Mostly written by Wesley :-

This was an instructional comment on my Cata poem but I feel this will be of use to all that are doing this workshop...

Okay, let's get to work.
Workshop critique:
Storytelling in Verse (sempiternal)
As you may have guessed by now, I don't concern myself with the poetry in this workshop overmuch.
Our other poets are eminently qualified to tell you the meter needs work (and you've figured this out as well... I note the improvement where applied). Here I am far more concerned with storytelling.
You have now entered into a realm I've been living in for several years.
Your tale has become large enough that organizing the components of the tale becomes more difficult.

Here is one thought you may not have taken into consideration.
Every story (no matter length) will have the four components we harp about.
Exposition, a complication, a climax and a resolution,

This is not negotiable.
They will exist whether you place them or not.
All we have control over is whether they succeed in being clear and thereby driving the story successfully.

Exposition is.

Either you fill it with information succinct enough to draw and hold our interest or leave it so sparse as to leave us in confusion... it will be.
The story as a whole (the big picture) will have an exposition.
A countable or uncountable, detailed explanation of something formal.
A detailed explanation of something:-.
Such as an idea, or process, or the action of giving such an explanation.

A complication:-

The act of complicating.
A complicated, or involved state or condition.
A complex combination of elements or things.
Something that introduces, usually unexpectedly, some difficulty, problem,
or change, etc.

A climax:-
Definition of climax
The most intense, exciting, or important point of something;
The culmination.

A resolution:-

The resolutions are often "presumed" as the story goes on.
Take a little time (I have printed this out and will be looking at it again over the coming weeks) and look at each vignette (1. short but interesting piece of writing etc. cinema, literature or section of a film) in regards to these pieces and ask yourself if they could stand alone.
They needn't of course, but they must "feel" as though they could.
Each section should be able to supply its own motivation, climactic moment and resolution that carry on to the next exposition.

But what you may not have considered is that this is true of virtually every scene.
In a book, play, movie or comic book these things occur in smaller and smaller increments.
Every chapter will have all four parts.
Every conversation will have all four parts.
Every descriptive paragraph will have ALL FOUR PARTS.
Look at one of your smaller poems and you will see that every verse is comprised of all four parts.
Some are clear and drive the subject matter; some are not and muddle the verse. Quality is, of course, up to us, but these parts will be.
This big poem of yours is often missing clearly structured pieces.
Not every vignette has a clear complication and most of them have very weak climaxes.

Each section should be able to supply its own motivation, climactic moment and resolution that carry on to the next exposition.

Try this if you will:- From Wesley’s writing
Below is a link to canto four of Wesley’s BAP.
This is for reference to show the effect..
Wesley chose this one because it's one of the smaller.

Wesley:-
Don't sweat the summary and begin with the section starting line 97.
You won't understand exactly what's going on, but for the purpose of our experiment that is unimportant.
It is a conversation between the witch and the evil, cowardly General Alcroft. You are looking for component parts.
Not all of them.
For now I want you to try to isolate the expositions.
I use my own work because I, of course, have studied it enough to be able to break it down in such a way with relative ease.
Look for the expositions that occur throughout the conversation.
They overlap (as all of our parts will), but you should be able to pick out the main "beginnings" that sprinkle through the conversation.
This is just an experiment to see if we can get you to isolate the same thing in your poem and there is no right or wrong.
Hint: I count six clear expositions in the scene (with several smaller ones in between).
See if you can tell me where most of them start.

Canto Four
http://www.neopoet.com/node/4555

Within the bastion high above
the field where men still push and shove
to bring such wounded that they own
(those in their hands whom they have sewn) 100

to front of service line that slows,
a man stares down. His anger grows.
The tiny figure weaving thru
the Healing Captains and their crew
moves ever swifter than he thinks 105

its tiny legs could~ then it winks.
She glares at him, eyes clear and pale.
White God’s the bitch makes him feel frail.
The smile she cuts him brightly shines
from twisting teeth that gold refines 110

then disappears beneath the walls
of forward bastion to its halls.
An aide steps forth from out the dark.
He sharply stops upon his mark,
salutes and so begins to speak, 115

when with raised hand and tight held squeak
that’s imperceptible in voice,
the aide’s relieved of any choice.
“Good Captain, send the nurse back down.
Remind him who here wears the crown. 120

The witch must wait on first floor court.
As I arrive have brought my port.
And Captain? Please, one goblet’s fine.”
With arm on chest’s diagonal line
the aide leaves with abundant gloss. 125

Salute to guard’s a subdued toss.
The man at long, thin window sighs
allowing moments with closed eyes.
Then gathering his war cloak snug
turns leather boots on molding rug 130

to find himself alone in room
with witch that reeks of rotting tomb.
The dead stench from her makes him reel.
He grips himself beneath his steel.
The fearful rage that raises bile 135

in moments will his mouth defile.
This foul effect she has on most,
if not quite all, the men at post.
She combs her hair with childless hand
addressing him a bit too grand. 140

“Good morrow gloried Lord of Some.
I comes to you first moment come.
Hag ask you guardboys not impede.
We make this quick. I’s babe to feed.”
Her hair rebounds due grease and weight 145

of remnants worn to decorate.
He stirs. Then shakes, though hard he tries
to hide from her what’s in his eyes.
“Just what in hell gives you the right?
You cross me, you’ll be hung tonight. 150

My Guardsmen best be dead at post.”
His color drains. He seems a ghost.
The short, grey witch waves thru the air
her broken stick with comic flair.
“To Hell and back I sent anon! 155

Poo pah, I joke. They is not gone.”
She laughs and laughing chokes on cud,
then spits a wad as black as mud.
His shoulder heaves against the door
prepared to find the locks and more 160

to hold it tight and keep him trapped.
It swings away. The men lay sapped
of will to stand or consciousness.
In time his will he must address.
At window looking down she turns. 165

“O Gen’ril, hag see fever burns.
I feel from here though window cold.
You lis’ten slow. I no be bold.”
His regal bearing dec’rative,
the General turns around to give 170

attention full to her as though
naught here was odd. All things just so.
Her grin teased wide can’t help deform
her face as bugs swirl round in swarm.
Small task, she thinks. Not for some time 175

has he made her work magic’s rhyme.
Still, cruel she is and such it was
that cruelty can as cruelty does.
Such image of her plays a part
more large than merely her cruel heart. 180

“O, mighty Alcroft look wisely
upons the lives I brings and see
that smallish there they numbers are
than those I leave way gones afar.”
He nods his head with dignity 185

in hopes (or prayer) the game will be
played ever as ‘twas played before.
He need now only seem the bore.
But as she steps from shadows back,
in her demeanor he sees lack 190

of ugly, impish, spiteful git
and sees instead a growing fit
of cold, hard rage drawn tight and lean.
His bowels speak to him clear and keen.
Contempt as vulcan mass now quakes. 195

A rising heat as fury wakes.
Then softly speaks she, softer than
Alcroft has ever heard a man
speak whispering at Death’s dim door.
A tone subdued he’s heard before. 200

When Death has come for him he’s sold
the lives of others. Hence, he’s old.
With Nightmare, Death leaves lists of curs
the man still owes. Gundhag’s harsh purrs
make Alcroft feel that she is come 205

so Death may now collect full sum.
“Too many lives be lost today.
If Seer claiming this right way,
I saying now~ it be damned wrong.
Be nothing here of Hell so long 210

you need kill many like this more.
If kill like this again, you door?
I lock and hide where no one find.
No matta’ who you kiss behind.
This fight like play act for some kings. 215

Throw men from stage as if they things.
Tall Colonel Cridge, he do this work.
Ah! See you eye! See you ear perk!
He slaughter, slay and kill again.
He pile upon his back you sin. 220

Fool feel this destiny his right.
Be wrong. It curse that trap in night.
His Clovis people, they be few.
They cling to woe. Be nothing new.
But Alcroft send brave men to die 225

then from they fears he hides to fly.
You give command, but take no risk
and toss they lives to wind as whisk.
It stopping now. No preen for king.
You give what Cridge need for this thing 230

and shut you mouth. Take credit none.
May be still live when he be done.”
And now her eyes are wide and bright.
Her pumpkin smile’s reflecting light.
She softly coos to child in arms. 235

The incongruence of her charms
can frighten as will her black arts.
She spits at him and so departs.
He blinks and does not see her leave.
Alcroft is not a man naive. 240

What weakens others strengthens him.
He cultivates an image prim.
With dread above the stair’s dark case
he feels fear crawl about his face.
So cold and rich and always sharp. 245

Thru all his spine pulled taut as harp
strings high and brash tuned near to snap.
The fear will soon come warm to lap.
It’s part of him. He lets it come.
The panic he can drown in rum. 250

Though dare he not ignore her threat
(the danger she can pose he’s met)
all’s come too far for him to veer.
He’s kept companionship with fear
all thru his days. Such is the lot 255

of coward’s lives. Of those who've bought
their way from Death and so submit
to that which is for coward’s fit.

I have found that these stories are sometimes hard to read, but with a little patience, they give out a great teaching form.
Wesley has spent many years studying this type of writing, and this one shows the level that can be reached with a lot of work.
Thank you Wesley for your hard work on Neopoet.
Ian.T