Watercolour Sunrise

Author's Note: The is impression #3 for Hannah's contest. The image is Monet's Sunrise.

--

Smoke drapes and curls in the cat eyed sky
Thick black and gray slithering into the canvas of the clouds
An ended fight, a gunshot lingering on the painting
dripping down the stretched out paper.
Its creased face stained with lax splatter.
Red blooms etched in detail onto a man's chest.
Cross hatched thorns piercing to where the eye can no longer see.
The comfort and safety of a wooden cocoon disturbed by lapping and concealed faces.
Shadows blotched in harsh contrast surrounding the chrysalis like a hungry pack.
But they are buried down deep -- far below in the water.
By the over saturated, ruby red sun
weaving it the tapestry of a scene anew.

I love how you incorporated a story into this piece.

Kamas wrote:Smoke drapes and curls in the cat eyed sky

That was exceptional; a really great beginning that got me hooked.

Kamas wrote:dripping down the stretched out paper.

I like the image of dripping, but why is the paper stretched out?
And it should probably be stretched-out paper.
Your first two lines have no period, while the rest of the poem does.

Kamas wrote:But they are buried down deep -- far below in the water.

This line was a little off, to me. I think you could simply say
But they are buried far below, in the water.
Or maybe
But they are buried deep, down in the water.
I don't like either of my suggestions but maybe someone else will come along and help me out.

Kamas wrote:Cross hatched thorns piercing to where the eye can no longer see.
The comfort and safety of a wooden cocoon disturbed by lapping and concealed faces.

That is really beautiful. Everyone is this contest is submitting awesome work. Good luck to you and your piece.
Your picture is gorgeous, as well.
The Universe

There wasn't much of a natural flow.
Sometimes you smother the beauty of certain words by grouping them together in on massive description.
"An ended fight, a gunshot lingering on the painting"
The an + a so close together doesn't sound good.
Nice ending. I really like the last three lines.

This goes really well with the painting (which I love). The description and imagery were beautiful and entirely believable.
However, there was just one thing that really bugged me. The rhythm of the poem just didn't seem to flow as well as it could have. In some spots it did, like:

"An ended fight, a gunshot lingering on the painting
dripping down the stretched out paper."

But in other spots, especially here, the rhythm was pretty choppy:

"Cross hatched thorns piercing to where the eye can no longer see.
The comfort and safety of a wooden cocoon disturbed by lapping and concealed faces."

It really made it hard to read, for me. These lines are excellent in their description and things like that, but the awkward rhythm just bogged it down. Other than that, it was an excellent poem. It was on the short side, and all one stanza, which I really like.
Tell me if you have any more of these impression poems. I'd like to read them!

~RedBird

Hey Kamas!

I really liked this poem! (And the picture it goes with as well). I love your descriptive word choice (perhaps not the right term...oh well you'll get what I mean) like "cat eyed sky" and "cross hatched thorns".

Though I did feel the rhythm was a bit off at some points (as others have said). Of course, I know very little about poetry so I could be wrong.

Lovely poem, overall

-Lauren

Hi Kamas,

I am inundated with the seasonal enemy Bacteria and thinking while fighting a war is not a thing anybody is able to do, least of all the politicians and myself, but this is what the restaurant's offering at such a late hour.

Kamas wrote:Smoke drapes and curls in the cat eyed sky
Thick black and gray slithering into the canvas of the clouds

You can do more with the cat and less with the...one-time references to something that's not brought up again in the poem. When you have a metaphor, run with it, and this is what's failing your poetry and what your poetry is failing you currently. "curls in the cat eyed sky". That began to build a bridge going somewhere, but...where? Too bad there was no foundation; you started talking about drapes, which conjures up some sort of image, but doesn't connect. Words never stand alone, remember that. They entwine and collect like algae in a murky lake.

An ended fight, a gunshot lingering on the painting
dripping down the stretched out paper.
Its creased face stained with lax splatter.
Red blooms etched in detail onto a man's chest.
Cross hatched thorns piercing to where the eye can no longer see.
The comfort and safety of a wooden cocoon disturbed by lapping and concealed faces.
Shadows blotched in harsh contrast surrounding the chrysalis like a hungry pack.
But they are buried down deep -- far below in the water.
By the over saturated, ruby red sun
weaving it the tapestry of a scene anew.

See, again, you have the metaphors and intricate designs that stop at the end of each line. "So and so was so and so. Next line, go!" Let the reader take a breather. "Gunshot lingering on the painting". Good. Now flow with it, or let it flow with you. It looks as though you have expanded it later on, with the red blooms on the chest, but the connection is so hazy that it requires another link somewhere in the middle. Metaphors, as I have said above, are not stand-alone, not when you reach a certain level of skill as you have, and they are like water. Streamline the river as far as you can, and when you absolutely have to change it, turn it into brackish water before it becomes full-fledged salt.

The content of the poem cannot be fully realized or etched out without the assistance of the poetry devices, so that should be your first priority. Work on this, it needs the poet to bring it back to a standing position and not a crouching one, overloaded with haphazard images.

Hope that helped,
Galerius

Reading the poem against the painting is ncie but what happens when you take the painting away? A pairing between types of art is often great, I think the pre-raphaelites did it best and I admire and love a lot of their work but the poem has to be able to exist without the painting's immediate presence and vice versa. As it stands I'd find your poem a little vague and confusing on its own, particularly where it references there being a painting.

Smoke drapes and curls in the cat eyed sky [I'd like to see you expand this image, what is it about a cat's eyes that's similar to the sky? Does the sky seem to watch or did you mean just the luminescent green?]
Thick black and gray slithering into the canvas of the clouds [This line feels long and prosey. It's too heavy to be really interesting.]
An ended fight, a gunshot lingering on the painting [I like the image of the gun shot.]
dripping down the stretched out paper. [Not sure about stretched out. Maybe taut or pulled?]
Its creased face stained with lax splatter.
Red blooms etched in detail onto a man's chest.
Cross hatched thorns piercing to where the eye can no longer see. [I'm so so about this line and the one above, I think they could be sharper and more dramatic.]
The comfort and safety of a wooden cocoon disturbed by lapping and concealed faces. [You need to link your images more so that the poem can flow.]
Shadows blotched in harsh contrast surrounding the chrysalis like a hungry pack.
But they are buried down deep -- far below in the water.
By the over saturated, ruby red sun
weaving it the tapestry of a scene anew. [Not sure about your ending, there doesn't seem to be much of a resolution or a strong point made.]

There's some interesting images here and you've got great wording in places but I think this is my least favourite of the three as it's lacking in structure and plot. The image isn't distinct enough to be followed without the painting and there needs to be something more to it to grab your reader's attention. What is it about your poem that makes it memorable or what could make it memorable?

Feel free to pm me with questions of if there are other poems you'd like looking at,

Heather xx

Very nice.
Very descriptive.
Very good!! ha ha....I don't think those thoughts would've crossed my mind in describing the sky, but you made it work.
Keep up the good work!

~BG~

Kammieyaz,


I really like reviewing your poetry. Something about it is oddly pleasing, and no, no, it's not the morbid interest in killing a piece of writing.

Your problem here is lack of connectivity. Your lines are rigid, almost as if the images in the painting are immobilized, and here, they're not, they blend into each other and unite to make this painting. I do believe your poem could mirror this a little better.


(I promise not to rant about random things, although I'm not in much of a better state. =P)

Smoke drapes and curls in the cat eyed sky

Cat-eyed. Hmm, I think that this image is pretty, and while you're probably referring to Monet's broken-color, green sky, I don't know if I like this, because, you know the cat eye gemstone? Deep green with brown swirling through and the marbled little flecks? Yeah, I'm thinking of those here.

Thick black and gray slithering into the canvas of the clouds

Canvas or clouds need to go, and I vote for canvas, becauuuuse, the sky is the canvas, and the clouds are the paint, sort of, so canvas is pretty much a laborious word, dearie, and I'm not so sure how much I appreciate it.

An ended fight, a gunshot lingering on the painting
dripping down the stretched out paper.

Now, this! I like this! This gunshot -- is it the sun, piercing through this? Basically, I think this image needs reworking, because a gunshot is an instant thing; perhaps, a gunshot pierced the solemn page and [the sun; use another word or something] bled down the [adjective] canvas. You know? Because, you say canvas up there, and paper here, and my mind, in its not so sane state is like, grasp this, but it can't.

Its creased face stained with lax splatter.

Could go.

I'm not sure who you're talking about. Paper?

Red blooms etched in detail onto a man's chest.
Cross hatched thorns piercing to where the eye can no longer see.

When I mentioned above you lack of connectivity, here's what I mean; you end your lines in full stops, with periods, and you shouldn't. Keep them open, keep the blood of them flowing, let them mingle and be something more.

The comfort and safety of a wooden cocoon disturbed by lapping and concealed faces.
Shadows blotched in harsh contrast surrounding the chrysalis like a hungry pack.

And this part is pretty, but little connection and lots of syllables.

But they are buried down deep -- far below in the water.
By the over saturated, ruby red sun
weaving it the tapestry of a scene anew.

I'd kill the 'but', and the later part [after the dash] of that sentence. Ruby red? Hm, this rings a cliche bell.

Keep up the awesomosity; just reread this, aloud, and see where the flow catches on stray nails.

(hugs, love and sugar cookies)

June