No wilder winds could ever blow
as bitter icy wind sheets glow.
Against pale moons soft white light
what ghastly deed was done tonight.
Who scuttles over craggy rocks
snorting, breathless, stumbles, shocked,
in foot tangling tussock clumpy shoots,
snared in heathers wiry roots.
Did old Demdike leave the forest,
to scale those wuthering heights,
sit crouching in the shadowed vale
to witness frightful sights.
Did he follow, racing down the fells
that fellow with his rasping heart,
Then watching, by the railway tracks,
wrapping in his blood soaked sack,
things he knew where Bill's o Jacks.
Bloody Murder
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It's quite a pleasant piece and has some good textures in the imagery you have employed.
You've not quite got the meter and it starts to go awol from mid second verse which makes me wonder if the structure
is hindering your choice of words available and whether a free form approach might allow more succinct tuning of
the metaphors. Or perhaps you might wish to work with the meter a little harder and preserve the metrical aims
that currently appear to exist, which would rienforce ther melodic nature of the rymes?
enjoyed the content and think you could polish this a little more
regards
Danté
You've not quite got the meter and it starts to go awol from mid second verse which makes me wonder if the structure
is hindering your choice of words available and whether a free form approach might allow more succinct tuning of
the metaphors. Or perhaps you might wish to work with the meter a little harder and preserve the metrical aims
that currently appear to exist, which would rienforce ther melodic nature of the rymes?
enjoyed the content and think you could polish this a little more
regards
Danté
to anticipate touching what is unseen seems far more interesting than seeing what the hand can not touch
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Will try and have a go with both suggestions Dante, yes I can see that maybe if I wasn't confined to the rhyme I would have a better choice of words,
it would be very interesting to let my mind run free but were that will take me I haven't a clue and I will never know if I don't give it a go, thanks for
stopping by and for your helpful comments. x
it would be very interesting to let my mind run free but were that will take me I haven't a clue and I will never know if I don't give it a go, thanks for
stopping by and for your helpful comments. x
Dear Susan, what energy it has.
I loved it. In a way, it is so magnetising to read; filled with energy and life.
Wow--- i love it! Don't murder her but keep it
loads
xx
I loved it. In a way, it is so magnetising to read; filled with energy and life.
Wow--- i love it! Don't murder her but keep it
loads
xx
Last edited by Lovely on Mon Aug 24, 2009 4:29 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Yep, a great read. I don't quite understand the meters, but the rhythm was a bit bumpy here and there. But you made up with solid imagery. Liked the reference to Bill o Jacks murders. Actually had to read them from google.
-Would you opt for a better title?
Smiles.
-Would you opt for a better title?
Smiles.
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I don't quite understand the meter ether? Eeek, in fact don't know what they are. I did have a look on google, yipes. But didn't even understand the explanation. But I will say. suppose my poems are just me then.
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Susan,
Another nice and spooky one!You got some strong images, nice job.
I think you will enjoy doing some studying about writing in meter, you seem to have a natural inclination that will shine with just a few guidelines. I enjoyed the read. Thanks,
Suzanne
Another nice and spooky one!You got some strong images, nice job.
I think you will enjoy doing some studying about writing in meter, you seem to have a natural inclination that will shine with just a few guidelines. I enjoyed the read. Thanks,
Suzanne
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Again Suzanne thanks for positive feed back. I am seriously thinking of finding out alot more about the technicalities of poetry, The thing I'm afraid of is being out of my depth, amongst people far more learned than me. For I think serious poetry today is sort of a competition for the more academic among us, there are very few "working class," poets who don't get looked down and frowned upon. Although this has never bothered me I love to write and so I will continue to do so. but going to study ummm don't want my own unique way to be lost in the proses and could I cope being around the elite ?
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No wilder winds could ever blow, as bitter
icy wind sheets glow, against pale moons
soft white light, what ghastly deed
was done tonight. Strike of crimson on
the boots, that scuttle over craggy rock, caught
in tangling clumpy shoots, snared
in heathers wiry roots,
Did old Demdike leave the forest,
to scale those wuthering heights,
sit crouching in that shadowed vale
to witness frightful sights,
did he follow racing down the fells, that fellow
with his rasping heart. Then watching
by the railroad tracks. Wrapping in his blood soaked
sack. Things he knew where, Bill o' Jacks.
icy wind sheets glow, against pale moons
soft white light, what ghastly deed
was done tonight. Strike of crimson on
the boots, that scuttle over craggy rock, caught
in tangling clumpy shoots, snared
in heathers wiry roots,
Did old Demdike leave the forest,
to scale those wuthering heights,
sit crouching in that shadowed vale
to witness frightful sights,
did he follow racing down the fells, that fellow
with his rasping heart. Then watching
by the railroad tracks. Wrapping in his blood soaked
sack. Things he knew where, Bill o' Jacks.