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perennial dreams

the sun sets

in your eyes' ravine

of laden stone

where love used

to river through

the lusty green

and painting brown

now tepidly

resting to suit

the gustier mood

caught in

time's tide

of jaded memories

drowning in

the streams

of our perennial

dreams

Editing stage: 

Comments

the sun sets in your eyes' ravine of laden stone-- like this a lot
where love used to river through the lusty green
and painting brown--and this
now tepidly resting to suit
the gustier mood caught in- and this more than a lot
time's tide of jaded memories-but this is cliche
drowning in the streams
of our perennial dreams- and this is very ordinary.

so first 2 acts are great but the last act is lousy
ps the poem doesn't need to be cut up into two word lines, it adds nothing and just spoils the flow.
you're really got something to say. Look forward to reading more.
greeting from 'down under'
ross

Thnx Ross - needed the input.

author comment

don't be disheartened if you don't get many comments, you need to critique others to get a response back,. have a look at the Alsop Review, its a poetry forum that is more critical, more serious in it's approach, not for the faint hearted .

I found your use of noun as adjective (river) intriguing. I periodically play that trick. I agree with Ross that the abnormally short lines don't add to the poem. It doesn't detract either, but I find it easier to "take a poem seriously" when unadorned by grammatical or formatting "gimmicks" (for lack of a better term).
The last line is a tad cliche, but easily forgiven (by me at least) as the rest is not.
As for the "faint of heart"... that sometimes goes for NeoPoet itself, but that's why most of us are here.
I hope you post again soon and that I see you CRITIQUING other pieces as well. No faint hearts here, so let it rip.

W. H. Snow

A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley

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for reading, Wes.

author comment

I try hard to comment
someone will also batter me
but to all it seems
nothing matters that shatters me,

so they read and like a river flow
heaven alone knows
where they all go,
as they leave me behind many a cloud
how I wished they'd say aloud

Loved get and go out
the rivers a flood
can't you see
how many more can be
mad at thee..

loved

can be a neurotic game

author comment
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