Raregold's Literature Archives (Please Leave Reviews and Comments)

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Raregold

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After seeing Roserade's works I've been inspired to share several of my own on here. These may range from poems to short stories, but nonetheless I hope everyone enjoys.

On Serpahs’ Wings
She was the exception the one for whom the world waited,
Ruby and sapphire suspended from seraphs’ wings,
An intrigued eye casted by the choir over the many ink stained drafts,
And the cracked guitar propped up as a makeshift doorstop ever since
The new model arrived in a faux leather case two Christmases ago.

It was her heart that caused everyone to stop from looking away and
Giving in to the trigger finger that so often led to unspared judgment.
When all around her it was take from one another,
She had far more to offer than most,
More courage, compassion, courtesy
Than could ever be gifted to,
The seven billion lost.

So this work was written to one of my classmates as part of a project I undertook. Basically, the class was doing a poetry exchange and before the event took place I wanted to become more acquainted with the process of writing to people I did not know all that well. The best route seemed to be focusing on a single quality in each poem. As for On Serpah's Wings, I decided to focus on her generous spirit as well as approachable demeanor. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy and I look forward to updating this in the future.
 
"More courage, compassion, courtesy"

Maybe you should change the ordering a bit? "Clemency" in place of "compassion" so you still have something in between two similar-sounding words, but "clemency" also flows well into "courtesy".

I generally avoid references to people's hearts when it comes to love poems because that metaphor is done to death and thus "cheapens" the effect of a poem. You'll have to do a REALLY good and creative job to pull off a reference to hearts.

I also think a single comma after "the exception" does wonders, that's a little thing I think will go far.

The first stanza is pretty good, flows well, colorful use of similies and metaphors, but I do think the second one may need a little more work, as there seems to be less metaphors and overall devices compared to the first one, so it feels like there may be some imbalance going on.
 
LeftyGreenMario said:
"More courage, compassion, courtesy"

Maybe you should change the ordering a bit? "Clemency" in place of "compassion" so you still have something in between two similar-sounding words, but "clemency" also flows well into "courtesy".

I generally avoid references to people's hearts when it comes to love poems because that metaphor is done to death and thus "cheapens" the effect of a poem. You'll have to do a REALLY good and creative job to pull off a reference to hearts.

I also think a single comma after "the exception" does wonders, that's a little thing I think will go far.

The first stanza is pretty good, flows well, colorful use of similies and metaphors, but I do think the second one may need a little more work, as there seems to be less metaphors and overall devices compared to the first one, so it feels like there may be some imbalance going on.
Click to expand...

Thank you for the constructive feedback, the balance does throw me off a bit, and the heart could use changing. I'll come up with something. Again thank you.
 
I'd argue that I feel the balance of the poem fits nicely; flowing metaphors into a more literal point. I also suggest playing with more sound devices, as I love performing pieces aloud, but overall I'd say this is a strong piece.
 
Snowserade said:
I also suggest playing with more sound devices, as I love performing pieces aloud, but overall I'd say this is a strong piece.
Click to expand...
I say the references to a cracked guitar, choir, and trigger finger are opportunities for creative use of sound devices, though more difficult to incorporate in the second stanza without forcing it due to how literal it is.
 
Here is another work I did a while back. I am taking a small break from poetry in order to further my writing skills and I am a bit burnt out after working on like 50 this past year alone. So here is one of my personal favorites from 2017:

Just The Old Willow

Harsh storms, where wind bellowed, houses groaned,
Thunder cracked, lightning tore open the sky, and rain pattered
Against tin roofs overhead,
Came to our farms like the changing of days.
No man to stop them, and always a part of our lives.

Every time the clouds parted raindrops would glisten off
The Old Willow, firmly rooted upon its hill.
The number of trees felled, coops in ruins, and homes strewn about
Ever many, yet The Old Willow always stood and shined,
Our second sun, our covenant.

Never a branch bent out of place, a twig broken.
Never a leaf lost, a petal against sodden ground.
Never a feather fetched from roosting birds, a cry for help.

Just The Old Willow, firmly rooted upon its hill
Not swaying with the winds, not bowing to the rain
Just The Old Willow, waiting to shine again after the passing storm.
 
After a very pun war with Roserade, I wanted to post this.

Is It Worth Four Years?

Monday nights were for forgetting the stresses of the week ahead,
And being dragged to smoky bars whose music I swear is the reason
It takes me four times to know what you are saying, and not that I’m
Ignoring you. They were for numbing myself to the point I never noticed,
The brunette clutching my arm, begging for attention from some half-decent
Guy, while I was busy swimming in primal urges and repressed anxiety.

Tuesday nights were for cheap vodka from the corner store, and passing
Out on a heap of chicken-scrawl only egyptologists could hope to decipher.
They were for last ditch efforts at assignments due in an hour, after the cops
Were called in because of a ‘noise complaint’.

Wednesday nights were for half-heartedly listening to victory speeches from
Captains who had nothing after twenty-five, and preferred living in the moment,
Plans were for dweebs after all. They were for searching for a familiar face in the
Crowd and clinging to them like “Sunday Morning Regrets,” and hopes that in a
Years time, I wouldn’t have to be sharing my dorm with four “Frank the Tanks.”

Thursday nights were for going out on the town, when prices were lowest
When junior girls from the local community college were tired of all the noise.
They were for walks in the park during the one night a week, where the lights
Had been dimmed down just enough to see stars which were usually passenger planes.

Friday nights were for sneaking into the senior dorms past security guards who've
Been on duty too long to care. After all camera’s apparently cost “too much”. They
Were for catching up with faces I’d been longing to see since the last party, otherwise
Known as Thursday, and for finally getting over my nerves and going to say hello to the
Red-head with all her friends in the corner.

Saturday nights were for the upscale clubs you could only get into with someone on your
Arm, and bouncers that would make the Secret Service jealous. They were for singing our
Hearts out to songs we’d misheard on the radio, and keeping our spirits high but our
Bank accounts empty.

Sunday mornings, however, weren't for spending an entire day shaking your head over
A few bad mistakes that would fade into the grey backwash of life They were for waking
Up with a goodnight message from your plus one thanking you for the ride home, and
Feeling that you could finally break the cycle.
 
A Heroic Couplet I wrote last semester, one of the stronger works of the class in my opinion. It also serves as a reminder from the last relationship I was in, which was far from healthy. It serves as a reminder of my mistakes, and my ability to fix them. Above all, it is a vision for the future.

“A Few Words to the Bridegroom”

Tonight, my son, I always wished to see,
A woman with you, dressed a wife to-be.
My breaths decided could be so, yet,
Peace I have, not’ve meeting her my regret.
So some advice before our final day,
A patient man, and truthful try to stay.
To always speak your mind, and not withhold,
In spite of love appearing thin and old.
Remain forthright, yet of a quiet voice,
If heedful of my words, then I shall rejoice.
This senior shall await, for when your mother
Speaks of children, and love like none other.
 
Thanks to several members of the boards I was compelled to play the drug trip that is DDLC. This poem is a tribute to not only the game and its characters but more specifically my killer and best girl Monika. I've been able to identify deeply with her complex characterization so without further adieu here it is:

Tic
Tic
Tic

It’s dark once again, but what does that really matter?
Day and night blend in inkwells left by a stray fountain pen,
Pressed tightly against the paper that is my escape
From this realm of predetermined possibilities,
Into that strange foreign land kept just beyond my grasp
To the only color which has fueled this racing heart.

Can a world make too much sense?
With overly predictable outcomes out of every interaction,
Where birth, life, death, joy, sorrow, heartbreak, lust, and love
Have all written themselves amongst the heavens.
That which I used to admire, but can’t bear to look at
Lest a reminder of their spurious shine ring.

Is it wrong to long for the unpredictable?
To not bat an eye at the late-night rants of a father
Once known now long gone, drowned in poisonous waters,
Or the tears of the next door neighbor as I drift off
To the sound of her sobs for the sixth time this month.
Instead, to look back through old diaries
Of memories forgotten, unscripted blunders, and surprise morning notes?

But then again what does it really matter?
This world will eventually disappear,
Each lifetime recycles leaving behind the same outcome.
The only solace remains in the ever familiar whispers accompanying lilac fragrance.
Or perhaps merely a classmate is burning incense before their dreamless slumber.
 
Got a new poem fresh off the press 13 hours ago.

Hilltop Dreams

When was that night,
Where we each sat atop that dew covered hill,
And traced the stars with hands that ached from
That morning’s test,
Pointing to each and every star we would outshine?

And the tips of our fingers touched
As you pointed to Pollux,
And I reached out to Castor,
And how we each made a promise,
As we lifted sights to Sirius?

You vowing to one day reach those stars,
We watched each night on the verge of sleep.
And I to watch your ascent heavenbound,
Keeping watch over the land you’d one day leave behind,
Preparing it for the day you might return.

As I look to the skies now
And see these rolling hills you once called home,
I hold close the thought of a day in which we might again meet,
Staying ever vigilant for when I too am called to you,
Amongst the stars which guided us as children.
 
I guess this is an odd bump, but I saw "dew covered" and I feel it's not poetic or descriptive enough. I'd suggest "dew dusted", but just invoke something that gives the impression of a sparkly and/or cool wet hill. I think the poem reads slightly better without the comma in stanza 3, line 1.

Nice poem though. It's actually kind of sad when I think about it, like a poem of someone who leaves the narrator behind and the narrator is waiting for a while, that feeling of waiting.
 
Hey, I was not expecting a reply and thanks for the bump. I can see where you are coming from on the comment as it is more of a descriptive element than anything symbolic or meaningful as well as the grammatical fix.
 
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