Messages and Bottles

As I walk, I bury my soul in time capsules,
shoring up against the dreaded want. Someday, preserves
will save our lives, and when that comes
they’ll all be sorry they gave so much
and kept so little.

The small glass jars, they twinkle in the sun
and line my shelves with warnings – I shall
not forget; the rosemary at my breast reminds me
and the smell of summer seeps from sealed lids
to gild the fading garden.

Keep me from this: to lose my self in winter to the frost,
my fruit un-budded – I want to live no twilights,
sing no nightingale songs. Instead,
boil me till I’m pure and
breathe me into the atmosphere
where youth never ages; for lines should
only grow in mirrors, not in skin.

Wow, bubbles. Wow. I can honestly say this is the most beautiful poem I have ever read. Such a beautiful topic, and what language! Man, if I could write like that, I'd be the next J.K. Rowling! Send this off to a publisher, girl!

I do have a few suggestions though, but realize this comes from nitpicking (:D):

not forget, the rosemary

I think you need to put a semicolon here. The junction seems run on, and I know that wasn't your intention. Sometimes flowy poems can just be too flowy.

boil me till I’m pure and breathe me into the atmosphere
where youth never ages; for lines should

Hmm...I'm not sure what it is about these two lines, but they just don't seem to flow as well. It may just me, but I think some reconfiguration of the line breaks might do you some good here. Perhaps this instead?:

boil me till I’m pure and
breathe me into the atmosphere
where youth never ages; for lines should

Not a very significant change, I know, but again, without it, it seems run-on to me.

From what it seems, this poem seems to be about self-worth and individuality-not "bending to the frosts" as you so beautifully put it. I like this poem: sweet, poignant, flowy-fantastic job! I don't think I can honestly pick a favorite stanza because they were all so good in different ways!

As I walk, I bury my soul in time capsules,
shoring up against the dreaded want. Someday, preserves
will save our lives, and when that comes
they’ll all be sorry they gave so much
and kept so little.

Sweet...*aww*

The small glass jars, they twinkle in the sun
and line my shelves with warnings – I shall
not forget, the rosemary at my breast reminds me
and the smell of summer seeps from sealed lids
to gild the fading garden

Flowy...

Keep me from this: to lose my self in winter to the frost,
my fruit un-budded – I want to live no twilights,
sing no nightingale songs. Instead,
boil me till I’m pure and breathe me into the atmosphere
where youth never ages; for lines should
only grow in mirrors, not in skin.

Poignant.

Loved it all, bubbles. Please, pweettty please, send this off to a publisher. It was AMAZING! *runs in circles*

Hope this helped!

Wiggy

**blush** Thanks wiggy I really appreciate the crit on this one and have adopted your suggestions - they do help the flow a lot I'm not sure about publishing but I may submit it to a contest (which is why I posted it on here for polishing heh). Thanks once again!

Someday, preserves
will save our lives, and when that comes
they'll all be sorry they gave so much
and kept so little.

"they" is unclear. People in general?

The small glass jars, they twinkle in the sun

Perhaps "The small glass jars twinkle in the sun,
lining my shelves with warnings..." etc.

I shall
not forget;

What aren't you forgetting? These capsles of you? At this point, I see the narrator as a hypocrite. They bury their souls in time capsles, but mention natural preserves and that giving up things, wasting time, will be regarded with regret. I view the burying of pieces of their soul as giving something up, but perhaps you meant they are simply moving on, leaving a legacy behind and nothing more?

Keep me from this: to lose my self in winter to the frost,
my fruit un-budded. I want to live no twilights,
sing no nightingale songs.

My suggestion:

Keep me from loosing my self in winter,
my fruit un-budded (unbloomed? another real word here?).
I do not want to live twilights, nor sing nightingale songs.

This is simply more active and powerful. "In the frost" is extra, and wordy.

I loved the ending. Although I'm not exactly sure that lines "grew" in mirrors, but we all get the point, and it's beautiful. Youth is admirable.

Have you read Farenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury? There's just this one part in it where Faber is telling Montag that life has to have pores, it can't be all smooth skin... this poem totally reminded me of that.

The idea behind the poem is its strongest point, so it's good that you've made it so clear, but I felt like it could use more poetic-ness, somehow. If that could happen without sacrificing clarity it would be even better. I thought this was true of the first stanza in particular - it was too much telling and not enough describing; it didn't engage the senses.

Other than that, you have a very good poem here - I'd keep working on it, be on the lookout for words that would fit with it. It's a great beginning.

I liked reading this it was so poetic. I liked the last verse the most, though I do have one complaint!

where youth never ages; for lines should
only grow in mirrors, not in skin.

Since when do lines grow in mirrors? I was confused by that.

Otherwise, I really liked it. The imagery at the end, becoming steam and going into the atmosphere. The word choice was excellent, it flowed perfectly.

I liked your poem, but the subject wasn't really clear.