winter in the midwest, revision

[justcloudy]

revision:

Black, white, cold

Lack of color kills me
slow, cold parasite eating up
morale.

Golden sun faded
straining light
blue sky blighted,
diseased and pale.
Both feeble, cannot entwine
and create earth's green
far below.

Head weary
midday
I'm left gazing down
at weathered boots
and ground of trampled whites
unpure, sorry browns and greys.

Something tugs inside my ribs.

The early creep
of moonlit black
is almost
sweet relief;
perhaps the color
is hiding
behind nighttime's
thick mask

as I seek.

The thought is not enough,
curled inside my room
of orange and green and blue
with every light turned on.
I avoid the window's
somber look,
drag my eyes apart
focus on bright screens
and words from people
far away.


Original:

Lack of color kills me
slow death eating away
at morale.
Golden sun faded
blue sky blighted.
Both feeble, cannot entwine
and create earth's green
far below.

Head weary
midday
I'm left gazing down
at weathered boots
and ground of trampled whites
unpure, sorry browns and greys.

Something tugs inside my ribs.

The early creep
of moonlit black
is almost
sweet relief;
perhaps the color
is hiding
behind the mask
of nighttime,

as I seek.

The thought isn’t enough,
curled inside my room
of orange and green and blue
with every light turned on.
I avoid the window's glare
drag my eyes away
focus on bright screens
and words from people
far away.

[softlyfalling]

I am always a bit stunned when a poet, or creator of any expressive art, makes something significant about life real and accessible. You do that. The language you use is casual, almost prosaic, yet the images created, the scenario represented and the emotional impact are intense. Even the small details add to this, like the colors on the walls, perhaps a wallpaper, a bit old and faded. And there is not a human alive in this modern society that has not escaped from reality in the distancing images on a television screen.

[Todd]

Well I've found my favorite piece from you so far. These are minor suggestions because the poem holds together well:

I don't think you need L3. Your imagery and content already spell that out.

L4-5: these two may be improved by making some comparison to lock the fade and blight more solidly into a concrete image.

L13-14: I love these trampled snow lines. You may want to match one adjective with each color rather than sharing the final two.

Alternatively, it could be "a mask called nighttime"

Love your first line, your mood, and your use of colors both inside and outdoors.

Lovely poem.

Best,

Todd

Lack of color kills me
slow death eating away
at morale.
Golden sun faded
blue sky blighted.
Both feeble, cannot entwine
and create earth's green
far below.

Head weary
midday
I'm left gazing down
at weathered boots
and ground of trampled whites
unpure, sorry browns and greys.

Something tugs inside my ribs.

The early creep
of moonlit black
is almost
sweet relief;
perhaps the color
is hiding
behind the mask
of nighttime,

as I seek.

The thought isn’t enough,
curled inside my room
of orange and green and blue
with every light turned on.
I avoid the window's glare
drag my eyes away
focus on bright screens
and words from people
far away.

[justcloudy]

softlyfalling, glad you could relate to the poem. =]

Todd, thanks for the suggestions. I agree with your thoughts on the first stanza, and the nighttime mask idea... I'll play around and see what I can do. and actually I originally had line 14 as
"unpure browns and sorry greys" but
"unpure, sorry browns and greys" just somehow seemed to flow better.

thanks both.

[justcloudy]

I've added a revision, see what you think. couldn't seem to make it work without "morale" so I changed it a bit. also, I'm terrible with titles.

Todd I was thinking... maybe one of the reasons you like this one is because as I wrote it I had my past critiques in mind... hopefully that indicates improvement. ;D

also, softlyfalling thanks again for your thoughts, it was interesting to read your take on the poem... much of what you suggested (wallpaper, TV...) wasn't really at all what I had in mind as I wrote it, and that's wonderful. a good poem lets us see ourselves in it, so it's encouraging that maybe I've done that here. =]