Kneeling in the Autumn Garden

[Leah S.]

Kneeling in the Autumn Garden
Something in my chest that smells like my heart
twists and slides quietly
under the fallen leaves;
under the aspen leaves, the cherry leaves, the apple leaves
that lie still over the red stones.

Something in the air that smells like a cold hearth
sinks and pools idly
between the  waiting stones;
between the patient stones, the stubborn stones, the durable stones
that lie unburied on the steady ground.

I reach out my hand but do not touch
close to the chill earth
over the place where no warm rustle was;
over the lost leaves, the gold leaves, the heavy leaves
that lie absently on the enduring stones.

I bow my head but not to the weight of pain
downward to the unseen track beneath the leaves
downward to the unfelt rustle of warmth
downward to the unburied patience of the stones
and feel the cold and stubborn kindness of the turning earth.
Leah S.

Revision 1:
Something in my chest, that smells like my raw heart,
(OR) tastes like my old tears, (Pick one?)
twists and slides quietly
under the fallen leaves;
under the aspen leaves, the cherry leaves, the apple leaves,
that lie still over the red stones.

Something in the air, that smells like a cold hearth,
sinks and pools idly
between the  waiting stones;
between the patient stones, the stubborn stones, the constant stones,
that lie unburied on the steady ground.

I reach out my hand, but do not touch,
close to the chill earth;
over the place where no warm rustle is;
over the lost leaves, the gold leaves, the heavy leaves,
that lie unmoved on the enduring stones.

I bow my head, but not to the weight of pain,
downward to the unseen track beneath the leaves,
downward to the unfelt rustle of warmth,
downward to the unburied patience of the stones,
and feel the cold and stubborn kindness of the turning earth.

Revision 2

Something in my chest,
that smelled to me like my raw heart,
twisted and slid quietly
under the fallen leaves;
under the aspen leaves, the cherry leaves, the apple leaves,
that lay still on the red stones.

Something in the air,
that smelled to me like a cold hearth,
sank and pooled secretly
between the waiting stones;
between the patient stones, the stubborn stones, the constant stones,
that lay still on the gray ground.

I reached out my hand, but did not touch,
close to the chill earth;
over the place where no warm rustle was;
over the lost leaves, the gold leaves, the dull leaves,
that lay dead on the plain stones.

I bowed my head, but not to the weight of pain,
bending to the unseen track beneath the leaves,
bending to the unfelt rustle of warmth,
bending to the unburied forbearance of the stones,
as I felt the cold and stubborn kindness of the turning earth.

[ellajam]

Hi, Leah, welcome. I've read this a few times but haven't felt ready to critique it (I'm slow ). Just giving this a bump up.

[just mercedes]

Hi Leah - there's a lot of texture in your poem. I'm going to critique, but I'll let it all soak in for a while first.

[tectak]

Kneeling in the Autumn Garden

Something in my chest that smells like my heart Unfortunate music hall opener."I say, I say, I say
....my dog has no nose!" " How does he smell?" " Terrible".  A rethink I think. Do you get my point?
twists and slides quietly
under the fallen leaves;
under the aspen leaves, the cherry leaves, the apple leaves
that lie still over the red stones. ....but something contrastingly beautiful follows. Watch out for that old chestnut "lie still"...or should it be "still lie" and if not why not? Make purposeful meaning clear. Either way...I am hooked

Something in the air that smells like a cold hearth There must be a better way. Ahaa! Something in my chest /the air that smells OF my heart/a cold hearth. Well, You would have got there soon enough.
sinks and pools idly
between the  waiting stones;
between the patient stones, the stubborn stones, the durable stones
that lie unburied on the steady ground. We are off...beautifully appropriate repetition...do not be dissuaded

I reach out my hand but do not touch
close to the chill earth Awkwardly constructed. " do not touch close to" is enigmatically compromising.To be "not touching" is a  parametric tautology when modifying "close". Change it
over the place where no warm rustle was; You may mask an inversion, but it is still there. Tense is forced to be an issue. l reach/ rustle was. You may got away with it. I reach(ed) out my hand but (do) did not touch the chill earth over the place where no warm rustle (is) was? I could not fail to disagree with you less.
over the lost leaves, the gold leaves, the heavy leaves
that lie absently on the enduring stones. You need to explain "lie absently". Help

I bow my head but not to the weight of pain
downward to the unseen track beneath the leaves (1)I watched him move imperceptibly.....hmmmmm
downward to the unfelt rustle of warmth(2)
downward to the unburied patience of the stones(3)
and feel the cold and stubborn kindness of the turning earth. Phew! Concrete

Leah S.

Rushed. Sorry. Kindly meant.
Best,
tectak

[QDeathstar]

Kneeling in the Autumn Garden

Something in my chest that smells like my heart i keep trying to figure out why smells is important, I find it distracting
twists and slides quietly
under the fallen leaves;
under the aspen leaves, the cherry leaves, the apple leaves
that lie still over the red stones.

Something in the air that smells like a cold hearth
sinks and pools idly
between the waiting stones;
between the patient stones, the stubborn stones, the durable stones i love how the repetition work here, but durable is the odd word out. patient, stubborn, aspen, cherry, and Apple all have two syllables that lead to a consist flow, durable is three, and the word also sounds a lot different than the other words.... something better than durable I think
that lie unburied on the steady ground.

I reach out my hand but do not touch
close to the chill earth
over the place where no warm rustle was;
over the lost leaves, the gold leaves, the heavy leaves
that lie absently on the enduring stones.

I bow my head but not to the weight of pain
downward to the unseen track beneath the leaves
downward to the unfelt rustle of warmth
downward to the unburied patience of the stones
and feel the cold and stubborn kindness of the turning earth.

Leah S.

I'm just having difficulty getting a greater meaning here, and I figure my reading comprehension to be just above average... I mean, the repetition of stones makes me consider a grave yard but it doesn't seem to quite fit...

especially that last stanza, you bow you hear near the stone like you might do when visiting a dead loved one, and get comfort from the earth ability to ground them but, then, cold and stubborn kindnes is almost an oxymoron.....

[Leah S.]

"

Kneeling in the Autumn Garden

Something in my chest that smells like my heart Unfortunate music hall opener."I say, I say, I say
....my dog has no nose!" " How does he smell?" " Terrible".  A rethink I think. Do you get my point?
twists and slides quietly
under the fallen leaves;
under the aspen leaves, the cherry leaves, the apple leaves
that lie still over the red stones. ....but something contrastingly beautiful follows. Watch out for that old chestnut "lie still"...or should it be "still lie" and if not why not? Make purposeful meaning clear. Either way...I am hooked

Something in the air that smells like a cold hearth There must be a better way. Ahaa! Something in my chest /the air that smells OF my heart/a cold hearth. Well, You would have got there soon enough.
sinks and pools idly
between the  waiting stones;
between the patient stones, the stubborn stones, the durable stones
that lie unburied on the steady ground. We are off...beautifully appropriate repetition...do not be dissuaded

I reach out my hand but do not touch
close to the chill earth Awkwardly constructed. " do not touch close to" is enigmatically compromising.To be "not touching" is a  parametric tautology when modifying "close". Change it
over the place where no warm rustle was; You may mask an inversion, but it is still there. Tense is forced to be an issue. l reach/ rustle was. You may got away with it. I reach(ed) out my hand but (do) did not touch the chill earth over the place where no warm rustle (is) was? I could not fail to disagree with you less.
over the lost leaves, the gold leaves, the heavy leaves
that lie absently on the enduring stones. You need to explain "lie absently". Help

I bow my head but not to the weight of pain
downward to the unseen track beneath the leaves (1)I watched him move imperceptibly.....hmmmmm
downward to the unfelt rustle of warmth(2)
downward to the unburied patience of the stones(3)
and feel the cold and stubborn kindness of the turning earth. Phew! Concrete

Leah S.

Rushed. Sorry. Kindly meant.
Best,
tectak

Tectak, you are funny!! Help me out here....smell is the sense that evokes the most emotion, right? So something in my chest, twisted (like your mouth twists right before you start to weep) and it felt as though it slipped away, down under the dead autumn leaves..... (I was sad.)
"I reach out my hand but do not touch;
close to the chill earth
where no warm rustle is" Better?
I struggled with "absently." What I was after was the sense of profound absence one feels in the presence of death. Especially recent death. There is a warm and vibrant force that I can sense emanating from living things, and it was simply "absent." I toyed with 'bereft', 'forsaken',' abandoned'....but they were all too emotionally loaded. I also like the connotation of "absent" as in "absent-minded," as if the dead leaves were simply not paying attention to anything or anybody. Suggestions welcomed for alternate word.

---

Kneeling in the Autumn Garden

Something in my chest that smells like my heart  i keep trying to figure out why smells is important, I find it distracting
twists and slides quietly
under the fallen leaves;
under the aspen leaves, the cherry leaves, the apple leaves
that lie still over the red stones.

Something in the air that smells like a cold hearth
sinks and pools idly
between the  waiting stones;
between the patient stones, the stubborn stones, the durable stones i love how the repetition work here, but durable is the odd word out. patient, stubborn, aspen, cherry, and Apple all have two syllables that lead to a consist flow, durable is three, and the word also sounds a lot different than the other words.... something better than durable I think
that lie unburied on the steady ground.

I reach out my hand but do not touch
close to the chill earth
over the place where no warm rustle was;
over the lost leaves, the gold leaves, the heavy leaves
that lie absently on the enduring stones.

I bow my head but not to the weight of pain
downward to the unseen track beneath the leaves
downward to the unfelt rustle of warmth
downward to the unburied patience of the stones
and feel the cold and stubborn kindness of the turning earth.

Leah S.

I'm just having difficulty getting a greater meaning here, and I figure my reading comprehension to be just above average... I mean, the repetition of stones makes me consider a grave yard but it doesn't seem to quite fit...  

especially that last stanza, you bow you hear near the stone like you might do when visiting a dead loved one, and get comfort from the earth ability to ground them but, then, cold and stubborn kindnes is almost an oxymoron.....

Thank you for crit! I've always had trouble when I'm being literal and trying to describe a "spiritual experience" in concrete, literal terms. I want to keep "smells" because it is bothersome and unusual, and it is the most "emotional" sense. Maybe I should change "heart" but it is the exact connotation I want. I could add an explicative line, but then to keep the structure I would have to add a similar line to each stanza......will play with it. I could also add an adjective in front of "heart" to match "cold" in "cold hearth."
Breaking out the thesaurus for "durable." Didn't really notice the syllable issue until you mentioned it.

[just mercedes]

[quote='Leah S.' pid='181374' dateline='1419093512']


Revision 1:
Something in my chest, that smells like my raw heart,
(OR) tastes like my old tears, (Pick one?) This line bothers me - for me the sense of smell is in my nose, and of taste is in my mouth. Something in my chest [b]that smells and tastes just doesn't work for me.
[/b]twists and slides quietly
under the fallen leaves;
under the aspen leaves, the cherry leaves, the apple leaves, I like the particulars
that lie still over the red stones. nice sonics

Something in the air, that smells like a cold hearth,
sinks and pools idly The second 'something' had me humming Beatle's music. I'm confused here - is it the something that smells like a cold hearth, or the air?
between the  waiting stones;
between the patient stones, the stubborn stones, the constant stones, The abstract terms here don't work as well as the 'naming' terms for the leaves in the first stanza
that lie unburied on the steady ground. I'm beginning to overload on adjectives by now.


I reach out my hand, but do not touch,
close to the chill earth;
over the place where no warm rustle is; don't like the inversion of word order here
over the lost leaves, the gold leaves, the heavy leaves,
that lie unmoved on the enduring stones. I'm wondering just what the anaphora is for, whether this verse could vanish without damaging the poem

I bow my head, but not to the weight of pain,
downward to the unseen track beneath the leaves,
downward to the unfelt rustle of warmth,
downward to the unburied patience of the stones, Don't like 'downward' - not sure why not. I feel I'm being hit over the head with it.
and feel the cold and stubborn kindness of the turning earth. This line 'clicks' like a key turning in a lock. very strong. I'd lose 'turning', and I'd take out a lot more of your abstract adjectives too.
[/quote

[tectak]

"

Kneeling in the Autumn Garden

Something in my chest that smells like my heart Unfortunate music hall opener."I say, I say, I say
....my dog has no nose!" " How does he smell?" " Terrible".  A rethink I think. Do you get my point?
twists and slides quietly
under the fallen leaves;
under the aspen leaves, the cherry leaves, the apple leaves
that lie still over the red stones. ....but something contrastingly beautiful follows. Watch out for that old chestnut "lie still"...or should it be "still lie" and if not why not? Make purposeful meaning clear. Either way...I am hooked

Something in the air that smells like a cold hearth There must be a better way. Ahaa! Something in my chest /the air that smells OF my heart/a cold hearth. Well, You would have got there soon enough.
sinks and pools idly
between the  waiting stones;
between the patient stones, the stubborn stones, the durable stones
that lie unburied on the steady ground. We are off...beautifully appropriate repetition...do not be dissuaded

I reach out my hand but do not touch
close to the chill earth Awkwardly constructed. " do not touch close to" is enigmatically compromising.To be "not touching" is a  parametric tautology when modifying "close". Change it
over the place where no warm rustle was; You may mask an inversion, but it is still there. Tense is forced to be an issue. l reach/ rustle was. You may got away with it. I reach(ed) out my hand but (do) did not touch the chill earth over the place where no warm rustle (is) was? I could not fail to disagree with you less.
over the lost leaves, the gold leaves, the heavy leaves
that lie absently on the enduring stones. You need to explain "lie absently". Help

I bow my head but not to the weight of pain
downward to the unseen track beneath the leaves (1)I watched him move imperceptibly.....hmmmmm
downward to the unfelt rustle of warmth(2)
downward to the unburied patience of the stones(3)
and feel the cold and stubborn kindness of the turning earth. Phew! Concrete

Leah S.

Rushed. Sorry. Kindly meant.
Best,
tectak

Tectak, you are funny!! Help me out here....smell is the sense that evokes the most emotion, right? So something in my chest, twisted (like your mouth twists right before you start to weep) and it felt as though it slipped away, down under the dead autumn leaves.....  (I was sad.)
"I reach out my hand but do not touch;
close to the chill earth
where no warm rustle is" Better?
I struggled with "absently." What I was after was the sense of profound absence one feels in the presence of death. Especially recent death. There is a warm and vibrant force that I can sense emanating from living things, and it was simply "absent." I toyed with 'bereft', 'forsaken',' abandoned'....but they were all too emotionally loaded. I also like the connotation of "absent" as in "absent-minded," as if the dead leaves were simply not paying attention to anything or anybody. Suggestions welcomed for alternate word.

---

Kneeling in the Autumn Garden

Something in my chest that smells like my heart  i keep trying to figure out why smells is important, I find it distracting
twists and slides quietly
under the fallen leaves;
under the aspen leaves, the cherry leaves, the apple leaves
that lie still over the red stones.

Something in the air that smells like a cold hearth
sinks and pools idly
between the  waiting stones;
between the patient stones, the stubborn stones, the durable stones i love how the repetition work here, but durable is the odd word out. patient, stubborn, aspen, cherry, and Apple all have two syllables that lead to a consist flow, durable is three, and the word also sounds a lot different than the other words.... something better than durable I think
that lie unburied on the steady ground.

I reach out my hand but do not touch
close to the chill earth
over the place where no warm rustle was;
over the lost leaves, the gold leaves, the heavy leaves
that lie absently on the enduring stones.

I bow my head but not to the weight of pain
downward to the unseen track beneath the leaves
downward to the unfelt rustle of warmth
downward to the unburied patience of the stones
and feel the cold and stubborn kindness of the turning earth.

Leah S.

I'm just having difficulty getting a greater meaning here, and I figure my reading comprehension to be just above average... I mean, the repetition of stones makes me consider a grave yard but it doesn't seem to quite fit...  

especially that last stanza, you bow you hear near the stone like you might do when visiting a dead loved one, and get comfort from the earth ability to ground them but, then, cold and stubborn kindnes is almost an oxymoron.....

Thank you for crit! I've always had trouble when I'm being literal and trying to describe a "spiritual experience" in concrete, literal terms. I want to keep "smells" because it is bothersome and unusual, and it is the most "emotional" sense. Maybe I should change "heart" but it is the exact connotation I want. I could add an explicative line, but then to keep the structure I would have to add a similar line to each stanza......will play with it. I could also add an adjective in front of "heart" to match "cold" in "cold hearth."
Breaking out the thesaurus for "durable." Didn't really notice the syllable issue until you mentioned it.

Yes...smells are emotive, paricularly and I would suggest singularly, when recalling smells. But you are not doing that. You may as well say "I heard the light" or " I smelt the sound" ......you would appear to suffer from a syndrome if you started hearing colours or seeing sound.
I confess, though, that it is rare to attribute senses to the wrong organs...smelling with/of/like a heart is just too much...at least, that's how my knee sees it.
Best,

[ellajam]

Kneeling in the Autumn Garden
Something in my chest that smells like my heart
twists and slides quietly
under the fallen leaves;
under the aspen leaves, the cherry leaves, the apple leaves
that lie still over the red stones.

Something in the air that smells like a cold hearth
sinks and pools idly
between the  waiting stones;
between the patient stones, the stubborn stones, the durable stones
that lie unburied on the steady ground.

I reach out my hand but do not touch
close to the chill earth
over the place where no warm rustle was;
over the lost leaves, the gold leaves, the heavy leaves
that lie absently on the enduring stones.

I bow my head but not to the weight of pain
downward to the unseen track beneath the leaves
downward to the unfelt rustle of warmth
downward to the unburied patience of the stones
and feel the cold and stubborn kindness of the turning earth.
Leah S.

Revision 1:
Something in my chest, that smells like my raw heart,
(OR) tastes like my old tears, (Pick one?)
twists and slides quietly
under the fallen leaves;
under the aspen leaves, the cherry leaves, the apple leaves,
that lie still over the red stones.

Something in the air, that smells like a cold hearth,
sinks and pools idly
between the  waiting stones;
between the patient stones, the stubborn stones, the constant stones,
that lie unburied on the steady ground.

I reach out my hand, but do not touch,
close to the chill earth;
over the place where no warm rustle is;
over the lost leaves, the gold leaves, the heavy leaves,
that lie unmoved on the enduring stones.

I bow my head, but not to the weight of pain,
downward to the unseen track beneath the leaves,
downward to the unfelt rustle of warmth,
downward to the unburied patience of the stones,
and feel the cold and stubborn kindness of the turning earth.

Hi, Leah, a few notes:

S1
L1:  I prefer the original, stopped me and made me think of what a heart smells like. Rejecting blood, I moved to the emotional heart which can indeed have a scent and I considered what the narrater's might be. The edit moves me back to blood, is that what you mean to do?

L2: I like slides, I've got a wormy feeling here that persists throughout the poem.

S2
L1: I like the smell of a cold hearth, it's a nice repeat and contrast of scent, dry and empty.
L2: I like pools, I don't need idly.
L5: Not a fan of steady.

S3:
L1: I iike the hand hovering.
L5: I don't find "enduring" adds anything to stone.

S4:
Does its job beautifully except for turning earth, which is a bit of a cliche; although it says the right thing it does not strike me as up to the rest of the poem.

I enjoy where this poem takes me, I think it hits its target. Thanks for posting it.

[Leah S.]

Kneeling in the Autumn Garden
Something in my chest that smells like my heart
twists and slides quietly
under the fallen leaves;
under the aspen leaves, the cherry leaves, the apple leaves
that lie still over the red stones.

Something in the air that smells like a cold hearth
sinks and pools idly
between the  waiting stones;
between the patient stones, the stubborn stones, the durable stones
that lie unburied on the steady ground.

I reach out my hand but do not touch
close to the chill earth
over the place where no warm rustle was;
over the lost leaves, the gold leaves, the heavy leaves
that lie absently on the enduring stones.

I bow my head but not to the weight of pain
downward to the unseen track beneath the leaves
downward to the unfelt rustle of warmth
downward to the unburied patience of the stones
and feel the cold and stubborn kindness of the turning earth.
Leah S.

Revision 1:
Something in my chest, that smells like my raw heart,
(OR) tastes like my old tears, (Pick one?)
twists and slides quietly
under the fallen leaves;
under the aspen leaves, the cherry leaves, the apple leaves,
that lie still over the red stones.

Something in the air, that smells like a cold hearth,
sinks and pools idly
between the  waiting stones;
between the patient stones, the stubborn stones, the constant stones,
that lie unburied on the steady ground.

I reach out my hand, but do not touch,
close to the chill earth;
over the place where no warm rustle is;
over the lost leaves, the gold leaves, the heavy leaves,
that lie unmoved on the enduring stones.

I bow my head, but not to the weight of pain,
downward to the unseen track beneath the leaves,
downward to the unfelt rustle of warmth,
downward to the unburied patience of the stones,
and feel the cold and stubborn kindness of the turning earth.

Hi, Leah, a few notes:

S1
L1:  I prefer the original, stopped me and made me think of what a heart smells like. Rejecting blood, I moved to the emotional heart which can indeed have a scent and I considered what the narrater's might be. The edit moves me back to blood, is that what you mean to do?

L2: I like slides, I've got a wormy feeling here that persists throughout the poem.

S2
L1: I like the smell of a cold hearth, it's a nice repeat and contrast of scent, dry and empty.
L2: I like pools, I don't need idly.
L5: Not a fan of steady.

S3:
L1: I iike the hand hovering.
L5: I don't find "enduring" adds anything to stone.

S4:
Does its job beautifully except for turning earth, which is a bit of a cliche; although it says the right thing it does not strike me as up to the rest of the poem.

I enjoy where this poem takes me, I think it hits its target. Thanks for posting it.

!! You are the first one to get the smell thing! I did indeed mean it literally. I've been resisting doing a full explication because if a poem misses the mark that far it's a hopeless cause. But yes, I was going for the literal smell of a heart. I had gone elk hunting for the first time in my life this fall, and when I was field dressing the creature I was struck by how pervasive the smell of fresh raw meat and blood was, and that it was not unpleasant.
Did anyone get that I really meant that something that actually smelled like my heart, twisted, left my chest, and slipped quietly under the dead leaves? (mourning, sorrow.) And that something in the air (like a mist or vapor) that smelled like a cold and empty hearth sank down between the stones? (loneliness, abandonment.)
I meant for "the turning earth" to imply that sorrow doesn't last, that the seeming death of autumn will always turn back with the turning earth toward the renewal and joy of spring. I meant to show that I was not broken in my sorrow and loneliness, but willing to endure with the earth, feel its "cold and stubborn kindness" (which is without sympathy or sentiment, but simply is) and turn along with it, content to endure.
I could try a prose rewrite, and then go back and try to match the patterns in the lines and stanzas. It also just occurred to me that I could change the tense of the poem to past and it might evoke more poignancy.....will fool around with this poem some more. Thank you all for your thoughtful crit. PS, why don't you like "steady"? Not sure about eliminating adjectives, since I could facetiously title it Kneeling in the Adjective Garden.

[ellajam]

I don't think there's anything I didn't get, I'd recommend only a gentle, thoughtful edit. S4L1 clearly says you are experiencing the pain without bowing out. I don't like steady because the whole poem says it already, you are not spinning dizzily in grief but holding and exploring it. Your ground is solid throughout, the stones unmoving.

I understand perfectly what you are saying with turning earth, it is a fine ending but you might want to consider a less common way of say it.

I know from where you speak of adjective laden poems, I've destroyed one of my own in attempts to dump them, hoping to come out in a better place. I am not suggesting you lose the ones I'm quibbling about, they suit the repetition in the poem, just urging you to think about whether or not there might be better replacements.

Good luck with it.

[Leah S.]

I don't think there's anything I didn't get, I'd recommend only a gentle, thoughtful edit. S4L1 clearly says you are experiencing the pain without bowing out. I don't like steady because the whole poem says it already, you are not spinning dizzily in grief but holding and exploring it. Your ground is solid throughout, the stones unmoving.

I understand perfectly what you are saying with turning earth, it is a fine ending but you might want to consider a less common way of say it.

I know from where you speak of adjective laden poems, I've destroyed one of my own in attempts to dump them, hoping to come out in a better place. I am not suggesting you lose the ones I'm quibbling about, they suit the repetition in the poem, just urging you to think about whether or not there might be better replacements.

Good luck with it.

thanks! I posted a second ("gentle") revision that took note of your very useful suggestions

[tectak]

Kneeling in the Autumn Garden
Something in my chest that smells like my heart
twists and slides quietly
under the fallen leaves;
under the aspen leaves, the cherry leaves, the apple leaves
that lie still over the red stones.

Something in the air that smells like a cold hearth
sinks and pools idly
between the  waiting stones;
between the patient stones, the stubborn stones, the durable stones
that lie unburied on the steady ground.

I reach out my hand but do not touch
close to the chill earth
over the place where no warm rustle was;
over the lost leaves, the gold leaves, the heavy leaves
that lie absently on the enduring stones.

I bow my head but not to the weight of pain
downward to the unseen track beneath the leaves
downward to the unfelt rustle of warmth
downward to the unburied patience of the stones
and feel the cold and stubborn kindness of the turning earth.
Leah S.

Revision 1:
Something in my chest, that smells like my raw heart,
(OR) tastes like my old tears, (Pick one?)
twists and slides quietly
under the fallen leaves;
under the aspen leaves, the cherry leaves, the apple leaves,
that lie still over the red stones.

Something in the air, that smells like a cold hearth,
sinks and pools idly
between the  waiting stones;
between the patient stones, the stubborn stones, the constant stones,
that lie unburied on the steady ground.

I reach out my hand, but do not touch,
close to the chill earth;
over the place where no warm rustle is;
over the lost leaves, the gold leaves, the heavy leaves,
that lie unmoved on the enduring stones.

I bow my head, but not to the weight of pain,
downward to the unseen track beneath the leaves,
downward to the unfelt rustle of warmth,
downward to the unburied patience of the stones,
and feel the cold and stubborn kindness of the turning earth.

Revision 2

Something in my chest,
that smelled to me like my raw heart,
twisted and slid quietly
under the fallen leaves;
under the aspen leaves, the cherry leaves, the apple leaves,
that lay still on the red stones.

Something in the air,
that smelled to me like a cold hearth,
sank and pooled secretly
between the  waiting stones;
between the patient stones, the stubborn stones, the constant stones,
that lay still on the gray ground.

I reached out my hand, but did not touch,
close to the chill earth;
over the place where no warm rustle was;
over the lost leaves, the gold leaves, the dull leaves,
that lay dead on the plain stones.

I bowed my head, but not to the weight of pain,
bending to the unseen track beneath the leaves,
bending to the unfelt rustle of warmth,
bending to the unburied forbearance of the stones,
as I felt the cold and stubborn kindness of the turning earth.

Hi leah,
As I began I continue...this is me liking it. The only problem I ever had with this was the grammatical schoolboy howler which I tried to exemplify with the Music Hall joke.
It IS up to you to make clear that you REALLY meant that you could smell your heart, rather in the way you could smell a fart...or a hearth, for that matter. The problem was ALWAYS the use of the expression "smells LIKE" ...which by its form implies loosely that is the the VERB, to smell, that is LIKE an equivalent characteristic of  heart, fart or hearth. To tighten up this syntax I was asking you to clarify your intent by writing "something smells of", which is, in fact, what you meant.
It is pedantic, I know, but as a general rule you should be aware of the difference between "smells of my dog"  and "smells like my dog". Next time, maybe.
Very best,
tectak.
Yes, fresh offal smells fine to me, too.

[Leah S.]

Kneeling in the Autumn Garden
Something in my chest that smells like my heart
twists and slides quietly
under the fallen leaves;
under the aspen leaves, the cherry leaves, the apple leaves
that lie still over the red stones.

Something in the air that smells like a cold hearth
sinks and pools idly
between the  waiting stones;
between the patient stones, the stubborn stones, the durable stones
that lie unburied on the steady ground.

I reach out my hand but do not touch
close to the chill earth
over the place where no warm rustle was;
over the lost leaves, the gold leaves, the heavy leaves
that lie absently on the enduring stones.

I bow my head but not to the weight of pain
downward to the unseen track beneath the leaves
downward to the unfelt rustle of warmth
downward to the unburied patience of the stones
and feel the cold and stubborn kindness of the turning earth.
Leah S.

Revision 1:
Something in my chest, that smells like my raw heart,
(OR) tastes like my old tears, (Pick one?)
twists and slides quietly
under the fallen leaves;
under the aspen leaves, the cherry leaves, the apple leaves,
that lie still over the red stones.

Something in the air, that smells like a cold hearth,
sinks and pools idly
between the  waiting stones;
between the patient stones, the stubborn stones, the constant stones,
that lie unburied on the steady ground.

I reach out my hand, but do not touch,
close to the chill earth;
over the place where no warm rustle is;
over the lost leaves, the gold leaves, the heavy leaves,
that lie unmoved on the enduring stones.

I bow my head, but not to the weight of pain,
downward to the unseen track beneath the leaves,
downward to the unfelt rustle of warmth,
downward to the unburied patience of the stones,
and feel the cold and stubborn kindness of the turning earth.

Revision 2

Something in my chest,
that smelled to me like my raw heart,
twisted and slid quietly
under the fallen leaves;
under the aspen leaves, the cherry leaves, the apple leaves,
that lay still on the red stones.

Something in the air,
that smelled to me like a cold hearth,
sank and pooled secretly
between the  waiting stones;
between the patient stones, the stubborn stones, the constant stones,
that lay still on the gray ground.

I reached out my hand, but did not touch,
close to the chill earth;
over the place where no warm rustle was;
over the lost leaves, the gold leaves, the dull leaves,
that lay dead on the plain stones.

I bowed my head, but not to the weight of pain,
bending to the unseen track beneath the leaves,
bending to the unfelt rustle of warmth,
bending to the unburied forbearance of the stones,
as I felt the cold and stubborn kindness of the turning earth.

Hi leah,
As I began I continue...this is me liking it. The only problem I ever had with this was the grammatical schoolboy howler which I tried to exemplify with the Music Hall joke.
It IS up to you to make clear that you REALLY meant that you could smell your heart, rather in the way you could smell a fart...or a hearth, for that matter. The problem was ALWAYS the use of the expression "smells LIKE" ...which by its form implies loosely that is the the VERB, to smell, that is LIKE an equivalent characteristic of  heart, fart or hearth. To tighten up this syntax I was asking you to clarify your intent by writing "something smells of", which is, in fact, what you meant.
It is pedantic, I know, but as a general rule you should be aware of the difference between "smells of my dog"  and "smells like my dog". Next time, maybe.
Very best,
tectak.
Yes, fresh offal smells fine to me, too.

This could be a geographical problem. I will make a bet you are not in the US. I honestly had to read the above several times before I figured out what you meant. I had to rephrase it thus: "Smelling this smell is like my heart." Here in the US, if I were to say, for example, "That scented candle smells of pumpkin pie," it would be considered rather stilted and pretentious. "Smells like" is common usage, and certainly is not "a grammatical schoolboy howler." In the US "smells like..." is equivalent to "smells as if it is...." "Smells of" would be used (in the US) literally to refer to a scent left behind on something such as clothing and would be used generally, as in: "You stink of skunk," or "This blanket smells of dog." Even then, we would be likely to use "smells like." When speaking in specific terms, we would use "smells like," as in "My shirt smells like my dog." Although your original comment did make me laugh, and now you have made me understand, I will never be able to say, "I smell like my dog" without having a mental image of myself sniffing someone in a potentially offensive manner. Don't know whether to thank you or hate you.

[tectak]

Kneeling in the Autumn Garden
Something in my chest that smells like my heart
twists and slides quietly
under the fallen leaves;
under the aspen leaves, the cherry leaves, the apple leaves
that lie still over the red stones.

Something in the air that smells like a cold hearth
sinks and pools idly
between the  waiting stones;
between the patient stones, the stubborn stones, the durable stones
that lie unburied on the steady ground.

I reach out my hand but do not touch
close to the chill earth
over the place where no warm rustle was;
over the lost leaves, the gold leaves, the heavy leaves
that lie absently on the enduring stones.

I bow my head but not to the weight of pain
downward to the unseen track beneath the leaves
downward to the unfelt rustle of warmth
downward to the unburied patience of the stones
and feel the cold and stubborn kindness of the turning earth.
Leah S.

Revision 1:
Something in my chest, that smells like my raw heart,
(OR) tastes like my old tears, (Pick one?)
twists and slides quietly
under the fallen leaves;
under the aspen leaves, the cherry leaves, the apple leaves,
that lie still over the red stones.

Something in the air, that smells like a cold hearth,
sinks and pools idly
between the  waiting stones;
between the patient stones, the stubborn stones, the constant stones,
that lie unburied on the steady ground.

I reach out my hand, but do not touch,
close to the chill earth;
over the place where no warm rustle is;
over the lost leaves, the gold leaves, the heavy leaves,
that lie unmoved on the enduring stones.

I bow my head, but not to the weight of pain,
downward to the unseen track beneath the leaves,
downward to the unfelt rustle of warmth,
downward to the unburied patience of the stones,
and feel the cold and stubborn kindness of the turning earth.

Revision 2

Something in my chest,
that smelled to me like my raw heart,
twisted and slid quietly
under the fallen leaves;
under the aspen leaves, the cherry leaves, the apple leaves,
that lay still on the red stones.

Something in the air,
that smelled to me like a cold hearth,
sank and pooled secretly
between the  waiting stones;
between the patient stones, the stubborn stones, the constant stones,
that lay still on the gray ground.

I reached out my hand, but did not touch,
close to the chill earth;
over the place where no warm rustle was;
over the lost leaves, the gold leaves, the dull leaves,
that lay dead on the plain stones.

I bowed my head, but not to the weight of pain,
bending to the unseen track beneath the leaves,
bending to the unfelt rustle of warmth,
bending to the unburied forbearance of the stones,
as I felt the cold and stubborn kindness of the turning earth.

Hi leah,
As I began I continue...this is me liking it. The only problem I ever had with this was the grammatical schoolboy howler which I tried to exemplify with the Music Hall joke.
It IS up to you to make clear that you REALLY meant that you could smell your heart, rather in the way you could smell a fart...or a hearth, for that matter. The problem was ALWAYS the use of the expression "smells LIKE" ...which by its form implies loosely that is the the VERB, to smell, that is LIKE an equivalent characteristic of  heart, fart or hearth. To tighten up this syntax I was asking you to clarify your intent by writing "something smells of", which is, in fact, what you meant.
It is pedantic, I know, but as a general rule you should be aware of the difference between "smells of my dog"  and "smells like my dog". Next time, maybe.
Very best,
tectak.
Yes, fresh offal smells fine to me, too.

This could be a geographical problem. I will make a bet you are not in the US. I honestly had to read the above several times before I figured out what you meant. I had to rephrase it thus: "Smelling this smell is like my heart." Here in the US, if I were to say, for example, "That scented candle smells of pumpkin pie," it would be considered rather stilted and pretentious. "Smells like" is common usage, and certainly is not "a grammatical schoolboy howler." In the US "smells like..." is equivalent to "smells as if it is...." "Smells of" would be used (in the US) literally to refer to a scent left behind on something such as clothing and would be used generally, as in: "You stink of skunk," or "This blanket smells of dog." Even then, we would be likely to use "smells like." When speaking in specific terms, we would use "smells like," as in "My shirt smells like my dog." Although your original comment did make me laugh, and now you have made me understand, I will never be able to say, "I smell like my dog" without having a mental image of myself sniffing someone in a potentially offensive manner. Don't know whether to thank you or hate you.

.....either way. Just don't ignore me
Best,
tectak in England where English is spoken ( though what that is, is another story!)
smell of
v.
1. To have an odor suggesting that something or someone is or has been present: The locker room smells of soap and sweat.
2. To be suggestive of something; have a tinge or hint of something: The dark cave smells of terror.
See also: of, smell
The American Heritage® Dictionary of Phrasal Verbs. Copyright © 2005 by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company. Published by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company. All rights reserved.

[none]

that smelled to me like my raw heart,

This line is just bizarre even for a metaphor. It has this sense of "captain obvious" plus morbidity of death which I don't think is the essence of the stanza. Sure, what else could be there inside your chest - metaphorically - but your heart? Not to mention the imagery of smelling a raw and beating human heart. The line just doesn't sound right to me.

that smelled to me like a cold hearth,

This line give me comedic effect instead even though I'm pretty sure it is not intended that way. How do you smell a fireplace? How do you smell fire? I know it's a metaphor but all the metaphors in this poem has been consistent with the physical law apart from the "smelled" lines which are at odd with the rest of the stanzas. Why it's comedic? Because in order for the fireplace to have a smell, someone must be cooking something there - I don't know, maybe marshmallows? But that would mean it smells like marshmallow.

I bowed my head, but not to the weight of pain,

This line is just perplexing. Weren't you already reaching the earth but not touching it? Physically speaking, when you did that, your head was already bowing down. This line imply that you didn't bowed your head before which make a haunting imagery in my mind, akin to the movie "The Exorcist". Where was the position of your head before?

...

Apart from the questionable lines, I can say honestly that this is a nice poem to read.

[ellajam]

that smelled to me like my raw heart,

This line is just bizarre even for a metaphor. It has this sense of "captain obvious" plus morbidity of death which I don't think is the essence of the stanza. Sure, what else could be there inside your chest - metaphorically - but your heart? Not to mention the imagery of smelling a raw and beating human heart. The line just doesn't sound right to me.

that smelled to me like a cold hearth,

This line give me comedic effect instead even though I'm pretty sure it is not intended that way. How do you smell a fireplace? How do you smell fire? I know it's a metaphor but all the metaphors in this poem has been consistent with the physical law apart from the "smelled" lines which are at odd with the rest of the stanzas. Why it's comedic? Because in order for the fireplace to have a smell, someone must be cooking something there - I don't know, maybe marshmallows? But that would mean it smells like marshmallow.

I bowed my head, but not to the weight of pain,

This line is just perplexing. Weren't you already reaching the earth but not touching it? Physically speaking, when you did that, your head was already bowing down. This line imply that you didn't bowed your head before which make a haunting imagery in my mind, akin to the movie "The Exorcist". Where was the position of your head before?

...

Apart from the questionable lines, I can say honestly that this is a nice poem to read.

I have to take issue with the statement that a fireplace only has a smell if it has been cooked in. There is a big difference between the smell of heated metal and stone mixed with the smell of burning wood and the smell of cold ash with bits of dead coals in it. So for me the line is sound literally and metaphorically. Sorry, I just couldn't let that one pass.

[none]

I have to take issue with the statement that a fireplace only has a smell if it has been cooked in. There is a big difference between the smell of heated metal and stone mixed with the smell of burning wood and the smell of cold ash with bits of dead coals in it.  So for me the line is sound literally and metaphorically. Sorry, I just couldn't let that one pass.

I don't think a cold hearth (that means unused) has a smell, unless the narrator stick his nose to it.

[Leah S.]

that smelled to me like my raw heart,

This line is just bizarre even for a metaphor. It has this sense of "captain obvious" plus morbidity of death which I don't think is the essence of the stanza. Sure, what else could be there inside your chest - metaphorically - but your heart? Not to mention the imagery of smelling a raw and beating human heart. The line just doesn't sound right to me.

that smelled to me like a cold hearth,

This line give me comedic effect instead even though I'm pretty sure it is not intended that way. How do you smell a fireplace? How do you smell fire? I know it's a metaphor but all the metaphors in this poem has been consistent with the physical law apart from the "smelled" lines which are at odd with the rest of the stanzas. Why it's comedic? Because in order for the fireplace to have a smell, someone must be cooking something there - I don't know, maybe marshmallows? But that would mean it smells like marshmallow.

I bowed my head, but not to the weight of pain,

This line is just perplexing. Weren't you already reaching the earth but not touching it? Physically speaking, when you did that, your head was already bowing down. This line imply that you didn't bowed your head before which make a haunting imagery in my mind, akin to the movie "The Exorcist". Where was the position of your head before?

...

Apart from the questionable lines, I can say honestly that this is a nice poem to read.

I have to take issue with the statement that a fireplace only has a smell if it has been cooked in. There is a big difference between the smell of heated metal and stone mixed with the smell of burning wood and the smell of cold ash with bits of dead coals in it.  So for me the line is sound literally and metaphorically. Sorry, I just couldn't let that one pass.

Thanks ellajam. I'm sitting in my office and effortlessly conjured up the smell of a cold hearth.