AN: the lack of capitals is intentional and very much allowed in modern day free-verse.
_________________________________________________
she walked along rows and planted many
things
in dirt as fertile as a child's heart,
mind and soul;
little seeds that grew into fruits that
tasted like
the music that the wind always brought
her,
and flowers whose petals could be
opened;
opened, and they read likes pages and
pages
of proverbs and prophesies and other such
scandalous p-words used by the priests
of the day.
she dined on them nightly, and infused
water
with petals and leaves, and kept her
spirit alive
for the cold winter months when she was
not she,
but he, who took up his staff and went
nowhere,
but dreamed that he would, and felt
like he was
married to himself, in a way, though he
strove
to be wed to one he loved; a woman clad
in something-
anything- that wasn't himself, and
herself.
one summer, though, no crop could grow
for the little red ants in the hill
behind the cottage
demanded that the sky withhold her rain
from such a foul beast as she, for the
turning,
which happened every snowfall, would
bring
nothing but anarchy, misuse of sanctity
and,
above all, a flurry of snow-like
influence.
the ground, though he loved the woman,
who was also a man, who lived in that
cottage
dearly, like a sister and like a
brother,
and the wind, ever loyal to the
dweller,
but in love with the sky, who was at
the whim
of the ants on earth, who should have
held
no power over her in the first place,
revered this dweller as his king and
his queen.
and so winter came, and the woman,
who was barely even a wisp of herself
to begin with, was now a man, and he-
oh how he writhed that winter.
He had to leave his cottage and his
garden,
and the ground always made a way
for his weary, blistered feet, and
clear paths
for his half-lidded, bloodshot eyes.
the wind draped himself around the
shoulders
of the ex-dweller, and kept him
company.
the two made sure that he smiled at
least
once every single day, and the sky wept
because she didn't mean to cast this
man out
into exile in the snow with frostbitten
hands
and feet, and a heart that kept trying
to burn
like a furnace to keep his body warm.
he stumbled across an abandoned ale
house
inside of an abandoned town taken over
by the circus, whose cast, which varied
in character, in strengths and in
weaknesses,
gave to him freely, and let him dwell
among them.
spring came, and he again became she.
the circus folk showed no terror; not a
grain of it,
and instead gave her seeds to plant
and a garden outside of the house,
which she'd fixed up almost like her
cottage,
but without the ant hill, so that here,
at least,
the sky could rain on her freely all
she wanted
and her lover, the wind, would no
longer
feel so torn between his loyalties.
she planted each seed more tenderly
than all of the seeds she'd ever
planted before,
and from them grew flowers and fruits
richer than any that had ever crossed
her lips,
and in the winter, she did not have to
rely
on stored energy and peace from
infusions,
but had enough to last, now him, the
winter.
the ground and the wind and the sky all
watched valiantly, like sentinels they
guarded him and kept him safe
while the circus folk made him feel
like maybe he'd always been destined
to live with a garden, not in
isolation,
but among and a part of the bizarre.
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139,567 Literary Works • 672,608 Reviews
The first stanza was a beauty to read, it was like I took a stroll in the meadows as the sun glimmered upon me. (and trust me I'm not that type of person XD) But if you could make me feel that way, you are a truly amazing poet my friend, I haven't found anything wrong that really bugs me to the point that I have to jump out the window
lol, so your okay there. Anyways you also have really strong diction and flawless imagery that floats around in your poem, which is probably why it's so freaking captivating, I'm usually not into floral beautiful landscape kind of poetry, with a warm cottage added to the scene, I'm more of surreal, and darkness that holds true beauty, with of course I have to have my horror, but you really kept me engaged with your poem, which most poems like this have a hard time capturing my attention, maybe because you have much more to offer then most of the poems in the past I had read (hmmm. Could be)
and I'm just fooling myself! Ha ha, well continuing on, your writing was beautiful and spot on and I'm glad you shared your talent amongst us all readers, and of course like I always say Rock on!
one summer, though, no crop could grow
for the little red ants in the hill behind the cottage
demanded that the sky withhold her rain
from such a foul beast as she, for the turning,
which happened every snowfall, would bring
nothing but anarchy, misuse of sanctity and,
above all, a flurry of snow-like influence.
This part is probably the only part that I really love completely (favorite) Only because it has this type of dark bitter vibe coming off of it, maybe it's because of your word choice such as, demanded rain, foul beast, misuse, snow, anarchy, red, no crop. That is just my thought that probably doesn't even mean anything
Hey, Isha. Firstly, thanks so much for sharing your poem with us. I'm new here and I love reading poetry, especially good poetry. I'll start off by saying that I don't do grammar or punctuation when I do reviews. I also quite like the lack of capitalization, regardless of it being free-verse or not.
The first stanza that you have is lovely. I really enjoyed the amount of description that you use to describe a simple act of planting seeds. To me, it seems like she's planting something other then seeds. I can't exactly figure out what but the words that you write seem so much deeper then what they really are on paper(or in this case, computer screen)
and flowers whose petals could be opened;
opened, and they read likes pages and pages
For some reason, this line reads a little weird with me. Maybe it's just the repetition of the word opened but while it reads off, the rest of that stanza is amazing.
for the little red ants in the hill behind the cottage
demanded that the sky withhold her rain
And this is the best line I have ever read...for it's simplicity and it's beauty.
Normally, I can figure out what the meaning behind a poem is but this one was tricky. Overall it was beautiful. I'd love to know what inspired this and what is the deeper meaning, as it seems it has one.
Lovely poem.
This is an awkward line, I think because of the three 'thats' which clog it up something awful. Find a way to rephrase slightly and it will be very arresting, I think.
Hmm, do you need the 'they'?
You may want to get rid of that first 'and' in the interest of the flow.
Whew, that's a mouthful. But it is a very powerful image. I'm not really sure whether you should break it up further, or not. Think about, I suppose - it's up to you!
I suspect you might want a comma at the end of this first line, or it gets very confusing very quickly.
You've done such excellent work pacing the poem with commas, why a mysterious dash?
Anyhow, wonderful piece of work.
As a total Grammar freak, the lack of capitals is nerve racking, but as you said, it's common in free-verse, so there's no point in my fussing at you about it. I'm not to hot at reviews so I'll keep it short and simple. Very nicely written (Capitals aside, it's killing me more than it should), aside from a few nitpicks, I'm not to great when it comes to truly getting what an author is trying to say, and I've never been fond of poetry, or reading something I don't understand in general. But I've been forcing myself to do so in order to better my comprehension of them. I really like the way you describe things, and your vocabulary is definitely far above quite the number of people these days. If I were better at things like this, perhaps I could help you more, but all I can really say is, nicely done.
~Bastion