There's something so eerie about being in your empty house. I still remember sleeping on an air mattress the night before we drove to our new home. Didn't help that it was in our dark living room. Super spooky.
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I gaze upon this barren space,
A muddled sense of time and place.
The once embellished hoary wall,
Mocking that familiar fall.
And all that had made this room mine,
A new addition to Past’s shrine.
Not with her clocks, or to her sands,
But locked away In Boxes.
A habitual sense of warmth,
Shining in through western north.
Dappled lighting, speckled leaves,
Staring up at tawny eaves.
Clearer mind and warmer feelings,
Images no longer reeling.
An empty canvas, solid paint,
And I found myself In Boxes.
There's something so eerie about being in your empty house. I still remember sleeping on an air mattress the night before we drove to our new home. Didn't help that it was in our dark living room. Super spooky.
Hi Icon! I just need to say, your method of drafting rhymed&metered poetry is so relatable and I love it
Anyway, onto a review!
I want to take a look at your meter first, since a big element of this poem is the meter. I know it's very difficult to execute perfectly and honestly throughout most of your poem it's really well done, however there are some parts that could use some tweaking. First, I'm going to assume that your intended meter is weak-STRONG weak-STRONG weak-STRONG weak-STRONG, going off the first several lines:
i GAZE upON this BARren SPACE,
a MUDdled SENSE of TIME and PLACE.
MOCKing THAT fa-MIL-iar FALL
a NEW ad-DIT-ion to PAST'S shrine.
Shining in through western north.
Dappled lighting, speckled leaves,
Staring up at tawny eaves.
a hab-IT-u-al SENSE of WARMTH
Clearer mind and warmer feelings,
Images no longer reeling.
an EMPty CANvas, SOLid PAINT,
and i FOUND mySELF in BOX(es).
An empty canvas, solid paint;
I found myself In Boxes.
Not with her clocks, or to her sands,
This poem is short (as most poems are), but sweet. I'd like to note your beautiful vocabulary and ability to intertwine words into a flow that is very fluid and easy to follow. It doesn't feel like a mouthful at the same time, even though it does use a lot of accentuating vocabulary. It isn't mysterious in any sense, which is something I can appreciate after reading thousands of poems that I still have no clue what they mean to this day.
It does remind me of times where nostalgia floods back, either organizing old rooms, gathering things to donate, or packing away boxes and shipping them to a different place; that nostalgic feeling is captured very well in this poem. The feeling that, when you pack everything away, and you just stare at the room. . . And it's just completely empty, and you know you're not likely to ever see it again. Not sure if that's the nostalgic feeling you were trying to capture here, but it's definitely what this poem reminded me of when I read it.
Overall, 10/10
Hey IconspicuoslyAlpacaing!
I thought that I would drop by to give your poem a quick review. Having moved a couple of times in the past, I could definitely relate to it. I know you know said this poem was just about boxes, but I would encourage you to perhaps think of a greater meaning behind this poem. Is there a particular image or feeling that you're going to want your readers to leave with?
I think there's something about poetic about moving, at least in my experience, and a little bittersweet, especially depending on how long you lived in a place. It was a little bit unclear to me if the narrator is moving into a new place or leaving behind the old one, and I think clarifying this will help figuring out exactly what you want this poem to be.
Hope this helps! Don't hesitate to reach out if you any questions. Keep writing!
Cheers,
Elinor
Points: 7451
Reviews: 461
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