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BETWEEN TIMES
No breath of air stirs August leaves
hanging near worn out as summer ends.
A lone gold poplar one gives tease
to be joined soon by all its friends.
Too early to hear the crickets sing
or the bass of burping frogs.
The world is waiting for... something,
some pause between the turn of cogs.
For autumn will be coming soon;
the world, it seems, is resting up
for the bustle of the harvest moon
and tangy toasts from cider cups.
Lone cameleon dashes on deck's rail
then freezes as his colors blend.
Something, somewhere, got half his tail.
He, too, awaits the summer's end.
I slowly sip on sweet iced tea
from a glass sweating near as much as I
feeling the cold spread inside me.
A pair of mourning doves flash by.
I wipe the sweat from my bald pate.
Fall approaches....I can hardly wait.
Style / type:
Structured: Western
Review Request (Intensity):
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction):
What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Editing stage:
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Comments
raj
Sun, 2015-08-30 08:03
I liked this one Stan and
I liked this one Stan and even more the following lines
I slowly sip on sweet iced tea
from a glass sweating as much as I
feeling the cold spread inside me.
A pair of mourning doves flash by.
I wipe the sweat from my bald pate.
Fall approaches....I can hardly wait.
raj (sublime_ocean)
scribbler
Sun, 2015-08-30 09:03
Hi raj
I was sitting trying to think of something to write about on an unremarkable hot August day and it dawned on me that autumn was approaching thank God lol. Then ol' "see and say" scribbler went to work. Thanks for dropping by and taking time to comment.........stan
author commentRula
Sun, 2015-08-30 09:41
Hello Stan
Beautifully done! Always like your detailed stories.August is horrible here too, never been that hot before.
Always enjoyable to read your work.
P.S.I'm still waiting for my handwritten copy of yours, shall wait for it until the last breath LOL
❤❤❤❤❤❤
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scribbler
Sun, 2015-08-30 12:35
Hi Rula
I've been slack about that haven't I? I intend to remedy that this coming week if time allows. Here in the states one can tell where somebody lives by asking if the look forward to spring or fall. Up north where the winter is harsh and lengthy, most people can't wait for spring. Down south it is the heat and long summer that makes people anxious for fall lol. Appreciate your visit..........stan
author commentwesley snow
Mon, 2015-08-31 17:29
As always...
the meter makes me a little nuts, but the poem is so lovely who cares?
W. H. Snow
A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley
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scribbler
Mon, 2015-08-31 18:08
lol
So now you're blaming Me for your being nuts? lmao. I Do intend to tidy this up a bit over time. Appreciate your dropping by........stan
author commentGeezer
Wed, 2015-09-02 10:57
You aren't...
the only one, Wes! You are right on the money though, in describing the story as being so good that
we can ignore the meter being a bit off. I love the scene and the view from the deck is stunning. The Poplar trees shimmering through the heat waves, the chameleon blending into the silvery-gold rail...
Nice work all the way around! ~ Gee
There is value to commenting and critique, tell us how you feel about our work.
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scribbler
Wed, 2015-09-02 19:00
Hi Gee
One reason my output has gone down is the difficulty I've had recently in finding a subject worth writing about. Then suddenly I manage to "spot" some little something such as the way summer seems to hold its breath as fall approaches. Then the rush of trying to capture to "mood" of the revelation causes me to write first then tidy up later lol. Thanks for visiting and I'm proud the story works well for you........stan
author commentwesley snow
Thu, 2015-09-03 15:18
I understand.
Sometimes it's very dry around a poet's heart. I'm hoping Chrys' workshop will force me to write again. Small poems. Poems of elegance loaded with metaphors.
However, I have been writing. I have of late completed 20 canto in my big poem. I'll bet the thing is 30,000 lines by now. I will beat Spenser.
W. H. Snow
A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley
Learn how, teach others.
The NeoPoet Mentor Program
http://www.neopoet.com/mentor/about
scribbler
Thu, 2015-09-03 22:35
30,000 lines
I doubt all the lines of all the poems I've written add up to 30,000 lol. let's see....about 750 poems....say an average of 7 stanzas of 4 lines each....750(7x4) = 21,000.............stan
author commentwesley snow
Fri, 2015-09-04 11:15
That's nothing to sneeze at.
.
W. H. Snow
A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley
Learn how, teach others.
The NeoPoet Mentor Program
http://www.neopoet.com/mentor/about