JC, Krelos, you're either my hero, or my villain.
Disclaimer: the current reply was written deep in the night, precariously on the verge of sleep.Awesome, bjlong! I didn't even know poetry can receive such detailed critique. And, obviously, it's a lazy poem, I just thought that a Writers Guild could use more writing, so I picked a random thought off my mind and tried my best to make up some writing (also, I'm currently reading a book full of quite awesome poems, that's another inspiration). Well, and it's apparent that I'm an atheist, here I'll have to apologize for my unwitting offence, because, to say frankly, the poem was not supposed to be offensive. The main thought, from which everything started, is contained in the last stanza - it's my atheistic realization that all in all, our life amounts only to the fact that someday we're going to die, and Christians and other people believing in afterlife, are sort of in a better position. When you believe otherwise, and also not from the childhood (being a convert), there's always a sad side to your existence... Uh, I'm rambling off. More main thought is that religion is great and no one should try to take it away from people, it's great comfort, unless it requires human sacrifice.
Enough, I've fulfilled my quota of theology talk.
So I slapped this poem together, tried to make it blank verse, and only later realized that some lines rhyme. The idea was to produce writing to liven up the thread, and ideally I'd like to make it regular (one poem a day) and hopefully I'll get better at it. Although, with this approach I risque to come up with some more unwitting offence, just because when it's poetry, emotions hard to control are involved.
Edit: Also, I separated it into verses wrong in the first stanza.
...so it may not relieve any offense from that poemMy prompt reply, which may be complete BS, also I wish I made my point clearer.
The sky had frowned thinly for the whole day with a nondescript light-grey mass of clouds from horizon to horizon, and finally broke down - first with a light drizzle, slowly growing to a steady and firm tap on leaves. Multicoloured umbrellas popped up everywhere, suddenly turning the park into a sea-flooded jungle.
Michael deftly manoeuvred through the minefield of bristling spikes and elbows, hurrying on their businesses. Although he didn’t give much attention to an accidental brush or poke - his own business was of penultimate importance.
“Why does this always have to happen to me?” he complained to the heavens, jumping over a filling spring of rainwater across the path, and narrowly dodging a fist going right into his face from some gentleman who didn’t even notice the incident, consumed by juggling his luggage in one hand and his umbrella in the other.
Michael wasn’t very concerned, either, and continued his lament. “What have I done for you (whoever you are) to always make it rain when I have an important date? I didn’t quarrel with anyone today, carried out the garbage, there weren’t any people in need that I could have helped. More importantly, I’m sure she likes me, I like her, no astrological complications. Or are there?”
Michael made his way through a small crowd on the side of the road, and into the front row, to have a clear view of the passing buses. The road was slowly gained fluidity, with two streams on the sides following the flows of cars.
Michael turned his eyes to the sky once again, tracking the muddy cover to its edges somewhere near the roofs of the farther houses. He was brought back by a small chorus of female falsetto, and immediately felt a cool shower from under the wheels of a car racing by on his legs.
“You’re kidding me,” said Michael.
---
At last Angie felt some consolation. The weather, an unlikely friend, let its tears flow in a shower of warm sadness. There was something in the quietness, broken only by a soft beat of rain, something that Angie felt was addressed to her, to her broken heart, something was speaking to her without words. She slowly drew in the smell of the park, leaves, bark and grass, and dusty bricks of a lonely tower, all wet and fresh, forever and always new, like Angie’s soul, torn and aching inside, but eternal and young. And patient. Like the clouds above, thick, grey, taking up all of the sky. They had to start somewhere above a lake, or a sea, just unnoticeable fog rising above the waves, but they were patient, waited, gained, to finally release in an iridescent colourfulness of a rainbow after the rain. So Angie had to wait, collect and keep, strangers and friends, accidental encounters and long-planned meetings, kindness, patience, love.
Angie looked up and silently thanked the heavens for the rain.
---
At the height of ten thousand feet there was no rain. In fact, the sun shone brightly and merrily, setting off white sparkles on the boiling sea of a raincloud beneath. And the rainbow was already here. The great and majestic Zadkiel, an angel, balanced on the rolling puffs of mist, holding onto the light-blossoming arch with his left hand. With his right hand he held the ethereal reins of the cloud.
He once again congratulated himself on getting this job. The concentration it required was a nice change to the slow numbness of office work. The health concerns were another thing that drew him here - every day he was getting a double measure of radiation and fresh air, the doctor had told him that his heart and eyes already showed great improvements. He was kind of counting on another couple thousand years, but the pollution in the city didn’t really make him optimistic. This job was a real breather.
Of course, it had its downsides, but they were rather psychology-related. Rainclouds mostly followed set schedules, and rarely needed to change course. But when they did, the drivers had little influence on the choice, the cloud couldn’t wait, and so most of decision-making was done by computers. The driver only verified the data. When people submitted requests, they were processed by a computer, and either a mean, or a majority choice was returned. So it was rain or draught for everyone.
Zadkiel believed there was some other way, and it involved the Inventions Department. It'd been a long time since someone had made any improvements to the current cloud system, and there was a demand for more precise targeting. Of course, Zakiel knew why it hadn't been fulfilled yet. Other, priority requests came from the Department of Defense, and those guys knew how to handle scientists.
So, no localised response - rain or draught for everyone. That was Zakiel's problem - he didn't really believe in democracy.
---
A large drop springily splashed over the eye of Frog. He intently blinked, opening his mouth a little, and fidgeted, settling on the wet sand.
He found the weather simply admirable. A solid nice rain after a whole two weeks of heat and dryness. Frog finally got out of the pond and had a clear view of the landscape having something solid under his belly.
Everyone rejoiced around him - birds, mice, his fellow frogs - well, everyone he cared about, and birds would be too busy to care for him for some time still.
Frog fidgeted some more, and set to observe the pattern that rain formed on the surface of the pond. He’d forgotten how beautiful it was! The thin, irregular rippling even reminded him of his own bumpy skin. Frog looked at the sky and thought, surely the cloud guy there must be a frog.
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Topic: Bay12 Writers Guild (Read 58875 times)