Redraft: 13/Oct/2016
The paddy fields stretch out to the horizon
the morning dew has settled, they shimmer
in a gossamer of light,
and as transient as our dream.
The farmer relaxes at home
after months of toil
waiting for the designated day to come
praying nothing should spoil.
Thunder and lightning strike with force
more rain would ensure a damage
he is concerned of the setbacks in the course
sees a danger in a drooping stalk, beset by his patronage.
The grains resemble the gold
yellow and sparkling they dangle.
Once they start to fold
harvest could go on without a struggle.
That moment is a bliss
reaping what you sow.
The man starts his work with a kiss
to the soil bending low.
The son of toil lets out a sigh.
Wipes his sweat,
tidies himself and fastens his belt.
His eyes moist.
He walks back home
Happy with fulfilment.
Revision.
The stretches of paddy fields
lie in silence.
The dew covers them like a shield
a scenario with a difference.
The farmer relaxes at home
after months of toil
waiting for the designated day to come
praying nothing should spoil.
Thunder and lightning strike with force
little more rain would ensure a damage
he turns tense scared of the setbacks in the course
the stalks droop, unusual, it looks strange.
The grains resemble the gold
yellow and sparkling they dangle.
Once they start to fold
harvest could go on without a strangle.
That moment of bliss
reaping what you sow.
The man starts his work with a kiss
to the soil bending low.
The clouds deliberately come together
loiter sluggishly till noon.
For a while, panic unfolds. Harvest is almost done.
The paddy is heaped into rows. Nothing more to bother.
The son of toil lets out a sigh.
Wipes his sweat,
tidies himself and fastens his belt.
His eyes turn moist.
He walks back home.
Happy with fulfilment.
Original:
The stretches of paddy fields
lie in absolute silence.
The dew covers them like a shield
a ravishing scenario with a difference.
The farmer is at home
relaxing after months of toil
waiting for the designated day to come
praying nothing should spoil.
Thunder and lightning strike with a focus
little more rain would ensure a damage
he turns tense scared of the raucous
the stalks droop, unusual, it looks strange.
The grains resemble the gold
yellow and sparkling they dangle.
Once they start to fold
harvest could go on without a strangle.
That moment is a bliss
reaping what you sow.
The man starts his work with a kiss
to the soil bending low.
The clouds deliberately come together
loiter sluggishly till noon.
For a while,panic unfolds. Harvest is almost done.
The paddy is heaped. Nothing more to bother.
The son of toil lets out a sigh. Wipes his sweat,
tidies himself and fastens his belt.
His eyes turn moist.
He walks back home.
Happy with fulfillment.
How Well Did It Go
-
FranktheFrank
- Posts: 1988
- Joined: 02 Mar 2016, 18:07
- Location: Between the mountains and the sea
Re: How Well Did It Go
Meena
This is good work, it is an excellent first draft of which could be a very good poem.
The introspective concerns of the farmer and his focus is very well done.
I will come back later, breakfast now.
best
F.
This is good work, it is an excellent first draft of which could be a very good poem.
The introspective concerns of the farmer and his focus is very well done.
I will come back later, breakfast now.
best
F.
-
FranktheFrank
- Posts: 1988
- Joined: 02 Mar 2016, 18:07
- Location: Between the mountains and the sea
Re: How Well Did It Go
S1
Good, absolute is not necessary could be dropped
ravishing is telling, could leave out
good intro
Good, absolute is not necessary could be dropped
ravishing is telling, could leave out
good intro
Re: How Well Did It Go
Thanks, Frank for your encouraging words.
I portrayed the scene of harvest. I experience this every year in India where we have paddy fields.
The farmer is none other than me.
Rains beguile, labourers dodge, prices fluctuate. In the end, a farmer makes no profit.
Still, he goes on year after year. That be his way.
I will revise with little or no additions.
Best,
Meena.
I portrayed the scene of harvest. I experience this every year in India where we have paddy fields.
The farmer is none other than me.
Rains beguile, labourers dodge, prices fluctuate. In the end, a farmer makes no profit.
Still, he goes on year after year. That be his way.
I will revise with little or no additions.
Best,
Meena.
meenas17
-
FranktheFrank
- Posts: 1988
- Joined: 02 Mar 2016, 18:07
- Location: Between the mountains and the sea
Re: How Well Did It Go
Meena, I am considering nominating this poem for the IBPC,
could you let us have the revised version please?
could you let us have the revised version please?
-
FranktheFrank
- Posts: 1988
- Joined: 02 Mar 2016, 18:07
- Location: Between the mountains and the sea
Re: How Well Did It Go
The stretches of paddy fields [Stretches of paddy . . .}
lie in silence.
The dew covers them like a shield {dew covers . . . }
a scenario with a difference. [here you wish to explain to the reader the awe you hold the morning, when the mist hangs over the fields, the shining of the light and you want to compress all that awe into one word, here you use difference. Is there a better word? or do you need this line at all, we get it all in the dew.]
lie in silence.
The dew covers them like a shield {dew covers . . . }
a scenario with a difference. [here you wish to explain to the reader the awe you hold the morning, when the mist hangs over the fields, the shining of the light and you want to compress all that awe into one word, here you use difference. Is there a better word? or do you need this line at all, we get it all in the dew.]
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FranktheFrank
- Posts: 1988
- Joined: 02 Mar 2016, 18:07
- Location: Between the mountains and the sea
Re: How Well Did It Go
I am going to nominate this Meena.
If successful I am going to let others punctuate this with you.
It needs a few commas, here and there to make easier reading, some might disagree.
Suggest you don't make any big changes, but some words do need tweaking. See if you can find them.
It is best if you make the changes.
You have made huge advances.
Me too when I started, punctuation nightmare.
If successful I am going to let others punctuate this with you.
It needs a few commas, here and there to make easier reading, some might disagree.
Suggest you don't make any big changes, but some words do need tweaking. See if you can find them.
It is best if you make the changes.
You have made huge advances.
Me too when I started, punctuation nightmare.
Re: How Well Did It Go
Thanks, Frank.
I will try to find the words that have to be modified.
I will try to find the words that have to be modified.
meenas17
-
FranktheFrank
- Posts: 1988
- Joined: 02 Mar 2016, 18:07
- Location: Between the mountains and the sea
Re: How Well Did It Go
Thank you for allowing me to work on this Meena.
The poem is almost ready so no big changes please.
The poem is almost ready so no big changes please.
Re: How Well Did It Go
The lines have been modified nicely, Frank. They express a sensibility different from the original.
Many of my critics ask me to take the poems to a different level, to the sublime.
I sound ground real.
Will try to alter the lines as suggested.
Know not how they would come out?
Meena.
Many of my critics ask me to take the poems to a different level, to the sublime.
I sound ground real.
Will try to alter the lines as suggested.
Know not how they would come out?
Meena.
meenas17
-
FranktheFrank
- Posts: 1988
- Joined: 02 Mar 2016, 18:07
- Location: Between the mountains and the sea
Re: How Well Did It Go
Okay, when you post please place in first box, with date:
Redraft: 12 Oct 12016
or
Revision 12 Oct
best wishes with this poem
p.s. strangle is the weakest word, maybe struggle is better?
Redraft: 12 Oct 12016
or
Revision 12 Oct
best wishes with this poem
p.s. strangle is the weakest word, maybe struggle is better?
Re: How Well Did It Go
Redraft: 13/Oct/2016
The paddy fields stretch out to the horizon
the morning dew has settled, they shimmer
in a gossamer of light,
and as transient as our dream.
The farmer relaxes at home
after months of toil
waiting for the designated day to come
praying nothing should spoil.
Thunder and lightning strike with force
more rain would ensure a damage
he is concerned of the setbacks in the course
sees a danger in a drooping stalk, beset by his patronage.
The grains resemble the gold
yellow and sparkling they dangle.
Once they start to fold
harvest could go on without a struggle.
That moment is a bliss
reaping what you sow.
The man starts his work with a kiss
to the soil bending low.
The son of toil lets out a sigh.
Wipes his sweat,
tidies himself and fastens his belt.
His eyes moist.
He walks back home
Happy with fulfilment.
Revision.
Revision.
The stretches of paddy fields
lie in silence.
The dew covers them like a shield
a scenario with a difference.
The farmer relaxes at home
after months of toil
waiting for the designated day to come
praying nothing should spoil.
Thunder and lightning strike with force
little more rain would ensure a damage
he turns tense scared of the setbacks in the course
the stalks droop, unusual, it looks strange.
The grains resemble the gold
yellow and sparkling they dangle.
Once they start to fold
harvest could go on without a strangle.
That moment of bliss
reaping what you sow.
The man starts his work with a kiss
to the soil bending low.
The clouds deliberately come together
loiter sluggishly till noon.
For a while, panic unfolds. Harvest is almost done.
The paddy is heaped into rows. Nothing more to bother.
The son of toil lets out a sigh.
Wipes his sweat,
tidies himself and fastens his belt.
His eyes turn moist.
He walks back home.
Happy with fulfilment.
Original
The stretches of paddy fields
lie in absolute silence.
The dew covers them like a shield
a ravishing scenario with a difference.
The farmer is at home
relaxing after months of toil
waiting for the designated day to come
praying nothing should spoil.
Thunder and lightning strike with a focus
little more rain would ensure a damage
he turns tense scared of the raucous
the stalks droop, unusual, it looks strange.
The grains resemble the gold
yellow and sparkling they dangle.
Once they start to fold
harvest could go on without a strangle.
That moment is a bliss
reaping what you sow.
The man starts his work with a kiss
to the soil bending low.
The clouds deliberately come together
loiter sluggishly till noon.
For a while,panic unfolds. Harvest is almost done.
The paddy is heaped. Nothing more to bother.
The son of toil lets out a sigh.
Wipes his sweat,
tidies himself and fastens his belt.
His eyes turn moist.
He walks back home.
Happy with fulfillment.
The paddy fields stretch out to the horizon
the morning dew has settled, they shimmer
in a gossamer of light,
and as transient as our dream.
The farmer relaxes at home
after months of toil
waiting for the designated day to come
praying nothing should spoil.
Thunder and lightning strike with force
more rain would ensure a damage
he is concerned of the setbacks in the course
sees a danger in a drooping stalk, beset by his patronage.
The grains resemble the gold
yellow and sparkling they dangle.
Once they start to fold
harvest could go on without a struggle.
That moment is a bliss
reaping what you sow.
The man starts his work with a kiss
to the soil bending low.
The son of toil lets out a sigh.
Wipes his sweat,
tidies himself and fastens his belt.
His eyes moist.
He walks back home
Happy with fulfilment.
Revision.
Revision.
The stretches of paddy fields
lie in silence.
The dew covers them like a shield
a scenario with a difference.
The farmer relaxes at home
after months of toil
waiting for the designated day to come
praying nothing should spoil.
Thunder and lightning strike with force
little more rain would ensure a damage
he turns tense scared of the setbacks in the course
the stalks droop, unusual, it looks strange.
The grains resemble the gold
yellow and sparkling they dangle.
Once they start to fold
harvest could go on without a strangle.
That moment of bliss
reaping what you sow.
The man starts his work with a kiss
to the soil bending low.
The clouds deliberately come together
loiter sluggishly till noon.
For a while, panic unfolds. Harvest is almost done.
The paddy is heaped into rows. Nothing more to bother.
The son of toil lets out a sigh.
Wipes his sweat,
tidies himself and fastens his belt.
His eyes turn moist.
He walks back home.
Happy with fulfilment.
Original
The stretches of paddy fields
lie in absolute silence.
The dew covers them like a shield
a ravishing scenario with a difference.
The farmer is at home
relaxing after months of toil
waiting for the designated day to come
praying nothing should spoil.
Thunder and lightning strike with a focus
little more rain would ensure a damage
he turns tense scared of the raucous
the stalks droop, unusual, it looks strange.
The grains resemble the gold
yellow and sparkling they dangle.
Once they start to fold
harvest could go on without a strangle.
That moment is a bliss
reaping what you sow.
The man starts his work with a kiss
to the soil bending low.
The clouds deliberately come together
loiter sluggishly till noon.
For a while,panic unfolds. Harvest is almost done.
The paddy is heaped. Nothing more to bother.
The son of toil lets out a sigh.
Wipes his sweat,
tidies himself and fastens his belt.
His eyes turn moist.
He walks back home.
Happy with fulfillment.
meenas17
-
FranktheFrank
- Posts: 1988
- Joined: 02 Mar 2016, 18:07
- Location: Between the mountains and the sea
Re: How Well Did It Go
Its about cooked now Meena.
I will nominate as soon as Michael opens the monthly thread
for Palaver. Maybe Michael has some thoughts?
Well done.
He might suggest some tweaks, bear in mind how much Siva
had to do with her last poem for the IBPC
it was never ending.
I will nominate as soon as Michael opens the monthly thread
for Palaver. Maybe Michael has some thoughts?
Well done.
He might suggest some tweaks, bear in mind how much Siva
had to do with her last poem for the IBPC
it was never ending.