Waves keep coming, crashing, clashing;
water’s running, rippling splashing
against the lighthouse rock still dashing,
as undulations breaking, smashing
on the shore.
While the autumn sun’s descending,
colours, tints and hues are blending,
to tall lighthouse now is lending
defiant spirit, strong unbending
at its core.
Let her light continue beaming,
steadfast ‘gainst the ocean’s scheming;
great ships in streams yet steaming,
passengers in carefree dreaming
pass the door.
By the brightest signal waving,
darkest sky is now engraving;
souls of floating masses saving
whom the elements are braving,
ever more
Comments
I like the subject and form
I like the subject and form of this very much.
There is just one word in there that to me doesn't sit right 'rippling'
Rippling implies a gentle stream, whilst the waves bashing against the light house rock are anything but. Perhaps 'rushing' or 'surging' to tie in with splashing.
Just my two pennyworth on an evocative poem. Jx
Quite right
The poem was hurriedly written and posted then left and forgotten. I agree with your observation and will try and rework this very soon. I should really have done that before displaying here but it came up in conversation, so I posted to show what I had been talking about. For the moment I favour roaring, to keep the alliteration.
I like roaring :-) Jx
I like roaring :-) Jx
Sorry Keith, you didn't get away with the constant -ing form
it is a trap for young poets that from my limited knowledge of your work I would have expected you to avoid. You could have, and still sustained the form.
Thank you
Love your incisive input always.
Waves wiill come, to crash and clash ;
water’s run, they roar and splash
against the lighthouse rock then dash,
as undulations break and smash
on the shore.
While the autumn sun descends,
colours, tints and hues all blend,
to tall lighthouse now is lent
defiant spirit, strong unbent
at its core.
Let her light still show it's beam,
steadfast ‘gainst the ocean’s scheme;
great ships yet steam in streams,
passengers in carefree dreams
pass the door.
By the brightest sign it waves,
darkest sky it now engraves;
souls of floating masses saved
whom the elements have braved,
ever more
Weirdelf is right, your
Weirdelf is right, your second version is much better. I should have been forward thinking enough to see that. Bizarrely for a teacher, my critique isn't that good. I'm fine with a class of 9 -11 year olds, but timid about making suggestions on here. Jx
Rewrite
Well, I wrote the alternative version bowing to pressure and of course because it was easy to do so. It is a bit rough yet so if I decide to go with it there are a few points to tidy up. At the moment though, I'm still leaning towards the original (with of course that roaring change). I still feel it has an immediacy and insistence that the more conventional version lacks by comparison.
I have further updated
the alternative version. Still not sure though.
Great subject, and re-write..
..makes it even better. I actually enjoyed both versions. Waves, by definition have a constancy and relentless repetitive monotony (in a good way, like the poem) - I still say forms can be jostled around with, like ships in a storm. The line:
"great ships in streams yet steams"
maybe:
"great ships in streams,yet will steam" ?
maybe.
PS - i'm sensing a bit of Poe lingering around here? Especially with the addition of "evermore" ;)
Anyway.
Thanks, enjoyed.
Thank you
for reading and taking the time to make helpful suggestions.
1
1
As you like it
clichéd and dull it may be.but the rhyme and rhythm are meant to be obvious.
The great thing about cliche
is that it is quickly recognised and absorbed by by the lay reader, even if it sometimes sets the more seasoned poets hackles on end. Remember, even the most obvious cliche was fresh one day.
Well..
You know Jerry, you are the only commenter to ever put your finger upon the fact this was written as an experiment. It came out of a discussion where all other parties insisted it was an inflexible rule that you must never use a word ending -ing in a poem. I never like being told what I cannot do.
Recently
someone suggested removing most of the descriptors from a poem leaving it far less of a work sharing beauty and the minimalist style would have left it no longer a sonnet.