Gaol

Wow, that was really well done. Your language was beautiful and I loved your 'flowe crushed under the weight of life' part... that was beautiful. I especially loved your last few lines. Very nicely done

I loved it the first time. Shakespearean. Beautiful analogies and wonderful language. The second version...well, left a lot to be desired. The first verse was OK, but it didnt fit with the rest. Shame you had to add it
Good luck to you (and Firestarter) in the competition though

uh-oh, serious competition. maybe I'll see you there! maybe I'd better edit first...

anyway: you're absolutely right, it's only there for context and theme. It does add something to it, I suppose, rounds out the ideas more, but I kind of wish I hadn't had to put it in.

Aha! This is for that poetry competiton ... can't remember what it's called.

That's it. The Christopher Tower Poetry Competition. I'm trying to enter this too, haven't got around to writing a proper entry for it yet though.

To be honest it now just seems the first verse has little point but to bring the theme in to the poem.

I was ... forced to change this by my teacher, who was editing it. Apparently (since it was written particularly for a theme) it doesn't have enough of the theme of 'Buildings' in it, despite being called Gaol.

So. It's been a wee bit edited. I'd be much obliged if you could tell me what should stay changed, go back, and change again. The main bit is a new first verse, but there are little bits and pieces I altered to try and make it read better.

GAOL

To stand amid the blackened halls
of Wilde's famous gaol, and see
it is a building only; bricks and mortar
into which a man may walk,
and from which any man may yet walk free.
But in my heart, the problems faced
are not of Reading's walls and gates,
they shelter in the fragile form
I walk beside. For while I watch,
such hopes as all should harbour
stand as lost, and they whose hand
has but to reach and take,
let lie their futures bright
upon the ground, adorned with only dust.

Today I saw a flower crushed
beneath the weight of life
as if,
a life were not a chance
but chain, and all the world
a man to put her in it.
O Flower! said I: when young,
with youth and prospect still,
how comes a mind to wink
around itself, and open not to
folly and to fame?
Bespoke the lie, and beaten back
with tooth and nail to contemplate;
takes not a man to trick a man,
but all the holes we tumble to
one spadework only can be seen:
Our Own.

O Flower! die not, for in such
wanton suicide are all things
turned to stone; and like Medusa's
statues, all are blind.
Hark not, and rally not around
the ancient battle cry, the easy
way: to speak in tongues of men
and angels, cry "I cannot."
What grievous harm, do all we take
and nothing of it know.
The question asked no more, becomes
'What shall we do?' and
in its place a spectre looms:
'You nothing can.'
and all is lost.

In this case, just because this seems to be a more classical piece of writing, I would rhyme it. The metering, in this case, wouldn't be as important as the rhyme, just because it seems like lyrical old English poetry.

So! It makes it fun to edit, no?

Ohhhhh.... Its so sad. I liked the image of youth being crushed under the "weight of life".

turned to stone; and like Medusa's
statues, all are blind.