Poetry Thread

[ragashree]

(for ragashree)

First born (a sonnet)

Muffled by nature's silent blanket siege,
The new world seems to be a softer place.
Of childish fairytales; the hidden peace
in cotton sheets and filigree of lace.
A dormant Ben shoulders the whisper wind
And in his shadow snow-caked sheeplands sleep.
While at his head, Aurora waves her wand,
And rainbow colours dance beneath her feet.

The chill-less cold of well-wrapped solitude
Reclaiming sled adventures, long ago,
When mittened hands with guileless trust imbued,
And virgin foot print-echoed man of snow.
O'erhead, old boughs are clothed with fresh cargo
Like guardian angels who this quiet know.

Yes, that works, well done! I like the rythym and music of this one; and the thoughtful, mediatitive flow of words and imagery that builds a strong sense of place and nostalgia for it. If you don't mind me saying so (I hope not, as I'm going to anyway) it did in some respects come across as quite a feminine poem. This is not an impression I can easily justify (particularly not at this time of night!); it was just the general feel I got from it, which contrasts somewhat with the impression I get from reading your forum posts etc. But I'm sure you are intending to achieve something quite different with those...

Mini-critique now (I hope you wanted this - I certainly wouldn't bother with a poem I didn't think was worth critiquing)

I got the impression of quite a few influences at work there, not all of which I can necessarily place. It did definitely remind me of something I have read before though - and given that the other poetry threads are starting to turn into the G.M.Hopkins fan club (not such a bad thing), what suggested itself most strongly was Robert Bridges. This may be a coincidence, of course, but I do remember reading a poem by him that had a similar (by no means identical, but wintry) theme and certainly a similar overall feel, particualrly rythymically. I can't remember the name though and am not going to start googling it right now - it's one of the better known ones anyway. Line 13 (bolded) was strangely aberrant, however - it jumped out at me as being exactly the kind of sentence structure Pope would have used. Maybe that too is a coincidence, as he was very NT (anachronistically speaking!), and you were obviously looking to get a rhyme: but all the same I would be very surprised if you'd never read him. There was a slight, but definite suggestion of Hopkins too, particularly in the sentence structure and the hyphenation. That's all I can think of for now!

I was initially thinking that the opening line might be a bit of a mixed metaphor; but reading it a couple more times in context it seemed to fit. There's a bit of a problem in the last two lines though due to the uneven number of stresses, which somewhat disrupts the steady rythym that had built up until this point and makes the conlusion a bit less strong than it could have been. I'm not saying it doesn't work as it is; just that evening out the stresses would probably strengthen it. (Yes, and I know what I did, I know!) O'erhead would be in a lot of danger if I was revising one of my own, being a poeticsm - I try to avoid them myself simply because they sound a bit strained these days. The Aurora bit (bolded) is something some of the (c)literati might consider a pit poetically cliched - I'm saying this in my objective mode, however, as I'm personally perfectly happy with that form of expression. Oh, and I mustn't forget that there seems to be an overall metaphor relating back to the title and which would add another layer of meaning - is that what you were intending? I'm half-asleep at the moment and more in analytic mode than holistic appreciation mode, unfortunately!

Anyway, I liked the poem a lot overall. Beyond the specific bits I nitpicked about, I thought the language was very vigorous, original, and effective too. Does that mean it's my turn to post now?

 

[Salomé]

I have to say that was beautiful. I love the imagery. A quiet wintery scene with only the crunch of snow under boots at first. Then imprints of the sleds telling stories of those who had been there being built upon and the wind carrying child-like laughter away. Memories. ^^ Very pretty.

Thanks!

Does that mean it's my turn to post now?

Yes!

Wow! Thank you for taking the time for such a careful reading - I really didn't expect that, it's very touching.

Yes, the feminine voice is strong and intentional. I agree with all that you have said. It is forced in places - that's partly because there is an element of parody, partly because of the constraints of the form (I'd never use o'erhead if I wasn't trying to squeeze five feet into that line) but mostly my own limitations. Sometimes I like the discipline and structure that form imposes, often I don't.

I haven't read Robert Bridges - I shall correct that. I'm not a poetry buff by any means.

Overall I have failed with this poem as it doesn't seem to deliver the intended menace or ambivalence - although your reference to Poe was interesting, and you picked up on the unsettled metre at the end. There is quite a lot of dark hiding under the white fluff, but I can see why it would be easy to miss - it has layers of meaning that only I can really know, and I don't have the skill to impart that successfully. Words like muffled, siege, seems, hidden, shadow, chill-less etc and the jolting effect of some of the lines was supposed to do this for me. FAIL!

This was interesting! Thank you.

Next!

 

[ragashree]

Ok, I've reached a caffeinated state of semi-wakefulness now, so I'll just give a brief response to your response while deciding what to post myself. (Unfortunately everything I have written is 5,000 miles or so away in Wales at the moment, so I have to remember it and go through the chore of typing everything in - phooy :sad

There is quite a lot of dark hiding under the white fluff, but I can see why it would be easy to miss - it has layers of meaning that only I can really know, and I don't have the skill to impart that successfully

Overall I have failed with this poem as it doesn't seem to deliver the intended menace or ambivalence

that's partly because there is an element of parody

I think you had the skill to hint at it, at any rate; I got numerous impressions I wasn't quite sure about last night and get them even more strongly on rereading today. I won't go into more detail here though . What I'm wondering is whether that tendency to self-parody (a very INTP-ish one!) was actually your major constraint here rather than your level of skill. It never came across to me as being a purely descriptive poem and even less so now - RE my comment about the overall metaphor - but perhaps you weren't quite comfortable with following through with the feelings you had that drove you to write it in the first place and maintaining a consistent mood and focus, which tended to dissapate the final effect. The ambivalence I defintely picked up on at first reading - I just didn't feel I could quite pin it down. I suppose it must ultimately depend on why you are writing the poem and what you are intending to communicate though. I like in a highly structured form such as a sonnet to stay very focussed on what I'm trying to achieve. Speaking of which, I think I know what I am going to post now

 

[ragashree]

The nature of exorcism

We once could hate full-force and cast the shame
Of evil, and our demons far from self:
When witch and misbeliever burned in flame
While we, the righteous, kept our chosen path;

When those in distant lands across the sea
Exalted Satan's name in foreign tongues
With lust for blood and death of such as we
To whom God gave the role of chosen ones -

But we have grown from this old attitude!
But we have not - we still must pass the blame
For all our wrongs. And so, with grattitude,
We hound the wolf among us we could tame:
For Human sin becomes no sin at all
To that of Beast, who sins against Us All.

 

[WobblyStilettos]

Porcelain Prima Ballerina
Sitting on the top shelf
Gust of wind
And you’ll fall down
And shatter
Into a thousand pieces of
Empty eyes and
Painted lips
Falling, but
You think you’re dancing.

Don't worry, I know it's no masterpiece, I wrote it a couple of years ago

 

[Eileen]

Here are some of mine: http://www.typologycentral.com/forums/nf-blogs/545-my-poems-such.html

 

[BlueScreen]

The distance stands
in definitions,
in magnitudes,
in adjectives.

How bright is bright?
How deep is deep?
How much does a thinker
need to think?

Between us are
not misunderstandings;
when we talk
we mean the same thing,

but magnitudes
divide our views.
How true is true?
How deep is deep?

 

[SillySapienne]

^Nice!!!

Lol, perhaps there is an enfp style of writing poetry, I have some formal ones, but I am shy about posting them.

Here is a less personal one:

------------------------------------------------------------------------

the difference between zero and the infinite is minimal
any positive can be defined by its negative opposite
man by woman, death by life, day by night,
a yin yang hypothesis for the myriad ways of life

the universe within me, the universe without,
marks a difference only in perspective

holographic in its principles, fractal in its design,
a puzzle containing an infinite amount of pieces,
where each piece contains the universal equation

"the everything in every thing"

to understand the ways of one thing is to understand the ways of the world,
to know yourself is to know the essence of every man

the difference between zero and the infinite is one.

`
`

 

[GinKuusouka]

Thanks!

You're more than welcome.

 

[GinKuusouka]

^Nice!!!

Lol, perhaps there is an enfp style of writing poetry, I have some formal ones, but I am shy about posting them.

Here is a less personal one:

------------------------------------------------------------------------

the difference between zero and the infinite is minimal
any positive can be defined by its negative opposite
man by woman, death by life, day by night,
a yin yang hypothesis for the myriad ways of life

the universe within me, the universe without,
marks a difference only in perspective

holographic in its principles, fractal in its design,
a puzzle containing an infinite amount of pieces,
where each piece contains the universal equation

"the everything in every thing"

to understand the ways of one thing is to understand the ways of the world,
to know yourself is to know the essence of every man

the difference between zero and the infinite is one.

`
`

Well done.

 

[SillySapienne]

I haven't read through this thread yet, and I most certainly will do!!!

I poetry!!!

And it is super brave of y'all to share yourselves like this!!!

 

[SillySapienne]

Well done.

Thank you, but it is entirely flat of emotion.

It is more of an aphorism-styled philosophical prose.

I don't know if I would call it poetry, poetry.

My real poetry is, well, revealing, and I have problems, at times, sharing my "inner" self to people, lol, it is a stupid fear, perhaps I will post a real poem later.

 

[GinKuusouka]

Thank you, but it is entirely flat of emotion.

It is more of an aphorism-styled philosophical prose.

I don't know if I would call it poetry, poetry.

My real poetry is, well, revealing, and I have problems, at times, sharing my "inner" self to people, lol, it is a stupid fear, perhaps I will post a real poem later.

That is entirely up to you. To me, what you posted spoke of truth, whether or not you consider it true poetry. I have many that I don't consider true poetry either. Example...



Thought

These poet’s thoughts flutter through my mind.
Gather.
Separate.
Touch upon the tongue.
Teeter.
And then fall.
Tumble over and over upon themselves.
Until they are nothing but the thought of the aftermath.
Seeded words make it to my hand.
Seen by my eyes only.
Until I share you.
Infamous words.
Let you be.
Grow wings.
Fly from blooming blossom to blooming blossom.
Pollinate their sweetly-fragranced minds.
Allow new thoughts to grow.
Spread.
Seed some more.
Shades of blue.
Hues of gold.
Flitter.
Fly.
Grace me with your beauty.
Magic.
Telltale flights.
Whispers.
Shhh.
Don’t tell me where you came from.
Just entertain me.
Then fly away while I laugh.

 

[SillySapienne]

I think of an elusive and whimsical muse flirting with me, taunting me, enticing me, when I read that!!!



Lovely!!!

 

[BlueScreen]

^^^^^^(i think) (captain chicks poem) Cool . I think you summed up a lot about us right there.

I write way less logical more emotional stuff too. It's all a weird mix.

 

[ragashree]

Thank you, but it is entirely flat of emotion.

It is more of an aphorism-styled philosophical prose.

I don't know if I would call it poetry, poetry.

Yes, I tended to agree with your self-assessment there. I'm glad you made it, because I was thinking precisely that myself as I was reading. It was quite prose-y to my tastes, and you seemed uncertain about what you wanted to say at times. I didn't see much that was new to me either, and so I felt a bit disengaged while reading, though I didn't disagree with what you were saying in it.

My real poetry is, well, revealing, and I have problems, at times, sharing my "inner" self to people, lol, it is a stupid fear, perhaps I will post a real poem later.

I'd like to see something that actually came from your heart rather than your mind. I'm guessing that you would be more expressive and energised with a poem that you are more emotionally attatched to, particularly after what you've just said. I'm quite happy to post something more personal of mine so long as I see some other people doing so, but I don't want to take over the thread by being the only one posting. I have plenty of expereince of reading my own stuff in public, so there's nothing for me to gain by pushing myself out there more.

C'mon, post and be dammed! I'm certainly not going to pull apart a poem that obviously means something to someone, and I'd hope no-one else would be so bad-mannered either!

BTW, thanks for posting that one, Gin ^^^ I won't add to my earlier comments except to say that it was a nice little poem which at least one other person has enjoyed reading too

 

[Salomé]

Heh.

Ragashree @ CC

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours"

*snigger*

 

[BlueScreen]

My real poetry is, well, revealing, and I have problems, at times, sharing my "inner" self to people, lol, it is a stupid fear, perhaps I will post a real poem later.

Nah, it is an okay fear. Most stuff I write is pretty personal too. I took years to share any of it. Think I was more honest with myself when I knew I wouldn't share any of it.

 

[ragashree]

*For Bluemonday*

Trades

We trade in cash all through the year
And paperchase with words and deeds
For drink, and drugs, and plastic cheer
Like lulling savages with beads.

We trade in dollars, guns and oil
And dare not stop to wonder why;
With faith, and life, and counterfoil
And all on land, in sea and sky.

We trade in stocks, and shares, and strain
To keep those profit margins sound
And play the loss against the gain,
Because this makes the world go round.

We trade our labour - grab your share!
Because those shits by whom we're paid
Know how to squeeze their pleasures there
And pay the price by which they're laid.

And we have bought, and we have sold
To earn our place beneath the sun,
And turned our trades of trash for gold
Till like for like can keep but one.

Trade love for love - no other price
Or love it buys will ever do.
Those happiest take this advice
And through their lifetimes prove it true.

 

[SillySapienne]

I am in the mood to write a poem for you...here goes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I sit here in silence, it's never enough, I swallow the pieces whole.

I came up with an idea once, felt like such a surprise, it fell through, though, when forced to face the facts.

I am tired of trying, trying to find something to quell what will be and is, the inevitable collapse.

And these people, they keep coming back

These moments, as they pass, how they seem, in retrospect, as units of life lived.

To live within a perpetually permanent past. A life defined by an accumulation of acts.

I am tired of an aloneness I chose but, still, I cannot ignore this hunger for more.

I am a speechless poet, a metal muse, an intense implosive fuse.

Lost in the infinite, my anchored -self , completely and utterly confused.