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Only, Only, Only You
Oh, Luna, Luna, lovely be.
My Lacuna, come to me.
These years apart, my thoughts were true:
Of only, only, only you.
The Elements of our demise
Have failed to taint, but by surprise
Succeed where your sister failed—
Stripped us apart, our night unveiled.
I’ve waited thence in castle dark
To hold you close, to feel your spark—
That wond’rous flame within your eye—
That prideful power seeking sky
And land that loves our darkest night,
That wants our world without Her light.
To bear the stars and moon alone,
To see us, rightfully, the throne.
Our time, once past, has come again.
We’ll realize our night’s domain.
Out the gate, I fly to thee,
Out from Castle Everfree.
I come for you, but serpent smoke,
A nightly guise, my starry cloak
That you alone will surely spy,
Whether dark or light the sky,
And hold against your breast your hoof,
A hoping, fleeting, wish for proof
That it is me who comes to you—
That seeks for only, only you.
You’ll say to me: “Oh, thank you, dear.
I’ve missed you all these lonely years
“Brought forth by Sunlight’s blist’ring sun
Now let us fly. Let us be one.”
And I’ve missed you, my dearest, sweet,
My Luna, love, at last we’ll meet—
Rejoin in twin-sought nightmare bind.
I hearken for you—nevermind
The distance ‘tween and days apart.
To be again. Make whole our heart.
It’s long, the journey I’ve begun,
But in the end we will have won
The nocturne sky and all its stars,
The moon—its crown—will all be ours.
I know that you as I do now:
You seek me out. Somewhere. Somehow.
You feel within your heart of hearts
The twisting, aching, vexing art
Of love!
‘Tis ours, my Luna. Ours alone.
Ours upon obsidian throne.
Come closer here—my heart, my host.
Come closer. Hear my heart, my host,
Is only staid with presence close.
If love’s a potion, ample dose.
My night-ful bride, I need your boon.
My baleful bride, I need you soon:
What’s an eclipse with half a moon?
This place has grown—what wilds be
This forest, ours, and always free.
What power fostered in your breast
Has come about to manifest
The beauty of our nightly state
That Sun has always loved to hate?
You must be near within these trees.
I feel your presence, feel your tease.
The chaos bounding, shouting, dark.
It leaves its markings on the bark.
Are they, I hope, your little beasties?
Multi-headed, multi species?
Your love of eldritch knew no bounds,
What beasts you kept on castle grounds
Are but a leaf of nightmare’s branch
That made the bravest ponies blanch.
Your mind feared not what eye would see.
‘Tis also how We came to be.
That wond’rous moment, soft and meek,
Serpenting through dreamscape, weak.
Hunting on that dreamside shore,
I found you, Luna—found my “more.”
Of all who saw me, all who dared,
Only you stood tall, unsnared
By twisted, creeping, crawling dreams.
I was afraid of you, it seems.
But hunger pleaded loud, “abate!”
And so I took a chance with fate.
I sensed what I had seemed to you.
You, I felt, were searching, too.
You gave me shape and sustenance,
And I in turn, a countenance:
I brought you power, promised fame,
That all who lived would know your name
And fear the beauty of your skies—
Draw them up, their fearful eyes,
To see what they’d been missing thence.
None have missed it ever since.
Except for me.
And so I seek you still this night,
By your most efflorescent light.
Its stolid, cold, and careful gaze
Illuminates this sundry maze
Of brush and fern and beast and tree.
Wait, my love. What’s that I see?
Beyond the clearing, shadowbound,
A form is rearing, terror crowned,
With wings a-fan and shark-toothed smile
So disarming, fraught with guile.
What sings my soul to truly see
Not darkened, starlit reverie!
But whole and grand—in nightmare cast.
My Luna I have found at last!
I fall before you, supplicant.
Renew with me our covenant
Of darkened bliss and shadow-twine—
That I am yours and you are mine.
I wait with beating, thund’ring heart.
Oh, how it goads! This vexing art.
Am I to speak? Am I to break
The silence first? Oh, Luna, take
Me from this shapeless shell,
Deliver me from wand’ring hell!
Come my Luna, come to me!
Join in shadow. Set us free!
Still stolid silence drives the night,
Drives in me unending plight.
A thousand years of bottled rage
Can be so easily assuaged,
Yet wanted words of love withheld
Grow hoary hairs and hope dispel.
I rise up from the dirt and grass
To touch her on the cheek—alas!
I do not feel the brush of fur;
I feel but stone so undemure,
That caught my eye and twisted hope.
That you I’d found. That we’d elope.
‘Tis not my love I stand before.
‘Tis but a statue—nothing more.
A mockery, if only just,
Of Night eternal, nocturne-lust.
But now I feel her presence sits
Upon the mountain, candle-lit
A crop of stone on stony height—
A castle borne aloft at night.
She’s there, I feel within my heart.
I’ll find you soon, my vexing art.
The city streets below are bare.
It’s quiet here—a silent prayer
To Luna, close, before the dawn.
I feel you, taste you, pull me on.
Over wall and under door.
So close am I, so close to “more.”
The throne is just beyond the hall,
But you not quite. Not quite at all.
Industrious, you ever were,
Unceasing bone and skin and fur.
Always working, seeking fame
In starlit night with starlit mane.
You never rested like your sister,
Felt content despite the whispers:
One you “loved” was stunted, shunned
Rebuked by sunlight so rotund
From praise and flattery enough
To cast a shadow, long and rough,
That squarely hid you from their sight
You, the worker, you, the Night.
You knew your place ‘neath Silver crown,
Despite the Gold, despite Her frown.
She never knew the pain inside,
Your humble wants, your jealous pride.
Much deserved, if only seen.
But only I, my love, my queen,
Saw what inside you, hateful, burned,
For simple recognition, yearned.
And still your nightly clip-clop speaks
Of retribution. Interest piques.
I follow, low; I follow you,
Across the velvet floor imbued
With scent of silver filigree.
Like rainfall on the Everfree,
‘Tis one I know as safe and dear,
So near to heart, so ever near.
Your hooffalls stop before a door
Of golden sunbursts I abhor.
I, too, end my creeping crawl,
Cease my hopeful, inward drawl
That you but turn and gaze at me
But wait, what’s this? What flowers be
Within your grasp, this azure vase
That you so hesitantly place
At the foot of sunburst door.
Two flowers I have seen before.
For reasons I can only plumb:
Nightshade-wound chrysanthemum.
Golden bloom bobs over death,
Bobs beneath your sweetest breath.
You smile—smile!—it farewell.
You turn and see me, see me well.
Your smile fades, the trick forgot,
Conniving gesture leaves your thought.
How long I’ve waited now for this,
The catch of breath, the gasp of bliss.
Come closer here, my heart, my host.
Come closer. Hear my heart, my host.
This beating, thumping raucous boom
Within my chest has ample room
For what was lost, your power—mine.
Reclaim me now, my heart entwine!
Be filled with me, your power lost,
You are but me: the night embossed.
And I am you, a sight unseen,
But grand as all, my love, my queen.
Together soon, we’ll ever be.
Together, you and I are We.
We the crown and We the sky
That draws attention to our eye:
The Moon above, forever full,
Watching, seeing, never dull.
With wings unfurled, our shadow cast
Forever on the world at last!
The ponies, tremble, stumble, quake.
Apologies both real and fake
Will fumble from their lowly tongues.
From one, from all—both old and young.
They’ll learn their wrongs, their errored ways.
They’ll see soon, then, the end of days.
Your silver hoof, but give to me,
And all the world will surely see that
WE ARE NIGHTMARE!
…
But... But what is this? That hardened gaze,
So twisted, fraught, need I rephrase?
Your eyes a-tremble, lowered head,
Had you assumed that I was dead?
What darkened shadow hesitates?
The Night is come! The Night awaits!
Is that… Is that fear I smell?
My lovely Luna knows me well.
But cast aside your worries, love!
We’ll rectify the sky above!
And you will know your righteous rite
Of birth and scorn Sun Sister’s spite!
No? What’s this? You look away?
You’d rather see the light of day
And live in Sun’s eternal glow?
By stars above, you’d share the show?
Oh, what’s happened in these years apart
That’s broken, beaten you, my heart?
Why stand you so, why look aghast?
I’m less a shadow of your past
Than outstretched future just in reach.
Come, my Luna, I beseech.
Her hoof, it rises from the stone,
Cold as moonlight, white as bone.
She speaks with solemn, hollow voice,
As if she hadn’t any choice:
“I’ll bear no more your hateful curse.
I’m sorry, Sister. Be dispersed.”
Though formless, shapeless, I am stunned.
I falter, waver, wholly shunned
By love long lost that now is found—
In Sunlight’s chains is clearly bound.
Lies! They are, but drops of doubt.
You seek to slander, curse throughout.
She would never bide the sun.
With her—my love—what have you done?
The silence reigns as darkness should.
Your tears fall free like any’s would.
That wince upon your face I see.
If it’s not Her… Is it, then, me?
Am I not what you wanted, dear?
Am I not what you sought in fear?
To sow the seeds of their respect?
Find in comfort, derelict,
Those trampled flowers without bloom,
That whither ‘neath neglected moon?
I brought you from your lower state
But now you claim it’s me you hate?
Wherefore comes this disrespect?
From you, my love, I’d not expect
A face-heel turn to Sister Sun.
Return to me, and we will run!
These thoughts I feel within your breast,
They coincide, they put to rest
My thoughts, my hopes, nightmarish dreams,
Of tearing, ripping at the seams
Her light of “glory,” golden flame,
And cast it ‘neath horizon’s plane.
I see within the past you know,
Deeper in, the fears that grow
Of what We were, of what could be…
Is it true...? You fear me?
No, not true, these thoughts I read:
Your fears of self-inflicted deed.
A mare inside, in shackles, chained,
To whipping post, forever pained
By what was done, what I hath wrought.
Our deeds—our sins?—we duly sought.
We deserved respect, my queen,
Our methods now, though, seem obscene?
You weigh your mind with conscious guilt,
With foolish mounds of moral silt.
Impossible to let it go?
Keep them if it suits you so,
But surely you don’t feel the need
To stay but half, be from me “freed?”
I thought… I-I thought we were in love?
My mare, my Luna—night-ful dove.
This gift of kinship sought on high,
Our life, our love, was… but a lie...?
I’m not a weight simply released.
I am the Night! I am no beast!
I ache, my Luna, how I ache.
Oh, Lacuna, I might break,
Am suddenly so thinly skinned.
Your words of hatred, please rescind!
I cannot bear your callous plea.
I take to sky; I fly from thee!
Into the cold and moonlit night
So much colder ‘neath your light.
‘Tis full, the moon, full as can be.
You made it so, but absent me.
Within, without, I feel so numb.
Where is my chrysanthemum
To twine with you within your breast?
To sleep with you and claim my rest.
My Night Mare, nightmare, Lid my eyes,
So I endure not moonless skies!
I see now in these years apart,
You’ve turned a leaf to vexing art
I thought we were, we are—will be—
My lovely Luna, we shall see.
But for now I cannot feel
Your warmth of heart or Nightmare zeal.
This ghost will go and pass you by.
I’m lost, my Luna. Tell me…
...Why?
My Lacuna, come to me.
These years apart, my thoughts were true:
Of only, only, only you.
The Elements of our demise
Have failed to taint, but by surprise
Succeed where your sister failed—
Stripped us apart, our night unveiled.
I’ve waited thence in castle dark
To hold you close, to feel your spark—
That wond’rous flame within your eye—
That prideful power seeking sky
And land that loves our darkest night,
That wants our world without Her light.
To bear the stars and moon alone,
To see us, rightfully, the throne.
Our time, once past, has come again.
We’ll realize our night’s domain.
Out the gate, I fly to thee,
Out from Castle Everfree.
I come for you, but serpent smoke,
A nightly guise, my starry cloak
That you alone will surely spy,
Whether dark or light the sky,
And hold against your breast your hoof,
A hoping, fleeting, wish for proof
That it is me who comes to you—
That seeks for only, only you.
You’ll say to me: “Oh, thank you, dear.
I’ve missed you all these lonely years
“Brought forth by Sunlight’s blist’ring sun
Now let us fly. Let us be one.”
And I’ve missed you, my dearest, sweet,
My Luna, love, at last we’ll meet—
Rejoin in twin-sought nightmare bind.
I hearken for you—nevermind
The distance ‘tween and days apart.
To be again. Make whole our heart.
It’s long, the journey I’ve begun,
But in the end we will have won
The nocturne sky and all its stars,
The moon—its crown—will all be ours.
I know that you as I do now:
You seek me out. Somewhere. Somehow.
You feel within your heart of hearts
The twisting, aching, vexing art
Of love!
‘Tis ours, my Luna. Ours alone.
Ours upon obsidian throne.
Come closer here—my heart, my host.
Come closer. Hear my heart, my host,
Is only staid with presence close.
If love’s a potion, ample dose.
My night-ful bride, I need your boon.
My baleful bride, I need you soon:
What’s an eclipse with half a moon?
This place has grown—what wilds be
This forest, ours, and always free.
What power fostered in your breast
Has come about to manifest
The beauty of our nightly state
That Sun has always loved to hate?
You must be near within these trees.
I feel your presence, feel your tease.
The chaos bounding, shouting, dark.
It leaves its markings on the bark.
Are they, I hope, your little beasties?
Multi-headed, multi species?
Your love of eldritch knew no bounds,
What beasts you kept on castle grounds
Are but a leaf of nightmare’s branch
That made the bravest ponies blanch.
Your mind feared not what eye would see.
‘Tis also how We came to be.
That wond’rous moment, soft and meek,
Serpenting through dreamscape, weak.
Hunting on that dreamside shore,
I found you, Luna—found my “more.”
Of all who saw me, all who dared,
Only you stood tall, unsnared
By twisted, creeping, crawling dreams.
I was afraid of you, it seems.
But hunger pleaded loud, “abate!”
And so I took a chance with fate.
I sensed what I had seemed to you.
You, I felt, were searching, too.
You gave me shape and sustenance,
And I in turn, a countenance:
I brought you power, promised fame,
That all who lived would know your name
And fear the beauty of your skies—
Draw them up, their fearful eyes,
To see what they’d been missing thence.
None have missed it ever since.
Except for me.
And so I seek you still this night,
By your most efflorescent light.
Its stolid, cold, and careful gaze
Illuminates this sundry maze
Of brush and fern and beast and tree.
Wait, my love. What’s that I see?
Beyond the clearing, shadowbound,
A form is rearing, terror crowned,
With wings a-fan and shark-toothed smile
So disarming, fraught with guile.
What sings my soul to truly see
Not darkened, starlit reverie!
But whole and grand—in nightmare cast.
My Luna I have found at last!
I fall before you, supplicant.
Renew with me our covenant
Of darkened bliss and shadow-twine—
That I am yours and you are mine.
I wait with beating, thund’ring heart.
Oh, how it goads! This vexing art.
Am I to speak? Am I to break
The silence first? Oh, Luna, take
Me from this shapeless shell,
Deliver me from wand’ring hell!
Come my Luna, come to me!
Join in shadow. Set us free!
Still stolid silence drives the night,
Drives in me unending plight.
A thousand years of bottled rage
Can be so easily assuaged,
Yet wanted words of love withheld
Grow hoary hairs and hope dispel.
I rise up from the dirt and grass
To touch her on the cheek—alas!
I do not feel the brush of fur;
I feel but stone so undemure,
That caught my eye and twisted hope.
That you I’d found. That we’d elope.
‘Tis not my love I stand before.
‘Tis but a statue—nothing more.
A mockery, if only just,
Of Night eternal, nocturne-lust.
But now I feel her presence sits
Upon the mountain, candle-lit
A crop of stone on stony height—
A castle borne aloft at night.
She’s there, I feel within my heart.
I’ll find you soon, my vexing art.
The city streets below are bare.
It’s quiet here—a silent prayer
To Luna, close, before the dawn.
I feel you, taste you, pull me on.
Over wall and under door.
So close am I, so close to “more.”
The throne is just beyond the hall,
But you not quite. Not quite at all.
Industrious, you ever were,
Unceasing bone and skin and fur.
Always working, seeking fame
In starlit night with starlit mane.
You never rested like your sister,
Felt content despite the whispers:
One you “loved” was stunted, shunned
Rebuked by sunlight so rotund
From praise and flattery enough
To cast a shadow, long and rough,
That squarely hid you from their sight
You, the worker, you, the Night.
You knew your place ‘neath Silver crown,
Despite the Gold, despite Her frown.
She never knew the pain inside,
Your humble wants, your jealous pride.
Much deserved, if only seen.
But only I, my love, my queen,
Saw what inside you, hateful, burned,
For simple recognition, yearned.
And still your nightly clip-clop speaks
Of retribution. Interest piques.
I follow, low; I follow you,
Across the velvet floor imbued
With scent of silver filigree.
Like rainfall on the Everfree,
‘Tis one I know as safe and dear,
So near to heart, so ever near.
Your hooffalls stop before a door
Of golden sunbursts I abhor.
I, too, end my creeping crawl,
Cease my hopeful, inward drawl
That you but turn and gaze at me
But wait, what’s this? What flowers be
Within your grasp, this azure vase
That you so hesitantly place
At the foot of sunburst door.
Two flowers I have seen before.
For reasons I can only plumb:
Nightshade-wound chrysanthemum.
Golden bloom bobs over death,
Bobs beneath your sweetest breath.
You smile—smile!—it farewell.
You turn and see me, see me well.
Your smile fades, the trick forgot,
Conniving gesture leaves your thought.
How long I’ve waited now for this,
The catch of breath, the gasp of bliss.
Come closer here, my heart, my host.
Come closer. Hear my heart, my host.
This beating, thumping raucous boom
Within my chest has ample room
For what was lost, your power—mine.
Reclaim me now, my heart entwine!
Be filled with me, your power lost,
You are but me: the night embossed.
And I am you, a sight unseen,
But grand as all, my love, my queen.
Together soon, we’ll ever be.
Together, you and I are We.
We the crown and We the sky
That draws attention to our eye:
The Moon above, forever full,
Watching, seeing, never dull.
With wings unfurled, our shadow cast
Forever on the world at last!
The ponies, tremble, stumble, quake.
Apologies both real and fake
Will fumble from their lowly tongues.
From one, from all—both old and young.
They’ll learn their wrongs, their errored ways.
They’ll see soon, then, the end of days.
Your silver hoof, but give to me,
And all the world will surely see that
WE ARE NIGHTMARE!
…
But... But what is this? That hardened gaze,
So twisted, fraught, need I rephrase?
Your eyes a-tremble, lowered head,
Had you assumed that I was dead?
What darkened shadow hesitates?
The Night is come! The Night awaits!
Is that… Is that fear I smell?
My lovely Luna knows me well.
But cast aside your worries, love!
We’ll rectify the sky above!
And you will know your righteous rite
Of birth and scorn Sun Sister’s spite!
No? What’s this? You look away?
You’d rather see the light of day
And live in Sun’s eternal glow?
By stars above, you’d share the show?
Oh, what’s happened in these years apart
That’s broken, beaten you, my heart?
Why stand you so, why look aghast?
I’m less a shadow of your past
Than outstretched future just in reach.
Come, my Luna, I beseech.
Her hoof, it rises from the stone,
Cold as moonlight, white as bone.
She speaks with solemn, hollow voice,
As if she hadn’t any choice:
“I’ll bear no more your hateful curse.
I’m sorry, Sister. Be dispersed.”
Though formless, shapeless, I am stunned.
I falter, waver, wholly shunned
By love long lost that now is found—
In Sunlight’s chains is clearly bound.
Lies! They are, but drops of doubt.
You seek to slander, curse throughout.
She would never bide the sun.
With her—my love—what have you done?
The silence reigns as darkness should.
Your tears fall free like any’s would.
That wince upon your face I see.
If it’s not Her… Is it, then, me?
Am I not what you wanted, dear?
Am I not what you sought in fear?
To sow the seeds of their respect?
Find in comfort, derelict,
Those trampled flowers without bloom,
That whither ‘neath neglected moon?
I brought you from your lower state
But now you claim it’s me you hate?
Wherefore comes this disrespect?
From you, my love, I’d not expect
A face-heel turn to Sister Sun.
Return to me, and we will run!
These thoughts I feel within your breast,
They coincide, they put to rest
My thoughts, my hopes, nightmarish dreams,
Of tearing, ripping at the seams
Her light of “glory,” golden flame,
And cast it ‘neath horizon’s plane.
I see within the past you know,
Deeper in, the fears that grow
Of what We were, of what could be…
Is it true...? You fear me?
No, not true, these thoughts I read:
Your fears of self-inflicted deed.
A mare inside, in shackles, chained,
To whipping post, forever pained
By what was done, what I hath wrought.
Our deeds—our sins?—we duly sought.
We deserved respect, my queen,
Our methods now, though, seem obscene?
You weigh your mind with conscious guilt,
With foolish mounds of moral silt.
Impossible to let it go?
Keep them if it suits you so,
But surely you don’t feel the need
To stay but half, be from me “freed?”
I thought… I-I thought we were in love?
My mare, my Luna—night-ful dove.
This gift of kinship sought on high,
Our life, our love, was… but a lie...?
I’m not a weight simply released.
I am the Night! I am no beast!
I ache, my Luna, how I ache.
Oh, Lacuna, I might break,
Am suddenly so thinly skinned.
Your words of hatred, please rescind!
I cannot bear your callous plea.
I take to sky; I fly from thee!
Into the cold and moonlit night
So much colder ‘neath your light.
‘Tis full, the moon, full as can be.
You made it so, but absent me.
Within, without, I feel so numb.
Where is my chrysanthemum
To twine with you within your breast?
To sleep with you and claim my rest.
My Night Mare, nightmare, Lid my eyes,
So I endure not moonless skies!
I see now in these years apart,
You’ve turned a leaf to vexing art
I thought we were, we are—will be—
My lovely Luna, we shall see.
But for now I cannot feel
Your warmth of heart or Nightmare zeal.
This ghost will go and pass you by.
I’m lost, my Luna. Tell me…
...Why?
That was an emotion-driven journey, and while I enjoyed it, I can't find it within myself to properly judge it. I wouldn't even know where to begin.
Garrison Keillor:
Says in the introduction to the 2011 collection Good Poems: American Places that "the dear readers, bless their hearts, have their bullshit detectors turned up high when reading a poem, and usually those detectors start beeping by the second line." I've always felt that my job when writing poems is to find a way to keep that beeping silent for as long a possible.
The first way I try to do that is by keeping as strictly as possible to the meter, the pattern of stressed and unstressed syllables in each line that gives a poem its rhythm. This one here breaks the pattern all over the place, sometimes starting a line with a stressed syllable and sometimes with an unstressed syllable, sometimes having eight syllables per line and sometimes having seven. So that would be my first suggestion: smooth out the lumps in the meter.
Another thing I try to do in poems is use concrete imagery. Individual words carry a lot of weight in a poem--maybe more weight than in a regular prose story where you can stretch out and describe things in a more leisurely fashion. In this poem, I wasn't sure where we were at the beginning or who was speaking, and that cast me adrift right from the start. Even as things went on and the identity of the speaker became clear, I never got a sense of what was around the speaker, where she was or what she looked like--a ghostly equine or something more blobby and Tanatbus-like. So my second suggestion: give us something specific right at the beginning. What's the first thing the speaker sees when she realizes she can see again? Has the moonlight drifting through the shattered battlements brought the speaker back to life? You have some very nice language later on in the poem, author, but concentrating on making the opening ten or twelve couplets really grab the reader will help keep that dreaded beeping at bay.
I'd better close this down now, or I'll go on for another three or four pages. But maybe you could have Luna and our narrator engage in dialogue when they meet. Dialogue's good for capturing a reader's attention and for bringing the characters to life.
I salute you, author, for what you've got here and hope you'll keep whittling away at it!
Mike
Says in the introduction to the 2011 collection Good Poems: American Places that "the dear readers, bless their hearts, have their bullshit detectors turned up high when reading a poem, and usually those detectors start beeping by the second line." I've always felt that my job when writing poems is to find a way to keep that beeping silent for as long a possible.
The first way I try to do that is by keeping as strictly as possible to the meter, the pattern of stressed and unstressed syllables in each line that gives a poem its rhythm. This one here breaks the pattern all over the place, sometimes starting a line with a stressed syllable and sometimes with an unstressed syllable, sometimes having eight syllables per line and sometimes having seven. So that would be my first suggestion: smooth out the lumps in the meter.
Another thing I try to do in poems is use concrete imagery. Individual words carry a lot of weight in a poem--maybe more weight than in a regular prose story where you can stretch out and describe things in a more leisurely fashion. In this poem, I wasn't sure where we were at the beginning or who was speaking, and that cast me adrift right from the start. Even as things went on and the identity of the speaker became clear, I never got a sense of what was around the speaker, where she was or what she looked like--a ghostly equine or something more blobby and Tanatbus-like. So my second suggestion: give us something specific right at the beginning. What's the first thing the speaker sees when she realizes she can see again? Has the moonlight drifting through the shattered battlements brought the speaker back to life? You have some very nice language later on in the poem, author, but concentrating on making the opening ten or twelve couplets really grab the reader will help keep that dreaded beeping at bay.
I'd better close this down now, or I'll go on for another three or four pages. But maybe you could have Luna and our narrator engage in dialogue when they meet. Dialogue's good for capturing a reader's attention and for bringing the characters to life.
I salute you, author, for what you've got here and hope you'll keep whittling away at it!
Mike
I feel like I'm the first one here who really, really loved this. Like, I normally hate poetry, beyond bits of Robert Frost, but this one stuck with me the whole way through.
There are some stumbles - relying on 'again' pronounced like 'a-gain' instead of 'a-gen', or 'H-OO-uhf' instead of 'H-uhf' for Hoof. It's not too hard to parse, but at least where I'm from a-gen and H-uhf are are the natural pronunciations.
Still, this really did feel like something akin to Frost to me. I shall cede to Baal that the meter can almost certainly be improved, but this is still a top contender for me and probably the only piece of serious Pony Poetry I've ever really, really liked the whole way through
There are some stumbles - relying on 'again' pronounced like 'a-gain' instead of 'a-gen', or 'H-OO-uhf' instead of 'H-uhf' for Hoof. It's not too hard to parse, but at least where I'm from a-gen and H-uhf are are the natural pronunciations.
Still, this really did feel like something akin to Frost to me. I shall cede to Baal that the meter can almost certainly be improved, but this is still a top contender for me and probably the only piece of serious Pony Poetry I've ever really, really liked the whole way through
>>Morning Sun
If you've not read it already, I would give horizon's Melt my highest recommendation.
probably the only piece of serious Pony Poetry I've ever really, really liked the whole way through
If you've not read it already, I would give horizon's Melt my highest recommendation.
The difficult thing about critiquing poetry is that every line, every word, every syllable needs to be taken into consideration, which can make it a daunting and potentially discouraging task.
i particularly enjoyed this couplet.
There are a few bumps along the path, but I enjoyed this little trek. I think it would help this poem if you found a way to make who the speaker is more apparent more quickly. As it is, I kept adjusting my theory until I reached something I was confident in.
I admire your courage to delve into the tricky realm of poetry. Know that your efforts are recognized and appreciated.
Come closer here—my heart, my host.
Come closer. Hear my heart, my host,
i particularly enjoyed this couplet.
There are a few bumps along the path, but I enjoyed this little trek. I think it would help this poem if you found a way to make who the speaker is more apparent more quickly. As it is, I kept adjusting my theory until I reached something I was confident in.
I admire your courage to delve into the tricky realm of poetry. Know that your efforts are recognized and appreciated.
>>Everyday
I took a read, and I can appreciate it's clearly well crafted, but I admit for me poetry without rhyme is very very difficult to sink into.
Which is part of why this worked so well for me.
I took a read, and I can appreciate it's clearly well crafted, but I admit for me poetry without rhyme is very very difficult to sink into.
Which is part of why this worked so well for me.
Only, Only, Only You - A - An aggressive approach to a difficult task, like climbing K2 on the north ridge. Very good and tight, with better word control than I ever could do. Certainly top tier work. I only have one thing to say:
horizon it seems
now writes longer pony themes
stories told in verse
horizon it seems
now writes longer pony themes
stories told in verse
Okay, right out of the gate I have to admit: I hate poetry. Generally speaking, I find it insipid and pointless, with the occasional tolerable bit thrown in. Generally speaking, I abstain from voting on poetry, because my dislike of the medium is an unfair bias against someone's hard work. Having said that...
I, surprisingly enough, didn't hate this.
As a matter of fact, you can take credit for being the first bit of pony poetry I've actually read all the way through. (Normally, I read enough to get a feel for it before I decide to abstain. It wouldn't be fair to not at least try to enjoy someone's hard work.)
So, you may take that fact as a badge of high honor indeed! Truthfully, I'm not sure if I should vote on this one, and let my biases possibly drag it down from a higher ranking... Or abstain, and let others with more love/tolerance of poetry rank it suitably.
I, surprisingly enough, didn't hate this.
As a matter of fact, you can take credit for being the first bit of pony poetry I've actually read all the way through. (Normally, I read enough to get a feel for it before I decide to abstain. It wouldn't be fair to not at least try to enjoy someone's hard work.)
So, you may take that fact as a badge of high honor indeed! Truthfully, I'm not sure if I should vote on this one, and let my biases possibly drag it down from a higher ranking... Or abstain, and let others with more love/tolerance of poetry rank it suitably.
Whoah.
All y'all are giving me too much credit. 2000 words of poetry I might be able to write for a Writeoff, but in an eight-hour stretch on an all-nighter after a convention? I couldn't turn out this.
I hope it makes finals so I can give it the high ranking it deserves. The couplet >>Everyday cites is great, but there were a few others which were nearly as wonderful both in prosody and in meaning:
>>Everyday
D'aww, thanks.
>>Morning Sun
I have a few entries in Pony Verse which rhyme: Lagniappe, and the insane iambic monometer of An Impromptu Private Composition Upon The Joyous Occasion Of My Return Gala (of which I am, perhaps justifiably, inveterately proud). In terms of rhyming poetry, though, I think Augie/Baal has lapped me several times, and I don't think Fable Scroll's double heroic crown The Sisters' Coronet will ever be surpassed.
All y'all are giving me too much credit. 2000 words of poetry I might be able to write for a Writeoff, but in an eight-hour stretch on an all-nighter after a convention? I couldn't turn out this.
I hope it makes finals so I can give it the high ranking it deserves. The couplet >>Everyday cites is great, but there were a few others which were nearly as wonderful both in prosody and in meaning:
Nightshade-wound chrysanthemum
What darkened shadow hesitates?
The Night is come! The Night awaits!
>>Everyday
D'aww, thanks.
>>Morning Sun
I have a few entries in Pony Verse which rhyme: Lagniappe, and the insane iambic monometer of An Impromptu Private Composition Upon The Joyous Occasion Of My Return Gala (of which I am, perhaps justifiably, inveterately proud). In terms of rhyming poetry, though, I think Augie/Baal has lapped me several times, and I don't think Fable Scroll's double heroic crown The Sisters' Coronet will ever be surpassed.
I really enjoyed this. I'm not qualified to comment on poetry, so I'll simply note that the construction here seems balanced, and it flowed nicely as I recited it in my mind. A few turns of phrase, particularly the "Nightshade-wound chrysanthemum" that horizon notes, are delicious.
Poetry rarely does well in the Writeoff, which is regretful. Perhaps this will be the exception.
Poetry rarely does well in the Writeoff, which is regretful. Perhaps this will be the exception.
>>horizon
Reading the last - I think it's good, I can appreciate the sheer level of craftsmanship that went into creating it, but even taking it slowly I struggled to follow along with Coronet, and it wasn't until someone explained it in comments that I understood what had been done with Pieces 1/16.
Whereas with this, I felt as if I was...taken with it. To me it is like Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening - There is a narrative in here, one we can walk with, that the poetry then takes to greater heights, and that I do appreciate.
With Coronet, I feel like I'm struggling to decipher it piece by piece, and any individual one is always hard to get what it's trying to say - only 2 or 3 of them did I feel like I understood what it was trying to paint after reading it.
Reading the last - I think it's good, I can appreciate the sheer level of craftsmanship that went into creating it, but even taking it slowly I struggled to follow along with Coronet, and it wasn't until someone explained it in comments that I understood what had been done with Pieces 1/16.
Whereas with this, I felt as if I was...taken with it. To me it is like Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening - There is a narrative in here, one we can walk with, that the poetry then takes to greater heights, and that I do appreciate.
With Coronet, I feel like I'm struggling to decipher it piece by piece, and any individual one is always hard to get what it's trying to say - only 2 or 3 of them did I feel like I understood what it was trying to paint after reading it.
And another thing at the end of this, too. It makes me feel deeply sad for Nightmare. Yes, she is different. Yes, her ways are 'wrong' by pony standards - and yet her want for completeness, of belonging, of purpose - that we can all understand.
She is spurned, but not through any true fault of her own, for she is but a victim of her own nature. In that,by the end of this, though I understand Luna's actions I cannot help but see in them a failing, for the one who needs her most in this moment is the one she's turned away.
Oh, no, they cannot be together in the same way - but a new meeting, perhaps, some way to let her become more. New. Transformed.
And if not that, then to find a way, at least, to give Nightmare rest, for to be cast amongst the heavens lost, dispirited, disembodied, alone - a silent voice for all time - what horror that must be. What bleakness. What loneliness.
And undeserved.
She is spurned, but not through any true fault of her own, for she is but a victim of her own nature. In that,by the end of this, though I understand Luna's actions I cannot help but see in them a failing, for the one who needs her most in this moment is the one she's turned away.
Oh, no, they cannot be together in the same way - but a new meeting, perhaps, some way to let her become more. New. Transformed.
And if not that, then to find a way, at least, to give Nightmare rest, for to be cast amongst the heavens lost, dispirited, disembodied, alone - a silent voice for all time - what horror that must be. What bleakness. What loneliness.
And undeserved.
Okay, first entry on my finalist slate!
God knows that I'm not a big poetry person, so I'm not sure if I'm the best-qualified to critique this. On the other hand, I can't deny that this was pretty fun to read. You've done a great job setting up a tangible structure, which made the handful of deviations far more meaningful and memorable. Well done with that!
As for the content of the poem itself, I have to admit that I didn't get much more than the basic gist on my first read-through. Like a previous reviewer mentioned, I found this kind of information-sparse, which made it a little difficult to keep in mind what was going on in the long run.
One other thing is that the verses themselves tend to be a bit on the abstract side. The imagery that you do have certainly pops, but most of the couplets deal exclusively with describing emotions, motivations, thoughts, and the like. Personally, I find this kind of language difficult to be emotionally evocative with; it comes across to me as the poetic equivalent of "telling" rather than "showing." I mean, I definitely got a sense of what Nightmare is feeling, but I didn't really feel those feelings myself.
All in all, I think this was a pretty excellent entry, overall. I'm afraid I can't really give much in terms of suggestions (since I've never really tried my hand at poetry, myself), but I do hope that my observations were useful. I'm rating this one pretty highly for now.
God knows that I'm not a big poetry person, so I'm not sure if I'm the best-qualified to critique this. On the other hand, I can't deny that this was pretty fun to read. You've done a great job setting up a tangible structure, which made the handful of deviations far more meaningful and memorable. Well done with that!
As for the content of the poem itself, I have to admit that I didn't get much more than the basic gist on my first read-through. Like a previous reviewer mentioned, I found this kind of information-sparse, which made it a little difficult to keep in mind what was going on in the long run.
One other thing is that the verses themselves tend to be a bit on the abstract side. The imagery that you do have certainly pops, but most of the couplets deal exclusively with describing emotions, motivations, thoughts, and the like. Personally, I find this kind of language difficult to be emotionally evocative with; it comes across to me as the poetic equivalent of "telling" rather than "showing." I mean, I definitely got a sense of what Nightmare is feeling, but I didn't really feel those feelings myself.
All in all, I think this was a pretty excellent entry, overall. I'm afraid I can't really give much in terms of suggestions (since I've never really tried my hand at poetry, myself), but I do hope that my observations were useful. I'm rating this one pretty highly for now.
I perhaps am not the best person to judge poetry: I know just enough about writing poetry in order to be familiar with how it is supposed to written—just enough to get by—which incidentally is just enough to be potentially wrong in my advice. While I am not a particular stickler for meter and form, I (and several other people) have noticed that the poem sort of exists in some sort of pseudo-meter, bouncing between seven syllable lines and tetrameter without any clear reason other than potential error on the part of the author. Likewise, the syllabic structure follows no clear pattern. Of course meter and form are just tools with which to write poetry and not necessarily, but it seems to me that a poem that is as heavily adherent to a particular organizational method (two line couplets) should utilize a more formalized and uniform meter rather than having a free meter. Just my opinion. Write it in trochaic tetrameter if you want a challenge, author.
One aspect about poetry I love very much is that it is a very efficient story-telling method. A whole slew of emotions and feelings can be conveyed with only a few lines or stanzas, and typically these passages are very rich, dense content. As I've said about most write-off pieces, this also can be trimmed down, but I think it is important for this story in particular in order to avoid bogging down the reader with stanzas that repeat the same information conveyed to the reader previously (dramatic repetition excluded). Additionally, I think that cutting down will encourage you to engage in more artistry with your language and imagery, which for some passages is very strong (a personal favorite of mine: "What's an eclipse with half a moon?"), but others is more plain and functional rather than aesthetically interesting. Occasionally these phrases end up a bit clunky and take me out of the piece, either due to the aforementioned reason, or simply because the vocabulary is a bit unwieldy.
Examples:
etc.
The premise and execution of this poem is emotional and enough to keep the reader interested in spite of these faults, however, and I found myself quite liking the piece conceptually. The contrast of Nightmare Moon's love for Luna in conjunction for her desire for destruction, piled on top the fact that she clearly doesn't understand she's doing anything wrong, is an interesting look at the character and adds a dimension of vulnerability you wouldn't expect to see from Nightmare Moon. It's a neat look at a character that is otherwise one-dimensional in their villainy—something that I greatly enjoy seeing when I read fan fiction of any time. I think perhaps expanding (NOT MAKING LONGER, I MEAN REFINING) the idea that NM transitions from these feelings of great longing, rage, and sadness would further cement her as a tragic villain that doesn't understand why her love, and by extension, the world, is punishing her.
Thoughts to Consider:
-Being more efficient and cutting down on length—alternatively introduce additional ideas instead of repeating old ones
-Committing to more formal method of writing
-Rewriting/Deleting lines that are clunky or too on the nose without an interesting imagery to offer
-Adding more creative descriptive imagery and less literal narration
-Refining NM's voice
-Giving self handshake
This is rated high on my slate.
One aspect about poetry I love very much is that it is a very efficient story-telling method. A whole slew of emotions and feelings can be conveyed with only a few lines or stanzas, and typically these passages are very rich, dense content. As I've said about most write-off pieces, this also can be trimmed down, but I think it is important for this story in particular in order to avoid bogging down the reader with stanzas that repeat the same information conveyed to the reader previously (dramatic repetition excluded). Additionally, I think that cutting down will encourage you to engage in more artistry with your language and imagery, which for some passages is very strong (a personal favorite of mine: "What's an eclipse with half a moon?"), but others is more plain and functional rather than aesthetically interesting. Occasionally these phrases end up a bit clunky and take me out of the piece, either due to the aforementioned reason, or simply because the vocabulary is a bit unwieldy.
Examples:
A thousand years of bottled rage
Can be so easily assuaged,
I fall before you, supplicant.
Renew with me our covenant
I do not feel the brush of fur;
I feel but stone so undemure,
One you “loved” was stunted, shunned
Rebuked by sunlight so rotund
etc.
The premise and execution of this poem is emotional and enough to keep the reader interested in spite of these faults, however, and I found myself quite liking the piece conceptually. The contrast of Nightmare Moon's love for Luna in conjunction for her desire for destruction, piled on top the fact that she clearly doesn't understand she's doing anything wrong, is an interesting look at the character and adds a dimension of vulnerability you wouldn't expect to see from Nightmare Moon. It's a neat look at a character that is otherwise one-dimensional in their villainy—something that I greatly enjoy seeing when I read fan fiction of any time. I think perhaps expanding (NOT MAKING LONGER, I MEAN REFINING) the idea that NM transitions from these feelings of great longing, rage, and sadness would further cement her as a tragic villain that doesn't understand why her love, and by extension, the world, is punishing her.
Thoughts to Consider:
-Being more efficient and cutting down on length—alternatively introduce additional ideas instead of repeating old ones
-Committing to more formal method of writing
-Rewriting/Deleting lines that are clunky or too on the nose without an interesting imagery to offer
-Adding more creative descriptive imagery and less literal narration
-Refining NM's voice
-Giving self handshake
This is rated high on my slate.
I'll Nth not being someone who could judge poetry on technical merits. All I can judge on is whether I find it pleasing, and I definitely did here. More than once I stopped to reread a line aloud to myself, quite enamored.
I'll second Everyday that I particularly liked this set:
Come closer here—my heart, my host.
Come closer. Hear my heart, my host,
The same words, but different, really gave those lines a punch I wasn't expecting.
Giving the Nightmare a voice was also something new to me, and you did it well. It's sad and plaintive without judging. Setting it as a poem works perfectly for evoking emotion without getting bogged down with details like a story about the Nightmare would probably have to.
I'll second Everyday that I particularly liked this set:
Come closer here—my heart, my host.
Come closer. Hear my heart, my host,
The same words, but different, really gave those lines a punch I wasn't expecting.
Giving the Nightmare a voice was also something new to me, and you did it well. It's sad and plaintive without judging. Setting it as a poem works perfectly for evoking emotion without getting bogged down with details like a story about the Nightmare would probably have to.
Just as a follow-up on my earlier comment >>horizon: As much as I appreciated this poem — and as much as I gave it a boost for the ultra-hard-mode execution of being a strong poem in a short-story round — it ended up just outside my top three. Competition at the top was fierce, and the bottom line is: I'm just not certain a poem can really be made to work in a short-story competition. Poetry demands intense attention while reading; this definitely offered language to reward that, but getting through this lengthy of a poem kind of feels (for better or for worse) like plowing through a novel. (And, having written my share, it's got that same insane engagement curve on the authorial end, too.)
Honestly, though, the biggest problem with this — and the last short-story round poem I remember reading, which was long ago from Georg, and also worthy of applause as an ultra-hard-mode Writeoff entry — is that it simply wanted to be shorter. When you've told your story in 500 words and realized you're only a quarter of the way to the minimum wordcount, a sort of panic sets in, and you start looking for ways to pad it out. (I get it. I've been there.) There are three sections in this poem, and though there's a sort of narrative progression, I don't see a whole lot of thematic development as it goes on, which tells me that probably the poem that's now "scene 1" might have been intended as a standalone piece. It certainly works as such. And the fact that the remainder of it circles over the same ground — while it gives you more room to luxuriate in the wonderful language — does wear a bit, if only by the nature of the format. It's a mark of your skill that you were able to keep it that fresh that long.
I'll be rooting for you to break the short-story competitions' poetry high water mark — 8th out of 49 with The Last Dreams of Pony Island — but please be proud of this no matter the results.
Honestly, though, the biggest problem with this — and the last short-story round poem I remember reading, which was long ago from Georg, and also worthy of applause as an ultra-hard-mode Writeoff entry — is that it simply wanted to be shorter. When you've told your story in 500 words and realized you're only a quarter of the way to the minimum wordcount, a sort of panic sets in, and you start looking for ways to pad it out. (I get it. I've been there.) There are three sections in this poem, and though there's a sort of narrative progression, I don't see a whole lot of thematic development as it goes on, which tells me that probably the poem that's now "scene 1" might have been intended as a standalone piece. It certainly works as such. And the fact that the remainder of it circles over the same ground — while it gives you more room to luxuriate in the wonderful language — does wear a bit, if only by the nature of the format. It's a mark of your skill that you were able to keep it that fresh that long.
I'll be rooting for you to break the short-story competitions' poetry high water mark — 8th out of 49 with The Last Dreams of Pony Island — but please be proud of this no matter the results.
I wanted to like this more than I actually ended up liking it. Writing a big long poem like this for the writeoff is fairly impressive, but I have to admit a lot of it felt a little bit on the forced side. Some of the word choices here ended up feeling too flowery, and it sort of kept twinging me a little bit in that a lot of it felt like it was just a bit off, in a way that I myself have often struggled with (which is one reason why I don’t write much poetry). There’s a sort of… I guess you could call it constructed flow that I feel like I default into, and this poem twigged me on that same flow at times, as it never really feels sufficient or quite right, like it is a bit forced.
I never really fell in love with this, even as we see the Nightmare try and resume her relationship with Luna.
I never really fell in love with this, even as we see the Nightmare try and resume her relationship with Luna.
Ooh, is this the first time an entry has double-won most controversial?
This was my #1 in both prelims and finals and I still super love it.
This was my #1 in both prelims and finals and I still super love it.
