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The Playwrights Forum > The Art & Craft of Writing > Poet's Corner : Critique my Poem > The scent of wild roses

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 Posted: Thu Sep 28th, 2006 05:11 pm
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scenedreamer
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Mana: 
I love the images of senses, the illustration of emotions.  The way it shows without telling, the way you live the moment rather than recalling it.  The way we become a part of a it when we are returned to that moment in our own experience.

My emotions too were lessened by the ethereal beauty line, but not so much as to stop reading.  Ethreal seems too abstract and you appear to be defining my emotions.  'Ethereal' may be the "right" word, but not the "exactly right word."  Was it Mark Twain who said the difference between the "right word" and the "exactly right word" is the difference between a lighning bug and lightning? 

Sometimes looking up a definition or synonym helps find the exactly right word or closer to it.  Here's a definition of ethereal.
Ethereal:  Characterized by lightness and insubstantiality; intangible, highly refined; delicate. See Synonyms at airy.

Love the poem.

sd

Last edited on Thu Sep 28th, 2006 07:43 pm by scenedreamer

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 Posted: Wed Sep 27th, 2006 11:04 pm
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in media res
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Mana: 
Chrissy,

I love the images in the poem. The physical sensations you write. Anyone who has ever felt and smelled and been touched by that first kiss with someone will feel again that moment with that someone.

I did.

It is specific in place. It is also in the mind. I like the rhymes you use...they don't jump at you...they are as gentle and loving as the poem is. Rhymes as gentle as a first, testing kiss.

"No silken gown
will flow more lovingly
over softly yielding skin."

This is very sensual part of that first kiss. What a phrase! Without the word "yielding" it would be unfinished.

Thank you for making me pause and think of my own times that you have described and get that wan and wistful feeling in my heart.

It is not just sensual, it is hot, brimming with love and it tingles from head to toe.

It is a poem that reaches inside anyone who has ever been in love in that first moment...aaaahhhh! It flips one back in years. There is so much in your poem I will not go on. It makes the mind travel.

I love poetry. I have hundreds of poems both classical and modern I have memorized and practice reciting them often, and constantly learn new ones. I haven't read a new, mature poem with such unwavering romance as in yours in a long, long time. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

The only phrase I find totally unnecessary is "ethereal beauty." You've already made us aware of what it is by the beauty of your language and when you outright "tell" me what I already know I was disappointed. Kind of like someone telling me the end of a movie. It interrupted me. I guess I've heard the phrase too much. Everything else is so vivid, I did not need you to tell me. I felt the poem. I smelled it. I touched it.


I am not saying to get rid of "ethereal beauty." It just disturbed the beauty of your imagery for me. But, obviously the poem did its magic on me!

in media res

Last edited on Thu Sep 28th, 2006 01:05 pm by in media res

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 Posted: Wed Sep 27th, 2006 08:58 am
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Chrissy
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Mana: 
Brian, thanks for your comment. Glad it set you thinking.

Chrissy

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 Posted: Wed Sep 27th, 2006 08:56 am
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Chrissy
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Mana: 
Many thanks for your comment. I had not thought of Ms Streep or the film. The poem was written about something in my life but if it sent you off down that path, great.

Chrissy

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 Posted: Mon Sep 25th, 2006 06:44 am
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BrianRobertNeal
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Mana: 
Hi,

   Very evocative, set me off thinking in all directions.

Brian

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 Posted: Sat Sep 23rd, 2006 10:41 pm
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timmy
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Mana: 
Meryl Streep was in a movie a while back: "The French Lieutenent's Wife"...

I can see her, standing there next to the ocean, in your poem....

timmy

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 Posted: Sat Sep 23rd, 2006 10:11 pm
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Chrissy
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Mana: 
The scent of wild roses

He will never forget
the scent of wild roses
that she wore in her hair
on the night he first kissed
her finger tips
her eyes
her lips.

and the moon will never
shine more Autumn golden.
will never illuminate
one more beautiful
than she
her midnight hair
cascading like a veil
her velvet eyes
gazing to the sea.

And where she stood
and where her naked feet
made prints
in blood red sand
he will carry
in his memory
for ever and eternity.

Until his last breath
he will gaze up on
that vision of ethereal beauty;
his bridge between worlds,
his fragile link
between the state of
what we are
and what we think.

No silken gown
will flow more lovingly
over softly yielding skin.
No one will love him
more purely than she.
No one will adore her
more deeply
than he.

In future time
when he returns, lonely,
to this place
and touches the cold stone
that does not bear
the imprint of her hand,
he will but close his eyes a moment
to see her standing there
the taste of wine upon her lips
wild roses in her hair.

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