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Out lands (Unfinished workshop) "T Harmonee"

It was late in history
the cities had flourished,
grown into bound structures.

Bounded by the reflective walls.
My England had shrunk
Into blobs of black
Surrounded by tilled land

The realm of machines
The out lands of growth
Machine controlled
Then control from the city

Operators playing games
A game called survival
Between each city a link
The new inter city way

Compartmented travel
London to Manchester
City linked to city
Spaces of beauty kept

The in betweens of scenery
Fast travel nothing seen
Slow as fields past by
Trees kept aside the route

A foolish afterthought
Most knew of out life
The machines ruled
We needed nothing more

We became content
It was our end time

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
How does this theme appeal to you?
Is the internal logic consistent?
Last few words: 
A poem started in 2013 going to be an Epic but maybe a short story we will have to see later???
Editing stage: 


I'll work on it, if that's ok with you and Irene or whoever else volunteers.

There is also the 'Basic and Essential Meter' currently running which I think has the potential to be the best I've ever run on the subject and only requires writing four four line poems, and some discussion.

I've stripped meter down to its very bare essentials and I know it is something you have struggled with. Maybe this time I'll get it closer to right and I promise no tantrums [grins]


A new workshop on the most important element of poetry-
'Rhythm and Meter in Poetry'

This poem could very well be considered complete as is. But it can also easily be extended by leading the narrative into a direction showing it Isn't the end time

the second two lines seem to contradict. Grown in bound structures? Perhaps clarify by delineating the different areas- rich, poor, industrial, etc.

reflective walls? I don't understand.

The third stanza makes sense. I get that. Business controls and even destroys agriculture with monoculture.

I see how the cities are also a sort of monoculture, with the diminishing beauty between to our great loss.

It is is indeed a foolish and terminal afterthought if we think we need nothing but machines.

Perhaps this poem need clarification more than finishing?

A new workshop on the most important element of poetry-
'Rhythm and Meter in Poetry'

to me is to have completed allegory in your head. Know what you are trying to say. Not that you have to "understand" what you want to say, but know what it is. Like in "The Raven", Poe knew what he wanted to say even if he wasn't sure what the raven was, or Coleridge of the Ancient Mariner.
It seems the machines have taken over, just like predicted by the likes of Hawkins, and the key to the poem is after the description, rather dreary, (Engand being "blobs of black" eyc)
"We became content/It was our end time " is the key to a possible postion you are taking. If that is the case, go with it, but you have to rewrite the poem with that in mind. It is the theme.

Sci-fi reality of the machines and the future are hard today because it is so unreal, so unlike the unverse of nature we are used to. Genetic Engineering, robotic implants, and on and on.
Perhaps consider your audience. Who are you writing for- the present or the future? It seems like you are talking to the future, but I would make that more prevelent.
For starters...

I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance
ee cummings

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