drunk all the time. Of course, that's just my associated synapses going off, and so is unlikely to be the line's actual meaning.

The hair as a symbol of boredom, and the total hopelessness regarding boredom's resolution, was my favourite part.

[tectak]

Edit 1

Dead before death.

Captured early by the ravages of time.
Spiky and stubborn in her composure.
Mortally wounded. Fatally flawed.
She can not enjoy the simple things. The wind
blowing through her hair…it, set and bored stiff,
yet resistant to all movement and change.

She crystallised; entombed within,
embalmed in over salted brine, in which nothing
can grow or thrive. Laid out in firm resolution
awaiting death, embracing every morbid, rigor mortised
reduction. Until life is brought down to the lowest,
gravest spec of dust. Six feet of cold empty excavation.

She wears her death well,
a cherished shroud upon her breast,
An ill borne blossom out of season, she refuses to thrive.
A fruitlet that falls for no reason.

She died too young.




Original post
Tectak inspired me - he did a set rhymed poem, which he doesn't enjoy or get into normally, so I've tried one without a formal stucture or rhyme. I find this v hard, but determined to work this out. (This is another "new prompt" poem. Inspiration taken from Christina Rossetti sonnet of same title).

Dead before death.

Captured early by the ravages of time.
Spiky and stubborn in her composure.
Mortally wounded. Fatally flawed.
She could not enjoy the simple things. The wind
blowing through her hair…it, set and bored stiff,
yet, resistant to all movement and change.

She crystallised, entombed within,
embalmed in over salted brine, in which, nothing
could grow or thrive. Laid out in firm resolution
awaiting death, embracing every morbid, rigor mortised,
reduction. Until life was brought down to the lowest,
gravest spec of dust. Six feet of cold empty excavation.

She wore her death well,
a cherished shroud upon her breast,
A blossom borne out of season, she refused to thrive.
A fruitlet that falls for no reason.

She died too young.

Hi cider,
I see you made small concession to this pedant...good for you! This is the spirit of the poet and critic on this site, working together in a slick operation...I am even going to lay down on "rigor mortised", though it hurts
I would only take strong issue, though you can strongly ignore me, on the clumsy (but I believe considered by you to be acceptably quirky) sentence :
The wind blowing through her hair…it, set and bored stiff,
yet resistant to all movement and change.

I know what you are trying to do here, but the syntax just does not permit it. Here is an example of what, I think, you are aiming for:

"They leaned into the spray. He...tall, lithe and muscular; she...glowing in the sun, her hair streaming in the crystal glitter wind."
Do you see? The structure beginning with "...it, set and bored stiff" should be the intro to a comparison or attribute list, as in "He (description);she (description)."
You have used the "it" word defensively. You want the reader to be in no doubt that that you are going to describe "hair" (set and bored stiff) and not "The wind..."(set and bored stiff). Defensive, because you do not want old gits like me telling you that "...set and bored stiff" is not linked to "hair" strongly enough. It has not worked. The device you almost used has very limited application, and I cannot think of any other useage than in the comparative or attribute-listing structure I exemplified.
As I said at the start, you are using crit in an exemplary fashion...I applaud you. Take what is best and ignore the rest (inc. tectak)
Best,
tectak

[cidermaid]

Thank you to everyone who commented and offered advise - much appreciated.

@ Tectak. I'm not sure i can lay down the rigor mortised, but as yet i can't find anything to work with to replace this.

I do hear what you are saying about the syntax of the "It" line, but again I'm trapped in this particular idea of an image and it might take me a while to re-order my thoughts before I can stop being stubborn and make a change here. I did originally have "which" instead of it, but I wanted the hair to have a sort of semi identity and potential life of it's own...was thinking at the time of what the opposite of Song of songs 4:1 - Your hair is like a flock of goats descending down mount Gilead - would look like. (I have a picture of 70's hair, rigid under a mantle of hair spray designed to maintain and control that perfect placement of every follicle...Which is my chosen opposite for the river like flow of bouncing energy and life filled fun that I picture as the movment of the goats. I decided that the 70's hair image was a strong enough to carry the set and bored stiff association...and decided to go with the "IT"...but it obviously doesn't comunicate as well in the poem as it did in my mind so I will retire to think this over some more).
Appreciate the input AJ.

[milo]

Edit 1

Dead before death.

Captured early by the ravages of time.
Spiky and stubborn in her composure.
Mortally wounded. Fatally flawed.
She can not enjoy the simple things. The wind
blowing through her hair…it, set and bored stiff,
yet resistant to all movement and change.

She crystallised; entombed within,
embalmed in over salted brine, in which nothing
can grow or thrive. Laid out in firm resolution
awaiting death, embracing every morbid, rigor mortised
reduction. Until life is brought down to the lowest,
gravest spec of dust. Six feet of cold empty excavation.

She wears her death well,
a cherished shroud upon her breast,
An ill borne blossom out of season, she refuses to thrive.
A fruitlet that falls for no reason.

She died too young.




Original post
Tectak inspired me - he did a set rhymed poem, which he doesn't enjoy or get into normally, so I've tried one without a formal stucture or rhyme. I find this v hard, but determined to work this out. (This is another "new prompt" poem. Inspiration taken from Christina Rossetti sonnet of same title).

Dead before death.

Captured early by the ravages of time.
Spiky and stubborn in her composure.
Mortally wounded. Fatally flawed.
She could not enjoy the simple things. The wind
blowing through her hair…it, set and bored stiff,
yet, resistant to all movement and change.

She crystallised, entombed within,
embalmed in over salted brine, in which, nothing
could grow or thrive. Laid out in firm resolution
awaiting death, embracing every morbid, rigor mortised,
reduction. Until life was brought down to the lowest,
gravest spec of dust. Six feet of cold empty excavation.

She wore her death well,
a cherished shroud upon her breast,
A blossom borne out of season, she refused to thrive.
A fruitlet that falls for no reason.

She died too young.

I read the following cliches: ravages of time, mortally wounded, fatally flawed, could not enjoy the simple things, bored stiff, resistant to change.
So much tired language in a short poem.

Thank you for sharing.

[cidermaid]

I have done a re-write of the first stanza. Which was undeniably hideous in my eyes. I have given up for now on my intent to renounce all rhyme...I just can't do it I need to go on a steps programme or such like.

@ tectak. Once more into your lair Mr Tectak...or is it Mr Tec-a-také of the assassins’ guild today?

@ Milo Whilst your comments did have some merit, a hand shake or pleasant greeting would not have been amiss to introduce yourself for a first post. Why so rough and rude to shake the darling buds of creativity?

[milo]

I have done a re-write of the first stanza. Which was undeniably hideous in my eyes. I have given up for now on my intent to renounce all rhyme...I just can't do it I need to go on a steps programme or such like.

@ tectak. Once more into your lair Mr Tectak...or is it Mr Tec-a-také of the assassins’ guild today?

@ Milo Whilst your comments did have some merit, a hand shake or pleasant greeting would not have been amiss to introduce yourself for a first post. Why so rough and rude to shake the darling buds of creativity?

good point, sometimes I forget to tend the seasons. Pleased to meet you.
care with them creative buds.

[UnofficiallyMe]

your edits are amazing. Your first draft was good but you made it great with some of those rewrites. I love the play on words within the lines and the additions like: oozes in incremental drips of putrid atrophy

it speaks death well, maybe too well. I will not read this one at night, haha..

but really this is a great piece and you have gone along way with it. I do not have any real advice at this point but maybe

take out an: An ill borne blossom out of season, she refuses to thrive.

[softlyfalling]

The edits really are excellent. It shifts the syntax up to a whole new, higher, more literary level. I love words, loved to find them used well, with sensitivity to nuances of connotation and a skill that sometimes I think is inherent and inborn in a few gifted poets. Never surrender your preferences, they define the style that your soul issues. I love rhyme, adore it when it is graceful and eloquent. I will NEVER give it up, not entirely.
I also admire the courteous way you stand up for yourself. (Certain people are quite rude, i agree) Gentle righteousness takes a mortal woman and makes her a goddess warrior!
Hideous? Only in your mind. Even the first draft was good, albeit dangerously close to falling from pure poetical grace onto the Earth.

[cidermaid]

To all who have commented, especially to the relative newcomers to the site, thank you for your thoughts and kind comments.
They are all much appreciated.
I'm going to sit on this one for a while now before I do much more...famous last words I'll probably be tinkering with it tomorrow!

[heslopian]

Edit 2

Dead before death.

Captured early by time decomposing. Is time decomposing, or her?
With morbid stubbornness, her stagnant life
oozes in incremental drips of putrid atrophy. Excellent line. Perhaps an overkill of adjectives in it and the previous line, but I like the semantic field of rot so much that I won't pick at it.
Every mortal, fatally flawed action; Instead of a semi-colon could a dash go here, followed by one after "wind blown" (which should have its own dash), as the following line is a parenthesis. Speaking of which, maybe "wind blown" could be brought up a line?
simple things, finger tips teasing her hair, cares Should "finger tips" be one word?
wind blown, are rebuffed and woodenly resisted.

She crystallised; entombed within,
embalmed in over salted brine, in which nothing Should be a dash between "over salted".
can grow or thrive. Laid out in firm resolution
awaiting death, embracing every rigor mortised
reduction. Until life is brought down to the lowest, "Rigor mortised reduction" is an excellent phrase.
gravest spec of dust. Six feet of cold empty excavation. Everything from "until" to "dust" is fabulous.

She wears her death well,
a cherished shroud upon her breast,
An ill borne blossom out of season, she refuses to thrive. Should be a dash between "ill borne".
A fruitlet that falls for no reason.

She died too young. Though I like the contrasting of densely poetic lines with this straightforward close, I think the poem would be stronger if it ended on the "fruitlet" line, which is fantastic.

A very nice dirge, full of lament and horror yet never sick or mean-spirited. All critique is, of course, JMHO. Thank you for the read