This Poem was Submitted By: marilyn terwilleger On Date: 2008-01-08 14:05:06 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!To Listen to Music While Reading this Poem, just Click Here!
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Upon January The trees without their verdant finery
will cry in icy-pale midst ragged skies,
their fragile limbs asleep in frozen core,
await the summer winds and warm of thaw.
A squirrel chips his cache of nuts in frost,
an owl is fluff and feather, eyes unclad,
deer’s cloven toes deny the pristine white
while mountain’s fringe of rime is swept in air.
The moon still lingers, pearls of tears we cry
are lustrous white in winter’s ice and chill.
The yellow sun, its silent beams awake
still sweep the window’s face with golden rays,
the pines in silver threads of fairy shawls,
will sway and brush the bluest blue beyond.
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Copyright © January 2008 marilyn terwilleger
Additional Notes:
This poem is a blank verse written in Iambic Pentameter.
This Poem was Critiqued By: Dellena Rovito On Date: 2008-01-26 00:38:46
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.50000
Marilyn,
This is nice, like a pretty view out my window, but now what?
It lacked something poignant!
How did that scene relate to you, or me possibly.
Good job, just a bit empty of emotion.
You got the talent, add something to it that means something..
just my humble thoughts.
dellena
This Poem was Critiqued By: Claire H. Currier On Date: 2008-01-16 08:37:44
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 8.00000
Beautifully presented poet, your words bring to life what Mother Nature is presently up to......January the first month of the new year bringing a relief of sorts to the harshness of winter though we just had a foot plus of snowfall (quite lovely) and more to come on Friday..........we have an open field across from our home filled with trees of all sorts and they just stood out in awesome beauty yesterday morning with their silvery coatings especially when the morning sun broke over the mountain behind them. Again, your work is awesome and thanks for posting, God Bless, Claire
This Poem was Critiqued By: Terry A On Date: 2008-01-14 19:03:44
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
Hi Marilyn,
This poem is pastoral, in the sense that it depicts idyllic nature. You do it very well, the poem has a very nice feel to the read, the images almost as though they came from fairy lore.
(Damn, I wish fairy still always meant fairy, a natural and beautiful nature creature, which is how I use it here. And gay, why did that word have to become associated with sexual preference? I didn't even know birds were what some call women, unless we say hawk or eagle, then that means a man. Anyway, sometimes inventing new words would mark creativity, rather then upsconding with words that had perfectly good meanings to begin with. Did you know Shakespeare invented one out of every twelve words he used? And why can't I find the word "jist" in anyone of my three dictionaries? The jist of something!)
The best lines in this poem are:
"The moon still lingers, pearls of tears we cry
are lustrous white in winter's ice and chill."
And with wonderful lines like that, I don't even want to say anything else. But I will.
To give a poem exceptional quality now, in other words, not to be merely an example of the superb use of imagery and symbol, the writer must endow what they write with something more extraordinary, something deeper, more drawn from deeper wells; less decorative.
You have it in you to lend more significance to your poems. For a start, read the Chinese poets, TuFu, Li Po, others. They use nature to say something more.
Terry
This Poem was Critiqued By: Mark Steven Scheffer On Date: 2008-01-14 14:47:13
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
Marilyn,
I've looked at this in comparison to your "Tears in December" from last month. There is a difference in quality, "Tears" being the much better poem. Why?
One of the problems with poetry sites and poetry workshops is the real rules, the true rules of poetic value are somewhat evasive. Perhaps because the effort it would take to define them is not worth it - because even if you could define them, they would not help anyone write a better poem. And after you have made the "definitions," there will be prominent examples of good poems that defy those rules right under your nose. The Muse is an ironist and will not be cornered or defined, as I said on the forum.
One reason why "Tears" is better is because obviously the subject of "Tears" called forth all of your gift - no poem could be closer to a place that is really you. But why did that place enable you to phrase so powerfully, naturally and beautifully in "Tears" (e.g., "the horizon's lip")and have you saying something like "verdant finery" here, right at the launch (which doesn't get you off on the right foot with your reader)of your poem?
I'm going to hazard a guess. Sometimes we, as poets, force things. Damn, I can remember regularly posting seven or ten poems a month here. . Sometimes the inspiration is not there, but we write anyway. Sometimes the inspiration is there, but it tells you "I'm not quite ready yet," but you anxiously pick up the pen anyway. And the inspiration runs away; you're left holding your pen; and "verdant finery" results. Which is why I have hundreds of pieces of garbage hidden here. Am I right?
So, here's what I think you can learn from this poem. Wait. Listen to the inspiration, and let it grow, and let it build to the point where it will out. When that time comes it will only ask for quiet, all your focus and attention - and it will practically write itself.
In the interim you nourish it, like a child in your womb. Eat right, get some exercise, rest - which means read Shakespeare, Dickinson, Milton, Wordsworth, Yeats, Plath - build up your body and health so that you have the wherewithal to deliver the baby when he or she is ready. As your body absorbs good food, the benefits of exercise and rest - you will absorb the great poets, and they will get you ready for when the moments come.
But wait, wait. And there will come times when, even though you are conscious of the need to wait and its benefit, you will not have to wait long - they will sometimes come in short and golden intervals when you're - and they're - ready.
So learn the virtue of waiting, and use the interim to your - and their - advantage. This is the lesson I see in this poem for yourself.
I learned it the hard way myself. And probably still violate the rule anyway. :)
MSS
This Poem was Critiqued By: Lora Silvey On Date: 2008-01-13 21:01:51
Critiquer Rating During Critique: Unknown
Marilyn,
I just couldn't stand to see this there and no review...shame on everyone, this is such a delight and penned so well.
Your superb verbiage makes me yearn to be in the high country once again...to smell the snow, the pine, to watch the crystaline twinkles of snow and winters creatures going about their lives.
I find that I am living vicariously through the wonderful poems you post..you make my world more alive.
Not one word would I change, Mell would be very proud of you.
Roses and champaigne to you.
Lora
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