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Glimpses of St Andrew’s Park - revi


Author: comradenessie
Elite Ratio:    6.5 - 626 /539 /110
Words: 658
Class/Type: Poetry /Misc
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Description:


The top version owes everything to phil askew - I love it and thanks so much. I intend leaving both versions on because after complaining that my first version of this poem lacked salt the following poets came to my rescue David Hirt, lukewarm and Icarus, alterlife. I have had some amazing help with this poem and I thank everyone.



Glimpses of St Andrew’s Park - revi



Mothers under
sky-blue sunshades
at square wooden tables
covered with patchwork cloths
of pink and lilac
sip tea from china cups
rimmed with gold
like the edges of their daydreams.

A long-haired collie -
dignity on soft padded paws,
ignores the scent
of homemade Madeira cake
and melting milk chocolate
to trot after schoolboys
with free flowing limbs
in numbered yellow and green tee-shirts
pretending to be heroes of the World Cup.

In the red-railed playground
a little girl falls
and grazes her knee.

Her howls cacophonic
with the high pitched twitter
of sparrows and blackbirds
in mottled green
Sycamore branches -
where hard beaks gouge
in combat jacket bark
for luscious grubs
to thrust down the throats
of fluffy-down chicks.

Her mother kisses the knee
and wipes away her tears.

Amid this serenity
my daughter sits beside me.
I watch her write
of patriots and freedom.
She dreams of green grass
and an Ireland united
beneath a tricolored flag.

Across the path
an escaped push-chair
rolls down-slope
and almost crashes
into the cafe's foldaway seats;
the boy inside opens
his strawberry ice-cream smeared mouth
and screams
as his father averts disaster
just in time, then quiets him
with promises of something sweet.
I look to the leafy canopy,
reflect on fledglings
learning to fly,
and think
how quickly the grass grows
at this time of year.


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


............................................................................................

Glimpses of St Andrew’s Park -

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:

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
and grazes her knee
in a red-railed playground:

her howls cacophonic
with the high-pitched
twitter of sparrows,

and blackbirds unseen
in mottled green
sycamore branches--

where hard beaks gouge
in combat jacket bark
for luscious grubs

to thrust into
open throats
of fluffy-down chicks.

A mother kisses the knee
of her little girl
wipes away the tears.

My daughter sits beside me
I watch her write
of patriots and freedom.

She dreams of green grass
and an Ireland united
beneath a tricolour flag.

Across the path
an escaped push-chair
rolls downslope

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

the boy inside
opens his strawberry
ice-cream smeared mouth

and screams,
but his father
diverts disaster just in time

then quiets him
with sweet promises
for sometime soon.

(Tea is 75p, coffee £1).

I look to the leafy canopy
Reflect on fledglings
learning to fly

and I think how quickly
the grass grows
at this time of year.

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

fills the park with rhythm.




Submitted on 2006-06-14 04:04:24     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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Comments


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

her howls cacophonic
with the high-pitched
twitter of sparrows,

and blackbirds unseen
in mottled green
sycamore branches--

where hard beaks gouge
in combat jacket bark
for luscious grubs

to thrust down
the throat
of fluffy-down chicks.

A mother kisses the knee
of her little girl
wipes away the tears.

My daughter sits beside me
I watch her write
of patriots and freedom.

She dreams of green grass
and an Ireland united
beneath a tricolour flag."

Ok, this is the nessie I expected the first time around; contemplating not only visuals, but how they connect to her world (footballers enjoying the sheer pleasure of competition foreshadowing more sobering warriors in Iraq and elsewhere, a young girl comforted by her mother as your daughter comforts herself with visions of a united homeland, etc). Your lineation and punctuation are also more inviting, allowing the reader to absorb your thoughts/visuals in slow increments.

Unfortunately, you've given me no nits to pick.
Nicely done, comrade.
Take care.
Bill.
| Posted on 2006-06-14 00:00:00 | by rws | [ Reply to This ]
  Ah, much improved.

I like the way you have things grouped now. Maybe I've read too many tech manuals, but I don't like puzzling out what goes with what.

I particularly like the little asides, the mother kissing the knee and the father promising the sweet.

All in all you've created a beautiful mood here. Selina's appearance is a plus too.

One critique and WOW, is this important!!! Most people, at least on this side of the pond, spell knee with only two "e"s.

Good job!



Steve
| Posted on 2006-08-17 00:00:00 | by Lost Sheep | [ Reply to This ]
  you've strengthened this poem really well - the new layout really gives it the impression of a series of glimpses while bringing yourself and Sel into it gives it some personal depth that makes it uniquely yours.

but just to be anal i've one final nitpick:

"released to exuberant
freedom,
with free-flowing limbs
they relish the warmth"

that comma really doesn't feel necessary.

overall, though, i think you've managed to really improve this piece. well done. smile.

Adam.
| Posted on 2006-06-14 00:00:00 | by Icarus | [ Reply to This ]
  Hmmm... !

You've lengthened & strengthened this much- and added a viewpoint only glimpsed the first time 'round. So i'll tell ya what I like and what I don't... keep in mind, that's all it is... much thanks for the thanks, by the way. As usual, I can't seem to keep my thoughts seperate... they all come out in randomly, intertwined and hard to untangle and organize... I spend enough time trying to do that with my own writings... anyways, onward and outward!

I like the new spacing better than the old- it seperates it, gives it room to breathe, so to speak- the old version i think was sort of clustered up and seemed unsure of itself. This, on the contrary, has a flair for the dramatic- the seperated, standalone lines add a bit of punch, and work well to seperate the different aspects of the different glimpses as the poem progresses.

As far as the first bit, I think "Mother's" needs to be "Mothers," but aside from that, i love it. It reads smoothly, it sets up the poem well, and introduces the sort of glimpses referred to in the title right off the bat, including detail without confusion.

I also love how you've tied in one mother and daughter to another, and included a personal perspective- it simply adds to the whole ever-shifting scenery.

I love everything you've added to it- the additional scenes, the political perspective, everything.

Ok-- final, anal-retentive, nitpicking details (because i care!) :

I think you use the word "down" one too many times here...

"to thrust down
the throat
of fluffy-down chicks."

Maybe though it's just too soon... i think "open throats" would work well... I think there must be multiple throats and open throats ties in with the political aspect as well...anyways...

The teenager image:

"A teenager sits, singing words
lost to the distance
as he plays guitar;"

maybe? please don't hurt me...

I love the ending as well... but then again I play drums, so of course i would. Bloody good job!
| Posted on 2006-06-15 00:00:00 | by lukewarm | [ Reply to This ]


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