Campfire

by LittlePetRock

Published November 12, 2010

Laughter and murmurs flow through the forest,
As warm fires remain aglow.
Smokey musk fills the night's cold air;
As scaling pines and dreary oaks,
Leave haunting shadows below.
Strong is the desire to live it all again.
As the days faintly echo in my mind,
I don't want to leave the past behind.

So, this poem was inspired by the time when my family and I went camping a few weeks ago.
It. Was. Amazing!
An English assignment of mine was to write a poem about a favorite place, and use imagery.
All sorts of feedback is greatly appreciated! :D

Comments & reviews · 2
Random avatar
lance
Review
lance wrote a review Review · Nov 16, 2010

Hi there,
i quite enjoyed this poem, with its creativity, its imagery, and the reality of what the enjoyment of a campfire can do to one and another.
"Laughter and murmurs flow through the forest,
As warm fires remain aglow.
Smokey musk fills the night's cold air;
As scaling pines and dreary oaks,
Leave haunting shadows below.
Strong is the desire to live it all again.
As the days faintly echo in my mind,
I don't want to leave the past behind"
it really struck me as a memory of mine and the joy, reading this brought back time I've had. looking forward to seeing more of your work =D

User avatar
Nightshade
Review
Nightshade wrote a review Review · Nov 12, 2010

I enjoyed this. I've always loved forest imagery, and you do a good job of painting a picture with your words.
I was somewhat disappointed with the last three lines though. Line six is awkwardly worded and they just didn't convey a lot of emotion for me. I'd suggest rewriting those last three lines in a more natural, emotional way.
Also, the fact that there are some rhymes in here threw me off because I couldn't tell if you'd tried to include a rhyme scheme or not.
In line 6, "life" should be "live" and "the" should be "to" in line 8.
This has potential. It could be a very nice poem with a little work.



You may deem me romantic, my dear sister, but I bitterly feel the want of a friend.
— Mary Shelley, Frankenstein