For His Feet Were Sore

[nuhvok campaign manager]

I don't usually post in this forum, but I found a poem I wrote a while back that I wanted to share for one reason or another, I'm not exactly sure why. I wrote this poem a while back as a time capsule, a message to my future self to make sure I stay on the right path and to never lose heart. You might not see that in the poem at first, but it's there. In it's own strange, unknown way, it's definitely there."Don’t follow meMy path is barrenIt’s long since died and turned to ashI cannot change the foot I step down withSo I cannot change the prints I leave behindThe man told me,Under darkest night,Under turning tideNow granted, I gave my shareNot always to the right address, but my heart was still in the right placeStill, so much pain I left in my wakeWhether it was because I refused to changeOr rather that I tried too hardEither way, I left my markThe man told me,Under darkest night,Under turning tideI’m not sure why I tell you thisHalf of it is meaningless rambleI’m sure I threw in a clever line or twoMaybe I mentioned a phrase that made you thinkBut take it as a whole and you see how meaningless my life wasAnd put it into the grand scheme and you see how meaningless all life isThe man told me,Under darkest night,Under turning tideWell, my time has come so I must be moving onI apologize for pilfering your precious timeBut what is life but the master thief of time?Son, if you take anything away from this rambling, just keep in mindThat nothing is written in stoneBut it is written in soft clayYou are capable of righting wrongsYou can dream your past awayBut all that really does is compound the print that was already thereAnd once you get to the end of the line,That clay will harden at last, and you’ll end up like meThe man with the misshapen foot,And the long trail of prints as a testament to its disgraceHalf-heartedly arranged to make it seem like a beautiful designBut all it really does is confuse the people who succeed youThe man told me,Under darkest night,Under turning tideAs that man walked away, I looked down at the path he was talking aboutAnd I saw how worn it really wasIt struck me that one man couldn’t have done thisThat this must have been the work of several menTrudging down the same path as that man had done just nowAnd that’s when I realized that he wasn’t the only man to have walked that pathHe was just the latest one to have set in his printsHe was just the latest one to be left confused by the prints that had proceeded before himAnd so, that man left meUnder darkest night,Under turning tide"Any comments or criticisms you might have are appreciated and I hope you enjoyed the poem, or at least got something out of it.

[Mel]

Official Short Stories Critics' Club Charity ReviewI have to admit something. I never read the blurb at the front of this until recently, after I had gone over the poem several times. I think part the beauty of this poem is that it speaks to a more general audience and doesn't need such explanations. I would be careful, however; while it doesn't overuse phrases enough to be cliche, it skirts a little close. There's a spark I think you could add to this to make it a little more personal.I know as a time capsule, you might want to preserve this. Still, the poem feels a bit half-formed. As much I love free verse, I would say that this is one poem that could benefit from a little more structure. It has a kind of mournful ring to it, like the kind of song you'd hear around a camp fire just as it is dying out. Listen to some English/Scottish/Irish/American folk music and you'll see what I mean. There is a danger that something like this could become monotonous, but you have a great grasp of subtle rhythm and near rhyme that you could use to avoid this problem.

Now granted, I gave my shareNot always to the right address,but my heart was in the right placeStill, so much pain I left in my wakeWhether because I refused to changeOr rather that I tried too hardEither way, I left my mark.

This is an example. I broke up the long line so it was less awkward, deleted a few words, and separated the stanza into two. Sometimes this is all it takes, especially since I can see a form coalescing within this poem. Don't feel obliged to give everything the same form, but try and tighten where you can. The tighter a poem is, the less likely it will read as awkward and prosy. Keep word choice in mind as well. I noticed the word "think" which seemed jarringly modern, and would better be replaced with "ponder" in this case.I hope you keep writing and reading poetry, because you have something really interesting beginning here. Best of luck. ^^