Annual Options

[Guest_PashernatePoet_*]

EDIT 1 26/9/05

Annual

When roads are worked to a stage
Where they lose the point of taking me
Between where I haven't reached
And where I am tired of seeing,
I write a poem.

Or rather, a stanza worms its way
Up to me, yearly, without teeth
But toying with speech and the idea
Of grammar, sometimes metre and rhyme,
To charm your smiles.

And just as quickly, once its written,
The muse goes to sleep for another
365 days, give or take, until it seems
She was beheaded one week behind
The stacks of papers.

So it goes, I have exactly nineteen
Steps through verse set down by hand,
With each containing the words;
'If this happens to be the last, know that
I wrote, as well'.

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Annual

When roads are worked to a stage
Where they lose the point of taking me
Between where I haven't reached
And where I am tired of seeing,
I write a poem.

Or rather, a stanza worms its way
Up to me, yearly, without teeth
But toying with speech and the idea
Of grammar, even metre and rhyme,
Though rarely so much.

And just as quickly, once its written,
The muse is gone to sleep for another
365 days, give or take, until it seems
She was beheaded one week behind
The stacks of papers.

So it goes, I have exactly nineteen
Steps through verse set down by hand,
And each one contains the words;
'If this happens to be the last, know that
I wrote, as well'.

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

Notes: The tone here is similar to other poems I've put on this forum, so I am concerned the voice is wearing thin. Let me know if there's anything to be gained from altering the energy behind the poem, or anything else really.

[Guest_Nina_*]

Hi Liam

I don't think your "voice" is wearing thin at all. This poem is different from the other two you have posed in Seren's and I find the tone different to the others.  

I'm not sure I really understand its meaning but what I get is that you come to a point, every year where you feel lost, getting nowhere or can't reach where you want to go and have had enough. Your muse appears and you write a poem. At nineteen years of age you have nineteen poems written all with the same line (trying to imagine you as a one year old with pen in hand writing the words 'If this happens to be the last, know that I wrote, as well').  A sad line that implies death or suicide being considered.

Some thoughts and suggestions for you to use or not as you wish
[add] {delete} (comment)

When roads are worked to a stage
Where they lose the point of taking me
Between where I haven't reached  
And where I am tired of seeing,
I write a poem.

Or rather, a stanza worms its way
Up to me, yearly, without teeth  ...(without teeth implies that the stanza is not powerful)
{But} toying with speech and the idea
Of grammar, even metre and rhyme,
Though rarely so much.  (I'm not sure this line adds value to the poem)

{And} just as quickly, once its written,
The muse {is gone}[goes] to sleep for [approximately] another
365 days, {give or take,} until it seems
She was beheaded one week behind
The stacks of papers....(you give quite a gruesome image here)

{So it goes,} I have exactly nineteen
Steps through verse set down by hand,
{And} each one contains the words;
'If this happens to be the last, know that
I wrote, as well'.

Nina