Sacred City (Ode to Milton Keynes)

[heslopian]

The town is square and grey, an altar cloth
in open fields. A boulevard divides
the rising and the setting sun. The hill
which rooted Joseph's staff may not be here,
but Nature's sweets and idols are. A witch
I kissed one Summer's night is bearing bread
and stones. I watch her through a pub window.
Her rites are held in tree preserves, where love
and leaves are one with light, each soul a part
of Earth's design. I kissed her there, beneath
a stooping tree. She laughed and lost my name.
I walked to work the next morning with grief.
A fleeting lust, a sudden warmth, a tree
behind us, old and stooped; yet now this grey.

[ray]

I like the beginning and end, some of the references in between have me flummoxed - Joseph's staff, Nature's sweets and idols, the bread and stones.
The capitalisation of Nature, Summer and Earth caused a slight sinking of the heart but we didn't get a full pseudo-pagan onslaught. Thank God.

I watch her through a pub window - I wonder what this is doing, why you need it?

I walked to work the next morning with grief. - maybe "grieved" instead of with grief.

[heslopian]

The Joseph's staff line refers to a legend where, while bringing Christianity to Britain, Joseph of Arimathea plunged his staff into Wearyall Hill at Glastonbury and it flowered into a tree, now called Glastonbury Thorns, which flower twice a year, first in winter, then in spring. "Nature's sweets and idols" means fruits and natural features, like trees (equating them with religious idols), while "bread and stones" is just my vague, horribly simplistic way of somewhat alluding to a sort-of-pagan atmosphere I'm not quite egotistical enough to go full pseudo-pagan haha.
Thank you for your excellent feedback, Ray

[tectak]

The town is square and grey, an altar cloth
in open fields. A boulevard divides
the rising and the setting sun. The hill
which rooted Joseph's staff may not be here,
but Nature's sweets and idols are. A witch
I kissed one Summer's night is bearing bread
and stones. I watch her through a pub window.
Her rites are held in tree preserves, where love
and leaves are one with light, each soul a part
of Earth's design. I kissed her there, beneath
a stooping tree. She laughed and lost my name.
I walked to work the next morning with grief.
A fleeting lust, a sudden warmth, a tree
behind us, old and stooped, yet now this grey.

Bugger me if this isn't just excellent. I now have to think of something interlektual to say bout it. OK.
Er....er....well. It is er...just...excellent. So kill me why don't you?
I think this is a nail in the Coffin of Crap Poetry. I applaud you, Hes.
Third line from the end is the weakest. Maybe "in grief" but what the hell. I really LOVE this one.
This is as near a perfect example of pure poetry as I have seen on this, or any other site. I do not know what I mean by this...but I will defend my view to the death. Very well done.
Best,
tectak

[heslopian]

That means so much coming you from you, tectak, and I'm very grateful for your kind comments, thank you This poem was "inspired" by an Open University chapter about sacred spaces I was studying yesterday.

[billy]

The town is square and grey, an altar cloth
in open fields. A boulevard divides
the rising and the setting sun. The hill
which rooted Joseph's staff may not be here,
but Nature's sweets and idols are. A witch
I kissed one Summer's night is bearing bread
and stones. I watch her through a pub window.
Her rites are held in tree preserves, where love
and leaves are one with light, each soul a part
of Earth's design. I kissed her there, beneath
a stooping tree. She laughed and lost my name.
I walked to work the next morning with grief.
A fleeting lust, a sudden warmth, a tree
behind us, old and stooped, yet now this grey.

one of those rare time when i have nothing constructive to say.
this may be one of your best poems jack. (i think so anyway)
i do have one thought why do we have A boulevard in england?

other than that, a delightful piece. i have a feel the internal line breaks are experimental, if so i think you did a good job with them.
thanks for the read.

[ChristopherSea]

Heslopian, Wonderful tome to a special place for you no doubt. The alter cloth in open field was a lovely and layered metaphor. I know this area is a center of urban renaissance, but you have captured the 'city in the forest', it's roots and heart established long ago in the Bronze Age. This wench/witch has an unbroken lineage linking her to an era of thatched huts and stone circles. She embodies Milton's intrigue and soul. Was it truly grief that you felt or regret? …perhaps the only edit that I might make. Hey, she still may be in that pub. Well done, Cheers!/Chris

[heslopian]

Thank you for your very kind comments, billy and ChristopherSea

billy - The "boulevard" line refers to Misdummer Boulevard in Milton Keynes. The town's design was partly based on the American grid system, which is why you also have street names like "Upper Fifth".
The poem is an attempt at pure iambic pentameter, hence the line breaks. Thanks again, your kind feedback is really appreciated

ChristopherSea - Milton Keynes is a post-World War II city/town. I wanted to write about it because of the odd distinction between modern and ancient it represents; it was designed partly to complement nature, with its Midsummer Bouelvard and gardens, yet is a functional place with a clear practical purpose.
I should point out that this poem is in no way about me. The "I" is a purely fictional narrator, based on no-one I know. Thanks again, your kind responses mean a lot

[EileenGreay]

The town is square and grey, an altar cloth
in open fields. A boulevard divides
the rising and the setting sun. The hill
which rooted Joseph's staff may not be here,
but Nature's sweets and idols are. A witch
I kissed one Summer's night is bearing bread
and stones. I watch her through a pub window.
Her rites are held in tree preserves, where love
and leaves are one with light, each soul a part
of Earth's design. I kissed her there, beneath
a stooping tree. She laughed and lost my name.
I walked to work the next morning with grief.
A fleeting lust, a sudden warmth, a tree
behind us, old and stooped, yet now this grey.

This is excellent, really excellent. The metre works splendidly - very elegant. An interesting city to write an ode to. I've only passed through Milton Keynes a couple of times: a bizarre place with those huge long roads - one might say the world reimagined as a supermarket.

What I particularly love here is the framing of the poem by greyness - the bleak opening image (and beautifully expressed metaphor of the altar cloth) giving way to a sense of the city coming to life, before returning to greyness. The only thing I could possibly suggest to change is a tiny thing - perhaps replace the final comma in the final line with a semicolon? Really tiny, but I feel that the return to grey needs a bit more of a pause. A semicolon would really make the reader think about that sudden return.

In the beautiful little love story I hear lots of references - not sure if you were conscious of connections to Keats' La Belle Dame or Yeats' 'Down by the sally gardens' while you were writing this, but I certainly think they're there.

A beautifully crafted poem. Only one more thing: I love this fourteen line version, recalling in a spatial and metric sense the sonnet, but this left me wanting more (perhaps that's part of its charm!). If you felt like looking at it again, I'd love to read an expanded version. But really there is very little to criticise here - well done.

[heslopian]

Thank you for your very kind feedback, Ms. Greay, and welcome to the Pig Pen! I wasn't conscious of those Keats references, but I'm flattered that you saw them. Your semi-colon suggestion is excellent and will be utilised immediately. That last line left me feeling slightly dissastisfied, and I think you've put your finger on why.

[Leanne]

I think it's fair to say you've come of age with this one, Jack. I lose the meter ever so slightly in L7 but it's such a small hiccup that it becomes unnoticeable unless you're a bit of a nazi like me , and it detracts not at all from the piece as a whole.

This is one of the finest blank verse sonnets I've encountered in recent years. It seamlessly mixes contemporary language and setting with traditional form and concept. Very well done indeed.

[heslopian]

I wondered what you'd make of this, Leanne, because I remember you giving me advice when I tried my hand at sonnets ages ago. Thank you very much for your very kind feedback! I just hope that this success of mine isn't a fluke.

[Leanne]

It's poetry like this that gives me hope

You've managed to do what many purists never can -- see beyond the rules and structures to the essence of the form, then made it yours while still keeping that essential sonnet-ness intact.