Posts: 47
Threads: 18
Joined: Dec 2012
It happened one day in my first year of college
when I was too self-conscious and excitable
to know any better.
Winter had let up in a respite
sometime around February or March.
I promptly followed suit, baring my arms and legs,
though, the inkling should have come upon me
that it was too warm, too soon
to last.
But the trees that lined the pulsing veins of campus
gave in to that temptation as well.
Sleeping buds awakened to a pale sun,
managing to flourish anyway.
Like a needle glides through fabric,
so did the perky, flushed flowers
punctuate the wash of sickly mop water that had tinged
Everything.
I, too, was fresh and pink
and I found myself eyeing those gems
from far away, and then nearer
until I could taste their sweet breath
when I sucked in the balmy afternoon.
The path was silent, the evening waning.
I’d had a busy day of classes and my head was heavy,
but when I saw the perfect little bud
hanging low enough for me to reach
I knew it was my chance!
Five round petals, silky and soft
Five eager fingers, seeking them to touch
Five short seconds---
And I looked down at the ground
To watch as five round petals
Sank without a sound.
Overall, it seems a tad wordy, so if I were you, I would try and be a little more brief without compromising the feeling the poem's language moving as fast as the experiences occurring. However, I like the ending where your fingers and those petals are meeting, because it conveys your mindfulness to the moment and its fleeting nature.
Posts: 294
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Joined: Sep 2013
I'm thinking this reads more like prose...which digs up the old argument what is the difference between poetry and prose....
I've always thought of prose as a short story that uses flowery, poetic language. Perhaps it is just my own personal definition, but that's the category I'd slip this into. If you want to bring it more into poetry, you could be a tad less narrative and try to let the scene tell us what is going on, not what you are doing or thinking.
It's and interesting read, and I have nothing against narrative poetry, in fact, I tend to slip into without noticing most of the time. It will be interesting to see what way you go with a revision.
Cheers,
mel.
Posts: 54
Threads: 22
Joined: Dec 2014
(04-24-2015, 01:04 AM)ellz483 Wrote:
It happened one day in my first year of college
when I was too self-conscious and excitable
to know any better.
Winter had let up in a respite
sometime around February or March.
I promptly followed suit, baring my arms and legs,
though, the inkling should have come upon me <
that it was too warm, too soon
to last. <<
But the trees that lined the pulsing veins of campus
gave in to that temptation as well.
Sleeping buds awakened to a pale sun,
managing to flourish anyway.
Like a needle glides through fabric,
so did the perky, flushed flowers
punctuate the wash of sickly mop water that had tinged
Everything.
I, too, was fresh and pink
and I found myself eyeing those gems
from far away, and then nearer
until I could taste their sweet breath
when I sucked in the balmy afternoon.
The path was silent, the evening waning.
I’d had a busy day of classes and my head was heavy,
but when I saw the perfect little bud
hanging low enough for me to reach
I knew it was my chance!
Five round petals, silky and soft
Five eager fingers, seeking them to touch
Five short seconds---
might shorten this break
And I looked down at the ground
To watch as five round petals
Sank without a sound.
i like the overall feel of this poem, but it does seem kinda wordy. I feel like there are so many ideas, i cant quite decide what the poem is about. You start with "it happened one day..." but i never feel like i get a sense of a big event, although maybe it is more personal and i just don't see it. Overall, i really like this i just wish i knew what it was about 
Sometimes I feel like writing poetry and sometimes I watch Netflix. No judging.
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Threads: 3
Joined: Apr 2015
Hi Ellz - I agree with what others said about your piece being wordy. But the good news is that over-writing is great thing because you can look at what you've got and trim it back. Let's start looking . . .
It happened one day in my first year of college
when I was too self-conscious and excitable
to know any better.
Could you cut this back to---
My first year of college, too self-conscious
and excitable to know better,
sometime around February or March,
winter had let up in a respite, (move this line down)
I promptly followed suit and exposed baring my arms and legs.
though, the inkling should have come upon me
that it was too warm, too soon
to last.
to the tepid air. (something about the air)
You could speak a bit more here and say something to the effect of---"I could have sworn at that same moment"
the trees that lining the pulsing the campus veins of campus
gave into that temptation as well,
Sleeping their buds awakening to a pale sun,
managing to flourish anyway.
Like a needle glides through fabric,
so did the perky, flushed flowers
like needles through organic fabric.
punctuate the wash of sickly mop water that had tinged
Everything.
I, too, was a fresh and pink bud
and found myself eyeing those gems
from far away, and then nearer
until I could taste their sweet breath
when I sucked in the balmy afternoon.
The path was silent, the evening waning.
I’d had a busy day of classes and my head was heavy, (my head heavy from a full day of classes,)
but when I saw the perfect little bud
hanging low enough for me to reach.
I knew it was my chance!
Five round petals, silky and soft
Five eager fingers, seeking them to touch
Five short seconds---
And I looked down at the ground
To watch as five round petals
Sank drop to the ground without a sound.
Taking your words and trimming back you could get something like this just as an example and try to figure out what it is really trying to understand about life---
My first year of college, too self-conscious
and excitable to know better,
sometime around February or March,
winter in a respite,
I followed suit and exposed my arms and legs.
to the tepid air.
I could have sworn at that same moment
the trees pulsing the campus veins
gave into temptation as well,
their buds awakening to a pale sun,
like needles through organic fabric
fresh and pink just like me.
The path silent, the evening waning,
my head heavy from a full day of classes,
when I saw the perfect bud
low enough to reach,
I grabbed---five round petals, silky and soft,
five eager fingers, seeking touch,
for five short seconds---
But when I looked down
at the ground around my feet
instead of one bud, five petals
calm, silent and still
wonderfully pink.
For example, is the poem about losing one's virginity? Or something else like grabbing at life and opportunities. Everything about the poem can be edited around whatever meaning you wish it to convey.
Keep going,
Anne
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