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Poetry Magnum Opus

Picnic with Megan at the Quarry


badger11

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revision2

 

This afternoon she's taking time from Him, dancing
until her soles are black like slate; it's as though
she threads a tale within her mime - like Jesus
might feed belief with crumbs of cake. We're lads

that sweat on trails above the bells and past
the mirror of ribbon lake. Afterwards,
among us boys, none chose to tell the Crow
of why we came to prayers so late. He just knew.

 

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revision

 

 

This afternoon she's skipping time, all the way
she dances on stone as black as fate; it's as though
she threads a tale within her mime - like Jesus
to feed us folk with crumbs of cake. We're lads

that sweat on trails above the bells and past
the blue mirror of ribbon lake; afterwards,
among us boys, none chose to tell the Crow
of why we came to prayers so late. He just knew.

 

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original

 

This afternoon she's skipping time,
dancing on stone as black as fate;
she threads a tale within her mime -
and feeds us folk with crumbs of cake.

We sweat on trails above the bells,
so high's that blue of ribbon lake;
among the boys none chose to tell
the thirst of why we're all so late.

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Some lovely evocative lines with subtle mix of full and half rhyme. I particularly liked: "We sweat on trails above the bells," it has an essence of D.T. about it. :biggrin:

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David W. Parsley

Phil, I like the way this poem moves and feels. I concur with all the revisions, giving the poem greater economy and immediacy, as well as sliding the audible effects a little under the radar. The near-rhymes and internal rhymes make wonderful music on the frame of iambic pentameter. Having said that, there are a couple of mysteries/enigmas for me:

 

  1. Who is "the Crow"?
  2. Who the devil is D.T.? (Geoff's fault!)

Thanks,

- Dave

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  • 2 weeks later...

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