This Poem was Submitted By: arvin r. reder On Date: 2005-11-07 02:32:15 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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SECRETS IN THE WELL

Listen to the night it's whisper. A real story from a quiet street was it the night I was to meet, your memory or did it pass by hearts shatter, when you don't try to close your eyes and kiss her. Shimmering leaves were on call. My hands stayed warm holding yours we walked passed the tracks and stores, But so young our stories short self esteem, none of the sort, I stumbled once, did I fall? I remember the church yard You taught me then not to tell I hid secrets in the well, laughter like streams and big smiles were exchanged over the miles, And the words flowed with no guard. I remember blue that night Did I drag my foot to show the time was racing, I know I knelt once, my shoelace loose and tried to make an excuse, the street we walked had no light. Sewing from river to stream I reached once for a low cloud I should not have sung so loud, Soon the whispers came to you and angels made them come true, I returned once in a dream.

Copyright © November 2005 arvin r. reder


This Poem was Critiqued By: arnie s WACHMAN On Date: 2005-11-30 10:29:59
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.68750
This is a good poem about a past love. Sewing from river to stream is very original. And so what did you do in the church yard? inquiring minds (at least mine) want to know. This is such a well written piece of your youth. Well done. I liked your title and I wonder about that well!


This Poem was Critiqued By: Terrye Godown On Date: 2005-11-25 16:07:39
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
Hi Arvin This is a very mysterious poem. The sequence of rhyming in each stanza is interesting and creative. I read this piece a few times trying to grasp it's meaning, but it's kind of like finding an old trunk with pictures from a stranger's past. There's only so much you can do to recreate their life from what you see. The last stanza totally threw me off as far as getting any gist other than to realize that the writer is being rather obscure in verbally tying up the last pieces of regret obviously reflected in this poem. One of the lines that threw me was the first one: "Listen to the night it's whisper." With each successive line it is clear that you are writing this theme from a particular personal experience, so this line seems to throw it off because it tends to give the reader the idea that the ensuing lines will be be more about a generic scenario that anyyone could relate to. Making it more first person orientated, such as "I listen to the night's whispers", or I listen in the night as it whispers, or whatever. This would be more in sync with the "I"'s and "You"s that begin other lines. You might also consider renaming the poem, since the one line you repeat this does not seem to be the real focus of the piece, just one of the memorable happenings that night. The theme of the poem seems more to do with a sense of unfinished business felt with regard to this memory, moreso than the secrets mentioned in that line. The curiosity roused there seems to be dropped off abruptly with the following line: "laughter like streams and big smiles", which sort of diffuses the substantiality of the secrets at that point. This is a teasingly visual piece Arvin, which offers nostalgic sentiment through simple, romantic thought fragments. I really enjoyed reading this, even though it may seem that I am criticizing it. I'm just relating the aspects which caused me to question my understanding as I read through the lines. Perhaps this is what you meant to do! Keep writing! Cheerz, Terrye
This Poem was Critiqued By: Duane J Jackson On Date: 2005-11-21 07:19:54
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Hi Arvin, Again, I'm intrigued by your form. I haven't come across this type of structure before. Rhyme has always been my favorite medium of poetic expression....hence, the heightened sense of curiosity. I feel love in the air in this one and there seem to be some interesting moments as described here..street lights, churchyards,snow, whispers.....the image is soft and tender. This reads like the lyrics to a song...a rap song perhaps. As a suggestion, I would cut down the length or ensure that the extension is absolved of cliche or ordinary lines that don't really enhance the piece but subtract from it in terms of innovation and originality - ex: angels made them come true; i remember blue that night; my hands stayed warm holding yours, etc. Nice title though - mysterious. Thanks for the opportunity to read this. Keep writing! Take care, Duane.
This Poem was Critiqued By: Kelly J Pionek On Date: 2005-11-14 17:55:47
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
I like the flow of this poem. I enjoy that the first and last lines of each paragraph rhyme, along with the two pairs of ryhmes inside the paragraph. The first line should read "its" in place of "it's" because you are trying to show possession and not the contraction for it is.
This Poem was Critiqued By: James C. Horak On Date: 2005-11-09 00:17:16
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
You are in poetic license to stumble your sentences upon each other, connected as they are by an almost stream of consciousness "continuity". The first two lines, "Listen to the night it(')s whisper/A real story from a quiet street" address well the excursion into reverie the rest of the poem entails. "Shimmering leaves were on call" is an excellent image, playing well into the episodic you create out of forcing the reader to establish his own context. The excursions you take into extended meanings are delightful. "And the words flowed with no guard" has vastly more to say than merely, unencumbered. Just as, "but so young our stories short" has volumes more than, inexperienced. We progress through the poem as happy to disgard the obvious question of what secret the well holds as we are to not press the question to what secret, "then not to tell" in the "church yard". For, succeeding, you take the reader into a world sharing the experience...and, just as they find their own context, they so apply their own secrets. Let's call it biological inevitability. This gives your last stanza the exhuberant appreciation a fresh "experience" pictures well in, "Sewing from river to stream/I reached once for a low cloud". I would gather the last lines to signify sublimation. If so, a nice excursion to sublimate. JCH
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