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I wrote this poem a few weeks ago. I think it's pretty good, but it's far from perfect. And because I wrote it for a place I dearly loved, I want it to be as close to perfect as possible. But I am growing to hate it. I have tried through various avenues to get feedback through Spotlight, but it's just not happening. So I wonder if you, my dear f-list, could help me out with your Skills of a Critic.
Progress
She had suffered devastation before--
oh yes, the hurricane that ripped apart her trees
and rocked her firm foundation to the core--
yet this was natural, thus was borne with ease.
Not so the men who worked like busy bees
--though with a tree she struck and killed a man!--
as buzzing saws brought down her canopies.
They stopped a while, then carried on as planned.
They left her naked, bare red clay and sand
that crumbled, running silten down her flanks.
While men played God, their city to expand,
the blood of earth ran red between her banks.
Yes, she had suffered wrath of God before
but man's Ambition rent her to her core.
Kat! Meredith! Harry! Isabella! Nonny! Kirsty! Liz! Liz especially, since you saw it all go down. And anyone else who would like to comment: please tell me what you think. I do not want compliments. I do not want praise. I want you to hit me as hard as you can. Constructively, if possible.
(BTW: Line 5 bothers me especially, since bees are natural, and I wanted to emphasize the artificiality of the human intrusion--but I have no idea how to change it! Also not too pleased with the closing couplet.)
ETA (17/3): The most recent version, for anyone who's still interested:
She had suffered devastation before--
the hurricane that ripped apart her trees
and rocked her firm foundation to the core--
but half-expected, these wounds healed with ease.
Then buzzing saws assaulted canopies
--though with a tree she struck and killed a man!--
she could not stop their dissonant reprise:
they paused a year, then carried on as planned.
They left her naked, bare red clay and sand
that crumbled, running silten down her flanks.
For great suburban progress: to expand,
the blood of earth ran red between her banks.
This land had suffered wrath of God before
but man's ambition rent her to her core.
Progress
She had suffered devastation before--
oh yes, the hurricane that ripped apart her trees
and rocked her firm foundation to the core--
yet this was natural, thus was borne with ease.
Not so the men who worked like busy bees
--though with a tree she struck and killed a man!--
as buzzing saws brought down her canopies.
They stopped a while, then carried on as planned.
They left her naked, bare red clay and sand
that crumbled, running silten down her flanks.
While men played God, their city to expand,
the blood of earth ran red between her banks.
Yes, she had suffered wrath of God before
but man's Ambition rent her to her core.
Kat! Meredith! Harry! Isabella! Nonny! Kirsty! Liz! Liz especially, since you saw it all go down. And anyone else who would like to comment: please tell me what you think. I do not want compliments. I do not want praise. I want you to hit me as hard as you can. Constructively, if possible.
(BTW: Line 5 bothers me especially, since bees are natural, and I wanted to emphasize the artificiality of the human intrusion--but I have no idea how to change it! Also not too pleased with the closing couplet.)
ETA (17/3): The most recent version, for anyone who's still interested:
She had suffered devastation before--
the hurricane that ripped apart her trees
and rocked her firm foundation to the core--
but half-expected, these wounds healed with ease.
Then buzzing saws assaulted canopies
--though with a tree she struck and killed a man!--
she could not stop their dissonant reprise:
they paused a year, then carried on as planned.
They left her naked, bare red clay and sand
that crumbled, running silten down her flanks.
For great suburban progress: to expand,
the blood of earth ran red between her banks.
This land had suffered wrath of God before
but man's ambition rent her to her core.
