Writingpoetry

[ Join Free! ]
(No Spam mail)

dotsdots
nav
  • RolePlay
  • Join Us
  • Writings
  • Shoutbox
  • Community
  • Digg Mashup
  • Mp3 Search
  • Online Education
  • My Youtube
  • Ear Training
  • Funny Pics
  • nav



    nav
  • Role Play
  • Piano Music
  • Free Videos
  • Web 2.0
  • nav



    << | >>
    poetry


    dots Submission Name: Glimpses of St Andrew’s Parkdots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: comradenessie
    Elite Ratio:    6.5 - 626/539/110
    Words: 318
    Class/Type: Poetry/Misc
    Total Views: 1478
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 2018



    Description:
       I'm not happy with this one. I don't know it lacks something, bit like a meal without salt.


    Can't quite put my finer on it. Any suggestions warmly welcomed.

    Thanks to David Hirt for his very helpful suggestions and lukewarm for the idea of changing that first stanza into one flowing line. I will work on the teenager image.

    Also, thanks to Icarus not only a great poet but great with the suggestions too. What a star!
    The picture is of the park.


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsGlimpses of St Andrew’s Parkdots
    -------------------------------------------


    Mothers sit under
    sky blue sun shades
    at square wooden tables
    covered with patchwork clothes
    of pale pink rose garden
    and lilac gingham,
    sipping hot tea
    from white china cups
    rimmed with gold
    like the edges of a daydream.

    A long haired collie,
    dignity on soft padded paws,
    ignores the sweet lemon scent
    of homemade Madeira cake
    and milk chocolate melting
    in this brief taste of Summer.

    He trots by after-school boys
    in numbered buttercup-yellow
    and meadow-green tee-shirts.
    Released to exuberant freedom
    with free flowing limbs
    they relish the warmth.
    and pretend
    to be Wayne Rooney,
    or Ronaldinho;
    heroes of the coming World Cup.


    A little girl falls,
    grazes her knee,
    in a red-railed playground.
    Her howls cacophonic
    with the high-pitched
    twitter of sparrows
    and blackbirds unseen
    in mottle green sycamore branches
    where hard beaks gouge
    for luscious grubs
    in combat jacket bark.


    Across the path
    an escaped push-chair
    rolls downslope,
    almost crashes
    into the black metal legs
    of the café’s foldaway seats.

    The boy inside opens his strawberry
    ice-cream smeared mouth
    and screams
    but his father
    diverts disaster just in time.

    Tea is 75p, coffee £1.
    A chesnut’s branches
    caress the white roof,
    as leaves cast shadows
    across the café’s metal back.

    A teenager sings
    words lost to the distance
    as he plays guitar;
    but his voice,
    the strum of guitar,
    the clapping of friends
    and the tap, tap, tapping
    of fingers on the skin of a drum
    fill the park with rhythm.




    Submitted on 2006-06-12 09:05:58     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
    Submissions: [ Previous ] [ Next ]

    Rate This Submission

    1: >_<
    2: I dunno...
    3: meh!
    4: Pretty cool
    5: Wow!




    ||| Comments |||
      Hi Ness, I said just recently that I didn't have much to offer you in terms of suggestions, but since then I've copied and pasted your poem into notepad and fiddled with it, like usual lol.

    I broke it up into mainly triplets with the occasional singular line (which I italicized), and I spaced out these stanzas with double lines (and fiddled extensively with punctuation). Like so:

    Mother's sit under
    sky(-)blue sunshades
    at square wooden tables

    covered with patchwork clothes
    of pale pink rose garden
    and lilac gingham,

    sipping hot tea
    from white china cups
    rimmed with gold

    like the edges of a daydream.


    A long haired collie(--)
    dignity on soft padded paws,
    ignores the sweet lemon scent

    of homemade Madeira cake
    and milk chocolate melting
    in this brief taste of Summer.


    He trots by after-school boys
    in numbered buttercup-yellow
    and meadow-green tee-shirts(:)

    (r)eleased to exuberant freedom(,)
    with free(-)flowing limbs
    they relish the warmth()

    and pretend to be
    Wayne Rooney
    or Ronaldinho(--)

    heroes of the coming World Cup.


    A little girl falls()
    (and) grazes her knee()
    in a red-railed playground(:)

    (h)er howls cacophonic
    with the high-pitched
    twitter of sparrows(,)

    and blackbirds unseen
    in mottle(d) green
    sycamore branches(--)

    where hard beaks gouge
    for luscious grubs
    in combat jacket bark.


    Across the path
    an escaped push-chair
    rolls downslope()

    (and) almost crashes
    into the black metal legs
    of (a) café’s foldaway seats(;)

    (t)he boy inside
    opens his strawberry
    ice-cream smeared mouth

    and screams(,)
    but his father
    diverts disaster just in time.

    (Tea is 75p, coffee £1).


    A teenager sings words
    lost to the distance
    as he plays guitar;

    but his voice,
    the strum of guitar,
    the clapping of friends

    and the tap, tap,
    tapping of fingers
    on the skin of a drum

    fill(s) the park with rhythm.

    Just something for you to look at like usual. Compare both and see if you like my revision at all-- this is purely how I would do it and I don't want to stick my personality into it if possible (which I've done, I know, and I hate doing it, but being purely subjective/objective when giving suggestions is near-on impossible). So yea... take what works.

    Oh, and I think you'll notice I took out this part:
    "A chesnut’s branches
    caress the white roof,
    as leaves cast shadows
    across the café’s metal back."
    -- Rhythmically and imagery-wise, it didn't seem right for some reason... I don't know why.

    Anyway, I found it to be a very detailed poem-- all these little things you've written about come alive... a natural scene unfolded like a painting... breezy and subtle and glowing.... yea, it's very soothing and I wish it was spring or summer here lol.

    So with that, I bid you adieu... and hope that some of this helps.
    Peace,

    Jase
    | Posted on 2006-06-12 00:00:00 | by alteredlife | [ Reply to This ]
      reminds me of melting joyfully while laughing about nothing running over blazing green and hiding like little kids then buying ice creams and chasing after squirrels and falling back down thirsty and laughing again at the strangness of strangers; last summer.

    now to be useful. feel free to use or discard any of the suggestions.


    "Released to exuberant freedom
    with free flowing limbs
    they relish the warmth."

    i removed the two commas because to me they contradict the free flowing.

    "Jamal Cambell-Ryce
    or Ronaldinho;
    heroes of the coming World Cup."

    i'm not too good at grammer but to me a semi-colon looks more right than the comma. also, to be a pedantic football nut, Jamal Cambell-Ryce is Jamacian - a country that didn't qualify for the World Cup.

    "rolls downslope,.
    almost crashes"

    double punctuation typo thing!!!

    "A chesnut’s branches
    caresses the white roof,"

    shouldn't it be "caress"?

    "A teenager sings
    words lost to the distance
    [as] he plays guitar[;]
    [but] his voice,
    the [strum] [of guitar],
    the clapping [of friends]
    and the tap, tap, tapping
    of fingers on the skin of a drum
    fill the park with rhythm."

    just trimmed it slightly.

    i also think that it might be good to make it slightly circular. maybe bring back the collie towards the end, or maybe end it with:

    and the tap, tap, tapping
    of fingers on the skin of a drum
    fill the park with rhythm

    while mothers sit under

    but i'm not too sure about that suggestion.

    anyway, i hope some of that helps, and it's good to see you back posting again.

    Adam.
    | Posted on 2006-06-12 00:00:00 | by Icarus | [ Reply to This ]
      "Mothers sit under
    sky blue sun shades
    at square wooden tables
    covered with patchwork clothes
    of pale pink rose garden
    and lilac gingham,
    sipping hot tea
    from white china cups
    rimmed with gold
    like the edges of a daydream.

    A long haired collie,
    dignity on soft padded paws,
    ignores the sweet lemon scent
    of homemade Madeira cake
    and milk chocolate melting
    in this brief taste of Summer.

    He trots by after-school boys
    in numbered buttercup-yellow
    and meadow-green tee-shirts.
    Released to exuberant freedom
    with free flowing limbs
    they relish the warmth.
    and pretend
    to be Wayne Rooney,
    or Ronaldinho;
    heroes of the coming World Cup.


    A little girl falls,
    grazes her knee,
    in a red-railed playground.
    Her howls cacophonic
    with the high-pitched
    twitter of sparrows
    and blackbirds unseen
    in mottle green sycamore branches
    where hard beaks gouge
    for luscious grubs
    in combat jacket bark.


    Across the path
    an escaped push-chair
    rolls downslope,
    almost crashes
    into the black metal legs
    of the café’s foldaway seats.

    The boy inside opens his strawberry
    ice-cream smeared mouth
    and screams
    but his father
    diverts disaster just in time.

    Tea is 75p, coffee £1.
    A chesnut’s branches
    caress the white roof,
    as leaves cast shadows
    across the café’s metal back.

    A teenager sings
    words lost to the distance
    as he plays guitar;
    but his voice,
    the strum of guitar,
    the clapping of friends
    and the tap, tap, tapping
    of fingers on the skin of a drum
    fill the park with rhythm. "

    You're first stanza is incredibly rich with potential and imagery and could acually stand alone as an epiphany of a commonplace event. Unfotunately, the rest of the piece struggles to find the lofty energy of the opening section (as if you were briefly interrupted during a reverie and lost the magic that inspired the dream).

    As a whole, the poem is good, but the first section overshadows all that comes after it; the collie, the footballers, the skinned knee, the squawling ice cream eater, the teen musician...

    There's some of Nessie in this post, but not all the poet I'm used to seeing. There's a comment you want to make in this work that hasn't been made, at least not yet.

    I'm sorry I can't be more helpful, comrade. Somehow the vignette is lost on me because you haven't related these characters to what you'd like to say (except in passing as the dreaming teacups foreshadow the desires of young boys to become World Cup stars).

    Take care, nessie.
    Bill.
    | Posted on 2006-06-12 00:00:00 | by rws | [ Reply to This ]
      You know I don't think this needs any extra seasoning.
    I often wonder why we here don't have the sidewalk cafes and why we don't seem to enjoy the simplicity of being with people.
    A walk in the park or just to sit down and have a cup of tea or coffee with friends
    I think that even in other countries people forget to enjoy the scenery.

    Your write has all those things that we don't take notice of during our everyday life.

    From the checkered Table cloth to the young man singing and playing a guitar in public.
    I can remember being in New York years ago and seeing that very same thing.

    Your description leaves me longing for a trip to the park or maybe to visit Naples italy where sidewalk cafes are so many and a place I have enjoyed visiting for years.

    The simplity of this poem is its spice and seasoning.

    Of all your poems I find this one the most comforting to me. Not saying that your poems aren't but this one I visualize sitting in the park on a sunny day on a blanket with the kids running around while taking in all that is around me. There is no rushing traffic or drivers giving the finger that I see everyday.

    Kids playing soccer or football as you call it daring to dream of being a star. What ever happened to those days? I remember doing that as a kid myself. My children don't do that because it seems life has complicated itself more in this day and age.

    Well I have rambled to much already

    Very Nicely Done

    Respect and Admiration

    Clyde
    | Posted on 2006-06-12 00:00:00 | by Wisdom Seeker | [ Reply to This ]
      Love it! Love the images you've created. You've said it lacks something and I think I know what that is. To me, this is about the dreams of youth, as seen by you on a walk through the park. There are mother's obviously dreaming of their children's future, boys dreaming about being soccer stars, teenager's about being rock stars, and then in the other stanzas they become just everyday images (nicely done but not on point).

    The little girl scrapes her knee and then we are focused onto birds feasting on bugs, no future-dreaming there. Tie it in with either a bird feeding her young, or a bird falling at first flight, and then go back to the girl being fed or administered to by her mother.

    The lad in the carriage is rescued by Dad and that's it. Maybe, he hands him a cricket ball or some such, to imply future hope.

    Then, you stop at the cafe for tea or coffee, and you could express some desire for your own future, a daydream of your own, perhaps.

    As you resume your walk, you see the dreamy guitarist and friends, rocking their world. From here it's back to reality. This could be a lunchtime walk, or a walk to a doctor's appointment, or some other mundane human chore.

    See, everything is there for this walk through dreamland, this Peter Pan-childlike dream of youth as seen by one more mature than all that has been witnessed.

    Just tie each vignette to the central theme and your poem will have that spark you are seeking.

    How far you take it, in terms of your own aspirations (maybe as a poet), or how much and on what you care to comment, is up to you.

    I just think it's going to be great.

    Phil
    | Posted on 2006-06-12 00:00:00 | by phil askew | [ Reply to This ]
      Nessie, I think what this poem needs is a bit of a relining. The poem is about snapshot, glimpses of the life around you, right? Give your images more of the short glimpse feel to them. Like the first line... it naturally wants to split in the middle with it's meter... the breath naturally pauses there, or at least mine does.
    "Mothers sit under
    sky blue sun shades"

    and
    "in the combat jacketed bark."
    could become
    "in combat jacket bark."

    After all the bark isn't jacketed, it is the jacket to the tree, right?

    "A teenager sings
    words lost to the distance"

    Trim... shorten... give us the words that are most important. I think it will add that glimpse view much better. I think it might also add to that feel of a drum beat rhythm to the poem, the beat you mention there at the end. Find that beat for the poem.
    | Posted on 2006-06-12 00:00:00 | by DavidHirt | [ Reply to This ]
      You know- it does feel as though it's lacking something that would make this beautiful poem absoloutely fantastic` but i wonder if that's only because you said so. No, i'll toss that notion aside, even though it IS possible to find fautls where there are none, if you believe it's not quite done then it isn't, and that's what's important. i'll try to give you some advice, and be concise, but i really do like it, anyways. And besides... if the entire park looks like that, well, then, that's a lot to write about- don't know if i'm up to the task myself.

    Anyways... I can't think of anything specific that sticks out, that I'd like to change or switch about- and that's a good thing, and a bad thing, because it means that while it's artfully crafted, that the 'problem' is below the surface...

    so i'll just give some general advice (as requested!) and then get on to raving about the parts i like best. or at least, i'll try to keep them seperate- they're somewhat related.

    The opening stanza is beautiful- don't get me wrong- i love the gold-rimmed tea cups, "the edges of a daydream" -that's perfect. the thing is, there's way too much detail in the opening lines. What is the purpose of these patchwork clothes? I like everything from "of pale pink rose garden" on down- except maybe try "sipping" instead of "they sip" ? Get rid of the period/ full stop and try a comma. One long flowing sentence might work best.

    Now the general advice I said i was going to give- It all depends on detail. Detail is what makes poetry real, but it can bog something down, especially if it's not attatched to anything concrete. For example, " a teenager sings words lost to the distance but he plays guitar"
    Doesn't quite work- He needs to be doing something. This is all about glimpses of what's going on, and trying to re-create the same air that they had, so You need first to create the image of this teenager playing guitar, and then, both through your description and through the details you attatch to him - How he sings, what happens to his words as they float away on the gentle breeze that rustles through the tall oaks and whatnot- then you'll have your photo and the feeling, too.

    All in all i quite liked it anyway. Where's this park? I want to visit.



    | Posted on 2006-06-12 00:00:00 | by lukewarm | [ Reply to This ]


    Think Feedback more than Compliments :: [ Guidelines ]

    1. Be honest.
    2. Try not to give only compliments.
    3. How did it make you feel?
    4. Why did it make you feel that way?
    5. Which parts?
    6. What distracted from the piece?
    7. What was unclear?
    8. What does it remind you of?
    9. How could it be improved?
    10. What would you have done differently?
    11. What was your interpretation of it?
    12. Does it feel original?



    106876

    Be kind, take a few minutes to review the hard work of others <3
    It means a lot to them, as it does to you.


    Google
     


    poetry

    dotsLogindots

    User Name:

    Password:

    [ Quick Signup ]
    [ Lost Password ]


    January 10 07
    131,497 Poems
    Posted

    I have 14,000+ Subscribers on Youtube. See my Video Tutorials

    [ Angst Poetry ]
    [ Cutters ]
    [ Famous Poetry ]
    [ Poetry Scams ]



    FontSize:
    [ Smaller ] [ Bigger ]
     Poetry