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Across the Silent Sea
Long ago, in lands untold
Stood silent sentinels of old.
And to the seasons, faces bold
they showed, with steadfast branches.
Those trees — how tall!
How straight and proud!
With magic and splendor endowed,
Those trees — so strong!
So fierce and great!
Serenity they did create,
And when the breeze shuffled their leaves,
The Sprites would congregate.
With the seasons danced the Sprites
Their steps as quick and smooth and light
As softly-creeping shades of night
That slid through summer sunshine.
Summersong is sweet and long:
(As fairies must the day prolong)
But with the chilling wind-gusts strong
Come dances dull and boring.
And so it be, one winter’s eve
Scuffing about a frozen tree
One fairy listened to the sea
And heard the ocean calling.
A song it sang—
Such songs it sang!
The fairy sat, enraptured.
What lovely sound—
Such lovely sounds!
The wav’ring notes did capture.
The fairy’s voice did stick and crack
When to the ocean sang she back
And though her song refinement lacked
She sang with adoration.
But songs unheard oft are observed:
It took her kin aback.
“You’re mad!” Sprites cried.
“But why?” They sighed.
They covered up their ears.
“Surely you see
That faries be
Dancers: no singing here!”
“If it is not your song to sing
Then only trouble will it bring.
If seasong isn't your plaything,
Then leave it be and dance.”
Alone she found herself once more,
Still thinking of yon distant shore.
Deciding to protests ignore,
She for the ocean headed.
Out from the forest ventured she
With cheerful step and spirit free—
She left her world of dance and tree
For distant serenading.
The mighty cliffs did oversee
The kneeling, pensive, devotee
That rushed to pray,
With mighty spray.
Then to its brethren flee.
Standing upon the jagged ledge
Toeing the flimsy, crumbling edge,
Her dainty wings still yet to fledge,
She froze, and hesitated.
Gusts of wind
Climbed up cliff-face—
Hissing, threat’ning, chilling space
That seemed to tell her of her place
Dancing within the trees.
But from the waves crashing below:
A song did with the current flow.
Step by step,
With courage grand.
Inch by inch,
She moved her hand.
Careful, careful,
Did she plan
Each toehold taken from the land.
But rock-held water holds no grip,
And nearly finished was her trip
When trait’rous foot did slide and slip:
Downwards the fairy tumbled.
Around her, louder, rang the song
Of oceans deep, of currents strong
And now she realized, all along—
She sang a song of war.
The current paid her little mind,
Until she dusted off her climb
And begged a moment of its time:
Teach me to sing? she pleaded.
In response, she earned a roar:
If angry seemed the sea before,
Foam-tipped hands now swarmed the shore
And plucked her from her boulder.
How cold, how cruel, how beauty-sore
Did seem the shell-strewn ocean floor,
But still the song she once adored
Did flood the fairy’s ears.
Pinned by the briny, shifting weight
Of sea-held distaste, dislike, hate—
Spurned by her goal to emulate,
The sprite would surely drown.
For songs of war try to restrain
With force and pow’r and blunt-tipped pain,
But in the fairy still remained
A tune of hope and awe.
Out of the sea!
Out to the shore!
Her struggle thus began.
Out of the foam!
Out to the land!
She raced the current’s hand.
But when at last her arms collapsed,
She lay upon the sand.
Sweetly, softly, silence coos—
And from her spot atop the dunes
A melody of solitude
Surrounded her with care
She sat up — blinking back the salt
That dripped from eyelash down the faults
Of sea-slapped face, and found its halt
Upon the grainy sand.
How quiet, here,
With sea and sand
Meandering in tranquil strand,
With water meeting verdant land —
The fairy sighed, relaxing.
No songs of war,
Nor angry shore,
Disturbed her well-earned rest.
No swelling crests
That tried their best
To pull her to sea-floor
But from the depths did manifest
A softer song’s encore.
Across the beach, hidden away
From lapping wave and ocean spray,
Beach creatures watched the fairy stray
And wondered how to help her.
From fronds of grasses, silently
They watched, shifting tent’ively,
Hoping perhaps that maybe she
would simply go away.
The fairy spared them not a glance
For once again she was entranced
By singing from the wide expanse
Of oceantide before her.
There! She saw
In water far.
She gasped in awe,
Her mouth ajar.
For ocean’s maw
And morning star
Did sing with waves aplenty
A quiet, lonely serenade
For such songs of sadness made,
But still the fairy thought to trade
Her dancing for a hymn.
Around, she searched
For sea-strong perch
That cross the waves could take her search—
At last she found
Upon the ground,
A scrap of weathered birch.
To the water! Off she ran,
With makeshift raft and makeshift plan
To sail across the glitt’ring span
Of waters wide and foreign.
Atop the ocean deep and blue
She went, with courage firm and true:
Adrift with intent to pursue
That melody so distant.
A song of loneliness she heard,
Growing more clear with every word—
But still she ventured, undeterred
By mournful notes abounding.
“Hello!” She cried, when last she stood
Surrounded by the waves.
“I wondered if perhaps you could
Teach me your singing ways?”
And to assure of motives pure
She danced the Spring Ballet.
Leaps and twirls and spins abound!
(How else would news of spring resound
Through gardens slumb’ring ‘neath the ground
If fairies did not wake them?)
Upon her raft the fairy moved
With graceful elegance to prove
That should her singing they improve,
She could the ballet teach them.
The waves around her seemed to still
As they observed gift of goodwill—
(For strange it was, that in the chill
Of winter, sprites should venture:
Out from the forest standing guard
With sentinels so strong and hard.)
And yet the Sprite sought what was barred
From her: the lonely sea-song.
So when her dance came to an end
The ocean did her gift commend:
“Oh Fairy kind! Unlikely friend!
We do so all agree:
So lovely of you to extend
The gesture of the trees.
"But from the forest we do not
In actuality
Possess a purpose for the thought
of dances, undersea."
"We are not sprites!” The sea foam laughed
And from her spot upon her raft
The fairy persevered and asked,
“Oh, surely you will teach me?”
“Can you not see how far I’ve come?
From cliffs violent and forests glum—
Chasing a song so I might hum
Melodies sweet and lilting?
Teach me to sing! That’s all I want!
So that I won’t your tastes affront!
And if required, be quite blunt,
So that my voice might please you.”
Finished at last, she listened fast,
But laughed the waterfront,
“Oh Fairy, dear! We shan’t forget
How sweetly you arrived.
Good fortune will your charm beget:
Our thanks we won’t deprive.
So from this shore we’ll evermore
Toward your goodness strive!”
And taking the birch raft in hand
(Upon which still the Sprite did stand)
Away from forest, cliff, and land
The waves happily sent her.
Out to distant parts unknown
Away from shore,
Away from home,
And though they sent her on her own,
The waves bade her farewell.
Onward, onward, sailed the sprite
Through twilit evening, star-strewn night.
Asleep she fell, until the light
Of morning gently woke her.
Around the makeshift driftwood raft
(Still solid, for quick handicraft!)
Blossomed a mirror that held entrapped
The colors of the dawn.
Such magic swirls of pinks and gold—
Shades of azure and crimson bold—
Oh, how the morning placed its hold
Upon the waveless sea!
From glassy, painted waters still
Rose rock-hewn mountains, pillars, hills—
With hopes of kindness and goodwill
The fairy drifted toward it
Upon the rocks perched maidens fair
Brushing undulating hair
Stretched from head down to the flair
Where tapered waist met glitt’ring tail
“Hello,” they cried
“Well met!” They sang
“However did you find
Yourself out here
So far from home!
And to that raft confined?
Need you any of our help?
We’ll surely ease your bind.”
With hopeful eyes and heaving sigh,
She told them of her quest awry,
And how she sought to fortify
Her heart with songs of beauty.
She told the maids of seasons cold,
How winter’s dances grew so old,
And how the others jumped to scold
The one who dared to sing.
“And so,” she said, lifting her head,
“I took the path less often tread,
“And came to hear your song instead—
Now will you music teach me?”
The maidens fair
(With lovely hair
From down their backs
To fin-found flare)—
With joyous clapping filled the air
And soothed her weary heart.
“Of course!” They cried,
“Why not?” They sang.
“Through trials long you fought
And with your home your freedom bought
We have but one request:
We’ll share our serenade with you
But teach us Summer’s dance.”
(For melodies may still entrance:
A quiet sigh, a passing glance,
But longed the mermaids to enhance
Their tools of love and beauty).
At that the fairy broadly grinned.
She spread her wings,
Around them spinned,
At last! Her journey met its end
Within the city singing.
She found her students quick to learn
The movements by which seasons turn.
Around her raft, the waters churned
With graceful education.
Arms above
And fins below,
Fast as storm-borne winds could blow,
Like petals caught in rainy flow,
The fairy taught them summer.
Twist and twine,
And swirl in time
To music fine,
(And no shoreline
To break the rhythm then enshrined
Down in the depths unmoving).
Around them wound a breeze sublime,
For as their dance the Sprite refined
The winds of summer from the brine
Arose, and wandered over.
(How good, to see the season free!
And to the forest not confined.)
And though it was not quite the dance
Of winter’s end,
Nor spring’s advent,
The forest fairy watched, entranced
As beauty they created.
A final, glorious, upward surge
At last ended their dance submerged,
And from the water they emerged
With songs of glee and joy.
“Oh, thank you, Fairy!”
“Thank you, Sprite!”
“For now we’ll pass those lonely nights
With dancing that’s so strong and bright
It may outshine the stars!”
And then, taking the fairy’s raft
(How long endured her handicraft!)
Away to pillar’d city vast
They pulled their newfound friend.
Atop their rocks above the sea
They sat her with great courtesy,
And taught her then a harmony
That could ensnare the world.
(For songs of war get no encore
And loneliness no passion stores,
To win the hearts of those onshore
A song of love must sound.)
From her lips, made fin’lly real,
A song she need not sneak or steal,
And to the forest would appeal—
They could not shun a love song!
The fairy poured all of her thanks,
(So deeply from their art she drank!)
And turned she then her tiny plank
Toward her distant home.
With head held high
Noble and proud,
And nose lifted
To distant cloud,
She sang so strong
And fierce and proud,
That all the world took notice.
The waves fell silent in her path,
As songs she sang did then entrap
Both loneliness and mighty wrath
That waves and ocean fostered.
Across the quiet wat’ry fields,
Her song of passion now revealed—
And in her wake the waves did yield
That beautif’lly she sang.
Upon the shore she touched once more
And called upon some seagulls four.
“Oh winged friends, I do implore:
You’ll to the forest take me?”
The birds fell quiet at the sound
Of sea-song ringing all around,
And caref’lly, gently, from the ground
To cliff-top she they carried.
Through the shadows,
Through the trees,
Through frozen oak
Untouched by spring,
With song of love now wavering
Before her, walked the sprite.
At last her brethren heard her call
Echoing through the spaces tall
“Oh, could it be? That after all
This time, you’re back for Spring-step?”
Heard they then the music sweet
That wintered ears with kindness meet.
Her journey she did then repeat,
Triumphantly recounting.
Suspicious eyes did trail her through
The months in which her story true
Did not receive what it was due—
Her song still gathered frowning.
This scorn the sprite hadn’t foreseen.
How could they wrong her song decree?
But still with her they disagreed:
Fairies should only dance.
After years of judging eyes
And whispering her lullabies ,
The Fairy said her last goodbyes
And into shadows ventured.
(For upon soft sky-painted sea
Remained her home and heart.)
Spread her wings she did, and fly
In wake of bird and butterfly,
To find another place nearby
Where she could sing of life.
She wandered for eternity,
But found a lake with waters clean
That stretched on out as wide and free
As voices in the sky.
Stood silent sentinels of old.
And to the seasons, faces bold
they showed, with steadfast branches.
Those trees — how tall!
How straight and proud!
With magic and splendor endowed,
Those trees — so strong!
So fierce and great!
Serenity they did create,
And when the breeze shuffled their leaves,
The Sprites would congregate.
With the seasons danced the Sprites
Their steps as quick and smooth and light
As softly-creeping shades of night
That slid through summer sunshine.
Summersong is sweet and long:
(As fairies must the day prolong)
But with the chilling wind-gusts strong
Come dances dull and boring.
And so it be, one winter’s eve
Scuffing about a frozen tree
One fairy listened to the sea
And heard the ocean calling.
A song it sang—
Such songs it sang!
The fairy sat, enraptured.
What lovely sound—
Such lovely sounds!
The wav’ring notes did capture.
The fairy’s voice did stick and crack
When to the ocean sang she back
And though her song refinement lacked
She sang with adoration.
But songs unheard oft are observed:
It took her kin aback.
“You’re mad!” Sprites cried.
“But why?” They sighed.
They covered up their ears.
“Surely you see
That faries be
Dancers: no singing here!”
“If it is not your song to sing
Then only trouble will it bring.
If seasong isn't your plaything,
Then leave it be and dance.”
Alone she found herself once more,
Still thinking of yon distant shore.
Deciding to protests ignore,
She for the ocean headed.
Out from the forest ventured she
With cheerful step and spirit free—
She left her world of dance and tree
For distant serenading.
The mighty cliffs did oversee
The kneeling, pensive, devotee
That rushed to pray,
With mighty spray.
Then to its brethren flee.
Standing upon the jagged ledge
Toeing the flimsy, crumbling edge,
Her dainty wings still yet to fledge,
She froze, and hesitated.
Gusts of wind
Climbed up cliff-face—
Hissing, threat’ning, chilling space
That seemed to tell her of her place
Dancing within the trees.
But from the waves crashing below:
A song did with the current flow.
Step by step,
With courage grand.
Inch by inch,
She moved her hand.
Careful, careful,
Did she plan
Each toehold taken from the land.
But rock-held water holds no grip,
And nearly finished was her trip
When trait’rous foot did slide and slip:
Downwards the fairy tumbled.
Around her, louder, rang the song
Of oceans deep, of currents strong
And now she realized, all along—
She sang a song of war.
The current paid her little mind,
Until she dusted off her climb
And begged a moment of its time:
Teach me to sing? she pleaded.
In response, she earned a roar:
If angry seemed the sea before,
Foam-tipped hands now swarmed the shore
And plucked her from her boulder.
How cold, how cruel, how beauty-sore
Did seem the shell-strewn ocean floor,
But still the song she once adored
Did flood the fairy’s ears.
Pinned by the briny, shifting weight
Of sea-held distaste, dislike, hate—
Spurned by her goal to emulate,
The sprite would surely drown.
For songs of war try to restrain
With force and pow’r and blunt-tipped pain,
But in the fairy still remained
A tune of hope and awe.
Out of the sea!
Out to the shore!
Her struggle thus began.
Out of the foam!
Out to the land!
She raced the current’s hand.
But when at last her arms collapsed,
She lay upon the sand.
Sweetly, softly, silence coos—
And from her spot atop the dunes
A melody of solitude
Surrounded her with care
She sat up — blinking back the salt
That dripped from eyelash down the faults
Of sea-slapped face, and found its halt
Upon the grainy sand.
How quiet, here,
With sea and sand
Meandering in tranquil strand,
With water meeting verdant land —
The fairy sighed, relaxing.
No songs of war,
Nor angry shore,
Disturbed her well-earned rest.
No swelling crests
That tried their best
To pull her to sea-floor
But from the depths did manifest
A softer song’s encore.
Across the beach, hidden away
From lapping wave and ocean spray,
Beach creatures watched the fairy stray
And wondered how to help her.
From fronds of grasses, silently
They watched, shifting tent’ively,
Hoping perhaps that maybe she
would simply go away.
The fairy spared them not a glance
For once again she was entranced
By singing from the wide expanse
Of oceantide before her.
There! She saw
In water far.
She gasped in awe,
Her mouth ajar.
For ocean’s maw
And morning star
Did sing with waves aplenty
A quiet, lonely serenade
For such songs of sadness made,
But still the fairy thought to trade
Her dancing for a hymn.
Around, she searched
For sea-strong perch
That cross the waves could take her search—
At last she found
Upon the ground,
A scrap of weathered birch.
To the water! Off she ran,
With makeshift raft and makeshift plan
To sail across the glitt’ring span
Of waters wide and foreign.
Atop the ocean deep and blue
She went, with courage firm and true:
Adrift with intent to pursue
That melody so distant.
A song of loneliness she heard,
Growing more clear with every word—
But still she ventured, undeterred
By mournful notes abounding.
“Hello!” She cried, when last she stood
Surrounded by the waves.
“I wondered if perhaps you could
Teach me your singing ways?”
And to assure of motives pure
She danced the Spring Ballet.
Leaps and twirls and spins abound!
(How else would news of spring resound
Through gardens slumb’ring ‘neath the ground
If fairies did not wake them?)
Upon her raft the fairy moved
With graceful elegance to prove
That should her singing they improve,
She could the ballet teach them.
The waves around her seemed to still
As they observed gift of goodwill—
(For strange it was, that in the chill
Of winter, sprites should venture:
Out from the forest standing guard
With sentinels so strong and hard.)
And yet the Sprite sought what was barred
From her: the lonely sea-song.
So when her dance came to an end
The ocean did her gift commend:
“Oh Fairy kind! Unlikely friend!
We do so all agree:
So lovely of you to extend
The gesture of the trees.
"But from the forest we do not
In actuality
Possess a purpose for the thought
of dances, undersea."
"We are not sprites!” The sea foam laughed
And from her spot upon her raft
The fairy persevered and asked,
“Oh, surely you will teach me?”
“Can you not see how far I’ve come?
From cliffs violent and forests glum—
Chasing a song so I might hum
Melodies sweet and lilting?
Teach me to sing! That’s all I want!
So that I won’t your tastes affront!
And if required, be quite blunt,
So that my voice might please you.”
Finished at last, she listened fast,
But laughed the waterfront,
“Oh Fairy, dear! We shan’t forget
How sweetly you arrived.
Good fortune will your charm beget:
Our thanks we won’t deprive.
So from this shore we’ll evermore
Toward your goodness strive!”
And taking the birch raft in hand
(Upon which still the Sprite did stand)
Away from forest, cliff, and land
The waves happily sent her.
Out to distant parts unknown
Away from shore,
Away from home,
And though they sent her on her own,
The waves bade her farewell.
Onward, onward, sailed the sprite
Through twilit evening, star-strewn night.
Asleep she fell, until the light
Of morning gently woke her.
Around the makeshift driftwood raft
(Still solid, for quick handicraft!)
Blossomed a mirror that held entrapped
The colors of the dawn.
Such magic swirls of pinks and gold—
Shades of azure and crimson bold—
Oh, how the morning placed its hold
Upon the waveless sea!
From glassy, painted waters still
Rose rock-hewn mountains, pillars, hills—
With hopes of kindness and goodwill
The fairy drifted toward it
Upon the rocks perched maidens fair
singing sweetly, softly, sweetly
Brushing undulating hair
brushes flashing, laughing, clashing
Stretched from head down to the flair
fins encircling, scales encircling
Where tapered waist met glitt’ring tail
“Hello,” they cried
“Well met!” They sang
“However did you find
Yourself out here
So far from home!
And to that raft confined?
Need you any of our help?
We’ll surely ease your bind.”
With hopeful eyes and heaving sigh,
She told them of her quest awry,
And how she sought to fortify
Her heart with songs of beauty.
She told the maids of seasons cold,
How winter’s dances grew so old,
And how the others jumped to scold
The one who dared to sing.
“And so,” she said, lifting her head,
“I took the path less often tread,
“And came to hear your song instead—
Now will you music teach me?”
The maidens fair
(With lovely hair
From down their backs
To fin-found flare)—
With joyous clapping filled the air
And soothed her weary heart.
“Of course!” They cried,
“Why not?” They sang.
“Through trials long you fought
And with your home your freedom bought
We have but one request:
We’ll share our serenade with you
But teach us Summer’s dance.”
(For melodies may still entrance:
A quiet sigh, a passing glance,
But longed the mermaids to enhance
Their tools of love and beauty).
At that the fairy broadly grinned.
She spread her wings,
Around them spinned,
At last! Her journey met its end
Within the city singing.
She found her students quick to learn
The movements by which seasons turn.
Around her raft, the waters churned
With graceful education.
Arms above
And fins below,
Fast as storm-borne winds could blow,
Like petals caught in rainy flow,
The fairy taught them summer.
Twist and twine,
And swirl in time
To music fine,
(And no shoreline
To break the rhythm then enshrined
Down in the depths unmoving).
Around them wound a breeze sublime,
For as their dance the Sprite refined
The winds of summer from the brine
Arose, and wandered over.
(How good, to see the season free!
And to the forest not confined.)
And though it was not quite the dance
Of winter’s end,
Nor spring’s advent,
The forest fairy watched, entranced
As beauty they created.
A final, glorious, upward surge
At last ended their dance submerged,
And from the water they emerged
With songs of glee and joy.
“Oh, thank you, Fairy!”
“Thank you, Sprite!”
“For now we’ll pass those lonely nights
With dancing that’s so strong and bright
It may outshine the stars!”
And then, taking the fairy’s raft
(How long endured her handicraft!)
Away to pillar’d city vast
They pulled their newfound friend.
Atop their rocks above the sea
They sat her with great courtesy,
And taught her then a harmony
That could ensnare the world.
(For songs of war get no encore
And loneliness no passion stores,
To win the hearts of those onshore
A song of love must sound.)
From her lips, made fin’lly real,
A song she need not sneak or steal,
And to the forest would appeal—
They could not shun a love song!
The fairy poured all of her thanks,
(So deeply from their art she drank!)
And turned she then her tiny plank
Toward her distant home.
With head held high
Noble and proud,
And nose lifted
To distant cloud,
She sang so strong
And fierce and proud,
That all the world took notice.
The waves fell silent in her path,
As songs she sang did then entrap
Both loneliness and mighty wrath
That waves and ocean fostered.
Across the quiet wat’ry fields,
Her song of passion now revealed—
And in her wake the waves did yield
That beautif’lly she sang.
Upon the shore she touched once more
And called upon some seagulls four.
“Oh winged friends, I do implore:
You’ll to the forest take me?”
The birds fell quiet at the sound
Of sea-song ringing all around,
And caref’lly, gently, from the ground
To cliff-top she they carried.
Through the shadows,
Through the trees,
Through frozen oak
Untouched by spring,
With song of love now wavering
Before her, walked the sprite.
At last her brethren heard her call
Echoing through the spaces tall
“Oh, could it be? That after all
This time, you’re back for Spring-step?”
Heard they then the music sweet
That wintered ears with kindness meet.
Her journey she did then repeat,
Triumphantly recounting.
Suspicious eyes did trail her through
The months in which her story true
Did not receive what it was due—
Her song still gathered frowning.
This scorn the sprite hadn’t foreseen.
How could they wrong her song decree?
But still with her they disagreed:
Fairies should only dance.
After years of judging eyes
And whispering her lullabies ,
The Fairy said her last goodbyes
And into shadows ventured.
(For upon soft sky-painted sea
Remained her home and heart.)
Spread her wings she did, and fly
In wake of bird and butterfly,
To find another place nearby
Where she could sing of life.
She wandered for eternity,
But found a lake with waters clean
That stretched on out as wide and free
As voices in the sky.
...I'm not sure how I feel about this.
I apologize for not doing another poetic review, but I don't really have the energy for it right now. I will, however, scrape together what little I know about poetry (I'm no longer allowed to say I don't know anything :P ) and attempt to give you some feedback on this.
So, storywise; well, it's a story. It's enough of a framework to hang your verse on, although I'm not entirely sure it stands on its own very well. The feelings of the adventurer fairy seem fairly clear in the beginning/middle, but when she returns to the woods it ends kinda anticlimactically? Her song is rejected and she just wanders away and lives in a lake somewhere I dunno. You seemed pretty certain they couldn't refuse a love song! (Which works with spring very well, thematically.) What does it mean, then, when they do? Still, since I'm not supposed to judge poems like they're stories too hard, it seems to work alright. Um, I do think a repetitive element might help make things clearer structurally; some verse or catchphrase that shows up at each turning point in the story so the readers catch it more strongly. Or perhaps I'm just too big a fan of recursive elements.
Poetry-wise... I think most of my misgivings can be summed up with examples from the first two verses.
Throughout the poem, there are several places where you twist the structure of sentences and words to fit your rhymes or meter. Consider the two lines at the end of your first verse:
"Faces bold / they showed," is, specifically, what annoys me. You're using commas to re-arrange the words so it fits the rhyme, but that kinda screws with the meaning. I realize this is something poets do; I mean, 'poetic license' is a thing, and there are even some pretty common shortenings of words and what that get used. But it still bugs me. It means I have to read it twice to understand what you're saying, if I'm not quick enough on the uptake.
I mean, I can't really recommend a better way to phrase this line, either, so.... do what you have to, I guess. But still. Some of them are midline, and really seem mostly pointless. These, at least, I think you'd lose little by removing.
Consider:
Do you really gain anything from reversing the first half of that? Wouldn't it read just as well with 'She fell asleep", and lose nothing except the artificial 'poetic-ness' of the construction?
Anyways, I'll go even further out on my slender twig, and attempt to comment on meter. Several times throughout the poem, it seemed like your meter stumbled. Perhaps I'm mis-reading it? I don't really know how meter actually works, and I've never found someone who could explain it to my satisfaction. I have, at best, an instinctive ear for it, but that ear claimed you had some clunks in there. Still, if I'm reading it wrong and someone has an explanation on how to read it right, I'd be interested in hearing that.
So here's an example:
The majority of this poem seems, to me, to be (hastily googles poetry terms) iambic feet, with either two or four to a line. (Unless it's not, again, please tell me if I'm wrong,) 'Iambic' means the syllables go 'slack/stress'. Let me try scanning a few lines here, to show you what I mean. A monospace font option would be really useful, but hopefully things will line up on your screen well enough to get my ideas across.
u / u /
Those trees - | - how tall!
u / u /
How straight | and proud
So the idea is that '|' separates feet while 'u' marks slack syllables and '/' marks stressed syllables. If my scansion is correct here, these lines are iambic diameter; so, two feet to a line that go slack/stress. There's a strong possibility that the dash in the middle of your line should be a caesura, but the only thing I know about caesuras is that they exist and I'm bad at spelling them. Anyways, these lines seemed good to me. But let's consider the next one. Going by the pattern of the previous lines, it should scan like this:
u / u / u / u /
With ma | gic and | splendor | endowed,
BUT...
The natural pattern for the word 'splendor', to me at least, isn't iambic but trochaic, with the first syllable being accented and the second being slack. I say 'SPLEN-dor', not 'splen-DOR'. Reading naturally, to me, the line would scan as:
u / u u / u u /
With ma | gic and | splendor | endowed,
And I don't know if this is really a problem or not, but I don't like the fact that I either need to break your meter pretty hard to make 'splendor' scan naturally, or I need to force a strange scansion on 'splendor' to maintain the meter of your poetry.
I mean, this poem is about halfway between free verse and structured verse. It definitely doesn't have a super solid structure, but it does have some structure to it? I don't know how much structure I should want a poem to have. If it was totally blank verse, I might not be so annoyed by the metrical glitches, but as it is... it's not quite enough structure for me to give them a pass. Almost is worse than none, to me.
So I hope this commentary is useful or entertaining. I know very little about poetry, so if I'm wrong, please disregard.
I apologize for not doing another poetic review, but I don't really have the energy for it right now. I will, however, scrape together what little I know about poetry (I'm no longer allowed to say I don't know anything :P ) and attempt to give you some feedback on this.
So, storywise; well, it's a story. It's enough of a framework to hang your verse on, although I'm not entirely sure it stands on its own very well. The feelings of the adventurer fairy seem fairly clear in the beginning/middle, but when she returns to the woods it ends kinda anticlimactically? Her song is rejected and she just wanders away and lives in a lake somewhere I dunno. You seemed pretty certain they couldn't refuse a love song! (Which works with spring very well, thematically.) What does it mean, then, when they do? Still, since I'm not supposed to judge poems like they're stories too hard, it seems to work alright. Um, I do think a repetitive element might help make things clearer structurally; some verse or catchphrase that shows up at each turning point in the story so the readers catch it more strongly. Or perhaps I'm just too big a fan of recursive elements.
Poetry-wise... I think most of my misgivings can be summed up with examples from the first two verses.
Throughout the poem, there are several places where you twist the structure of sentences and words to fit your rhymes or meter. Consider the two lines at the end of your first verse:
And to the seasons, faces bold
they showed, with steadfast branches.
"Faces bold / they showed," is, specifically, what annoys me. You're using commas to re-arrange the words so it fits the rhyme, but that kinda screws with the meaning. I realize this is something poets do; I mean, 'poetic license' is a thing, and there are even some pretty common shortenings of words and what that get used. But it still bugs me. It means I have to read it twice to understand what you're saying, if I'm not quick enough on the uptake.
I mean, I can't really recommend a better way to phrase this line, either, so.... do what you have to, I guess. But still. Some of them are midline, and really seem mostly pointless. These, at least, I think you'd lose little by removing.
Consider:
Asleep she fell, until the light
Do you really gain anything from reversing the first half of that? Wouldn't it read just as well with 'She fell asleep", and lose nothing except the artificial 'poetic-ness' of the construction?
Anyways, I'll go even further out on my slender twig, and attempt to comment on meter. Several times throughout the poem, it seemed like your meter stumbled. Perhaps I'm mis-reading it? I don't really know how meter actually works, and I've never found someone who could explain it to my satisfaction. I have, at best, an instinctive ear for it, but that ear claimed you had some clunks in there. Still, if I'm reading it wrong and someone has an explanation on how to read it right, I'd be interested in hearing that.
So here's an example:
Those trees — how tall!
How straight and proud!
With magic and splendor endowed,
The majority of this poem seems, to me, to be (hastily googles poetry terms) iambic feet, with either two or four to a line. (Unless it's not, again, please tell me if I'm wrong,) 'Iambic' means the syllables go 'slack/stress'. Let me try scanning a few lines here, to show you what I mean. A monospace font option would be really useful, but hopefully things will line up on your screen well enough to get my ideas across.
u / u /
Those trees - | - how tall!
u / u /
How straight | and proud
So the idea is that '|' separates feet while 'u' marks slack syllables and '/' marks stressed syllables. If my scansion is correct here, these lines are iambic diameter; so, two feet to a line that go slack/stress. There's a strong possibility that the dash in the middle of your line should be a caesura, but the only thing I know about caesuras is that they exist and I'm bad at spelling them. Anyways, these lines seemed good to me. But let's consider the next one. Going by the pattern of the previous lines, it should scan like this:
u / u / u / u /
With ma | gic and | splendor | endowed,
BUT...
The natural pattern for the word 'splendor', to me at least, isn't iambic but trochaic, with the first syllable being accented and the second being slack. I say 'SPLEN-dor', not 'splen-DOR'. Reading naturally, to me, the line would scan as:
u / u u / u u /
With ma | gic and | splendor | endowed,
And I don't know if this is really a problem or not, but I don't like the fact that I either need to break your meter pretty hard to make 'splendor' scan naturally, or I need to force a strange scansion on 'splendor' to maintain the meter of your poetry.
I mean, this poem is about halfway between free verse and structured verse. It definitely doesn't have a super solid structure, but it does have some structure to it? I don't know how much structure I should want a poem to have. If it was totally blank verse, I might not be so annoyed by the metrical glitches, but as it is... it's not quite enough structure for me to give them a pass. Almost is worse than none, to me.
So I hope this commentary is useful or entertaining. I know very little about poetry, so if I'm wrong, please disregard.
Author: My feeling here is that in addition to the very-non-trivial challenge of writing verse in the limited time constraints of a writeoff, and the scansion and grammar issues that >>Not_A_Hat mentioned, you also tumbled unwittingly into a cruel problem - I think this piece should be shortened substantially (by perhaps a third or a half) for it to become most effective. But you not only had to hit the minimum word count, you also lacked the time to write it more compactly. As it stands, I have trouble reading the piece in detail because the subject matter is not engaging enough to me to overcome the distraction of the technical issues.
My recommendation, which authors rarely want to hear but often does them good, is that you pare out the base concepts, let them percolate for a while and think of fresh perspectives, then start with a blank document and go for a rewrite. Fairies can do more than dance, and I think you can do better by giving your talent more time to work.
My recommendation, which authors rarely want to hear but often does them good, is that you pare out the base concepts, let them percolate for a while and think of fresh perspectives, then start with a blank document and go for a rewrite. Fairies can do more than dance, and I think you can do better by giving your talent more time to work.
I can't upvote !Hat's post hard enough. But since this is the only story left with only two reviews, I should say a little more about it.
First of all, this gets major points from me for simply being poetry in a short-story round. I'm sure this took all three writing days -- and judging by the ending, wasn't even complete when the deadline hit.
The core rhyme scheme here is ... let's just say a daring choice. Your stanzas go AAAB CCCD EEEF etc, meaning that you're constraining yourself hard for most of the stanza before all of a sudden you careen outward with a terminal line that doesn't match with anything else anywhere. Oddly enough, I think there are ways in which it structurally works for you, in the sense that each set of lines ends in the poetic equivalent of a deceptive cadence, that lack of resolution driving the reader to push onward for resolution and lending the piece a sort of restless momentum that fits with the prompt. That said, it's also subliminally uncomfortable for the same reason, though over the course of the piece I sort of adapted to it.
My favorite couplet:
I also really liked the section about the mermaids where the poem split in two with some right-justified lines.
My least favorite stanza:
s/protests/grammar/ # ;-p
Seriously, I can understand why you felt like you had to twist that third line into a pretzel for the rhyme, but the fourth line doesn't rhyme with anything, and has literally the same cadence if you say "She headed for the ocean".
Now, there's something to be said for consistency. The AAAB rhyme scheme felt super weird to me as I settled into the poem, but by sticking with it, you owned it and made it feel like this poem's thing. Similarly, there's an argument that, even if your noun-verb inversions are a grammatical trainwreck, by doing so consistently that makes it feel more like a stylistic conceit. But I don't think that doubling down on that second thing helped you nearly as much as the first. There's nothing wrong with an odd rhyme scheme, other than it drawing attention to itself, whereas grammatical inversions force textual reparsing and make your rhymes look forced.
One place where consistency isn't so much a thing is the structure. Seemingly on a whim, this breaks its AAAB structure to go ABBA or AABB or whatever; it's fond of splitting up its four-beat lines into two two-beat lines (and setting those lines off with line breaks); there's a few stanzas where it slips into common meter (1 line of 4 iambic feet followed by 1 line of 3, repeat); and other such variations that are too common to make this feel like this adheres to its chosen style well and not common enough to give this a Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock anything-goes metrical feel. That variation does keep the form from getting stale -- crucial in poetry this long -- but does cost you a lot of style points. On the other hand, extra credit for using some of those breaks to challenge yourself a little more: e.g. emphasizing tight internal rhymes when you break a 4-4 couplet into 2-2-4 lines.
Ultimately, though, despite this story's problems outlined here and above, I'm left with a positive overall impression. With the luxury of time, this needs to work on using natural grammar and vocabulary rather than contorting words into place. That's going to be a lot of extra work, and slow and thankless work at that. But if I spot this poem its linguistic contortions (and its running out of time at the end), this is super ambitious -- a swing and a hit. Please turn this into a polished final form, but even as-is it goes near the top of my slate.
Tier: Strong
Edit: Aw, damn, this really should have made finals IMHO. Small short-story rounds and their tiny finalist pools are a cruel tyrant. :( Still, this gets an honorable mention from me, and a round of applause for tackling the short-story writeoffs in I Wanna Be The Guy difficulty level.
First of all, this gets major points from me for simply being poetry in a short-story round. I'm sure this took all three writing days -- and judging by the ending, wasn't even complete when the deadline hit.
The core rhyme scheme here is ... let's just say a daring choice. Your stanzas go AAAB CCCD EEEF etc, meaning that you're constraining yourself hard for most of the stanza before all of a sudden you careen outward with a terminal line that doesn't match with anything else anywhere. Oddly enough, I think there are ways in which it structurally works for you, in the sense that each set of lines ends in the poetic equivalent of a deceptive cadence, that lack of resolution driving the reader to push onward for resolution and lending the piece a sort of restless momentum that fits with the prompt. That said, it's also subliminally uncomfortable for the same reason, though over the course of the piece I sort of adapted to it.
My favorite couplet:
Pinned by the briny, shifting weight
Of sea-held distaste, dislike, hate--
I also really liked the section about the mermaids where the poem split in two with some right-justified lines.
My least favorite stanza:
Alone she found herself once more,
Still thinking of yon distant shore.
Deciding to protests ignore,
She for the ocean headed.
s/protests/grammar/ # ;-p
Seriously, I can understand why you felt like you had to twist that third line into a pretzel for the rhyme, but the fourth line doesn't rhyme with anything, and has literally the same cadence if you say "She headed for the ocean".
Now, there's something to be said for consistency. The AAAB rhyme scheme felt super weird to me as I settled into the poem, but by sticking with it, you owned it and made it feel like this poem's thing. Similarly, there's an argument that, even if your noun-verb inversions are a grammatical trainwreck, by doing so consistently that makes it feel more like a stylistic conceit. But I don't think that doubling down on that second thing helped you nearly as much as the first. There's nothing wrong with an odd rhyme scheme, other than it drawing attention to itself, whereas grammatical inversions force textual reparsing and make your rhymes look forced.
One place where consistency isn't so much a thing is the structure. Seemingly on a whim, this breaks its AAAB structure to go ABBA or AABB or whatever; it's fond of splitting up its four-beat lines into two two-beat lines (and setting those lines off with line breaks); there's a few stanzas where it slips into common meter (1 line of 4 iambic feet followed by 1 line of 3, repeat); and other such variations that are too common to make this feel like this adheres to its chosen style well and not common enough to give this a Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock anything-goes metrical feel. That variation does keep the form from getting stale -- crucial in poetry this long -- but does cost you a lot of style points. On the other hand, extra credit for using some of those breaks to challenge yourself a little more: e.g. emphasizing tight internal rhymes when you break a 4-4 couplet into 2-2-4 lines.
Ultimately, though, despite this story's problems outlined here and above, I'm left with a positive overall impression. With the luxury of time, this needs to work on using natural grammar and vocabulary rather than contorting words into place. That's going to be a lot of extra work, and slow and thankless work at that. But if I spot this poem its linguistic contortions (and its running out of time at the end), this is super ambitious -- a swing and a hit. Please turn this into a polished final form, but even as-is it goes near the top of my slate.
Tier: Strong
Edit: Aw, damn, this really should have made finals IMHO. Small short-story rounds and their tiny finalist pools are a cruel tyrant. :( Still, this gets an honorable mention from me, and a round of applause for tackling the short-story writeoffs in I Wanna Be The Guy difficulty level.
Seconding >>horizon 's edit so freaking hard.
I work in one of those hotels that strives for posh restaurant service, where they present the food all artistic-y, and you end up with a lot of ugly-duckling food being put aside for the staff to pick at. So sometimes I'll come in and there's just, like, an entire plate of cheesecake there for me to steal. And it'll be made up of the bits where the cream collapsed, or the biscuit crumbled, or the strawberries fell off, or they're wrong-shaped edge-pieces or what-have-you, and I will not care a single whit because it's an entire plate of cheesecake.
Reading this was like finding one of those. There's bits where the rhythm stumbles into off-beats, and bits where the rhyme scheme does what it feels like, and bits where the sentences sound like Yoda with Tourette's, and I just do not flipping care, because none of its lumpiness detracts from the creamy delicious fable that is its essential core. Bits like
- were just lovely; however much your rhythm or rhymes stumble, when you get it right you get it right. The concept and the world are just adorable, the tale was sweet and gripping, and even if the ending was anticlimactic, it was the right kind of anticlimax; not bad-writing, but intentional, carefully-built, and leaving a hollow sorrow in its passing. Top contender, sir or ma'am.
================================
(Hmm.)
(>Fairy wants make poetry cool among her friends.)
(>Fairy makes poem.)
(>Fairy presents poem to her friends.)
(>Fairies go 'eh'. )
(> Fairy is a Writeoff-er.)
:V
I work in one of those hotels that strives for posh restaurant service, where they present the food all artistic-y, and you end up with a lot of ugly-duckling food being put aside for the staff to pick at. So sometimes I'll come in and there's just, like, an entire plate of cheesecake there for me to steal. And it'll be made up of the bits where the cream collapsed, or the biscuit crumbled, or the strawberries fell off, or they're wrong-shaped edge-pieces or what-have-you, and I will not care a single whit because it's an entire plate of cheesecake.
Reading this was like finding one of those. There's bits where the rhythm stumbles into off-beats, and bits where the rhyme scheme does what it feels like, and bits where the sentences sound like Yoda with Tourette's, and I just do not flipping care, because none of its lumpiness detracts from the creamy delicious fable that is its essential core. Bits like
No songs of war,
Nor angry shore,
Disturbed her well-earned rest.
No swelling crests
That tried their best
To pull her to sea-floor
But from the depths did manifest
A softer song’s encore.
- were just lovely; however much your rhythm or rhymes stumble, when you get it right you get it right. The concept and the world are just adorable, the tale was sweet and gripping, and even if the ending was anticlimactic, it was the right kind of anticlimax; not bad-writing, but intentional, carefully-built, and leaving a hollow sorrow in its passing. Top contender, sir or ma'am.
================================
(Hmm.)
(>Fairy wants make poetry cool among her friends.)
(>Fairy makes poem.)
(>Fairy presents poem to her friends.)
(>Fairies go 'eh'. )
(> Fairy is a Writeoff-er.)
:V