eclipse Posted September 28, 2017 Share Posted September 28, 2017 Williams Burns would plough soil,his son practiced vowels alludingto embryonic verse, he had a dreamabout staring into a loch near fourtrees that were shedding leaves.The moon made an imprint Roberts' deathmask,then a poet made the mask crythrough spoken verse shedding tears over four countries.Agnes Burns passed away, the faintimprint of a mask laid on waters,RobertBurns muttered a verse, the windsmingled with the death visages sinuousbreath as it followed a poets words.Robert Burns collected two roses that passed each other on a riverand caught two tears that crossedeach other on opposite faces towarn in a distinctive accent of thornapproaching thorn, the scent ofrevolution was carried from France-the faces of it's dead appeared on ariver next to a burning forest. The sun and moon offer veins,can a poet discern the patterns in the flames to find an incantationand mix fire with blood and turnaround the flood of French indignationto create a balanced synergy borne out ofScottish resentment.Hands of dissent pull at tree roots, formerselves pour through Burns like the grains ofsand in an hour-glass, he is a sailing emberspawned in time's fire hovering outside ofan hour-glass that drifts towards Scottish rose whose head has been replaced with that of the English monarch singing Celtic songs tempting native traitors to prick their thumbs and drop blood on English soil, hands of consent in the ground wait ready to hammer the rain like nails an astute poet weighs fire on scales making them tip subtly as he rips up pages of history. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
eclipse Posted October 3, 2017 Author Share Posted October 3, 2017 This poem was written for a competition-any feedback would be appreciated-thank-Barry Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
David W. Parsley Posted October 4, 2017 Share Posted October 4, 2017 Hi Barry, interesting piece, though I like "Quills" more. Strong images. I have diction issues: "mask" appears near end of stanza 1, then near start of stanza 2. Feels repetitive. "incantation" appears twice in the poem, neither time organically, feels forced. On 9/28/2017 at 12:43 AM, eclipse said: Hands of dissent pull at tree roots, formerselves pour through Burns like the grain ofsand in an hour-glass, plurality mis-match between "selves" and "grain" "incandescence" feels forced Hope that helps. I know how it feels to want more comments on one's poem. - Dave Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Tinker Posted October 8, 2017 Share Posted October 8, 2017 Hi Barry, I was giving this time before giving more comments. The added strophes adds a lot to the poem and sounds more like you than the beginning. If this were mine I'd clean up the syntax and focus more on Robert than his parents. As I said before, early on it reads like a list of facts. L3 he had a dream . . . . . . who is he father or son? The way it is written the subject is the father and the son just an after thought. The son isn't even named yet we know the full name of the father. That is where I'd start. I think fixing the beginning help bring the rest of the poem together. ~~Tink Quote ~~ © ~~ Poems by Judi Van Gorder ~~ For permission to use this work you can write to Tinker1111@icloud.com Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
JoelJosol Posted October 17, 2017 Share Posted October 17, 2017 I like the mythic quality of the lyrical narrative, and its musicality. With the suggested edits, this should go a lot better. Quote "Words are not things, and yet they are not non-things either." - Ann Lauterbach Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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