Number 9 Dream
09-10-2007, 09:59 PM
I wrote a short poem for my Poetry Workshop class and I'm a bit nervous. I'd like some honest feedback--what you liked, didn't like, etc. I won't be offended if you don't like it :lol:
(A little background on the assignment--Our professor had us circle random words from two sources 1) A random N.Y. Times article and 2) an odd or intriguing technical book. I choose an article about Pavarotti's death and a 'Forensics For Dummies' hand book as my sources).
Here it is!
Rebirth
Summer languishes, dust congested air
dries up August's flesh.
River capillaries pulsate with the oncoming chill;
the reeds shudder.
Then autumn attacks,
the assailant wraps its hands on summer's neck,
chokes it with skeletal branch fingers.
Fireflies are snuffed,
warm glows fade like coal embers.
An ice blanket envelops fall's remains,
golden tones muted,
sealed in a snow coffin.
A flower pokes through ground,
sputtering, the arteries begin to pump again.
It is spring's voice rising
quiet, soft, fleeting.
(A little background on the assignment--Our professor had us circle random words from two sources 1) A random N.Y. Times article and 2) an odd or intriguing technical book. I choose an article about Pavarotti's death and a 'Forensics For Dummies' hand book as my sources).
Here it is!
Rebirth
Summer languishes, dust congested air
dries up August's flesh.
River capillaries pulsate with the oncoming chill;
the reeds shudder.
Then autumn attacks,
the assailant wraps its hands on summer's neck,
chokes it with skeletal branch fingers.
Fireflies are snuffed,
warm glows fade like coal embers.
An ice blanket envelops fall's remains,
golden tones muted,
sealed in a snow coffin.
A flower pokes through ground,
sputtering, the arteries begin to pump again.
It is spring's voice rising
quiet, soft, fleeting.