CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM THREAD

[wolfsong]

I write to you because you are safe

And along the same lines, I noticed that in your signature line you have linked your website, and of course I clicked on it and looked at it for a few minutes, and that seemed a little incongruous with what I'd just read about fear and anonymity, because obviously you have posted some personal information there for anyone to see. That of course is your decision, but I'm just pointing out how it seems in stark contrast to the poem, and you might consider unchecking the "Attach signature" line for that post only, if you'd like it to stand as a separate, powerful piece.

Crow: I thank you for your comments, both here and in the poem itself.
I agree about lopping it off ... maybe I'll do that in the post ...

But here in this post and there in the poem-post you seem to have misunderstood what I meant about fear. It's not fear that "my safe audience" and people who look at my website will find out where I live, what my name is, stuff like that. That doesn't have much to do with me.
If I was afraid of that, I wouldn't have written that poem, because you would no longer be safe.
The fear conveyed in the poem is that the people I know and see / talk to every day, my parents, my boyfriend, my friends, my family, will see my petty fears, my lack of motivation, my ... all the stuff I wrote in my poem. That they will see all the stupid things I've done, all the monsters lurking in the shadows of my Self, and leave me, disown me, hate me, as unlikely as all that might be.

So ... now I'm just wondering ... how can I convey that better? Because you seem to have been confused, others may have been ...

[Crow]

I write to you because you are safe

Actually you DID convey that you were afraid about acquaintances in your every day life, but I felt that it extended beyond that to include a fear of everybody and everything; about building walls and tearing them down. As has been said elsewhere, poetry means different things to different people, and although yours conveyed certain thoughts to me that you didn't intend, I don't think that invalidates it at all!

[EarthWard]

Curiosities Abroad

First all Az you're a very good writer. The flow of it made it go easy and did not feel like a slumberous task at all. You imaginative, exact, and descriptive. And I liked the dialoges! I think that is what makes the stories. And I always love quotes at the front of chapters. Sets the mood like when you dim the lights for the ladies.

A lot of it is an expression of adolescent, but not blind adolescent. "Jeff", the character, under stands the changes his mind and body is going through and he works with it in his lessons.
Insecurities, sexuality, ignorance. I felt Jeff made these traits apart of him instead of trying to isolate himself because of it as shown in his interaction with Alferian and the Star Sirus.
One of my favorite part was the showing how hard it is to find sacred space instead of scared space.

I quickly changed the channel, shuddering. I was standing on the ledge of the roof of the Sear's Tower.
Change the channel. A forearm is being bent. Further. Further. Snap.
Change the channel. I'm being shot. "Where's my happy place?!" I screamed, as two more bullets entered into my chest. I felt one lodge in a rib, and the other shredding my insides, pushing its way out through the skin on my back.

Very natural specially for younger people.

A few things that I did not like, which reminded me that I was reading instead of living the story, were

"J..Je..ff..." I stammered, once again frozen to my position on the ground.

I didn't think the fear became Jeff too well. I don't think he would have acted that way and it was saturated with theatrics.



I did like this:

"My name is Azrienoch."
"I'm Jeff."
"Yes, I know."
Figures, I thought. "How do you know who I am?"
"I am the perfection of you."

Great show there! Really liked it and I think that is the hinge that is going to allow you to make this story so good.

But:

"

I won't be here when you get back."
"Why not?"
"Because I am not capable of giving you more visits than you are ready for."

And:

I've been instructed to meet you when you would eventually come here."

Too much deitism, God, whatever else and and it took the story outside the mind and into the world of the supernatural where I did not want it to be. Makes it look like outside forces are communicating with you.

That's all. Sorry for the misspelling and lack of more detail but its the best I can do with what you are paying me now which is nothing! So you get what you pay for!

[Laurelin Tauregwaithalion]

This is just my first draft. I tend to revamp poems many, many times. I just wanted some thoughts. I'm thinking of adding punctuation to slow the pace down a bit (particularly in the part that describes her studying her prey). I'm toiling about whether I should slow the pace down a bit there. I can't decide whether it should feel slower or faster. A few carefully placed punctuation marks would utterly change the tempo. I'm also not sure "fastened" is quite the word I want to use, but it was just thrown in there as quick fix.

Your thoughts will certainly help me decide where I'm really going with this one. (After I've gotten a few comments, I'll let you know what truly inspired the poem... I want opinions before I explain so as to keep the comments more pure.)

http://www.druidry.org/board/viewtopic.php?t=9740

Thanks,

Laurelin

[Kat Lady]

For Ruby

First, Laurelin, let me say that I do like this poem a lot. I especially like the ending.

I do think the pace is fine. But I automatically read it with pauses and stops. You may want to add the commas and periods to slow the pace in certain spots and that would allow the pace to quicken in those spots without the punctuation. But if you do this, you may want to add a few extra words to make it more flowing. For example:

In the blinding white of the sun,
{the}Pale gravel crunching under her feet,
Heat warms her shoulders
As she meticulously studies her target
Documenting in a split second its
Every move,
The shift of his weight,
His plodding footfall,
The smell of his hide.
Heat.
Flesh.
Bone.
Sun.
Dust.
His skin,
Grey crumpled notebook paper
Dampened and fastened on broad haunches.

or:

Heat,
Flesh,
Bone,
Sun,
Dust;
His skin
Grey, crumpled notebook paper
Dampened and fastened on broad haunches.

I am not saying this is the way to puncutate this piece. Just showing how the punctuation changes the flow ever so slightly. It depends on how you want it to flow. I suggest you read it out loud and place punctuation where you want to pause or stop.

And I liked the word fastened myself. Made me picture the wrinkles like fasteners.

[Laurelin Tauregwaithalion]

Thanks Kat Lady! I am a little amused that a Kat would be the first to respond to a poem with canine imagery. Then again, I'm in a poetic mind right now. There are a great many observations that could cause me to wax poetic. : )

Your hints were very helpful. I plan to read it aloud very soon and make some decisions.

First, punctuation would slow the pace considerably. Would I advocate this, or do I wish to maintain the slightly accelerated pace of a hunt and mimic the concept with the tempo of the piece. A line break is a poetic pause, after all (which is, I'm sure, why you read it with pauses; it can be an instinct to do so). Will I lose the emphasis of my line-break pauses if I punctuate elsewhere, or will the pauses at the ends drag things out too much? It's a tough call for me... probably because it's a fairly personal poem.

For the record, I already made a change to the poem. Line 19 reads "That is not her concern" and it used to read "That's not her concern" before I took a closer peek. In the absence of punctuation, that apostrophy glared angrily at me. It drew the eye as the only non-letter character. Then, when I looked, I found that it drew the eye to something I didn't necessarily want to emphasize... a contracted word. Blech! So, I changed it. Even if I decide in favor of punctuation, I'm not entirely sure I'll put it back.

I appreciate that you liked the word "fastened" in the poem. I didn't think it gave the right imagery, but I see now, that it worked for you. I avoided the words smoothed, pasted, glued, attached, etc. because it seemed to iron out the wrinkles of the elephant skin a little too much. I settled on 'fastened' when I ran out of other ideas ; ). Perhaps it will stay. Also, I'm thinking "fastened to" rather than "fastened on" would be better. Any thoughts?

I'm also glad you liked the ending. You're one of two. I think that if anything is working really well for me, it's probably that ending. I wish I could say I carefully devised it, but it just came to me that way. I wrote the last line and knew it was over...

We make hard decisions in poetry... most of them life and death. I had a teacher who once told me never to write about love, death, family, freedom, etc. She said, instead, to write about a chair, a dog, a javelina, a desk, a room. She reminded me that we write about love, death, family, freedom, etc. best when we write about tangible things that paint the picture. I've always tried to keep that in mind when I write... I hope it's worked in this case.

Thanks,

Laurelin

[Kat Lady]

I am a little amused that a Kat would be the first to respond to a poem with canine imagery.

Well, Kats are always on the lookout for both prey and predator. Besides, tormenting canines on a leash is usually a kat's job.....I honestly saw this as either a canine or perhaps a chained large cat such as a cheetah, straining for the chase.

First, punctuation would slow the pace considerably. Would I advocate this, or do I wish to maintain the slightly accelerated pace of a hunt and mimic the concept with the tempo of the piece.

Yes, that is a tough call. I read it as if there was a pause, showing the slowness of the stalk. The the quickness of the pace. It really depends on how you want the reader to feel.

The change you already made does sound better on the tongue and the fastened to may be the perfect change. The percection of fastend to makes it all the more fragile as it makes me think of something cliped, as in a paper clip, compared to fastened on which makes me see a slighty more permanent fastening, like glue or tape. Funny how one little word can change the whole idea.

It is a very well written poem and I thoroughly enjoyed it.

[Laurelin Tauregwaithalion]

I'll consider "fastened to" more carefully. I was certainly leaning that way before I mentioned it here, and I'll kick it around a little more seriously.

Without punctuation, I think I've left a little more room for reader interpretation (as far as speed, tempo, and pauses go). I think I've made it clear (through line breaks) where the larger pauses are, but other than that, it's up to the reader. I do fear punctuating a little because of the last four lines. If I punctuate the rest of the poem, I might have to punctuate those lines at the end. Punctuation could eliminate the ambiguity (which is what, I think, makes the end of the poem work). Perhaps I'll never feel like it's finished. Who knows. I'll try some different things with it over the years, I'm sure.

In reality, Ruby was a greyhound. The idea is the same, though, whatever animal species the reader perceives.

Thanks for your help, though. I'm wondering where the rest of the group might be... I still haven't heard from the others who sometimes post on this thread. *ponders*

Thanks,

Laurelin

[EarthWard]

And they thought we were bad! I was looking up some poetry today and came across this. It is a critical review of one of my favorite poets Mary Oliver.
Read what it has to say:

Admittedly, I'm predisposed to disliking "nature poems." Maybe it's because many are facile, easy to write, and make the kinds of observations only an idiot needs spelled out in poetry. It's not that a good nature poem can't be written - it's just that so many poets have written poor ones.
So I'm in a bit of a quandary when it comes to writing about a poet who's made a career out of writing bad nature poems. Mary Oliver is technically proficient, and from reading her prose works about poetry (her A Poetry Handbook is probably one of the best introductory volumes about poetry ever written) I believe that she knows a lot about poetry. So why are her poems so god-awful?
That Mary Oliver is a grossly overrated poet isn't really the issue. She's very easy to digest, and, since her poems take no risks, there's little to offend in them. The following is emblematic of what's wrong with Mary Oliver's poetry:

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

Gee.
This isn't the usual creative-writing-program-produced pap—no, this is highly-crafted, meticulously-designed, carefully-thought-out archetypal creative-writing pap. It takes a well-educated poet to write a poem this bad.
I was actually a bit hopeful by the first line. But then as I continued my enthusiasm waned, much like the steam driving this poem. It's like a balloon with a slow leak, hissing along until the last lines push the air completely out, leaving a wrinkly piece of plastic on the floor, to later get caught in the gears of the vaccuum cleaner and cost $143 (U.S.) to repair, resulting not only in dirty carpets for the duration of the cleaner's time in the shop, but also a small bald spot on the top of your head from where you scratched it trying to figure out how a balloon wound up in your living room...
Okay, maybe I got carried away with my own metaphor there. "Meanwhile the world goes on." Really? It does? I mean, come on! The world does not call to me like wild geese. I'm not really sure what to "latch onto" in this poem, because the images (such as they are) are so vague and "first-level" - here's a tip: just because you use the words "mountains" and "rivers" in your poem does not mean that they're going to be in there. Those are just words. You have to do something with them if you want to make poetry.
Mediocrity Abounds!
The problem with "Wild Geese" is not that it's vague, which it is, but that it's completely spineless - what's the message, ultimately, of this poem? "You have a place in this world and like the geese, are free because of your imagination!"
Assuming for a second that this is true, who needs to be told this? A useful tool for revision is to take a statement from a poem, and then state its opposite - if the opposite is ridiculous (i.e., doesn't need to be said), you don't need to make the original statement. This poem is like an advertising slogan, telling you that the company's product is great. Of course it is. What else would they say?
The danger creeping into contemporary poetry (it's been happening for years, but is growing) is the flattening of the image, the death of risk. Using nouns in a poem inserts an object into the poem, but for that object to become an image it must be acted on by the poet. Something needs to happen to the object. Here's another little gem:

I was standing
at the edge of the field—
I was hurrying

through my own soul,
opening its dark doors—
I was leaning out;
I was listening.
—from "Mockingbirds"

Like a sugar pill, this poem seems to be doing something, but isn't, really. I'll let her vagueness go for a minute and stop to shudder on the phrase "hurrying / through my own soul, / opening its dark doors—"
This is the kind of adolescent angst that would be barely forgivable if a teenage girl wrote it. Coming from Oliver, who should know better, this is shameful. Angst-ridden posturing doesn't ever make a poet sound "cool" or "deep," especially since referring to your "soul" as "dark" is hardly original, and usually the work of the shallow and simple-minded.
And again, what's her point? As I click through her work in the archive I have a hard time figuring out why each poem was written. What is she trying to say? She seems to have a preternatural aversion to making a point.
Oliver's poems lack the immediacy of haiku, the punch of Robert Frost, the gorgeous language of Wallace Stevens - here's a snippet from Steven's "Thirteen Ways of Looking At A Blackbird":

XIII

It was evening all afternoon.
It was snowing
And it was going to snow.
The blackbird sat
In the cedar-limbs.

This is a nature poem with punch—with purpose. I understand, after reading it, why it had to be written. This is what Stevens called the "occasion" of the poem - it's the reason that should be readily apparent as to why the poet wrote the poem, why the poem needed to be written. Oliver's poems are lazy, and unnecessary, because it may have been preferable for her to go shopping than write the poem. If a poem's raison d'être is that the poet had nothing better to do on a Saturday afternoon, one (such as I) really has little reason to read a poem that had such little reason to be written.
You're just jealous.
I'm dumb-founded that anyone would not find these poems anaemic. Mary Oliver has won numerous awards for her poetry. Why is she so popular? I think it's because her poems are weak - you can "take in" a Mary Oliver poem in one reading - and probably after simply hearing it once. As readers grow lazier, more poetry like this will continue to be written, and the worst of it, that which seeks to affirm life while slothfully numbing the experience of the poem so that no one gets offended, will win awards because to awards-giving bodies, it feels good to acknowledge poetry that's both lackluster and easily digestible. Awarding Mary Oliver is lending legitimacy to the "poem as sound bite" that's very easy to promote to young readers, because it's "positive," "uplifting," and doesn't take a lot of unpleasant thought to read.
Reading Oliver is an exercise in futility, and so is this article, really, because if you're already not a fan of Oliver, I'm not going to set you against her, and if you are a fan, I'm not likely to change your mind. It's okay. I'll just hope that someday you'll learn more about how a poem works, read some good poems, and will come to appreciate poems that don't "give up their secrets" on the first read. You do not have to read good poetry, but given the choice, why read Mary Oliver?

Jough Dempsey is a poet & critic and the webmaster of Plagiarist.com, an online poetry resource for both the Sharks and the Jets. In his spare time he enjoys ion beam lithography.
[My only real reply is to something not in the piece- that being comparing Oliver to a Sharon Olds. A more apt analogy would be Carolyn Forche- both CF & MO, in the 70s, had potential & their early work has some good poems which show promise & excellent potential- like CF, numerous awards led to laze which led to writing easy balms over & over- for CF it was political screeding, for MO nature gisms- SO, however, never really even had the early potential. I wish the piece was longer & I think it a bit of a copout to not try to forcefully put forth a view. Nonetheless, a good example of a mediocre poet- & worse- a LAZY 1! This is what I meant by the difference between universal & generic in poetry- MO tries to be universal- but that requires an individuation which nonetheless many can relate to, to see similarities in difference. Instead she is generic, which is that she tries to make differences the same. DAN]

Now here is a copy of Steven's Thirteen ways of looking at a blackbird which the Dempsey enjoyed so much and said was better:

Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird

Among twenty snowy mountains,
The only moving thing
Was the eye of the blackbird.

II

I was of three minds,
Like a tree
In which there are three blackbirds.

III

The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.
It was a small part of the pantomime.

IV

A man and a woman
Are one.
A man and a woman and a blackbird
Are one.

V

I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendoes,
The blackbird whistling
Or just after.

VI

Icicles filled the long window
With barbaric glass.
The shadow of the blackbird
Crossed it, to and fro.
The mood
Traced in the shadow
An indecipherable cause.

VII

O thin men of Haddam,
Why do you imagine golden birds?
Do you not see how the blackbird
Walks around the feet
Of the women about you?

VIII

I know noble accents
And lucid, inescapable rhythms;
But I know, too,
That the blackbird is involved
In what I know.

IX

When the blackbird flew out of sight,
It marked the edge
Of one of many circles.

X

At the sight of blackbirds
Flying in a green light,
Even the bawds of euphony
Would cry out sharply.

XI

He rode over Connecticut
In a glass coach.
Once, a fear pierced him,
In that he mistook
The shadow of his equipage
For blackbirds.

XII

The river is moving.
The blackbird must be flying.

XIII

It was evening all afternoon.
It was snowing
And it was going to snow.
The blackbird sat
In the cedar-limbs.

Wallace Stevens

It is wierd the things we judge. Often enough it is in the soul of the beholder.


Thus, it might be true . . . that the style of a poem and the style of men are one.
Wallace Stevens "Two or Three Ideas"

[Azrienoch]

Okay, first of all, EarthWard, you helped me really define the problems that I was also having with Curiosities Abroad, and I needed to thank you. I finally got around to cleaning up those sore spots, if you would care to take a look.
Also, Crow, I tried to lighten the intensity of the dialogue in episode one... I'm not sure of how to go about it in episode two. As a sidenote, episode three is up, and it's not dialogue oriented, so it may be a nice break from all the pinging and ponging.
Thanks again, guys!

[EarthWard]

Curiosities Abroad

Okay great job. Really liked it.
You know anything worth doing is hard work. 10% inspiration and 90% perspiration


I took some notes while I read and being as critical as I could this is all I could find.

It really was a morning like any other; I'd awoke, turned over to admire Andrea who was still sleeping, her soft, smooth, naked skin beneath my fingers as I caressed her shoulder

What are you really trying to point to here? Her skin is soft and smooth and of course its naked if it is soft and smooth. Are you trying to say she is naked? Why did you think of divination when you first woke up? Because of her? Because of the light of the morning sun blazing through your windows filled you with a sense of wonder at what the day would bring that you wished to just reach out and caress it like you could with Andrea's body? How was it a morning like any other? More exact detail here and not adjeitives that point my brain to a direction you didn't mean for it to be pointed in, like Andrea's naked body. And I'm pretty sure that sentence has a coma splice in it.

orrery

I have no idea what an orrery is. Explain it please. What is this grand contraption of Alf's that you are looking at. Explain it because as a model it is an important piece of the story.

If you've never experienced this before, I highly recommend the sensation. I used to do it to my father's face during one of his exhaustingly lengthy lectures that he would use as punishment for ill behavior. The background turns red, while his face turned bluish-green, and then the colors reverse. Sometimes, when I was able to stare long enough, the face would turn maroon, while the background completely blacks out.

I loved this. The whole black out with the parent thing. But

If you've never experienced this before, I highly recommend the sensation

Are you talking to me? Are you talking to me?! Don't be talking to me! I'm spying on your life on your thoughts without you knowing. That is what makes the tale so fabulous. Don't talk to me. Plus I'm pretty sure it was the first time you acknowledged the audience so it really does not go with it.

I liked the math part.


Part Three

I loved how your girl won't talk about philosophical questions but had a fast answer for weight! Very typical for a woman!

Due to my haste in devouring the salad, I had to wait for he next round to be prepared, but it was most assuredly worth the wait -- a white sauce spinach lasagna dish. How I love that woman!

"The" not "he"...little mistake that I usually I don't pick up on specially in my own writing!


Loved the "Prove it," remark

She smiled and came over to the bed to give me a hug.
I squeezed as hard as I could in our embrace. "Love you, baby-cakes."
"Love you too, sweetie." We let go and looked at each other. After a moment's pause, she inquired, very innocently, as to what we should have for breakfast.
I threw up again.

I kind of would have liked to hear more about your love for her in emotion instead of baby names. I mean this is a woman that hugged you after you threw up! There has to be something there. A bond that transcends baby names. A love that knows no bounds. An emotion that drives all thoughts and acts. Surpasses the sex and cooking and goes right to the heart of all that you are. To help imagine that you are fifty years older and you look at this woman that has been with you the whole time. She has bore your children. Nursed you when you were sick. What does that really mean to Jeff? The love that even makes his philosophy questions wither in comparison. Of course this might just be the hopeless romantic that I am and might not be at all what Jeff is about.

Anyway great story. I would love to see the completion in time and the union of Jeff and Azrienoch.

[Ruthie]

I'd like to put my poem "Walking Home" in here for criticism.
http://www.druidry.org/board/viewtopic.php?t=9398
I am not getting this right, despite re-writing it.
If anybody could offer an insight - I feel I am too wordy.
Maybe not finding the right words. The emotional content is not there for me.
All comments welcome!
Thanks so much.

[Crow]

Walking Home

Well first off, Moon Cloud, I really like this little poem, and especially your second, reworked version. But you're unsatisfied with it, so let me just offer one idea you might want to explore, and that is the cemetery fence.

Your poem starts out walking along the cemetery fence, and perhaps one thing you might think about is what on one side of the fence as opposed to what's on the tree side of the fence ... both beings that have gone to the Summerlands in the manner that befits their kind.

But whatever you do, don't mess with the cutout in the sidewalk, as I think that's very evocative and powerful.

Overall, I still think it's a nice little poem!

Blessings,

[wolfsong]

Walking Home

Moon Cloud ... !
I must say, the first edition was lacking ... in just about everything. I didn't understand it, I didn't feel it. I agreed with you that there was no emotional content.
Then I scrolled down for the second.
It's beautiful ...
The only thing I wonder when reading that is, What kind of tree is it? Or rather,

Vigor, strength, wisdom
an old power rising through me.

Is it an oak?



You might want to put in even a semi-vague "physical" description of the tree, since you can feel its energy ... <shrug>

I really like it. Can't stress it enough.
I can't think of any way to pare it down and make it less "wordy".

I'm reminded of the movie Amadeus ... the Emperor tells Mozart that his opera has "too many notes", and Mozart insists that it has exactly the amount of notes it requires.

Emperor Joseph II: Your work is ingenious. It's quality work. And there are simply too many notes, that's all. Just cut a few and it will be perfect.
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart: Which few did you have in mind, Majesty?

But here I'm Mozart ... your poem has exactly the number of words it requires. The only thing I would even consider changing about your poem is maybe a little more description of the tree. That's it.

[Laurelin Tauregwaithalion]

So... you don't feel like it's done. I know how you feel. I think you're looking for more impact, am I right? I don't think your real trouble lies in your "wordiness" but in the particular words you chose. In this case, I always suggest looking at the poem after a few days, deciding why you chose the words you did, and making some decisions. Sometimes, it's helpful to just scribble down distinctive images on a piece of paper. I find that the most disjointed images sometimes prove most vivid. For example, when I was in college, we were told to write a poem including the following elements:

Something German
Something old
A hill
The word "deciduous"
and we got extra credit for a smell that talks.

It would have been very natural to put a tree in the poem, but it just wasn't coming to me that way. So, I wrote a poem about my marching band practice shoes and used "deciduous" to describe the seasonal shedding of their canvas. As it turned out, the disconnect between the elements of tree and shoe created the most accessible imagery. Think of different ways of describing your empty space. I also recommend that you keep the "cutout" visual in the poem. It works nicely.

Gently a curve inexplicably
narrows the sidewalk
along the cemetary fence.

I think you're looking for something with a little more weight. You do a good job describing the sidewalk, but there's nothing for the reader to look at, if you will. If you want to add impact, make it visual rather than descriptive.

At first I pass and wonder
was something so important
to build this walk around it?

This is pleasant and reflective, but it's a little self-conscious (poetically speaking). To me it seems a little like making your ponderance known in the poem is a way to justify the writing of the poem in the first place. You don't need to explain that you wondered about the importance of the object that was built around, you just have to find a way to show the reader that the walk was shaped for a good reason. Consider the what might make it inconvenient to change the walk because of a tree. Also, remember that your poem can take any voice, it doesn't have to be yours. That voice could belong, for a moment, to the construction crew, to the tree, to the sidewalk, to the city planner... etc.

And as daily grows my curiosity
I reach out with my mind
to feel mossy, wrinkled bark.

This is where you really start to pick things up. Your voice here works well as speaker. Reaching out with your mind instead of your hand is one of those slightly disjointed images that really works for you here. Feeling the mossy, wrinkled bark is better than "seeing" the bark, too. It makes it tangible.

In that emptiness
was a tree.

I like this. I also like the way it starts to taper the poem around the "empty space" left for something that is no longer there.

I step in
the mud
and feel

Here you could probably hit us harder. It's nice, and the tempo changes when you shorten lines like this. The visual is fantastic. Just see if you can think of a way to really put us in that mud with you.

Vigor, strength, wisdom
an old power rising through me.
Neither sapling nor stump
remains to mark this passing;
yet a memory remains in the gap.

The memory in the gap is a little less tangible than the wrinkled bark you felt with your mind earlier. It's good, but be careful not to wind down too soon.

I stop to share a blessing
with the missing tree:
My Spirit Tree.

The end gets very quiet. You should keep that impression, definately, but perhaps show us the blessing rather than just telling us that it was...

Anyway, I hope I didn't overstep. There are a million wonderful things working for you in this poem as it is. You really seemed to want to put us where you are, though, and you're well on your way. It's always nice to tell a story, but it's better to take your reader with you on your journey. Again, I do hope I didn't stomp any toes... you've written a lovely poem here, and the sentiment is beautiful. Keep it up!

--Laurelin

[Ruthie]

Thank-you so much Laurelin!
This is just what I needed - some really pointed critical advice.
My poetical shoes are steel-toed, I have taken much poetry in college, and know how to handle these very well-meant and helpful comments.
At this very moment, the poem is still in it's resting phase, but I'll print out your comments and read them again when I begin working with this poem once more.

You have been such a wonderful help, I cannot say this enough - Thanks again!

[Laurelin Tauregwaithalion]

*Grin* I sensed that about you in my way. It came across in the way you asked for help. I guess it's a sort of compulsion of mine (being in study to become an English teacher). I'm just glad I got the right impression of you from your request for advice. : ) You made my day, really!

((hug))

--Laurelin

[Underground River]

Feel free to constructively criticize this one. I am not really looking for any help fixing it, just like detailed comments.
http://www.druidry.org/board/viewtopic.php?t=10146
Thank you!
GreenDruid

[Laurelin Tauregwaithalion]

I don't suppose it's any use trying to resurrect this thread... but I still have hope. Somebody out there must have some criticism for me. I want feedback! I majored in English. I'm used to criticism. It's what makes the work better. Even if the changes I make are minimal, it gives me an outsider's view, and I need that.

http://www.druidry.org/board/viewtopic.php?t=13058

--Laurelin

[Selene]

Dawn Breaks

Laurelin,
First, I do like this poem a lot and I hope my comments don't seem hypercritical—I am being as picky as possible on purpose, in the hope that something I say might possibly be of use to you!

I see two minor technical flaws—missing letters—which I've inserted in red:

It smells like the dust settling, like the nightshade blooming.
Its sound is an owl’s wings in flight.

I really like the mental images the first part of the poem evokes.

A sunset is not gold, orange, red, and blue,
It is the color of the robin’s breast as it sits on its eggs.
The mingling of sea blue and fire orange.
It smells like the dust settling, like the nightshade blooming.
Its sound is an owl’s wings in flight.
Deadly silent.
It is.
It is dark.
Night falls and crushes the sun.

To me, this is great—don't change a thing!

I also like the images of the latter part, but somehow, there seems too much of a disconnect—a break in the rhythm, really—when you resume with

When Sun dies, it is buried in a casket of black.

Maybe that's on purpose, which is why it's hard to give a good critique of poetry—I think you have a lot more latitude with poetry than prose—but since you asked... I think I'd prefer the active voice rather than passive there. Maybe something like

Night falls and crushes the sun
And buries it in a casket of black.

I like this part:

Almost. The casket is old and broken, chipped by wear, time, age
and you can see the sun shine through
like a thousand tiny little suns.

but I think I'd put a comma after "age."

And you've used "sun" five times in six lines—is that on purpose, too, or would you consider some other word just to avoid repetition? As for

Blinking as it snores.

Is that to lighten the tone? If so, fine, but I think it may detract a bit from the mood you've established to this point.

The light always bursts through the holes,
breaks all the hinges, and shatters the casket.

I like the imagery here, too, but the word "always" seems to be another meter-wrecker. I can't think of anything at the moment that would be better; just something you might want to consider, perhaps even rewriting the lines to something like, "Its light bursts through the holes..."

And, finally, there's a double use of "breaks" in the last two lines, again maybe not something you'd want to change, but might possibly be worth a look at a thesaurus.

Thanks for giving us something to play with!
Selene