Cradle of Dreams

[Garanor]

Another poem, tell me what you think. Criticism is greatly appreciated. ^_^


Cradle of Dreams

I have flown through cerulean skies with silver wings free of despair, as light as the very air.

I have plunged into the shadowy depths of ancient seas, nestled within their liquid confines, like a child in a mother’s womb.

I have danced within the flames of many a burning spirit, the warmth and crimson glow keeping even eternity away.

I have slept in orchards of glorious flora, blades of silken grass gently caressing my cheeks whilst I pondered.

The earth has crumbled below my feet, the sky has spread its wings before me, the fires have danced lovingly through my hair, and the soothing waters have calmed my soul.

Yet here before me I see a magnificently embroidered curtain of charcoal black velvet, scattered stars of gold glide across its surface. I know this is where I must go, through the curtain of stars to the great beyond.

Fingers twitching with anticipation I reach for the curtain, a shrill wind begins to play with my hair where once the fires danced. An eternity of reach passes as I finally take hold of the velvety veil. Upon its touch a warmth surges throughout my body, such I have never felt before, here I stand, eyes closed savoring its glorious feel, as I am sucked into the void behind… and I find myself awake once more.

[Corrusader]

Greetings,

Neglecting the title, I first thought the velvet black curtain covers death and behind it lies the afterlife. Well I thought that was neat because after you experienced all that life has to offer, you reach out for the great beyond.

I found it weird in the end when all the poem describes are dreams because you made "the curtain" such a big deal, such as the anticipation, an eternity of wait, a feel so glourious it needs to be savored. After all that... just to wake up. To me, that's a little anticlimatic.

I liked your first poem too.

[Advent Childhe]

Greetings:

To Corrusader: I would like some copyright loyalty for taking my title, sir (grin).

To Garanor: To me... this is more of a narrative and not a poem. Blame me how you will, I follow the classics.

I did enjoy your trips through the various elements of life. Air, Water, Wind, Earth (flora). The adjectives and diction did depict a dreamy fantastical feel to it. The words fit very well. I really like the line " Warmth and crimson glow keeping even eternity away." The way that the curtain between wake and sleep was also presented very nicely - the words work well to bring about the anticipation within the readers. All good things.

Parallelism is hard when one writes about the elements. It can be seen here. Cerulean skies and ancient seas are immense objects readily seen as a part of nature... Burning spirit powerful perhaps, fitting the element, yes. However, it does not reach an exact parallel to the first two. Flora may come from the earth, but the Earth, as an element is much more than that. Though with a bit of artistic licensing you can put represent one as the other. However, parallelism would once again be a problem.

The four elements' description are fine, but they are torn away at the end. What importance did they hold? if the focus is that veil beyond all worldly things, why mention them? The way that the elements drop from the main narrator also suffers from parallelism problems. The Earth crumbles, and the sky flies from you. Both are "leaving" verbs. Fires dance in your hair, but in your hair they can remain. Waters may calm your soul but they will still drench you... they've not left you, as the earth and sky has. Perhaps you were going for another parallelism, where the Earth and Sky is a pair, and water and fire are a pair. But at then end, none of them are there anyway... I hope I made myself clear.

I must say that I did not look at this as a poem, but as a narrative. Overall, its a nice short piece. Finally, "cerulean" was a wicked touch.

Yours,
Wayward,

[Advent Childhe]

Greetings:

Just for fun, one of my olde ones. I wrote this for a girl that I'll never see again.

Haver you ever seen a Holly Tree
Illumed by blinking starry lights?
An eruption of winter evergreen
Giving warmth in frigid nights
You'll soon see that sight in Greece
Enchanted by the Grecian harps;
A shining soul of skywards reach
Forever wearing a burning heart.
Remember us in our nameless race
Where dark futures flout our skies,
We will recall your untold grace
And bring hope back to our eyes.
As the nights fade from our Holly Tree
Say adieu, shooting star of our memories.

Yours,
Wayward,

[Corrusader]

Greetings (pays Wayward copyright fee),

This poem that shall not be named is quite interesting. Intended or not, reading this poem is like being a detective. At first it seems like a random assortment of ideas, places, and symbolism. However after I made a tentitive story to go with the poem, it made a lot more sense.

From the clue that it's about a girl that you have acquaintance to, I made the "Holly tree" represent her. Giving warmth to people in the dread of winter. Then knowing she is moving away, I took the Grecian references as the destination she's moving to: Greece. Finally the poem ends with saying goodbye and we'll remember her.

Without the clues as to what this poem is about, the reader would have been confused. I think this effect is the result of bringing too much ideas into too few words.

After looking Holly up, I found the play on word clever, as holy tree also can refer to the christmas tree. It was amusing.

I didn't like how she was wearing a burning heart... it's gross. If she has passion, then she may have a burning heart where normal hearts belong. However, unlike smiles, I think you need a real burning heart to wear one.

Even with the story I made up, some of the metaphors escape me. Such as "shooting star," "nameless race" (rats race?), and "skyward reach" describing her soul.

A imagery I do like was the eruption of evergreen. It paints a picture of half a dozen Hollies shooting out from an endless field of snow. Standing defiantly against the bitter cold.

****end of criticism ****
You asked me of my comic, which reminded me a poem I made for it. It was during the last year my highschool years, and for university reasons, my mom decided it'd be perferrable for me to have less distractions from my studies. As a result I was banned from drawing in my comic.

In our household, parents have quite a lot of power, and when she said she was taking away my sketchbook (where I kept the comic), there's nothing I can do. As a rebellion, I bought another book in secret and continued the comic there in secrecy. At the begining of the new sketchbook, I symbollicly wrote this poem down. An explaination of diction will follow.

This page turns into my comic's darkest hour,
In the air is the harmony of corrupted power.
But under the mask of total compliance,
'Ere I work in the name of holy defiance!

Here in Tysbism we gathered once more,
Bearing the burden Dragonshar once bore.
In a storm where the ancient trees bend,
Against the thunder the paladins fend!

Diction:
Tysbism (Ti-zeh-bi-sm) is the world my comic, Dragonshar's Wishes, take place.

Dragonshar is an hero who saved the world prior to the story.

Paladins refer to me and my friends who supports my comic.

[Velata]

... May I...?

1. Cradle of Dreams
Good things first... this piece is quite lovely. The Veil of black velvet, perhaps, symbolises the moment of waking, so eloquently described here. And waking could both be an adventure or a pain, a sentiment also beautifully described. The Dreamer was a brave soul, indeed.

However, I have to agree with Wayward that this piece is a decorated prose, but a far cry from poetry. Despite the advent of modern poetry, there is still a distinction between poetry and prose, which was not observed here.

Also, something else that I would hope to bring to Garanor's attention is a little more care on diction. The words chosen for this piece have been impeccable in the beginning, but falls a little short close to the end. There's no reason to re-conjour the feeling of velvet in close succession. The stars sounded to be embroidered in the first sentence, and yet glid across the surface in the second. And finally, an eternity is more than enough...

The decorative language also falls flat close to the end, which makes the piece sound more and more prose-like as we approach wakefulness. If this was done deliberatly, then I would applaud such ingenuity.

But these flaws aside, I maintain, this was a lovely piece.

2. Wayward's un-named piece.
The word-smithing and story-telling skills presented here are formidable, espcially when it is confined in a rhyming couplet form. That was no mean feat, and for that, I'd like to extend a well-earned praise to Wayward.

However, there is always room for improvement, hein?

First of all, the "holly" is not a tree, despite the fact that it remains green in winter. And the Grecians are not know for their harps

But what I would like to ask the author is his intention on some choice of words that were presented in the poem. For example, why was the sceneries in Green only described as "that sight", while everything else that surrounds this vague description was more than amply filled in? Also, I'd like to ask why were those who were left in an "Un-named race?" Were they surviving under a Metropolis-esque rat-race, or were they of another race entirely? Also, does the recalling bring hope back into the eyes of those who were left? Why eyes?

~sigh... that's a lot of questions...

[Velata]

... May I...?

Brave paladins, I salute your holy defiance! May the plains be blessed, fruitful, and safe from harm.

After offering criticism to poems that have graced the threads and posts of this forum, perhaps it is time for me to bring something to the table for discussion purposes, no?

Here's a really old one from me, tell me what you think.

Flights of angels, swing my beloved to her eternal dream,
While I bewail at my long sever'd link,
To the primrose way, to that joyless stream,
To the everlasting bonfire where all hopes do sink.
The vegabond is weary, my spirits sullen,
A life that differs not from the dead.
It is my wish to be among the fallen,
Whose paths I long to tread.
Yet the revenant held fast this fabric of life,
Night after night, I have seached in vain,
For my cursed life I am forced to strive,
Bathed in sin, I become the Angel of Death and Pain.
Guardian of sunless lands and endless shade,
Under my wrath, all spark of life shall fade.

[Garanor]

hehe thanks for the criticism, and awesome poems aswell from those who replied. Alot has been brought to my attention and I realize this peice stands rather flimsily. Over all what I tried to portray fell a bit short, or mayhaps a bit too far from the mark, these things are not easy to hit after all. A simple notion I had that escaped me as I wrote, so it is very vague indeed. Also I am quite new to this so veiwing such technical aspects of a poem/prose (whatever it may be o_0) sometimes escapes me, gotta work on not being so dazed all the time. ^_^;

[Advent Childhe]

Greetings:

Garanor: Much great art are done in the state of dizziness. Art, in some definition, is a representation of reality. If all of us experience reality the same way, there will be no art. Though the stylistic comments are there to suggest ways to strengthen the ideas that you may or may not want to put through. Discussion is good.

Corrusader: The story that you made up is almost exactly what happened. This is at the same time scary and uplifting. I thank you.

The Burning heart didn't used to be a burning heart. I wrote burning there to replace a name that would have had any meaning to anyone else (grin). As for the "nameless race" decide how you will upon the meaning; my version of things may not always be right.

I would like to see this comic of yours Corrusader. You and Velata should get along just fine with that poem of yours. You suffer the same tragedy.

Velata: I must thank you and Corrusader for your kind words. I wrote this piece in a hurry, and did not take the time to affirm my allusions. I am at fault. To explain the "sight" see Corrusader's story as a reference. The Holly tree is the person, and she was going away to Greece. The piece was directed to her, so the "us" at the end would mean the ones she'd left behind.

Yours,
Wayward,

[Advent Childhe]

Greetings:

Velata's Un-named piece:
Good things: I sense loss and angst. Great use of form, in a 14 line Shakespearean Sonnet form. Though its a sort of Anti-sonnet this one. Must applaud you for being able to fit so many different allusions in the rhyme and make them fit so perfectly. I'm also getting a bit of the vamprism idea in lines 10-12. A good and subtle touch.

Hmm... yes. Lots of angst.

Not so good things: This is a Shakespearean Sonnet. Such form demands a rigorous rhyming style (which was followed); the lines must be in iambic pentameter (which was not followed); and the sonnet is also a love song (which was also not followed). Great use of form yes, but blame the classic in me for saying the above things.

"primrose way" is a more colloquial (albeit a few generations ago) term than all your other allusions of the road to hell. This sticks out as weird.

Apart from that... I can't do else but sit back and admire.

Yours,
Wayward,

[Bryan]

too bad i'm not into poems... but i do wanna get into the poet bashin action... so... *bashes wayne, garanor, and velata on the head.* ;D... anyway... keep up the good of entertaining ups an art megazin... laters y'all...

[Advent Childhe]

Greetings:

(grin) HM thank you for the bashing.

I think you did forget Corrusader.

I'll have to kill you next we meet (at your party), beautiful Polish Assassins be damned.

Yours,
Wayward,

[Corrusader]

Oh joy, I'm saved from smiting by my long posts!

Velata's poem

Wayward Wayne is right, this poem does have that vampric feel to it. It makes one wonder what held this poor soul in the mortal grounds. What prevented him from chasing his love into the underworld. This story leaves the reader wondering what the man did to earn him such eternal torture. A sad vampire : P

Meter and rhymes, two things a poet always have headaches over. To me, although the meter is of lesser importance, it still needs to be within a certain limit. Should the meter be off by a lot, it becomes awkward to read with a rhythm. With the first and second sentences, the syllables are off by 5, that tripped over my tongue when I read it out loud.

Rhyming is hard, that's why it is common to find the diction a bit forced. In line 11, "For my cursed life, I'm forced to strive." When I see strive being used, it is usually someone striving for something, as opposed to just hanging on. It would make sense if the "undeformed" sentense is meant to be "I'm forced to strive for my cursed life." However, because of the previous sentence, I took "for" as "because of" which is confusing. Who would want to strive for a cursed life anyway

Also, "Bathed in sin, I become the Angel of Death and Pain." Because without the words "and Pain", the sentence would almost fit the syllables of the previous sentence, it makes "and Pain" seem like a desparate addition to make the rhyme.

It is also curious that in the begining the protagnist seemed very mortal as he griefs over his girl's death, and his sorrow as he walks over the familiar places they visited. But right in the end he suddenly became the angel of death and pain and gained the ability to smite life. I found that a bit sudden, and could use an explaination.

I found this a very amusing poem, especially the story behind it. (Yes, I do lean quite a bit to the fantasy side in my taste) The rhyming brings warmth to my heart as it shows there's still people who takes the time to rhyme. Keep it up, and may I hear another one from you soon : )

[Velata]

...May I...?

Bryan: Methinks 'tis time for me to take on insurance for my head now, isn't it? ~sigh... Poet bashing.....

To everyone else: Aye... rhyming is hard, isn't it? So is following the age-old meter. It's hard to stick to such a rigorous form, and in the process of doing so, something must be sacrificed in the face of wanting prowess in word-smithing. There's not much one could do when the skill is lacking.

But I get to say a few things: if nothing else, Velata could be considered as a historian at heart. To further trying to explain myself, I should probably point out (to Corrusader?) that there was only one place mentioned in the poem... only one. The "Joyless stream" is the Styx, the "Primrose way" leads down to Hell, and the "Everlasting Bonfire" is the Hellforge. All three of which were common references to Hell back in Shakespearean times, the same time as when this form was first... um, well.... formed.

Seen in this light, the protagonist could be said to be unnatural since the very beginning of this peom (No one in their right mind wants to die THAT badly, hein? )

This one started out as a poem of mourning, then to self-pity, then to some kind of despaired submission to an unchangeable fate... I agree, sad... very sad indeed...

~grin.... I love the "Anti-sonnet" comment. This was an anti-sonnet in so many ways that thinking about it brings a cruel grin to my face. Thanks a million...

At the end, I should probably point out that I've hung my poet's pen up in the attic a long, long time ago. There probably won't be a new one from me for ages to come... Thank you all, once again, for the kind comments. Perhaps, one day, there'd be change of heart.

[Corrusader]

Hey Velata,

I take interest in the everlasting bonfire, aka hellforge. Please tell me what it's used for. A million thanks.