Where The World Meets the Sky (edits 2)

[Laura Stone]

Where The World Meets the Sky

On a golden afternoon
where the colors of the world meet the sky,
we rest atop a wide blanket, watch tree branches
in silhouette across the cloudless blue.

We are where the smell of grass is sweet
and the water’s edge ripples the bank,
where the herons soar,
where a breeze makes song

through rustling leaves
like a crinoline petticoat beneath
its starched taffeta skirt;
where the frogs croak their bellow
to a day we wish would never end.

And as the horizon accepts its gifts from the sun,
we watch dusk paint orange and pink strokes
across a gold canvas, leaving ribbon wands
dipped in endless watercolors.

[Tina (Firefly)]

Hi Laura!

The images here are romantic and lush and, as a romantic (and lush..hehe) woman, I feel the beauty of your intention. I do, however, think that you "tell" a bit too much without allowing us to discover what your intention might be. As Leo is fond of saying: Show more than you tell.
In addition, what do you hope the reader will take away after reading this? A slice of nature? That might be more interesting if you added another element..an animal..a person..an incident..YOU. Just some suggestions to take or leave. I always enjoy your work. Tina

[Sherry Thrasher]

Where World Meets Sky

On golden sunset afternoons
colors of the world meet sky,
we lie on a blanket, watch tree branches
in silhouette across cloudless blue.

Here, where the smell of grass
is sweet and water’s edge ripples,
the herons soar,
we notice the breeze make

through rustling leaves like a petticoat
beneath a starched taffeta skirt,
or the croak of frogs casting their bellow
out to a day we wish will never end.

When the horizon accepts gifts
from the sun, we watch dusk paint
orange and pink strokes across canvas,
like ribbon dipped in endless watercolors.

[Laura Stone]

Tina...

Thanks!! Well, I am actually in this piece... it is exactly nearly verbatim what I did on Monday afternoon this week with a bit of additions. And the images, are the images that surrounded me under the tree at the lake. Of course the wind was more like a gale force, so that rustling was more like 15 Scarlett O'Hara's running after one of her many gentleman callers, but none the less, simply a gorgeous day! Bit chilly!

[Jonathan Morey Weiss-Namaste47]

Lovely descriptive piece. I like some of the tightening suggested by Sherry.
In S2, using "Here" brings more presence to the line.
Very enjoyable read.

[LynnDoiron]

Hello Laura -- I have been there, done that, and it was gorgeous then, and I am taken back to those moments by this poem. So, if good poetry is meant to move the reader to another time and place, this does. Some thoughts on the piece [with all my usual disclaimers and just for your consideration]:

When I read "On a golden afternoon" I see golden in layered ways, not only the ambience of color, but also as an "ultimate" in leisure, one to be treasured, of great value. When I read "On a golden sunet afternoon", just a smidge of that layering is lost and something else is added -- the sense of an end to things, a going down, a going out of light. So, for me, that opening line is more stunning if "sunset" is omitted.

On a golden afternoon
where the colors of the world meet the sky, [lovely]
we lie on a blanket, watch tree branches [see notes]
in silhouette across the cloudless blue.

[notes: I would rearrange this line so that "we watch" comes after sky, / we watch tree branches in silhouette / across the cloudless blue from our [modifier] blanket. I would add a modifer like wide, or plaid, or red or some identifier. I like "wide" as it makes the world the two of you, the "we" is viewing, wide. I also like "plaid" because plaids offer a woven beauty and that weave lends itself to the "we" of the couple, I think. Now, the reason I would rearrange the order of "we lie" and "we watch" is twofold: 1) to get the eyes on that sky mentioned, and 2) so that the "we" in this are closer to the grass in what follows by being on the blanket. See? I don't just throw these things out there willy-nilly . . . I actually think them through sometimes!]

It is where the smell of grass ["It is where" is weaker, I think, than "We are where"]
is sweet and the water’s edge ripples the bank,
where the herons soar,
where a breeze makes song

through rustling leaves
like crinoline petticoats beneath
starched taffeta skirts.
And the croak of frogs cast their bellows
out to a day we wish would never end.

But, the horizon accepts its gifts
from the sun just as we must and dusk
paints orange and pink strokes across [its canvas, -- maybe "across the gold atmosphere"]
like ribbons dipped in endless watercolors. [leaving ribbons]

Okay, I know I started just making changes with no notes. That was my voice kicking the heck out of yours, so just ignore changes that don't work. But, the gold atmosphere in exchange for canvas would tie back nicely to your opening line. It's a charming and lovely poem, Laura. A pleasure to read and please do forgive my endless tweaking and meddling!

[mfwilkie]

My word, Laura, if this didn't trip memories for me!

I moved the horizon stanza to a second position to further develope the images in the first and I tightened it a bit.

I don't think you need the crinoline. For me it gets too specific
and disturbs the overall tone of the piece.

I just read an interesting comment in a review about using a word like 'here' in the way I suggest below. I think it's effect is pretty self-explanatory: the way it works with both the preceding line and the line that follows.

Here is the sweet smell of grass,
the ripple of sound as water edges
its way along the bank. Here,

the herons soar

Here's my messing:


On a golden afternoon
where the colors of the world
meet the sky, we lie(rest) here,
on(atop) an unnoticed blanket,
gazing through branches
that cut across an endless blue seranade.

As the horizon begins to accept gifts
from the sun, we watch dusk paint
orange and pink strokes across its canvas,
time becomes ribbons dipped
in endless watercolors.

Here is the sweet smell of grass,
the ripple of sound as water edges
its way along the bank. Here,

the herons soar
through the song of a breeze—
the accentual croaks of frogs
who cast their bellows out on a day
we wish would never end.


Thanks for the memories, Laura.

Maggie

[Laura Stone]

With suggestions from Maggie, Lynn, Tina, and the silent voice of Leo, who I think might say I still have said too much??, I send this up again for review. It is an endless struggle not to lose the voice of me, but I believe that through these I have retained it.

Thanks... Laura

[alfredo]

Lovely...but! To keep up with everyone else ....I dabbled too

upon a blanket
we gaze at branches
stark against the sky

a golden afternoon
where colours sharpen
beneath the blue

and herons soar
from silvery waters

where the breeze
murmers through the grass

just before
curtains draw
we watch the dusk
paint orange pink across

a day we wish
would never end