Souvenirs

[ellajam]

Hi, eager, this poem has interesting potential but I think it's fallen into a few pitfalls that you could climb out of with some work.

A search of your rhyme scheme led to some interesting reading, so thank you for that. It seems that it's often used with an eight syllable/line count, which is what, for the most part, you've done here. I'm a fan of syllable count as an invisible skeleton, when it pleases the reader without them not quite knowing why. I don't think you've achieved that here, more often I found myself wondering why a line was phrased the way it was, so that is something you could surely polish.

But if syllable count is a skeleton, meter can be the sexy undergarments, ideally still not quite visible but defining structure and adding allure. Your poem drifts in and out of steady meter and I don't think the choppiness of that and the almost constant end line punctuation aids the poem. Some notes below:

SOUVENIRS

Beyond my flat's double glazed glass, I don't think you need this comma
I see a hazy midday scene:
Flocks of tourists napping in grass,
The slow and subtle spread of shade,
Tall men with their sub-legal trade, While I can ponder sub-legal trade, I can't think of any limited to tall men or what height has to do with it.
And on trees the emerging green.
For me, the capitalization of each line kept me from seeing this as the list it is and at first it just came across as fragments.


I look with greater focus now, You might cut this comma, and if was mine I'd probably cut the one below as well.
Upon this fading midday scene,
As I begin to notice how
The spring cement's purity I'm trying here, winter's snow makes cement less pure? Summer's, um,got nothing, is less pure?
Heightens the plumb logs obscurity, Can't figure out plumb logs or why they're obscure.
Showing a forest that had been.
So now I'm thinking maybe these lines are about the boxed trees inserted into sidewalks but those are not usually remnants of a forest, so, dead end for me.


When I am archaic yet wise, Not a fan of this line, if one is archaic how wise could they be, having lost their relevance? I'm sure you could think of a better way to say old.
I will still see this midday scene,
But never again through live eyes; Is "live" what you mean?
Never at all with the power
To sweeten a youth gone sour.
Too much to take in at eighteen.

This type of poem can be difficult but fun to work on, I hope you enjoy it and that some of my notes help.