The Monthly Poetry Challenge - May 2007

Another month under the belt and here's our challenge for May:


Write a poem that contains the word

street​

Poem form:
any

Obligations:
-use the word 'street' in your poem. any derivative of the word 'street' may be used.
-you must critique at least two other poems entered into the challenge. critique at a level that is comfortable for you, but it must contain one (1) suggestion for possible improvement.

Extra for experts:
use the word 'street' three times in your poem.


Happy writing!

free flight

the

Sorry had
To
Rest my
Enamored soul that
Envies your free
Trekking

where I live, the

Riding
Open
And unencumbered heeding
Desire's calling

that takes you away.... following

Penchants for demeaning
Altercations
That lead us to the
Hell of separation alone in our
Solitude

that diverge all to soon....

For us

Have I seen you before?
Or heard your melancholy song?
On the streets of longing perhaps.
Where the lost lovers mourn.

Did it take you long to get there?
Could you have lived there all along.
Traveled the avenues of loneliness.
Nursing a heart that was torn.

A boulevard of dreams shattered.
Calls our ilk every day.
Broken love affairs linger.
Our brethren a tear strained throng.

wso I love this challenge. It speaks to me. I had to resist the urge to use Street of Dreams though... Though Rainbow gives me another idea Anyone steals the idea from my head you owe me a years worth of babysitting

Just bumpin'

...this thread, so it stays towards the top until the moderators sticky it.

Walking Down the Street

She does not mind to hold my hand
While walking down the busy street.

We wonder where the monsters stand
And if they think we're good to eat.

----------------------

And for the 2 obligatory critiques with 1 comment for improvement each.

1. In EriAliSaa's second poem, in the line

Could you have lived there all long

"all long" should probably be "alone"?

2. In EriAliSaa's first poem, the word "Enamrored" should be "Enamored".

.....

EriAliSaa: I like the difference between 'street' and 'road' - there's a nice parallel there. I would try to find something other than 'destiny's call' though, as that struck me as a little cliche.

FifthFlower: Your poem scans correctly for iambic tetrameter. I actually don't mind the 'don't' in the first line, but I wonder if another dialect giveaway could be put into the last line, so that it's clear that the 'don't' was intentional? Could be overly obvious, but it struck me as a suggestion.

I'll critique RainMan's when I've had a chance to digest it, as well as post my own.

TheRainMan said:

Where God Must Sleep


I often wander by the park before dawn,
even when the weather turns
as ugly as my dreams.
By law, the doorways and underpasses
must empty when the streets grow
dark and lonely,
so each bench on the promenade is full—

you could easily think every man there
is without the sense or strength
to come in out of the rain
to the protection of an awning or bridge—
it’s not some weakness
but the mandate of the city
that soaks them, its bias against bad luck.

Yet they sleep, and I can’t. I feel a weird
sort of relief when they wake
and I hear them
mumble unintelligibly to themselves
with one breath and with the next
thank Him, quite elegantly,

for not killing them during the night,
as if that good fortune
was a matter of partnership.

Click to expand...

There is something about writers that allow them to step back and view the world through a lens colored by their own perceptions. The good ones can change the lens filter and strength to adapt the feel of the vision.

This poem of course offers a view of the homeless, sleeping on the benches, tolerant of whatever nature throws at them. These homeless are at the mercy of the whims of the government, the weather and Him. I like that…Him. I also like the sense that the narrator is a bit envious. He has his home, his bed, but also his dreams, that bring him out in the same weather that these homeless would choose to avoid if they could. And despite their hardships, they can sleep, unlike the narrator. When he says, “…I feel a weird sort of relief when they wake...,” I read this as he feels outside even this level of humanity that is barely living and when they awake, then he is allowed to rejoin humanity.

WSO says we have to offer one possible improvement. This is a clean poem to me. There are some words that could be removed that might simplify, but I am less inclined to go that direction. There is one word that I feel is out of place in MY interpretation, and that is “elegantly” in the line, “…thank Him, quite elegantly…” I understand the desire to set this phrase in contrast to “…mumble unintelligibly to themselves…,” but feel a better word choice might be “lucidly,” or “clearly.” As if this might be the one clearly conscious thought for the day. To me elegance is out of place.

But….what do I know…

Good stuff. I wish I had written it…

That Street

I wonder when it was that, driving down
paths to places so familiar in my youth,
became surreal. At once immediate and distant,
comforting and strange. There is the street, its name
a tingling sensation on my tongue that will not
resolve into substance, where I first
French-kissed. And his house, haunted now
by ghosts of friendship’s childish chases. The park,
perfectly green in memory, polluted by
the present-tense. Even the cemetery
seems muted, or mutated into something
new, or old and fragile, like he’s not
there. I guess I don’t live here, anymore.

EriAliSaa said:

Sorry had
To
Rest my
Enamored soul that
Envies your free
Trekking

Riding
Open
And unencumbered heeding
Destiny's call

Sauntering down your own path

Click to expand...

I thought this was very clever. I'm always in awe of people who can write acrostics that are also good poetry. My one critique of this is fairly selfish: I'd love to see the lines be longer. As it stands, this poem is a snack, but with your style I'd like a meal.

fcdc said:

FifthFlower: Your poem scans correctly for iambic tetrameter. I actually don't mind the 'don't' in the first line, but I wonder if another dialect giveaway could be put into the last line, so that it's clear that the 'don't' was intentional? Could be overly obvious, but it struck me as a suggestion.

Click to expand...

I disagree. I think don't would sound better there - at least it did when I read it aloud that way.

unapologetic said:

I disagree. I think don't would sound better there - at least it did when I read it aloud that way.

Click to expand...

Thanks for the comments.

I don't have a clue whether "She still don't mind to hold my hand" or "She does not mind to hold my hand" is better. It is about a daughter still young enough to not mind holding my hand, so the "still" is nice, but I've been avoiding contractions lately, and in the speed of writing missed this one.

I'll have to think about this more.

Unapologetic -

I too like don't.

My question is, the poem being as short as it is, can it have just the one grammar slip without it looking like it was a mistake? More than one grammar slip might look too cheesy, but I was wondering what it might do. It didn't quite read as an unintentional spelling error to me in the first line, but it was sort of borderline as to whether it was intended or not, so I figured I would offer the suggestion and see if it cleared things up as far as the intention, or alternately made the poem less effective and cheesy. (It probably will do the latter, but.)

unapologetic said:

I thought this was very clever. I'm always in awe of people who can write acrostics that are also good poetry. My one critique of this is fairly selfish: I'd love to see the lines be longer. As it stands, this poem is a snack, but with your style I'd like a meal.

Click to expand...

It was actually intentional that it was left so stark. n I have done worder acrostics that the verse defines the acrostic word. I wanted the word to mold the verse in that one. That said I am not happy with the path that I left. I thought it would be monotonous to do path as acrostic as well, I am thinking differently after looking at it a few times. I might yet rework it.

If you are interested I have an acrostic Id on Lit and another I am not sure that I named in A quick rant thread.

EriAliSaa said:

the

Sorry had
To
Rest my
Enamored soul that
Envies your free
Trekking

where I live, the

Riding
Open
And unencumbered heeding
Desire's calling

that takes you away.... following

Penchants for demeaning
Altercations
That lead us to the
Hell of separation alone in our
Solitude

that diverge all to soon....

Click to expand...

i was going to wait until lots of poems were up to do my required two critiques, but i will be MIA for a bit, so i'm doing them now.

i am not fond of tricks in poetry, and to me, acrostics are one the cheapest tricks of all. that is a personal prejudice, so it is natural that i would not look favorably on this poem.

just one example of how forcing words to fit a form can be very detrimental to the integrity and quality of the poem is the second line, where the word "to" sits lonely, all by itself, a very poor place for a preposition (or, in this case, the first word of an infinitive) to occupy, poetically. the only reason it is there with no other words is that you need the "T" to start that line, and the "R" in 'rest' to begin the next.

that bias aside, my offer for improvement would be to get rid of the colors. they are a trick far cheaper than the form, and to me, look downright silly.

unapologetic said:

I wonder when it was that, driving down
paths to places so familiar in my youth,
became surreal. At once immediate and distant,
comforting and strange. There is the street, its name
a tingling sensation on my tongue that will not
resolve into substance, where I first
French-kissed. And his house, haunted now
by ghosts of friendship’s childish chases. The park,
perfectly green in memory, polluted by
the present-tense. Even the cemetery
seems muted, or mutated into something
new, or old and fragile, like he’s not
there. I guess I don’t live here, anymore.

Click to expand...

i think this poem has lots of potential.

suggestion for improvement --

the first two commas are misplaced, and completely unnecessary. with them, the first three lines are a very clumsy read. better, to me, is:

I wonder when it was that driving down
paths to places so familiar in my youth
became surreal . . .

EriAliSaa said:

Have I seen you before?
Or heard your melancholy song?
On the streets of longing perhaps.
Where the lost lovers mourn.

Did it take you long to get there?
Could you have lived there all along.
Traveled the avenues of loneliness.
Nursing a heart that was torn.

A boulevard of dreams shattered.
Calls our ilk every day.
Broken love affairs linger.
Our brethren a tear strained throng.

Click to expand...

This is really very powerful. It resonates for me. The only thing that strikes a slightly "almost, but not not quite wrong" is "boulevard or dreams". Has a cliched, almost canned feel to it.

unapologetic said:

I wonder when it was that, driving down
paths to places so familiar in my youth,
became surreal. At once immediate and distant,
comforting and strange. There is the street, its name
a tingling sensation on my tongue that will not
resolve into substance, where I first
French-kissed. And his house, haunted now
by ghosts of friendship’s childish chases. The park,
perfectly green in memory, polluted by
the present-tense. Even the cemetery
seems muted, or mutated into something
new, or old and fragile, like he’s not
there. I guess I don’t live here, anymore.

Click to expand...

A vivid and emotional description of returning to a once-familiar place. My only critique would be in the line about the cemetary, I am uncertain about who the "he" refers to.

Dependence

the old doubts
come stealing back upon me.
buried pain creeps,
ghostlike,
through the room.
festive life and laughter
rasp me like a violin
untuned.
i walk alone through
streets of
quiet darkness,
wrapped by Night
in a cloak of her fears,
soft compassion in the wind,
wistful clouds,
heavy with unshed tears,
are my shelter.

if i could only clasp Your hand
next to my heart
for just this hour.

if my arms could somehow
span the chasm
between life and death
to feel once again
Your love,
Your strength,
Your belief in me

ironic,
that only You
could give me the
strength
to go on without You

some interesting poetry and good clear critiques. i hope to have one up in a week or so. glad everyone's liking this challenge.

lite-brite darkness

Seasons like time marches ever
onward towards uncertain
results that change perceptions
reassembling lives on
yeld futures dampening meager souls

Intrepidly starting down
the dark rainbow road
With fear
and apprehension
streets of dreams
turn jaded it seems
eaten with doubts and
deep seed dissensions

Yesteryears, we had less fear
on roads paved with
ursine paper
riding high on
Trojan horse lies
inevitably bursting forth
monumental betrayals
emaciating our tender trusts

http://news.bbc.co.uk/nol/shared/spl/hi/picture_gallery/06/middle_east_lebanon_oil_spill_clean_up/img/1.jpg

Cobblestones

Sitting on the stool
he takes each granite piece
one by one and shapes it
to fit into its proper place.

Tedious task,
done for days,
shapes a street
of stones

made in a method
lost to time
when wooden wheels groaned
and Latin wasn’t dead.

If I owe 2 reviews to one poem I guess I should get busy

Walking Down the Street by Fifth Flower: I loved the innocence portrayed in this piece.

Where God Must Sleep by The Rain Man: I liked the struggle between personal responsibility and societal culpability for the weakest amongst us. I just wonder if there is more depth there or if it really is what it portrays itself to be, a day in the life piece.

That Street by unapologetic: Hon you can never go home again. But this looks like a cursory glance to me. It feels a little cold. Is there something to emote there.... or a reason that it has to be such a less passionate look?

Dependence by muse of dragon: I loved the emotion, tenderness, and sense of lost. The end came too soon for me.... and maybe thats the point.

Cobblestones by The Fool: The quiet toil and craftsmanship seeps through the words. It transported me to the cobbling. You really worked it out the soul of the street in a very personal way.

Ok people I need at least 1 more poem to review to get my 2 to 1 ratio, so keep 'im comin'

thanks for the feedback

TheRainMan said:

i think this poem has lots of potential.

suggestion for improvement --

the first two commas are misplaced, and completely unnecessary. with them, the first three lines are a very clumsy read. better, to me, is:

I wonder when it was that driving down
paths to places so familiar in my youth
became surreal . . .

Click to expand...

You are dead on. Rereading it, I have no idea why I put commas there.

museofdragon said:

A vivid and emotional description of returning to a once-familiar place. My only critique would be in the line about the cemetary, I am uncertain about who the "he" refers to.

Click to expand...

When I wrote the first draft of this poem, there were three separate people about whom I was thinking. When I read it over, I thought I would take a step away and have it be another's voice. The way I posted it here, it was intended to be more like the story of a childhood friend who was also the first kiss, who then died. Is there some way that you can suggest that I could make it more clear? Perhaps putting the lines about childish chases first?

EriAliSaa said:

That Street by unapologetic: Hon you can never go home again. But this looks like a cursory glance to me. It feels a little cold. Is there something to emote there.... or a reason that it has to be such a less passionate look?

Click to expand...

I was trying to portray a less than passionate look... the way that places that were so well known feel so distant and unreal, even though the connections you have are deeply emotional, if you haven't been there in a while. Do you have a suggestion about how I could make that more obvious?

Here's a rewrite (really just yanking some commas out):

That Street

I wonder when it was that driving down
paths to places so familiar in my youth
became surreal. At once immediate and distant,
comforting and strange. There is the street, its name
a tingling sensation on my tongue that will not
resolve into substance, where I first
French-kissed. And his house, haunted now
by ghosts of friendship’s childish chases. The park,
perfectly green in memory, polluted by
the present-tense. Even the cemetery
seems muted, or mutated into something
new, or old and fragile, like he’s not
there. I guess I don’t live here anymore.