lady bushranger

[tool]

To what great purpose
Two body’s dead as straw.
Blood mote in abundance
among the gore, and the
people standing tear less.

She was a lady bush ranger
tip-toe thief, in a lonely land
hollowed out by wind and sand,
where vanity is uncommon,
and a woman on a horse is
always in danger.

no adherents to water
and boasting with a grinning
laugh toasting your gains
will get you killed,
for out here you don’t loiter alone.

For it is still the flint age.
The shadows lands,
in this quite earth unveiled,
out here life still remain very one-sided,
where the drought can rage for years.

Legend has it she would sit high
waiting for strangers to pass by,
she would lay in wait to tame them
then using as bait, her wild hair
eautiful looks radiant. She would

eclipse their judgment in feline webbing,
before their folly was exposed,
they fall wondering silent.
then rob them of everything.

Then up into the crags’ annoyed by winds,
where the land unused,
of raw winds that drags the plains dust
o color the crags’ with rust.

There she would sit and wait.
And slowly bring men to their fate.
Nobody knows
what’s in heart or soul that takes
its toll on unsuspecting men of the plains.

But she is out there,
some say she’s half aboriginal
and driven from her lands,
her wisdom is confined to herself

tool

[brahms62]

Lovely however perhaps too long? I thought the 2nd, 4th 5th and last verses could do it; I think that we should try to cut out too much narrative in poetry; I wonder who she was; what was her name? Also it could be a story too i.e. a short story.

[Lovely]

"She was a lady bush ranger
tip-toe thief in a lonely land
hollowed out by wind and sand"

Wow you are becoming a real poet, and I like it much.

I have said this before but I will say it again: you will feel
power and the stars will come to you as you learn this Great Art
of words in paint. Your mind will touch the stars and you will
see, Young-gods are born this way Tool.

I want you to do me a favour Tool, (read Shelley)he was one of the
greatest master-poets who ever lived even though he died young by
accident. Byron burned his body on a lonely beach----he wept, he cried
bless him. We all die young....

Love David x

[tool]

Dear lovely


Thank you for your critique and yes I’am reading Shelley
PROMETHUS UNBOUND our thoughts bound us to our fate,
Our poems are the absinthe to which we drink at the table along
with bread and wine. We have no antidote against our follies,
our shameful vice is our love of poetry, she will love us,
she will hate us, our being is an abstraction to others for we
fear nothing, yet we fear all. For our cuneiform is the truth of life;
ancients emblems course our veins and bring them to life in our poems.
We are able to shape shift through the centuries, travel time and space.
We live in the dark matter of space ,

As for critique I shall take notice. Until we speak again;

tool

[tool]

brahms62

thankyou for your critique it will be taken with great strength
because these are our lives we give them life and your critique
gives the poet life. thankyou

[Arian]

To my mind, there’s no doubt that there’s some exceptionally good lines here - S2 and S8 in particular, though it’s a pity S2 resolves with a rather bathetic couplet, to my ear. As to the whole thing, I confess it smacks to me of trying too hard to be “poetic” by using another poet’s voice (too much of that damn Shelley!).

There’s also quite a lot of either straight typos, or very odd word usage (adherents – adherence? , quite – quiet? Body’s – bodies?...etc).

Interesting story though, with some good lines - I think it’s a bit of an uncut diamond. Why not try a revision?

Cheers
peter