deepundergroundpoetry.com
Ash tree
I smoothen my skin by the riverbed
the plain, lightly scented coolness of the morning dew
lends a source of clarity
the cleansing
the running of my hands through my hair
the stricken chest of inhaling the renewal
For the first time,
I let the blood go.
Swirling on the waters edge
becoming the dew, the mist
and the water that falls
alleviating the pressure
weighing down on weary eyes.
I haven't slept,
I haven't dreamed.
I haven't stopped letting go.
Even now, days away
I still bleed.
I still bleed.
Tightening the pressure,
my life siphoned into the riverbed.
I only hear what I feel,
surrounded,
I'm anybody's prisoner.
Restrained by these roots,
these vines,
these tainted roots.
An aggressive pull, and I am a taken
And while I'm shown another Hell.
I've already seen the last Heaven
fade away in the rearview mirror of an obscured glass
A splitting image,
split,
split,
with the glass,
and its descent to the pavement.
May God, in his divinity
grant me my wings,
so that I may tear them away.
The screeches of the Vultures,
and their powerful wings
those, blessed with their wings.
Open my heart up, again
and while I slip,
slip, slipping into a considerate end.
Together, now and
take my hand.
Exhale,
and scream.
I..
I..
I..
I..
I..!
the plain, lightly scented coolness of the morning dew
lends a source of clarity
the cleansing
the running of my hands through my hair
the stricken chest of inhaling the renewal
For the first time,
I let the blood go.
Swirling on the waters edge
becoming the dew, the mist
and the water that falls
alleviating the pressure
weighing down on weary eyes.
I haven't slept,
I haven't dreamed.
I haven't stopped letting go.
Even now, days away
I still bleed.
I still bleed.
Tightening the pressure,
my life siphoned into the riverbed.
I only hear what I feel,
surrounded,
I'm anybody's prisoner.
Restrained by these roots,
these vines,
these tainted roots.
An aggressive pull, and I am a taken
And while I'm shown another Hell.
I've already seen the last Heaven
fade away in the rearview mirror of an obscured glass
A splitting image,
split,
split,
with the glass,
and its descent to the pavement.
May God, in his divinity
grant me my wings,
so that I may tear them away.
The screeches of the Vultures,
and their powerful wings
those, blessed with their wings.
Open my heart up, again
and while I slip,
slip, slipping into a considerate end.
Together, now and
take my hand.
Exhale,
and scream.
I..
I..
I..
I..
I..!
Published 22nd Jul 2014
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 2
reading list entries 0
comments 3
reads 769
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
22nd Jul 2014 3:09pm
L1/V1: No need for "smoothen"; just put "smooth": the word functions as a verb as well as an adjective
L1/V3: "Waters" needs an apostrophe before or after its "s", as you're using it in a possessive context (the edge belongs to the water)
L1/V8: Why an "a" before "taken"; if you're trying to evoke a dialect (Bob Dylan's "the times they are a-changin'", for instance) there needs to be a dash between "a" and "taken"
L2/V8: Should this end in a comma, as it's an unfinished thought (what is happening "while" you're shown another Hell?)
L4/V8: To say that the rearview mirror is "of" the obscured glass doesn't make sense, as it evokes a glass structure with a rearview mirror attached to it. It would make more sense if you're reversed it thus: "the obscured glass of a rearview mirror"
L1/V11: Why is "vultures" capitalised?
L1/V13: A smoother rhythm could be effected by putting a comma after "now"
V14 - 15: Are either of these needed? They feel like needless summations
The poem has wonderful moments, where a dark confessionalism transcends the free verse and is compelling. It reminds me of 4.48 Psychosis, Sarah Kane's last play, which had no characters or strict narrative but was a series of pained, howling verses, monologues and dialogues, like this:
"Here I am
and there is my body
dancing on glass
In accident time where there are no accidents
You have no choice
the choice comes after"
However, a big problem is that, though this poem is titled "Ash Tree" and begins with natural imagery ("riverbed", "morning dew") it veers into a mental interior without much texture, effectively abandoning the ash tree and nature, so what we're left with, while compelling, isn't necessarily memorable because it's not anchored to time or place. Am I making sense?
L1/V3: "Waters" needs an apostrophe before or after its "s", as you're using it in a possessive context (the edge belongs to the water)
L1/V8: Why an "a" before "taken"; if you're trying to evoke a dialect (Bob Dylan's "the times they are a-changin'", for instance) there needs to be a dash between "a" and "taken"
L2/V8: Should this end in a comma, as it's an unfinished thought (what is happening "while" you're shown another Hell?)
L4/V8: To say that the rearview mirror is "of" the obscured glass doesn't make sense, as it evokes a glass structure with a rearview mirror attached to it. It would make more sense if you're reversed it thus: "the obscured glass of a rearview mirror"
L1/V11: Why is "vultures" capitalised?
L1/V13: A smoother rhythm could be effected by putting a comma after "now"
V14 - 15: Are either of these needed? They feel like needless summations
The poem has wonderful moments, where a dark confessionalism transcends the free verse and is compelling. It reminds me of 4.48 Psychosis, Sarah Kane's last play, which had no characters or strict narrative but was a series of pained, howling verses, monologues and dialogues, like this:
"Here I am
and there is my body
dancing on glass
In accident time where there are no accidents
You have no choice
the choice comes after"
However, a big problem is that, though this poem is titled "Ash Tree" and begins with natural imagery ("riverbed", "morning dew") it veers into a mental interior without much texture, effectively abandoning the ash tree and nature, so what we're left with, while compelling, isn't necessarily memorable because it's not anchored to time or place. Am I making sense?
22nd Jul 2014 3:15pm
What you're reading (as a whole) is an incomplete and unstructured attempt at refinement. All your points regarding syntax punctuation and grammar, are a result of that. And, in some places, those sentences you correct have more subtle undertones as a whole to the piece that justify it, to a certain extent. (That is no excuse for laziness though)
Significance, I equate angel's wings to those of a Vulture's wings. I'm attempting to veil spirituality and self-actualisation into metaphoric places and settings. I've been failing horribly at this for too long, as evident in 'H'
Corrections noted, many cheers
Significance, I equate angel's wings to those of a Vulture's wings. I'm attempting to veil spirituality and self-actualisation into metaphoric places and settings. I've been failing horribly at this for too long, as evident in 'H'
Corrections noted, many cheers
22nd Jul 2014 4:15pm
Euan, luv, :-* ~
This poem is, quite simply, remarkable. I see here references to the Ash tree in times of old that ancient kings were bound to and bled by for the renewal of the land - there was magic in it to heal the whole of the land, they said, and perhaps there was - there was atonement in the Ash tree as well, was there not?
In addition to the use of the old traditions (Druid and Celt, if I'm not mistaken?), you have connected all this in an elegant and rather visionary manner to the Christian mythos, haven't you? But, you didn't stop there, oh no. There are tendrils of some darker parts of more esoteric paths lurking in there as well. Perhaps, we have a bit of the dark of Native American tradition or Native Australian tradition there with those vulture's wings. I know not for certain.
Your juxtaposition of the ancient with the modern is a nearly seamless, almost eerie transition. One barely sees the transformation occur, yet suddenly the feel has changed. We're no longer surrounded by the gnarled and old; all is bright, shining metallic glass and then, perhaps, there's the most horrifying shock of all, Euan.
You leave us. Bereft...
Excellently, exquisitely, excruciatingly done, luv. :-*
This poem is, quite simply, remarkable. I see here references to the Ash tree in times of old that ancient kings were bound to and bled by for the renewal of the land - there was magic in it to heal the whole of the land, they said, and perhaps there was - there was atonement in the Ash tree as well, was there not?
In addition to the use of the old traditions (Druid and Celt, if I'm not mistaken?), you have connected all this in an elegant and rather visionary manner to the Christian mythos, haven't you? But, you didn't stop there, oh no. There are tendrils of some darker parts of more esoteric paths lurking in there as well. Perhaps, we have a bit of the dark of Native American tradition or Native Australian tradition there with those vulture's wings. I know not for certain.
Your juxtaposition of the ancient with the modern is a nearly seamless, almost eerie transition. One barely sees the transformation occur, yet suddenly the feel has changed. We're no longer surrounded by the gnarled and old; all is bright, shining metallic glass and then, perhaps, there's the most horrifying shock of all, Euan.
You leave us. Bereft...
Excellently, exquisitely, excruciatingly done, luv. :-*
