The Last Friday

The Last Friday is a poetry editing group. Once a month, we post a poem and then offer feedback to the other poems on the Forum. We're a friendly but honest group. We value each other deeply and desire for every poet to be published or become famous.


    Wondering if I've prepared the reader

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    Pat

    Posts : 635
    Join date : 2011-09-12

    Wondering if I've prepared the reader

    Post  Pat on Sat Jun 01, 2013 12:13 pm

    well enough for the ending.



    May Twentieth



    On this day

    a woman full of years---

    wearing a wide-brimmed hat

    and big overshirt--- sits low on grass,

    faces a highway, a freshly dug hole,

    and small shrub. She sits cross-legged

    like a girl Grandma Moses might paint

    into a landscape. As we rush past,

    I wish aloud for a photo of her.

    My husband slows down

    and makes a u-turn.



    We pull into her gravel drive.

    She looks up as I pop out of the car.

    The woman pushes fatigue to the side,

    and I get permission to take the photo shot.

    Surprisingly though, she will not take

    my extended hand to help her stand.

    Instead, she rolls over on her knees

    like a camel, then rises.

    There, she stands tall telling me

    of her vision:

    a flowerbed with forsythia

    dripping bright stars

    onto silent daffodils.

    Yellow on yellow.



    An artist at work

    spreading light.
    avatar
    tsukany

    Posts : 597
    Join date : 2011-05-21

    Make that NOTEPAD not word pad

    Post  tsukany on Sat Jun 01, 2013 10:49 pm

    May Twentieth

    On this day
    a woman full of years---
    wearing a wide-brimmed hat
    and big overshirt--- sits low on grass,
    faces a highway, a freshly dug hole,
    and small shrub. She sits cross-legged
    like a girl Grandma Moses might paint
    into a landscape. As we rush past,
    I wish aloud for a photo of her.
    My husband slows down
    and makes a u-turn.

    We pull into her gravel drive.
    She looks up as I pop out of the car.
    The woman pushes fatigue to the side,
    and I get permission to take the photo shot.
    Surprisingly though, she will not take
    my extended hand to help her stand.
    Instead, she rolls over on her knees
    like a camel, then rises.
    There, she stands tall telling me
    of her vision:
    a flowerbed with forsythia
    dripping bright stars
    onto silent daffodils.
    Yellow on yellow.

    An artist at work
    spreading light.

    Pat
    avatar
    tsukany

    Posts : 597
    Join date : 2011-05-21

    For me, the issue is line breaks (Prose Poem)

    Post  tsukany on Sat Jun 01, 2013 10:54 pm

    Artist at Work

    On this day a woman full of years--wearing a wide-brimmed hat and big overshirt--sits low on grass, faces a highway, a freshly dug hole, and small shrub. She sits cross-legged like a girl Grandma Moses might paint into a landscape. As we rush past, I wish aloud for a photo of her.

    My husband slows down and makes a u-turn. We pull into her gravel drive.

    She looks up as I pop out of the car. The woman pushes fatigue to the side, and I get permission to take the photo shot. Surprisingly though, she will not take my extended hand to help her stand. Instead, she rolls over on her knees like a camel, then rises. There, she stands tall telling me of her vision: a flowerbed with forsythia dripping bright stars onto silent daffodils. Yellow on yellow.

    Pat
    avatar
    tsukany

    Posts : 597
    Join date : 2011-05-21

    My instincts for line breaks (and leaving the "message" to the reader)

    Post  tsukany on Sat Jun 01, 2013 11:02 pm

    Artist at Work

    a woman full of years--
    (I would indent these two lines)wearing a wide-brimmed hat
    (I would indent these two lines)and big overshirt--
    sits low on grass,
    faces
    a highway,
    a freshly dug hole,
    and small shrub.

    She sits
    cross-legged
    a girl Grandma Moses might paint into a landscape.

    The woman pushes fatigue to the side
    and my extended hand to help her stand.
    Instead, she rolls over on her knees
    like a camel, then rises.

    She stands tall telling (I would find another action verb) me
    of her vision:
    a flowerbed
    of forsythia
    dripping
    bright
    stars
    onto silent
    daffodils.

    Pat

    Dewell H. Byrd

    Posts : 360
    Join date : 2012-01-05
    Age : 87
    Location : Central Point, OR

    May Twentieth

    Post  Dewell H. Byrd on Sun Jun 02, 2013 11:26 am

    Pat, I enjoy the picture you have painted. At first I wasn't prepared for the writer being in a vehicle so I was startled at ...as we rush by... but it does fit with ... facing a highway... some nice images... full of years... pushes fatigue aside... I can feel this poem. I concur weth Todd regarding more linebreaks but fewer than a possible chop... Too many breaks might lose the music I sense in this poem. Maybe delete the last two lines since the reader already knows that AND the lines tend to "CLOSE" the poem too much. Nice work... Thanks for sharing. Dewell

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