The Womb
Hangs as a pagan,
bereft of the nectar of sunlight.
Like a crucifix -
dripping the lignite blood of Helios.
Hope, upon barren hope
percolates the sterile soil of
reality.
Until one day;
it rains.
Milk and honey
nurture her thirsty roots.
The hungry bud
burgeons,
grasping at the chance of life.
It sings, briefly
a windy lament -
through its flower -
for the black world,
clinging to its grey tree.
Edit: Few changes to Stanza 1
Posted Aug 30, 2016, 2:49 PM UTC · edited
I feel like that, while there are some great lines in here, there is also an issue with using 'fancy' words for the sake of it.
words like: bereft, percolates (although this percolate is harder to replace), and burgeons take me out of it. It feel likes it's trying to be poetic as opposed to being poetic.
Otherwise, the struture is good. Imagery is interesting (although bleak, but I;m not one to talk about that). You have a good handle on punctuation and only one real weak enjambment (soil of/ reality) but I might think that, because it's also my least favorite line.
nice ending couplet btw
Oops, yeah. I wasn't consciously aware of that, but I agree that it doesn't lend itself well to the tone of the piece.
Thanks for taking the time to engage with my work anyway, and I'm glad parts of it stood out. I was pushing through a creative blockade, so churning out something was better than nothing. I'll see how this progresses with an edit, as I appreciate it's frayed around the edges.
Thanks.
No problem, your work is interesting and I hope I get to watch it develop. Despite what I said, I think you have a good sense of word choice and that's a hugely important skill going forward.
Thanks! I've been wallowing in poetry recently, so I hope it helps improve my writing a fair bit.
I'm taking a quality over quantity approach and revisiting some of my earlier pieces with fresh eyes, ears and tongue.
On a side note, your latest work, 'Gardening' is quite something. If I get time, I'll give you some feedback.
Thanks!