Hi Ali,

I am presuming that you painted the beautiful portrait? You are so talented!

On first read I can see nothing much to nit-pick in your lovely poem, which is a great match to the picture..

Your hair is soft. Gossamer would feel coarse
against my cheeks. Your locks, splendidly fine,
would throw fair Venus into fits of jealousy
By daylight, when you are awake, I must
attempt to paint your portrait in oil, but I know
that once again my skills shall fail me.
Do I render this flower in radiant colors to achieve
such lovely bloom? Still, I should have failed Perhaps 'still' could be deleted for conciseness?
to do you justice. Paint those parting lips?
Ah! I must touch them and look into your eyes—
eyes that enhance your features, like the stars
that serve to beautify heaven. But you are asleep.

I found the ending a little abrupt (but not in a bad way) Perhaps change to 'A pity you are asleep'

Take or toss, Ali - that might just be me. A beautiful poem & picture. I enjoyed.

Eira

Hi Syl - good to hear from you.

Yes, I agree about the word 'twang' It is a word my mother used, but as you say it doesn't really fit with the rest of the poem. I'll change it.

Thanks
Hugs Eira

Thanks Antony - good to hear from you.

Eira

Hi Ali,

I love the beautiful descriptions in this poem.

with cornflower eyes that shone
in heaven’s blue And your lips—
those lips, kissed by the summer
sun—how they glowed in poppy red
as I embraced you with my brush’s strokes.


One thought- L2 might read better as in fields of waving wheat as I feel it is the wheat (not the fields) that are waving?

A poignant ending, but so true. Where would we be without our memories.

A very enjoyable read, Ali.
Eira

You and Larry are certainly the sonneteers of MM, Daniel. This one is good fun! Enjoyed.

Eira

Another flawless sonnet from you, Larry.

How many sonnets have you written now - I'm quite envious?

Eira

Hi Ali,

It's good to see you in this forum too!

I can only agree with all Daniel's observations and when you have revised, let us know so we can listen to it on YouTube.

Eira

Thanks Antony. Great to hear from you.

Eira

Hi Ali,

I like your suggestion for that first line and will change it now. I like that you looked up the translation. It's a hymn that my Mum and Grandmother used to sing to me.

Eira

Thanks Richard, I'm so pleased you liked this.

Eira

This is wonderful, Ali! You are certainly a great story teller.

I love the dragon like descriptions:

Coal-fired locomotives,
like smoke-belching dragons,

waiting
for the dragon’s smoke
and vapor to carry us
to his fearful
lair among the clouds.

Moments later, the dragon snorted,
puffed and screamed.

I remember steam trains so well. My grandparents had quite a long garden and the railway line used to run just past the end. I used to love to see a train come by - smoke belching and always waved at the driver who waved back. Happy memories!

I can't see anything I would change here, I just enjoyed every line.

Look forward to your next.
Eira

I'll See You in My Dreams

When trees darken against the sky,
she sometimes drifts through a chink
in my dream wall,
as if she had never slipped away.

The memory ogre that nibbled away
at her life – and mine - has vanished.
She appears ageless, salt and pepper curls
flicked back from slender forehead.

I’m caressed by the lilt of her Welsh
timbre, that transports me back to childhood,
when we played eyelash butterflies
and she sang Calon Lan to soothe me.

Awake, melancholy ripples over me, for she
has slithered back through the brickwork
again. Yet her aura lingers through the day
calming storms that drench me.
----------------------------------------------

Line1 was When trees blacken

L9/10 was Welsh twang

Hi Antony,

It's good to see you back posting. I like this one, but feel that you have used too many the's in the first few lines. (5 in 3 lines) but this is easily amended.

The wayfarer finds himself in the Autumn room
The din of outside leaves invites the tremble of truth
The man's heart sinks, for he has no tidings

There are many different ways of rewriting these 3 lines, this is just one - I'm sure you'll find your own

The wayfarer finds himself in Autumn's room
where a din of outside leaves invites truth to tremble.
His heart sinks, for he has no tidings


Many dark paths has he evaded

He has evaded many dark paths - might be smoother

but the silence
of this room is unlike no other. (comma to finish)

Hope something helps
Eira

Hi All,

Thank you for your various comments and Larry for your beautiful sonnet.

I felt perhaps I should explain the poem as it is rather complex.

Our collie Sheba was buried under the tree many years ago now and I have written many poems about her.
I had a dream (mentioned in St 7) not long after she died about a Dalmatian chasing a cat from Sheba's grave, To cut a long story short, we adopted a Dalmatian, Max, 4 years later and when studying his birth certificate I found that he was born (near enough) on the night I had my dream. Spooky, eh?

In recent days the tree grew over the path and we decided to move it to another part of the garden, leaving the chasm as we knew that Max was ill and might be buried there. (It would be difficult digging frozen ground)

The mercy potion, Daniel, was the medication to 'put him to sleep'

I hope that answers any questions.

Eira

Hi Ali,

It's good to see another poem from you. I'm sorry you feel this is no longer the poetry home for you. I know Daniel has done his best to welcome you and give some help and has meant no offence in his critique. We all critique in different ways and in different depths. I've always found Daniel's suggestions to be thoughtful and thought-provoking.
Anyway, here are a few meagre thoughts from me below.

Cradle to grave, the destiny of man
is one from which there’s no escape
Born he was without teeth in his gums,
now it is the tooth of time that tears and gnaws.

I like this 1st stanza and how you've used teeth as a theme/metaphor.

Aging gracefully? Oh, such fleeting dream;
man finds himself a prisoner of old age.
Dogs may grow old without showing their age--
some ancient ones still run, but this one lies still.

Look--this shadow of man, once stout, his legs
are withered, stiff; the skin hangs loose
and saggy like that of a plucked goose;
his neck [would be] too weak to hold the head erect.

Perhaps delete 'would be' from last line

Once he was a youth with a full head of hair,
but now, one finds only one or two, maybe here
or there, not worthy of clippers and shears--
except for those bristles in nose and ear.
Well--at last he is beyond all earthly care,
yet I serve him by doing what I do best--
Hot diggity dang! Doesn't that guy looks great?

Change 'looks' to 'look' in last line

I hope these few thoughts have been helpful. We have a saying here about critique -'use or loose'. In other words if you don't want to use suggestions then just ignore (lose)
I hope this is not 'Goodbye'.

Eira

Hi Larry, Daniel and Richard,

Thank you so much for offering your thoughts here. I will return and answer you individually tomorrow as it's my bedtime now and I'm too tired to collect my thoughts.

See you soon
Eira

Hi Ali,

It's great to see you reading my poem and you have made some valid points to help.

As I said to Daniel, throughout the poem I am talking to Persephone, Greek goddess of springtime, so in St1 when I refer to 'you' it is her (Persephone) I am referring to. She was tempted to eat pomegranate seeds by Hades and then had to spend part of the year with him. Demeter from st2 is Persephone's mother.

The poem has undertones of seasonal affective disorder. Interesting to see you suggest changing contemplate to wonder as in my files I have done that - will change it here.

Eira

Hi Daniel,

It's always great to hear from you. Haven't you been moving house - or perhaps I'm thinking of someone else. Anyway, I'm so pleased to hear from you.

I suppose this poem is best enjoyed if you have a little knowledge of Greek mythology. I only have a little, but find it fascinating.

Throughout the poem I am talking to Persephone, Greek goddess of springtime, so in St1 when I refer to 'you' it is her (Persephone) I am referring to. She was tempted to eat pomegranate seeds by Hades and then had to spend part of the year with him. Demeter from st2 is Persephone's mother.

You have made some valid points Daniel and I always value your ideas. I'll return to this again with new eyes soon.

So pleased to see you here.

Eira

Hi Ali,

Great revision!

I love the imagery throughout this.
Daniel's excellent critique leaves me very little to suggest, but I'll leave you some thoughts in between the lines.



Hear the singing wind-- Coarse dust
rolls in waves across the yard; violent
gusts whirl tumbleweeds through horse pens.
Their spiny, brittle forms brush against corrugated
metal sheds to scrape dented, rusty metal.

It is important to have a strong start to a poem and this is an excellent 1st stanza with beautiful descriptions

Sand is time and time is sand; in the river
of eternity, epochs erode granite
and all human superficiality, leaving behind
dust that’s destined to return to the stars.

Our planet’s shores embody innumerable
grains of worn stone, but it’s been said that stellar
grit, drifting through Cosmos, exceeds Earth’s
sand grains in numbers--yet few specks
of stardust will ever collide with one another,
thus attesting to space’s infinity.

I feel 'but it's been said' in L2 is a bit too conversational

Also 'in numbers' in L4 and 'thus' in Last line, could be deleted to tighten up a bit.

I halt to wipe grit from my eye
and contemplate how a by-us conceived
deity can keep its own vision clear
of so much stardust as the entity
moves through Cosmos’s endless space.

Just a few thoughts to consider - ignore if they are not what you are looking for. An excellent first post and I look forward to your next.

Eira

Hi Ali,

Welcome to Mosaic Musings.

It's great to have you aboard and I'm looking forward to reading your work.

Eira

The Braeburn Tree


Mother-like it stoops, watching Sheba’s endless
sleep, drapes its blush pashmina over her in spring.

Its body inclines across the slender path to bask
in solar warmth; arms grasp us as we grapple to pass.

After harvest, we shovel it out, abandoning windfalls
to compost the ground, around a gaping cavity.

Repositioned by the wishing well, we pamper it, hope
sap will course through veins again and the chasm left

will not be needed very soon. In February’s gloom, we wait
for the man trapped in traffic, carrying a mercy-potion.

It takes seconds. Max is swallowed by the void as soil
shrouds him. We replant nearby bulbs, in memoriam.

I first perceived Max in a dream-chase, the tabby scurries
from Sheba’s umbrageous grave. Now he rests beside her.

Today, seedtime rays and drizzle foster apple blossoms
to unfurl; narcissi gently waver where heads once bowed.


---------------------------------------
St2 was
in solar warmth; arms grasp us as we grapple passed.

A few small changes
Eira

Hearty is the song of the brave.
Virtue the blacksmiths lock.
All men are angels,
only looking for a true cause.
Refined should be their energy
Steadfast in their wisdom.


I really like this Antony. No nits but I'm thinking on it.
Eira

Hi Antony - some random thoughts below

Eira

Sometimes here, seems far away,
when you're in the lounge,
morning seems to orchestrate really like this line
yet prevaricates,
the possibility of personal change.
Wish this could last,
longer than a radio show;
caught in this rarefield amber: possibly rare-field
where there is no movement beyond
these thoughts summoned. perhaps 'these summoned thoughts'

Thank you Richard - this has given me some ideas. I really need to revise this.

Eira