The Hill
In front of me, the hill* lies open like a poet’s
notebook. Devoid of writing, awaiting the
words of inspiration.
While morning mists obscure the view,
like my mind trying to push back the
voice of my own consciousness.
What was familiar, is now without form or
function. All that was unfamiliar is now but
a hint of its former self.
With exception of the skyward church spire
and the upright chimney pointing to the
vault of heaven, high above my head.
Ever so slowly this constantly changing hill,
begins to clear. Revealing its true beauty,
that of a fresh spring morning.
Whose allure are many shades of green,
interlaced with the cool blue sky.
Held perfectly together by the warm glow
of the morning sun.
The Hill
Greenman
I think you should have a read through your poem and remove all the phrases that you know to be overused and replace them with your own originals - 'morning mists', 'a hint of its former self', ' the vault of heaven, high above my head.', 'cool blue sky', 'the morning sun' - all these have been used over and over again and just detract from what could be a good poem. You have original ideas that deserve to be presented in your original words.
Sorry to appear negative, but I'm just trying to help. Anyway, that's my opinion, others may hold completely different views.
cheers
Barrie
I think you should have a read through your poem and remove all the phrases that you know to be overused and replace them with your own originals - 'morning mists', 'a hint of its former self', ' the vault of heaven, high above my head.', 'cool blue sky', 'the morning sun' - all these have been used over and over again and just detract from what could be a good poem. You have original ideas that deserve to be presented in your original words.
Sorry to appear negative, but I'm just trying to help. Anyway, that's my opinion, others may hold completely different views.
cheers
Barrie
I feel the same as barrie here, though not as intensely.
My main problem I suppose is that this piece is a little self-expression heavy.
Personally, I can see right through it to the point of being able to pick out specific parts where you chose to employ bits and pieces of your own personal tutelage. And that's usually indicative of an egocentric piece of writing.
Listen, we all write for ourselves. I think that's fairly obvious. But if you can fool the audience into believing that they are somehow intrinsically connected to the final product, then you have a chance of coaxing them to believe in its inherent worth.
Another thing I'd like to point out here is how the transition from stanza to stanza is a bit rough. Especially in the places where you completely ignore the guidelines of the almighty sentence.
Anyway keep picking at it, it deserves no less.
My main problem I suppose is that this piece is a little self-expression heavy.
Personally, I can see right through it to the point of being able to pick out specific parts where you chose to employ bits and pieces of your own personal tutelage. And that's usually indicative of an egocentric piece of writing.
Listen, we all write for ourselves. I think that's fairly obvious. But if you can fool the audience into believing that they are somehow intrinsically connected to the final product, then you have a chance of coaxing them to believe in its inherent worth.
Another thing I'd like to point out here is how the transition from stanza to stanza is a bit rough. Especially in the places where you completely ignore the guidelines of the almighty sentence.
Anyway keep picking at it, it deserves no less.
Hi Greenman; I offer a whimsical edit below... generally speaking I don't think it evokes the peerless beauty of early morning hills enough. It also needs to bring your reactions to the vistas out more. Work on the use of light n shade, and add a personal touch.
Stu
Stu
Greenman wrote:The Hill in Morning
The hill lies open: a poet’s blank
notebook on a rocky stand,
void, awaiting words of inspiration.
Mist obscure the view,
the voice of my own consciousness
in the path of my mind.
What was familiar is now
without form,
except for a skyward spire,
an upright chimney pointing the
vault of heaven.
Slowly the mist begins to clear,
the changing hill begins to appear;
its new beauty in a fresh spring.
Alluring are shades of green
interlaced with cool blue sky,
fixed and sharpened by the warm
of the morning.
- dillingworth
- Prolific Poster
- Posts: 455
- Joined: Wed Aug 17, 2005 2:53 pm
- Location: Oxford, UK
the first stanza is for me the best by a long way (thought the idea of landscape as something to be written on/the poet as canvas is hardly new - see e.g. coleridge's "aeolian harp").