09-01-2013, 12:16 AM
Please note this is a mentoring project (Under TOMH). We have decided to move the thread into a workshop enviroment as part of the mentoring process. It will be moved back to "Milo's forum" after spending some time in the workshop. My appreciation to anyone who might choose to contribute or comment.
Edit.
I feel the imperfections,
ions in each unique wood flake,
aching under silent fields of snow;
onerous gram weighted peeks and troughs.
Offers of pristine carbon dated sheets
eat at tired thoughts that slide,
idle in freefall, foot prepped they stretch;
etched clouds of sun-downing starlings.
Lingering they cling; half formed ideas,
earless dreary droplets on bare branches.
Essence starved, highly metalled, they drip
rippled dross that cools on the un-tilled field.
Eldritch forces shield the pressed perfection,
on which fragments of calm collide and splinter.
Terse aborted concepts leap sky-born,
ornate in flight they swirl in flightless flocks.
Oxygen boosted the fledglings flee,
easing off the aborted roost; a reflective river
verse that swirls in random bursts of unborn images,
gestated under a clouded sun-lit canopy.
Peels of thoughts switch and swoop low;
own the virgin field of snow, by virtue of a kiss.
Issues melt, the fluid thought compacts,
acts upon a single, graphite drop and falls.
Alternate climatic creative waves; twice
ice hard dead upon the page are left unread.
Edited, the final decent is progressive and smooth;
the imperfections are covered and soothed.
Original
I feel the imperfections;
each a unique ‘Snow-flake’,
of gram weighted troughs and ridge tops
on pristine, carbon dated sheets.
My tired thoughts seek to settle and roost
like a cloud of sun-downing starlings.
Each bare branched idea
clings, half formed to the tip
of a bonsai tree. Whilst slips of chaos,
drip cooling molten dross
on the un-tilled fields of pressed perfection;
splintering the compressed calm of my mind.
Startled concepts leap sky-borne.
In sightless swirling flocks
they flee the blotched approach;
fledglings on a maiden flight
that quicly merge and coalesce. Birthed
in rivers of delight, the image forms and grows.
Swooping low to kiss a virgin field of snow,
the fluid thought compacts
into a single, graphite coloured flow.
Twice, the creative wave reaches a climax
and falls as if dead upon an un-read page.
The final decent is decisive and smooth.
The imperfections are covered and soothed.
A couple of quick comments.
'Snow-flake' is a brand of wood shavings sold in the Uk. Please comment if this is too abstract or makes the line in the poem unaccessable.
Secondly, I might be a mod but I am not too proud to earnestly desire the opportunity of having a poem mentored by someone. I am surprised by the slow response to this feature. (Also I figure if i am to be able to offer this to someone else at some point in the future, the best way to learn the art, would be to be tutored in this as a skill).
So if anyone might feel so inclined, I would love to have give this a go. (Is this poem is particularly deserving? - No not really! But just... well why not. For this reason I have posted it perhaps a bit raw off the press.)
I'll leave it here a week before re-posting in a workshop.
(From original post: Small edit made to third line 1st stanza)
Edit.
I feel the imperfections,
ions in each unique wood flake,
aching under silent fields of snow;
onerous gram weighted peeks and troughs.
Offers of pristine carbon dated sheets
eat at tired thoughts that slide,
idle in freefall, foot prepped they stretch;
etched clouds of sun-downing starlings.
Lingering they cling; half formed ideas,
earless dreary droplets on bare branches.
Essence starved, highly metalled, they drip
rippled dross that cools on the un-tilled field.
Eldritch forces shield the pressed perfection,
on which fragments of calm collide and splinter.
Terse aborted concepts leap sky-born,
ornate in flight they swirl in flightless flocks.
Oxygen boosted the fledglings flee,
easing off the aborted roost; a reflective river
verse that swirls in random bursts of unborn images,
gestated under a clouded sun-lit canopy.
Peels of thoughts switch and swoop low;
own the virgin field of snow, by virtue of a kiss.
Issues melt, the fluid thought compacts,
acts upon a single, graphite drop and falls.
Alternate climatic creative waves; twice
ice hard dead upon the page are left unread.
Edited, the final decent is progressive and smooth;
the imperfections are covered and soothed.
Original
I feel the imperfections;
each a unique ‘Snow-flake’,
of gram weighted troughs and ridge tops
on pristine, carbon dated sheets.
My tired thoughts seek to settle and roost
like a cloud of sun-downing starlings.
Each bare branched idea
clings, half formed to the tip
of a bonsai tree. Whilst slips of chaos,
drip cooling molten dross
on the un-tilled fields of pressed perfection;
splintering the compressed calm of my mind.
Startled concepts leap sky-borne.
In sightless swirling flocks
they flee the blotched approach;
fledglings on a maiden flight
that quicly merge and coalesce. Birthed
in rivers of delight, the image forms and grows.
Swooping low to kiss a virgin field of snow,
the fluid thought compacts
into a single, graphite coloured flow.
Twice, the creative wave reaches a climax
and falls as if dead upon an un-read page.
The final decent is decisive and smooth.
The imperfections are covered and soothed.
A couple of quick comments.
'Snow-flake' is a brand of wood shavings sold in the Uk. Please comment if this is too abstract or makes the line in the poem unaccessable.
Secondly, I might be a mod but I am not too proud to earnestly desire the opportunity of having a poem mentored by someone. I am surprised by the slow response to this feature. (Also I figure if i am to be able to offer this to someone else at some point in the future, the best way to learn the art, would be to be tutored in this as a skill).
So if anyone might feel so inclined, I would love to have give this a go. (Is this poem is particularly deserving? - No not really! But just... well why not. For this reason I have posted it perhaps a bit raw off the press.)
I'll leave it here a week before re-posting in a workshop.
(From original post: Small edit made to third line 1st stanza)