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.


    Still under reconstruction. Title? Personification?

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    Pat

    Posts : 620
    Join date : 2011-09-12

    Still under reconstruction. Title? Personification?

    Post  Pat on Thu Feb 27, 2014 2:25 pm

    Trout

    So many fish in this stone cold river,
    but you’d recognize me from my torpedo shape
    and my one dress: a blue-green rainbow
    with a pink streak along my sides, white underbelly,
    bespattered with black spots on back and fins
    like stars sprinkling a winter sky.

    All day and night I swim here
    where wavelets call to one another,
    where the water curls around a bend,
    where a moon bent rests her light head
    in the wet bosom of night.

    The longer I’m here, the higher
    I leap and arch and hurl manes of flying spray
    into fresh water. Such joy in flying high
    toward blue cloud-ruffled skies, then diving
    into deep waters while avoiding thin whips
    from banks and boats. It’s a turn-about fact
    that trout are here today, gone tomorrow
    without leaving a trace.

    So let us plow paths, make bubbles
    and live with great gusto!

    dennis20
    Guest

    You have me hooked

    Post  dennis20 on Fri Feb 28, 2014 11:47 am

    Pat,  Nice poem with lots of imagery and color.  The poet tells me about his plight and ends up where poets do when they tire of saying I. Here is what I see:  "It's a turn-about" changes from first person to third.  Try to either stay in first person or third.  I notice a lot of poets go for the first person, but here, it leaves me up on the bank and I can only know what you tell me rather than "feel" like I am performing the action.  The last two lines went passed where the poem should stop.  I might even stop at the line before "It's a turn-about..."  If you stop here, then it is about "I" as the fish. Yes, I would recommend stopping here.  I especially like the moon scene and the sight of "hurl manes of spray."

    Dewell H. Byrd

    Posts : 351
    Join date : 2012-01-05
    Age : 87
    Location : Central Point, OR

    Still Under Reconstr...

    Post  Dewell H. Byrd on Fri Feb 28, 2014 11:55 am

    Pat,  I really enjoy the imagery and the cool excitment of this poem... not a very interesting title.  Can you use the word "us" early on to help reader identfy subject earlier?  Here's a couple of nit-pick things:  Too many "where"... Put the word "leap" in last stanza... "dress" suggests female, got a better word? ... in last stanza change let us to let's just to soften what might otherwise sound moralistic or preachy... got a hook or barb on end of those whips?
    I can personally identify with this poem both as a fisherperson and a nature lover.  Dewell
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    tsukany

    Posts : 586
    Join date : 2011-05-21

    Love the format. :)

    Post  tsukany on Sat Mar 01, 2014 8:14 am

    You did it Pat....a poem without extra spaces.  Nice imagery in this poem.  Nice loss of author as persona.  Smile

    Trout

    So many fish in this stone cold river,
    but you’d recognize me from my torpedo shape (I think you can clip ME from this line)
    and my one dress: a blue-green rainbow (I might continue the description with "and my blue-green...dress"
    with a pink streak along my sides, white underbelly, (TROUT as a title should alleviate the need to add "fin, sides" though underbelly is nice...but would you describe your Sunday best with an underbelly?)
    bespattered with black spots on back and fins 
    like stars sprinkling a winter sky.

    All day and night I swim here
    where wavelets call to one another,
    where the water curls around a bend, 
    where a moon bent rests her light head 
    in the wet bosom of night.  (This is a nice image but what is TROUT in it?)

    The longer I’m here, the higher 
    I leap and arch and hurl manes of flying spray ("manes" is not from dress lingo/jargon, is it?)
    into fresh water. Such joy in flying high  (You start to enter the fish's mind here and I get a bit strained)
    toward blue cloud-ruffled skies, then diving
    into deep waters while avoiding thin whips 
    from banks and boats. It’s a turn-about fact  (You have left the TROUT description into the "point" of the poem.  It seems abrupt and a bit preachy.  Maybe it needs to be early in the poem?)
    that trout are here today, gone tomorrow 
    without leaving a trace. 

    So let us plow paths, make bubbles   (Plow is not a fish or dress word)
    and live with great gusto!  (This seems like you are telling the reader what the poem is trying to say.)

    Pat

    Posts : 620
    Join date : 2011-09-12

    It is huge for me to get the single spacing. My thanks

    Post  Pat on Sat Mar 01, 2014 9:12 pm

    to Dennis who suggested I recopy to a clean sheet in Word before I paste. Yes! It worked. He also told me how to do it manually if I had no paste: Ctrl+v. Hey, I need all the help I can get and I know it. . . . .

    I reworked my poem, based on some of your thoughts. Thank you! Any additional thoughts welcomed.

    Rainbow Gusto

    So many fish in this stone cold river,
    but you’d recognize my torpedo shape
    in this slinky, blue-green attire
    with its pink streaks, white underbelly,
    bespattered with black spots
    on back like stars sprinkling a winter sky.

    All day and night I swim and sleep here
    under wavelets calling to one another,
    inside the current curling around a bend,
    beneath a moon bent resting her light head
    in the wet bosom of night.

    The more I come to these parties,
    the higher I leap and arch and hurl manes
    of flying confetti spray into fresh water.
    Just imagine. Being in a ballroom
    where you can throw fins high toward a ceiling
    of blue cloud-ruffled skies and dive deep
    while weaving in and out, dodging
    thin whips from banks and boats.

    For now, I can’t imagine
    what the two-legged ones must think.



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