Hah... 12 days of vacation is all the inspiration you need for one poem? Your muse is a lot pickier than mine. Last one I wrote was done after opening my front door for the newspaper...
Well Madame Moth, somehow this one slipped right by me. No worries, Ron recently fixt my library function, so I was able to add you to my library and see your recent posts. So here, I owe you a reply.
How can it be that fall is
settling all around me?
I am not ready for the rusting
and rustling of seasons in change.
How can there be frost when
my face is still tanned?
Nice opening. You know the thing that gives me the most trouble in writing is thinking up an opening few lines. Rhetoric is a great way to trump the troubles of line one, though. I do like how accurately your opening introduces the poem's contents. How long did that opening take you, just out of curiousity (and jealousy)?
I still feel summer's steamy glow and
beach breezes blowing thru my hair.
I can still hear the waves crashing to
the shore, still recall the awe of endless
horizons illuminated in constant color.
Please, JM... PLEASE take the extra few keystrokes to write "through" instead of "thru." Just for presentation's sake.
Oh, and here comes the alliteration... I noticed you got really heavy with the alliteration in the poem, which I thought was quite clever. It makes for some great harmony and smooth reading... I don't use alliteration or consonance/assonance nearly as much as I should, I know.
I also have to say I like the way you enhanced your imagery with massive quantifications, like "endless horizon" and "constant color." Really gives the eyes something to munch on. The only problem I have with this sort of imagery is that it tends to be a bit vague. This kind of image-based poetry craves more specific scenery. For example, saying "constant color" doesn't specify the colors, where they appear, what they remind you of, etc etc... I would like to see a bit more expansion on the images. Just my opinion.
For all it's brilliance, there are no hues
of ocean blue on fall's palette ...
That's good. But like I said, I'd still love to see some specifics leading up to that. What is there other than ocean blue, in autumn?
The crackling crunch of dried leaves
can't content me the way walking barefoot
in the tide with you by my side did.
I love this one. Lots of advanced technique there... internal rhyme and alliterations make this seem so free-forming and beautiful, yet also demonstrate your inability to write bad poetry...
Try as they might, the musk and smoky smells
of this season are simply no match for the
dusky scent of wet sand and surf.
Yes, and does she sell sea shells by the sea shore? You're giving my tongue a real workout with this one, JM... I love it...
Winter's skies of pewter promise silver flaked snowfalls,
still that cant compete with the anticipation I felt
waking to shorelines saturated in sunrise.
"Winter's skies of pewter promise silver-flaked snowfalls" is probably one of the coolest articulations of "looks like it's gonna snow" that I have ever seen. I also like you mentioning the waking anticipation. That's neat, brings more of a sense of time to the poem... that you wake up anticipating each day. This is the first hint within the poem that you were on vacation somewhere.
No, I did not notice the days slipping away,
I missed the calendar pages falling into Fall.
I was distracted by sunset's solstice surrender to
mirrored moonrises of September's splendor.
Great contrast between what distracted you and what it distracted you from. Falling pages are dull, but "sunset's solstice surrender to mirrored moonrises of September's splendor?" Yeah, that's a good excuse to lose track of time, for sure...
My apologies to fall's foliage of ambered orange.
Autumn's auburn arrival comes in on crimson caress,
still, I'm not impressed for I'm held here under duress.
You see, I left so much of me there in the sand
where you wrote my name and held out your hand.
It's all good. The last line up there is a bit oddly worded though. I think you could have rephrased it a little bit. I know "sand" is a hard rhyme to make, though, so it's not like I lose any respect for you over it.
Winter will happen without me this year ...
I'm no longer here ... in spirit I still linger on the pier.
It was always meant to be ... the best of me ... stay with the sea ...
sand swept ...
tide taken ...
summer sequestered ...
Oooh..... I love how you don't end your poem, you drift out of it by stretching your form between ellipses... that's some fine craftsmanship there, JM.
It's obvious you didn't want to disgrace what was clearly such an amazing experience, by writing a sub-par poem about it. I know the feeling, when I've experienced something moving I want to not only write about it, but write well about it. You've invested a lot into this piece, and your muse didn't disappoint in the least. Excellent work JM, I'm glad I got the opportunity to read this one.
See you around. Be sure to keep your wings dusted, in the meantime.
Facts do not cease to exist because they are ignored.