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Breathe

by wordsandwishes


Leaves fall in my wake

torn and broken

by the rough autumn wind.

The grass once green now yellow;

a tarnished memory 

of the sweet summer sun.

Crushed into paint

for pictures anew

of clouds dancing to silent music,

and people drinking the sky.

With a young voice I strain to hear

the sounds of an old world;

a whisper,

the water,

a breeze.

The days of the past now seem

so warm

compared to the months

of winter ahead;

lit with blankets of mirror flakes

and the wings of fallen angels.


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10 Reviews


Points: 707
Reviews: 10

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Thu Feb 28, 2013 4:03 am
BookLover33 says...



By the way,
I like some of the ways you described Autumn and Winter.
I could really picture it in my head.
Good Job!
But remember, you have to get a real story down
or make sure that it's all connected.
If you just put a bunch of random lines together,
then it doesn't sound smooth or, well, good.






Thanks for the input guys! I'll try to edit it later, so it makes more sense xD
Thanks again^u^

-w&w



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10 Reviews


Points: 707
Reviews: 10

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Thu Feb 28, 2013 4:02 am
BookLover33 says...



Hi! BookLover33 here!
Although you did have a few good lines,
the poem fell short of what I was expecting.
if you work on it, (when you're fully awake,)
then it could turn into a great piece of poetry.
Good luck and keep writing! :-)




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Thu Feb 28, 2013 3:04 am
Hannah wrote a review...



I love a lot in this poem, and I think a lot in this poem falls flat. The highest concentration of awesome is here:

a tarnished memory

of the sweet summer sun.

Crushed into paint


I hope you fully realize how right of a word "tarnished" is, because it brings into mind that idea of kind of darkened shine, which for me fits exactly how autumn seems. Pairing it with the summer sun, too, makes certain the reader sees tarnished bronze or gold instead of tarnished silver. Then that last line about crushed into paint is awesome, because it evokes the texture of crushed paint, the colors of it, and an old-time quality by evoking the actual technique of painting, not just a painting. I dunno, something hands-on about it.

The other part I really like comes after that section, but's cut off by a line I don't think does anything for your poem:

of clouds dancing to silent music,

and people drinking the sky.


You bring out movement and sound and abstraction of gesture that evokes a FEELING in the chests of the readers of your poem. This is excellent writing, here. I am so impressed.

BUT!
A lot of the rest is pedestrian. I mean it's been done before, or I've at least seen it done before. We know autumn leaves break. We know grass changes color. You don't say these things in a novel way that evokes anything new in us. You just present them as facts, but since we already know them, it does nothing for us!

Towards the end of the poem, you try to find a direction, but you get off the strong emotions and tone you already had building, and just leave us with something really explain-y again: winter comes after autumn. I think you can build the longing for summer and the fear/reluctance of winter all while just focusing on autumn images, which means you don't need the angel wings at the end.

I also don't really understand this line:

With a young voice I strain to hear


How can you strain with a voice to hear? Voices speak, ears hear. It seems a little off in the sentence structure. And while I think old voices might work, it needs to be grounded in more image and emotion. "a whisper/ the water/ a breeze" all evoke nothing. They are bland and direct the reader nowhere, you know? What kind of whisper? What kind of water? What kind of breeze? There are poems in which simplicity is necessary, but in yours, you need specificity to bring this common topic to a new level.

PM me if you have any questions!

Good luck and keep writing~




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Wed Feb 27, 2013 3:37 pm
deliroast says...



Yes hello there.....
The poem was very good and all but it is named Breathe and the poem seems mostly about seasons. You had great word choice and very vivid descriptions of each season. So the most I can say is to rename this and you will be good! :)






Thanks for the comment and review deliroast and guineapiggirl!
And I'm sorry about the title and the confusing meanings. The seasons aren't actually my focus, they're representing something else.

Again thank you! I really appreciate it your input^u^

-w&w



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Wed Feb 27, 2013 3:15 pm
guineapiggirl wrote a review...



This is pretty. I'm not quite sure what it's about, but it's very pretty.
Hullooo, guineapiggirl going to give you a revieeeeeeeeeew!
I really like your opening and the way the poem has this theme of autumn turning to winter and looking back on summer and stuff. You've got some really lovely description and imagery and stuff. I can really see what you're describing, if I concentrate really hard.
There are bits that if you're not reading it kind of with your whole mind you can't get, like:

lit with blankets of mirror flakes
and the wings of fallen angels.


this couplet's about snow, right?
and

Crushed into paint
for pictures anew
of clouds dancing to silent music,
and people drinking the sky.

In fact, I still don't get that bit.
I think this poem is a little bit difficult to follow. I don't really get what the title has to do with the whole changing seasons thing. Are you saying to sort of stop and breathe and look around at the world that's changing around you?
Or is there something I'm missing?
I'm not quite sure.
My favourite bit is:

Leaves fall in my wake

torn and broken

by the rough autumn wind.

The grass once green now yellow;

a tarnished memory

of the sweet summer sun.

That bit's really good. It's really pretty and lovely description and I understand everything you're saying.

One little correction:

the sounds of and old world

I think you mean the sounds of an old world?
I hope I've helped a little bit with what i've said. I think this poem is really pretty. I like how you describe snowflakes (I think) as the wigns of fallen angels at the end. I think that ends on a really nice, slightly different note. And it sort of captures the... slightly wistful? feel of the poem.





When she transformed into a butterfly, the caterpillars spoke not of her beauty, but of her weirdness. They wanted her to change back into what she always had been. But she had wings.
— Dean Jackson