The House On Union Street...Revision 2, FV Options

[Judi]

Revision 2

The house still looks
the same,
standing pristinely
bordered by red brick
paving with other
stately homes.

When I was young,
red geraniums were
planted in Mrs. Prickett's
earthen crock, and
colorful rambling roses
hid the rust that tarnished
our ornate wrought iron fence.

In summer, the windows were
covered with louvered shutters,
and striped awnings reminded
me of pictures of homes
where the wealthy played
croquet and drank lemonade
in the shade of flowering
trees.

I kissed him there,
in that house,
in that yard,
on that porch,
not as a lover, but
a child seeking reasurrance

I married him there
and the seasons changed
to a time of winters
that had no end.

The house on Union Street
is still the same,
and I return there
from time to time,
cutting roses from
the fence, taking with
me souvenirs of times
that were,
remembering others,
that won't ever be again.



Revision 1

The house still looks
the same,
standing so pristinely
bordered by red brick
paving with the other
stately homes.

When I was young,
red geraniums were
always planted in
Mrs. Prickett's earthen
crock, and rambling roses
of assorted colors hid rust
that tarnished our ornate
wrought iron fence.

In summer, the windows were
covered with louvered shutters,
giving the house a feeling
of being set apart from the heat
and striped awnings
reminded me of pictures
I had seen of homes of
the wealthy who played
croquet and drank lemonade
in the shade of flowering
trees.

I kissed him there,
in that house,
in that yard,
on that porch,
not as a lover, but like
a child seeking reasurrance

I married him there
and the seasons changed
into a time of winters
that had no end.

The house on Union Street
is still the same,
and I return there
from time to time.
I cut roses from
the fence, taking with
me souvenirs of times
that were,
remembering others,
that won't ever be again.

========================

Original Version

The house still looks
the same,
standing so pristinely
bordered by red brick
paving with the other
stately homes.

When I was young,
red geraniums were
always planted in
Mrs. Prickett's earthen
crock, and rambling roses
of assorted colors hid rust
that tarnished the ornate
wrought iron fence.

In summer, the windows were
covered with louvered shutters,
giving the house a feeling
of being set apart from the heat
and the striped awnings
reminded me of pictures
I had seen of the homes of
wealthy people who played
croquet and drank lemonade
in the shade of flowering
trees.

I kissed him there,
in that house,
in that yard,
on that porch,
not as a lover, but like
a child seeking reasurrance
when they are not certain
of being the beloved.

I married him there
and the seasons changed
into a time of winters
that did not end.

The house on Union Street
is still the same,
and I return there
from time to time.
I cut some roses from
the fence, taking with
me souvenirs of times
that were, and remember
the others,
that won't ever be again.

[Orion]

Judi,

Your fine poem invites us to roam with you to the house on Union Street. You've included grand images which paint vivid pictures for your readers. The nostalgic feeling is woven throughout this writing as the roses make a connection -- in the beginning then to the poem's ending. I like circular connections. That worked well here.

I enjoyed, could almost smell the roses.
Thanks for sharing.

Jan

[Judi]

Judi,

Your fine poem invites us to roam with you to the house on Union Street. You've included grand images which paint vivid pictures for your readers. The nostalgic feeling is woven throughout this writing as the roses make a connection -- in the beginning then to the poem's ending. I like circular connections. That worked well here.

I enjoyed, could almost smell the roses.
Thanks for sharing.

Jan

Jan, Thanks so much for your kind words! This is also a true story, except for the fact that years later our house was town down to make room for a drive in exit from the bank behind our home. I can still walk down the side yard and pick a rose from the fence whenever I choose to in my mind..memories never leave! (like people) Judi

[AMETHYST]

Hi Judi,

Sorry about the delay in getting to this ... I've had my eye on it but other promises to keep first. I enjoyed the slightly meloncholic tone, the looking back - as if the narrator is sitting on a rocking chair and recalling youth to a grandchild or greatgrandchild... there is sadness in the years that have gone by and the emotions of how these lovely images and memories have made their imprint onto the narrators mind and heart.

Although I think this is a good poem, filled with emotion and memory, that can be relative to the reader, I would like to make some minor suggestions that will weed out unnecessary words, strengthening the images and bringing movement to the story. Please feel free to use whatever helps you and fits into your intent of the poem, and discard the rest.

Best Regards, Liz


I often like when the title is the first line.

The house still looks
the same,
standing so pristinely
bordered by red brick
paving with the other
stately homes.




The house on Union Street ...

still looks the same,
standing pristine, bordered
by red brick and paving -

I would suggest omitting 'with the other stately homes' - it doesn't add anything to the very strong description you've began with.


When I was young,
red geraniums were
always planted in
Mrs. Prickett's earthen
crock, and rambling roses
of assorted colors hid rust
that tarnished the ornate
wrought iron fence.

Again some weeding out of unnecessary words ... suggest -

When I was young,
red geraniums were planted
in Mrs. Prickett's earthen
crock, and rambling roses
in assorted colors hid
rust that tarnished
their wrought iron fence.


In summer, the windows were
covered with louvered shutters,
giving the house a feeling
of being set apart from the heat,
and the striped awnings
reminded me of pictures
I had seen of homes of the
wealthy who played croquet
and drank lemonade in the
shade of flowering trees.

A few further edits to weed out and perhaps sharpen some really great images and movement of the poem.

In summer, windows were covered
with louvered shutters, setting
apart the house from the heat.
Striped awnings, raised images
of wealthy homes,
where they played croquet
and darnk lemonade in the shade
of flowering trees.



I kissed him there,
in that house,
in that yard,
on that porch,
not as a lover, but like
a child seeking reasurrance
when they are not certain
of being the beloved.

Lovely. Some line break suggestions...

I kissed him there -
in that house,
in that yard,
on that porch...
not as a lover, but like a child
seeking reasurrance.




I married him there
and the seasons changed
into a time of winters
that did not end.

I married him there -
as seasons changed
into endless winters.


The house on Union Street
is still the same,
and I return there
from time to time.

I would begin this as ... and connect it to the next.

I return to the house
on Union Street from time
to time -
cut some roses
off the fence, taking
souvenirs of times
I recall ... memories
that won't ever be again.


Judith Labriola

Best Wishes, Liz

[Judi]

Hi Judi,

Sorry about the delay in getting to this ... I've had my eye on it but other promises to keep first. I enjoyed the slightly meloncholic tone, the looking back - as if the narrator is sitting on a rocking chair and recalling youth to a grandchild or greatgrandchild... there is sadness in the years that have gone by and the emotions of how these lovely images and memories have made their imprint onto the narrators mind and heart.

Although I think this is a good poem, filled with emotion and memory, that can be relative to the reader, I would like to make some minor suggestions that will weed out unnecessary words, strengthening the images and bringing movement to the story. Please feel free to use whatever helps you and fits into your intent of the poem, and discard the rest.

Best Regards, Liz


I often like when the title is the first line.

The house still looks
the same,
standing so pristinely
bordered by red brick
paving with the other
stately homes.




The house on Union Street ...

still looks the same,
standing pristine, bordered
by red brick and paving -

I would suggest omitting 'with the other stately homes' - it doesn't add anything to the very strong description you've began with. It's important to my memories to include this..but I know what you mean..this is part of my recalled memory!


When I was young,
red geraniums were
always planted in
Mrs. Prickett's earthen
crock, and rambling roses
of assorted colors hid rust
that tarnished the ornate
wrought iron fence.

Again some weeding out of unnecessary words ... suggest -

When I was young,
red geraniums were planted
in Mrs. Prickett's earthen
crock, and rambling roses
in assorted colors hid
rust that tarnished
their wrought iron fence.Again, the wrought iron fence was unusual, and was curliqued
design that I have never again seen..so ornate is important here..(I know only to me)
/b]

In summer, the windows were
covered with louvered shutters,
giving the house a feeling
of being set apart from the heat,
and the striped awnings
reminded me of pictures
I had seen of homes of the
wealthy who played croquet
and drank lemonade in the
shade of flowering trees.

[b] A few further edits to weed out and perhaps sharpen some really great images and movement of the poem.

In summer, windows were covered
with louvered shutters, setting
apart the house from the heat.
Striped awnings, raised images
of wealthy homes,
where they played croquet
and darnk lemonade in the shade
of flowering trees.



I kissed him there,
in that house,
in that yard,
on that porch,
not as a lover, but like
a child seeking reasurrance
when they are not certain
of being the beloved.

Lovely. Some line break suggestions...

I kissed him there -
in that house,
in that yard,
on that porch...
not as a lover, but like a child
seeking reasurrance. I like this change...




I married him there
and the seasons changed
into a time of winters
that did not end.

I married him there -
as seasons changed
into endless winters.


The house on Union Street
is still the same,
and I return there
from time to time.

I would begin this as ... and connect it to the next.

I return to the house
on Union Street from time
to time -
cut some roses
off the fence, taking
souvenirs of times
I recall ... memories
that won't ever be again.


Judith Labriola

Best Wishes, Liz

Thanks Liz...I appreciate your take on this poem, and am making some revisions in it...Judi

[Eisa]

Hi Judi

At last I've got chance to comment on this one -- very unique in it's tone. I feel it needs trimming back to be a little more concise in parts and possibly changing the line breaks for a better flow. My thoughts follow ~

The house still looks
the same,
standing so pristinely
bordered by red brick
paving with the other
stately homes.

The house still stands
pristinely, bordered
by red brick paving
with the other
stately homes.

When I was young,
red geraniums were
always planted in
Mrs. Prickett's earthen
crock, and rambling roses
of assorted colors hid rust
that tarnished our ornate
wrought iron fence.

When I was young,
red geraniums were
planted in Mrs. Prickett's
earthen crock, and
assorted rambling roses
hid rust that tarnished
our ornate wrought iron fence.

In summer, the windows were
covered with louvered shutters,
giving the house a feeling
of being set apart from the heat
and striped awnings
reminded me of pictures
I had seen of homes of
the wealthy who played
croquet and drank lemonade
in the shade of flowering
trees.

In summer, the windows were
covered with louvered shutters,
setting the house apart from the heat.
Striped awnings reminded
me of pictures of opulent homes
where the wealthy played croquet
and drank lemonade in the shade
of flowering trees.

I kissed him there,
in that house,
in that yard,
on that porch,
not as a lover, but like
a child seeking reasurrance

I kissed him there,
in that house,
in that yard,
on that porch,
not as a lover, but
a child seeking reassurance

I married him there
and the seasons changed
into a time of winters
that had no end.

I married him there
but the season changed
to endless winter.

The house on Union Street
is still the same,
and I return there
from time to time.
I cut roses from
the fence, taking with
me souvenirs of times
that were,
remembering others,
that won't ever be again.

The house on Union Street
is still the same.
I return there sometimes
to cut roses from the fence
-- nostalgic souvenirs.


Take or toss Jenni

Snow

[Judi]

Hi Judi

At last I've got chance to comment on this one -- very unique in it's tone. I feel it needs trimming back to be a little more concise in parts and possibly changing the line breaks for a better flow. My thoughts follow ~

The house still looks
the same,
standing so pristinely
bordered by red brick
paving with the other
stately homes.

The house still stands
pristinely, bordered
by red brick paving
with the other
stately homes.

When I was young,
red geraniums were
always planted in
Mrs. Prickett's earthen
crock, and rambling roses
of assorted colors hid rust
that tarnished our ornate
wrought iron fence.

When I was young,
red geraniums were
planted in Mrs. Prickett's
earthen crock, and
assorted rambling roses
hid rust that tarnished
our ornate wrought iron fence.

In summer, the windows were
covered with louvered shutters,
giving the house a feeling
of being set apart from the heat
and striped awnings
reminded me of pictures
I had seen of homes of
the wealthy who played
croquet and drank lemonade
in the shade of flowering
trees.

In summer, the windows were
covered with louvered shutters,
setting the house apart from the heat.
Striped awnings reminded
me of pictures of opulent homes
where the wealthy played croquet
and drank lemonade in the shade
of flowering trees.

I kissed him there,
in that house,
in that yard,
on that porch,
not as a lover, but like
a child seeking reasurrance

I kissed him there,
in that house,
in that yard,
on that porch,
not as a lover, but
a child seeking reassurance

I married him there
and the seasons changed
into a time of winters
that had no end.

I married him there
but the season changed
to endless winter.

The house on Union Street
is still the same,
and I return there
from time to time.
I cut roses from
the fence, taking with
me souvenirs of times
that were,
remembering others,
that won't ever be again.

The house on Union Street
is still the same.
I return there sometimes
to cut roses from the fence
-- nostalgic souvenirs.


Take or toss Jenni

Snow

Thanks Jenni,

I tried to incorporate several of your suggestions in Revision 2..Thanks so much for taking time to reply and comment on my poem...several heads are always better than one! Judi