A charming tale and memory, Penny, and a delight to read.
May I make a couple of suggestions?
In "I could hardly breath", the word "breathe" is misspelled.
I have some difficulty with the last paragraph. You write that your uncle's replacement for Tippy wouldn't suffice, yet Tippy was your constant companion until then. In other words, that you lost interest in Tippy after an inferior bear was given to you. Is this what you intended to say?
It's a lot of fun to recall such wonderful times. Thank you for sharing this!
I like this piece. It's as if it comes from a mythology or an epic tale.
There are several phrases that appeal to me. For example, that "hatred harbored in his heart". In a nautical poem, "harbored" is the perfect verb.
One thing confused me a bit. When you write "Serpent takes to flight", I interpret that as its retreat. But the next lines opose this interpretation. Do I misunderstand this?
Trisal, I like the idea of your book. This could be very entertaining and educational for children. The feline main character would be (obviously) curious and playful.
May I suggest changing the cat's name from Pierre to Maurice. "Monsieur Maurice" is not only more pleasing (at least to me) lyrically, but it hints at both the "meow" sound and "Morris the Cat" of cat food fame.
The meter and rhyme of the poem need some more work. You've got a good start.
"A Momentary Dream" is a poem of vast, sweeping scope. It is unlimited in its imaginative journey. It must be a challenge to capture a dream so well and yet not suppress it.
There's only one grammatical suggestion I can make: "to chose" should be "to choose". This is just a typo, I'm sure.
This is a very nicely constructed poem, Mrs. H. The images are clear and delightful to envision.
I have but two grammatical suggestions: In the first line of the second stanza, "it's" should be "its" (possessive). And the "forget" in the title should be capitalized. Call me picky
This is a poem of lovely imagery, Dakota Brin. It evokes many pleasant memories for me, especially those of crickets and frogs.
I'm intrigued that your poem says, I believe, that life means - among many other charming things - silence (as silent as the moon). It is not unusual to compare death and silence (as silent as the tomb), so the life-silence idea makes me think.
On a technical note, I recommend hyphenating "mist enshrouded".
"Symmetrical webs perspire in the light/ Reflecting the labors completed last night".
"First lacy, then pastel, then Caribbean blue".
These lines are so descriptive and colorful that my mind's eye sees them clearly and with pleasure.
The lines "... where there ought to be trees,/ An abstract forest..." challenge me. The trees are actually there, but "Shrouded in a misty cowl." The abstraction is either a "Platonic ideal" forest, or ephemeral shadows and glimpses of a few limbs. Either way is interesting.
What a sad poem, Drecver. It's a lonely place you write about.
Your phrase "with only forgotten memories as my friends" challenged me. I've thought a lot about it since reading it. I'm going to have to consider it even more.
I have a grammar suggestion:
"When I lay down" should be "When I lie down" to keep it in the present tense (as is the rest of the poem).
"Reasons Aren't Always Enough" is a poem telling me that for all reasons, fighting and dying for anything is unwarranted or unjust. That's a difficult idea to sell.
As to the poem's grammar, may I offer some suggestions?
"... a tilled peice of sod" should be "... a tilled piece of sod".
"... who's tear stained the land" should be "... whose tear stained the land".
The meter is perfect for the first three lines, but seems to become strained afterward.
Is your message that nothing is worth dying for? Or that it is an injustice for anyone to die for a value greater than one's own life? I'm sorry, I'm left unconvinced.
Outstanding work. I can almost smell this shop's gorgeous delights.
There is so much that I enjoy about this piece, but I have to say my favorite is:
"my table laden with glistening strawberry tarts/ luscious lemon cakes and glorious macaroons to beguile you,/ I am a temptress, and I will seduce all who pass by".
Indeed, as has your poem also seduced me. Thank you!
"In the shadow of trees./ Monsters they were./ Older than me,/ older than time itself".
When I read this, I thought you were talking about monsters in the shadow. Then I read on and re-read it, finaly realizing it was the trees themselves that were the monsters. I think it was the punctuation that led me astray.
Also, I think I'd shy away from claiming - even poetically - that any tree is older than time itself. I'm not even sure the phrase "older than time" has any meaning but poetic. It's kinda like saying "smaller than the smallest" - an impossibility. In any event, it's somewhat cliche.
But I loved reading this poem. Thank you very much!
I like your poem very much. Its beauty moves me. My favorite part is:
"I touch the pale yellow spots that dot the/ Trunks and dance upon the floor/ And for a moment I wish to be a ray."
Lovely!
I have a couple of suggestions:
"... branches to high..." should be "... branches TOO high...".
"... yellow rays/ Of the sun that pierces the tops..." should probably be "... yellow rays/ Of the sun that PIERCE the tops...". If there were more than one sun, you could talk about that one that pierces the tops. But I think you're talking about the rays that pierce.
This is a very interesting poem to me because it's making me think. I ask myself: what is a fragment of a thought? Being a fragment, it must be incomplete or broken. Is it a piece of a broken thought, smashed by reality? Or is it a piece that has not yet been integrated into a whole, meaningful idea? I'm not sure yet, but like I said, it's making me think.
I like the phrase "plague my mind like a taunting mantra". Vivid.
I have a suggestion:
In the third stanza, "thoughts" is misspelled as "thoughs".
The biggest problem I had reading this tribute was the distractions from its lovely story due to typos and grammatical errors. Corrected, the flow would be smooth. Here are my suggestions:
"... by laying 3 or 4 feet away, purr and roll on his back" should be "... by LYING THREE or FOUR feet away, PURRING and ROLLING on his back".
"... ex-brother - law, who I never believed he would touch a cat" should be "... ex-brother-in-law who I never believed would touch a cat". Note the deleted pronoun "he".
"ouside" should be "outside".
"...favorite game was 'fetch', I brought home..." should be "...favorite game was 'fetch'. I brought home...".
"... took him every where with us..." should be "... took him everywhere with us...".
"... he was always lay beside me..." should be "... he WOULD always LIE beside me...".
"... alomost ..." should be "... almost ...".
"... when I am along" should be "... when I am alone".
"The press/ of earth's year weighed out in beauty,/ there is color everywhere".
This simple phrase, earth's year, expands with little contemplation to include not only the fallen leaves of the oak, but the complete blanket of grasses and flowers covering the ground. Brilliant!
"I am tired,
so tired of fighting off these thoughts.
Too tired to resist them anymore,
so I surrender."
Usually when one is tired, sleep prevails. But the mind and thoughts -- particularly those of guilt or fear -- are stronger than sleep, unforgiving, relentless. Poe was a master of this type of haunting. Your poem follows him well!
This could be put to music and sung to a child as a lullaby. I can imagine a few more gentle stanzas such as this one being added, creating a wonderfully peaceful song.
May I suggest an idea? The second line, "Nothing is heard, which sheds any light;" would be more grammatical as "Nothing is heard that sheds any light;". Plus the lyrical rhythm would be maintained.
Wouldn't I love to read this whole diary! What fun!
The section that most intrigued me was about the secretary. ''My secretary stayed absent in the evening. Her sister called to say that she was "unwell" and had "backache". I know she's dating that crook who keeps dialling blank calls at my clinic.'' It's easy to picture the secretary; it's (sadly) almost cliche. The diary entry doesn't explain why he is a "crook". Is it to be assumed because he steals the secretary's (clinic's, really) time with personal calls? Also, I think "dialling blank calls at my clinic" should be "dialling blank calls TO my clinic" (unless I misunderstand?).
Will we see another journal entry? I surely hope so.
This poem encourages my imagination. Besides what is explicitly told, I can't help filling in details of my own. Glistening streets after a street cleaning machine has passed, perhaps. In any case, this piece is a catalyst, a springboard for the imagination.
Nice.
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