Flowers

[Guest]

There is a gardener
With a huge vegetable garden. He grows potatoes,
Beans, tomatoes, corn, all of them –
Which he eats and nourishes himself with.
Makes him strong.
All day the gardener works and sweats
For their colors, their tastes and fulfillment
He’s proud of their fruitfulness.
And their flowers!
Their delicate beauty, their perfume.
Heart shaped petals and
Vivid wrinkled glories
They complete him.
Oh does he love flowers!
He has a greenhouse for his roses.
A bed of pansies
And other cut flowers.
There are flowers all over his home.
Vases of tulips and tuberose,
Succulent cacti on the sill,
Violets to refresh.
With care and tenderness he attends to his beauties.
Nurturing, watering, planting and pruning.
They are his joy.
He talks to his roses and plays them symphonies
He whistles, grinning, while weeding the pansies.
And in the evening
After eating
He sits by the fire
And writes poetry.
He drinks in the vision of a an eloquent bouquet of his prizes
Blood red and exquisite on the mantel
He is inspired, content.
He puts down his pen
And takes a pansy he had picked earlier
And folds it in his book.

 

[Guest]

Hi! Are you just sharing your poem or would you like any advice on it?

 

[Guest]

erm - yes?

Either/and/or. Is this the right place?

 

[Guest]

erm - yes?

Either/and/or. Is this the right place?

Absolutely! You're in the poetry forum. I would love to play around with your words to see what you think. Allow me?

 

[Guest]

Absolutely! You're in the poetry forum. I would love to play around with your words to see what you think. Allow me?

Please go ahead!

 

[Guest]

Please go ahead!

To be honest with you, and please take no offense, but the poem is a little too wordy. I think your word choice and ideas are great, and that's why I'd like to play with it. It needs trimming in areas, some rewording, working on grammar, and better punctuation.

I'm working on it, and playing around with words in Office 2000, so I'll post it when I'm done.

It could be late tonight. I'm picky with my own work. I'm far from a pro, but I like to help.

 

[Guest]

I would be truly interested to see how it turns out. thanks for your interest - I will check back later!

 

[flyguy69]

Saldne is absolutely right, babygrrl, and I am sure she will give you good advice. The wordiness is evident right from the start when you write

There is a gardener
With a huge vegetable garden. He grows potatoes,....

If the protagonist of the poem is a gardner, readers will expect that there is a garden. If you go through your poem there are other places where conclusions can drawn by readers.

Good luck with your revisions.

 

[Guest]

**************

 

[Guest]

This is a very difficult poem for me, I won't lie. After reading it several times, I notice it's in need of a lot of improvement. I believe it has potential and that's why I jumped on it.

First, I think you can come up with a better title for this piece once it's completely revised. It's plain and too simple, and please, don't take any offense. You want it to stand out. You REALLY want people to come read your work. Make it mysterious or exciting - something that really catches their eye to want to click on your poem to read.

At the end of the poem, he takes a pansy he picked earlier, and puts it inside his book. This could connect to the title somehow.

There is a gardener
With a huge vegetable garden. He grows potatoes,
Beans, tomatoes, corn, all of them –
Which he eats and nourishes himself with.
Makes him strong.
All day the gardener works and sweats
For their colors, their tastes and fulfillment
He’s proud of their fruitfulness.
And their flowers!
Their delicate beauty, their perfume.
Heart shaped petals and
Vivid wrinkled glories
They complete him.
Oh does he love flowers!
He has a greenhouse for his roses.
A bed of pansies
And other cut flowers.
There are flowers all over his home.
Vases of tulips and tuberose,
Succulent cacti on the sill,
Violets to refresh.
With care and tenderness he attends to his beauties.
Nurturing, watering, planting and pruning.
They are his joy.
He talks to his roses and plays them symphonies
He whistles, grinning, while weeding the pansies.
And in the evening
After eating
He sits by the fire
And writes poetry.
He drinks in the vision of a an eloquent bouquet of his prizes
Blood red and exquisite on the mantel
He is inspired, content.
He puts down his pen
And takes a pansy he had picked earlier
And folds it in his book.

The poem is more about flowers, and I would take out the first few lines about the vegetables - even eating them. Think in your mind that they don't exist at all. Flowers, flowers, flowers!

I have tried a few times to reword the poem, but I think the person that would do a much better job at it would be you. It's not always fun coming back seeing your poem ripped apart being new and all - either new to the site or a new writer. It can be devastating. So this is what I did:

I took out some words and added some notes. The words I have left are the ones that really stood out to me, and I absolutely loved.

~

works and sweats - tell me about the work and how the sweat appears on his body - a little more description. I want to see it in my mind.

For their colors, - let me see them. What colors?
He’s proud of their fruitfulness.

Their delicate beauty, their perfume.
Heart shaped petals and
Vivid wrinkled glories
They complete him. -take out "they"
he love flowers! - They're dear to him. He loves them so much that he smiles and sweats working hard bringing them life in the "flower" garden. It doesn't even hurt him, does it? There's so much bliss! Is it almost like a high or euphoria of some kind? *hint* My God, I think he's addicted. *smiles*


He has a greenhouse for his roses,
and a bed of pansies

There are flowers all over his home. - flowers surround his home. (better said?)
Vases of tulips and tuberose,
Succulent cacti on the sill,
Violets to refresh.

(Does the sun come into this? *hint*)

Nurturing, watering, planting and pruning,
With care and tenderness, he attends to his beauties. - I switched these two lines.

He talks to his roses and plays them symphonies - Ah! I like this!
He whistles, grinning, while weeding the pansies.
And in the evening after eating
He sits by the fire
And writes poetry.

(He talks to his roses and plays them symphonies,
and whistles while weeding the pansies.

In the evening after dinner, he sits
by the fire and writes poetry.)

He drinks in the vision of an eloquent bouquet of prizes
Blood red and exquisite on the mantel
He is inspired, content.
He puts down his pen
And takes a pansy he had picked earlier
And folds it in his book.


(He's content and inspired. He drinks
in the vision of an eloquent bouquet
that's bloody red and exquisite on the mantel,
puts down his pen, takes a pansy in hand,

Oh, he treasures it so much! He must save it. He is the reason it's alive! He places it on the page and closes the book. But why or then what?