This Poem was Submitted By: cheryl a kelley On Date: 2004-08-06 15:22:50 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!To Listen to Music While Reading this Poem, just Click Here!
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Virgin Snow Just before the doorway we’re encompassed by a puff of warm air
It’s stifling air that pulls a trickle of sweat across my forehead
I stand in layers of protection
pull open the back door
and brace myself for the shock of bitter wind that whips across my face and
carries away the trickle of perspiration .
I gather my tools, a red pale, a yellow igloo block maker and check to see that my
sisters are fully equipped.
Then we’re standing side by side
three little girls against an open field of virgin snow
the snow glistens and reflects the winter sun
and we’re excited to cross the field and build our new homestead
I stand on the porch and see that the snow almost meets the last step
Three feet, it should be up to my chest.
I jump in with both feet and am startled to hear crackling and feel pointed edges
Catch and pull at my jeans and threaten my knee caps.
I think to warn my sisters, so I turn back in time to see their feet descend and
Snap though the glass-like surface, sending shards momentarily dancing summersaults
into the air.
The shock of her landing throws my sister off balance and she sticks out her right
hand to catch herself. Her hand shatters more glass and one jagged piece pulls her
sleeve up away from her wrist, exposing her delicate skin to the jagged corners of
the shattered surface. She steadies herself and pulls her hand back towards her
body and across the edge of the broken plane. I watch her blood stain the corner
of the glass and spread with capillary like action quickly through the powdery
confections of the world below.
We gather together and examine her shallow flesh wound. We look out at the field and the
snow that looks so inviting, aware now of its dangerous secrets. We think to turn back
toward the house - the stifling warm puff of air that marked our exit now seems inviting,
but when we turn back the door has disappeared and there is only a high window in its
place and the house has seemed to move back into the distance, and is enclosed by a short
white fence.
So we turn back toward the field, away from the entranceless house. Together we take our
first steps through breaking glass to build our new homestead.
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Copyright © August 2004 cheryl a kelley
This Poem was Critiqued By: stu t fisher On Date: 2004-09-07 16:19:05
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
I believe you have a gift to write and I am impressed with the flow of the piece. However, I would not classify this as poetry. It tends to run on a bit suggesting more of an essay than a poem.
I love the "sending shards momentarily dancing summersaults through the air". I can picture this beautfully.
More "s" words might help: "sending summersaulting shards" sounds super, for example.
I recommend shortening up the sentences a bit and making them nonsentences, using thoughts, somteimes collidng always reflective of your memory.
Layers and layers of cloth and wool,
a mummified soldier awaiting the command
greater sis reaches up to turn and pull
Wwooooosh, faces flinch to the bitter wintery wind,
and freezing the sweat on our beaded brows.
(I love the colors of the snow equipment)
Armed with yellows and reds
we light up our 2 dimensional snow world
the wind grabbing at our shovels and block makers,
removed from their warm resting places beneath the family tree.
Sleet pecking at our cheeks, stinging, biting
"Let's go!" she shouts, we jump!
Into this white world, unknown, blinding
Too late to turn back now.
Our jumps break the crusted surface,
summersaulting shards of dancing ice.
One glove flies off, sis howls
vulnerable to the frozen world.
The closed door behind, the ice princess ahead.
Thats all I have time for.
My comments need rewriting as well.
I like your thoughts, they provide a nice picture.
Stu
This Poem was Critiqued By: arnie s WACHMAN On Date: 2004-08-31 15:32:47
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.85714
First of all, I enjoyed the story...however, the layout could use a lot of work.
What I mean by that is you allow your words to run far off the computers edge.
This reads more
like a newspaper article than a poem.
I stand on the porch and see that the snow almost meets the last step
Three feet, it should be up to my chest.
I jump in with both feet and am startled to hear crackling and feel pointed edges
Catch and pull at my jeans and threaten my knee caps.
Standing on the porch
The snow almost comes up to
the last step-about 3 feet high
Jumping in with both feet
I hear a crackling
and am startled by the pointed edges (of ice)
catching and pulling at my jeans
and threatening my knee caps
Just an idea.
It's a neat story but I think it could use some work and revision. This is a critique, not a slur
against your story. Thanks for allowing me to do this.
This Poem was Critiqued By: Elaine Marie Phalen On Date: 2004-08-23 15:27:58
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Hi Cheryl,
This is a vivid read; I can readily envision the little girls venturing out over snow, and cracking the icy surface. The making of an igloo is a wonderful childhood moment. The fantasized disappearance of their family home, behind its wall of snowdrifts and distance, works well to motivate them forward. The "first steps through breaking glass" is a great image to close.
"I think to warn my sisters, so I turn back in time to see their feet descend and
Snap though the glass-like surface, sending shards momentarily dancing summersaults [sp: somersaults]
into the air.
The shock of her landing throws my sister off balance and she sticks out her right
hand to catch herself."
Here, the shift in number threw me for a bit. The sisters are definitely plural, but suddenly they shrink to one. I think if you said "my younger sister" or "my older sister", it would clarify that you aren't missing the other one.
The only other nit is "pale" for "pail" [sp] in L7.
This generally reads like prose, and essentially shifts to prose in actual fact, with the paragraphs noted above; but it's always a treat to find good narrative writing, regardless of its form.
Did the igloo ever get built? That's one thing I never tried. Made a couple snow forts, though!
Much enjoyed.
Brenda
This Poem was Critiqued By: James Edward Schanne On Date: 2004-08-22 13:44:56
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 8.75000
This seems to stand apart from most I've read here from the first line and reminds me that in critiqueing a poem the critique usually says more about the reader than whats read, I think this is ona poem theres much to read into it than at first is apparant and thats always a good thing, Thanks for letting me read it
This Poem was Critiqued By: Wayne R. Leach On Date: 2004-08-16 19:26:22
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Hi again, Cheryl! Entrancing read, so full of imagery and activity it takes a few reads to gather it all in. I see a few "glitches", so here's my 2 pennies worth:
[]=delete; ()=add; {}=change
It’s stifling {and} pulls a trickle of sweat across my forehead
I gather my tools, a red [pail], a yellow igloo block maker(,) and check to see that my
sisters are fully equipped.
the snow glistens and reflects the winter sun
and we’re excited to cross the field and build our new homestead*
There seems to be too many "and"s in these 2 lines, and they distracted this reader. Maybe 1 or 2 could be removed like -
the snow glistens(,)[and] reflects the winter sun
and we[’re] excited(ly) [to] cross the field {to} build our new homestead
[
Note that these are merely suggestions for consideration, for I do not want to (nor should I) re-write your poem.]
I jump in [with both feet]* and am startled to hear crackling and feel pointed edges
*I understand the intent, but how else? Would you leave one of them behind? Of course you could be handicapped, but usually the reader would not assume that. I just think the less window dressing, the better. In other words, usually less is better and strengthens what is there. Otherwise, this is a very strong and emphatic, even scary, stanza. Hope I am making sense.:>/
the shattered surface. She steadies herself and pulls her hand back towards her
[body and]across the edge of the broken plane. I watch her blood stain the corner
of the glass and spread with capillary like action quickly through the powdery *
confections of the world below.
*I'd suggest changing the central portion of this line to read:
of the glass and spread quickly with capillary-like action through the powdery
But this is another very vivid and emotionally packed stanza, regardless.
We [gather together and] examine her shallow flesh wound{, then}look [out] at the field and the
snow that {seems} so inviting, aware now of its dangerous secrets. We {plan} to turn back
but when we {do} the door has disappeared and there is only a high window in its
place{. The} house has seemed to {retreat} into the distance, and is enclosed by a short
white fence.
In the closing couplet, the word "entranceless" caused me to hesitate. I wondered if there was such a word, so could we find a synonym for that, or another way to say there's no entrance? Then, I believe this would be a fine, strong closing to this magical piece of writing. I wonder if leaving that right out entirely would work, where it was stated in the prior verse? Like:
So we turn back toward the field, take our first steps
through breaking glass to build our new homestead.
Hope I have not been too harsh, for I really like this, and have no intention of discouraging you. Use what works for you, if any, and discard the rest. My best wishes come with this critique. wrl
This Poem was Critiqued By: Sandra J Kelley On Date: 2004-08-12 22:43:11
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
At the doorway we’re encompassed by a puff of warm air
that pulls a trickle of sweat across my forehead
In layers of protection
I pull open the back door
brace myself for bitter wind that whips across my face and
carries away the trickle of perspiration .
I gather my tools, a red pale, a yellow igloo block makera ();
and check to see that my
sisters are fully equipped.
Then we’re standing side by side
three little girls against an open field of virgin snow
the snow glistens reflecting the winter sun
and we’re excited to cross the field and build our new homestead
I stand on the porch,see the snow almost meets the last step
Three feet, it should be up to my chest.
I jump in with both feet, hear crackling and feel pointed edges
Catch and pull at my jeans and threaten my knee caps.
I think to warn my sisters, so I turn back in time to see their feet descend and
Snap though the glass-like surface, sending shards momentarily dancing summersaults
into the air.
The shock of her landing throws my sister off balance
she sticks out her right hand to catch herself.
Her hand shatters more glass and one jagged piece pulls her
sleeve up away from her wrist, exposing her delicate skin
to the jagged corners of the shattered surface.
She steadies herself and pulls her hand back towards her
body across the edge of the broken plane. I watch her blood stain the corner
of the glass and spread with capillary like action quickly through the powdery
confections of the world below.
We gather together,examine her shallow flesh wound. We look out at the field,
the snow that looks so inviting, aware now of its dangers. We think to turn back
the stifling air that marked our exit now seems inviting,
but when we turn back the door has disappeared
there is only a high window in its
place, the house has moved back into the distance, and is enclosed by a short
white fence.
So we turn back toward the field,
away from the entranceless house.
Together we take our
first steps through breaking glass to build our new homestead.
Cheryl, you can see what I did to the poem just some tightening. Get rid of some of the conjunctions. I thinik the poem needs a little more tightening and then I want to see the next movement in this series. This is an excellent metaphore the poem is accessible and thought provoking.
I think this is one of the best you've done.
Sandra
This Poem was Critiqued By: Karen Ann Jacobs On Date: 2004-08-12 11:24:01
Critiquer Rating During Critique: Unknown
Dear Cheryl A. Kelley,
I really liked how you’ve taken a woman’s right of passage and shown it from a child’s perspective. I think I’ll always see this metaphor now when I look back on that event that changed my life more then I could’ve ever guessed. I was a kid playing on broken glass.
I have a couple of suggestions that I feel may make this poem tighter.
This line, “We gather together and examine her shallow flesh wound. We look out…”, might flow better if it read, “We gather together to examine her shallow flesh wound. Then looking out at the field…”
This phrase, “capillary like action”, I think could work as just, “capillary action”.
There are so many great images in this poem. This one was my favorite. “sending shards momentarily dancing summersaults
into the air.” It makes me remember what it felt to be young and free of caring about the consequences of my actions.
Thank you for sharing this wonderfully contemplative poem. I’ll never look at loosing my virginity the same again.
Keep Writing,
Kay-Ren
This Poem was Critiqued By: marilyn terwilleger On Date: 2004-08-10 20:06:49
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
Hi Cheryl,
I throughly enjoyed this story about three sisters embarking on a journey to build a
homestead...in fact I live where the snow can be very deep and even in layers the cold
sometimes seeps through to tender skin. The virgin snow is the most beautiful of all,
uncluttered and fluffy. As a child I would enter a snow bank carefully so not to disturb
the beauty of it's newness. You are a good story teller as I was right there with the
sisters, their tools, and their mission. I think the sign of a good story teller is to
make the reader want to read every word...not just skipping ahead to find out how it ends.
You did this for me!
Blessings....Marilyn
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