A blurry sense of sound; still thoughts inside
His sunken mind, where water overwhelms
Detection's wherewithal to unearth realms
Beneath the tides, exhaust while depths provide
Mirages of a waking shore: a wide,
Deciduous dreamscape thick-bedecked with elms,
Red-ceder, oak, and sacred figs, a helm
O'er woodland's fragile brow that aims to hide
The dauerwald that slinks throughout the dreams
Of underwater revelation. Do
The slight, pastoral sights have roots in beams
Of oceanic provenance? Slipped through
His drowning daydream authored by extremes
Of sylvan sleep, the woodlands seem less true.
2 comments:
A good example of something that seemed good at the time but spun out of control. By the time I realized it wasn't working, I was so far in that it was more worth my time to finish it than to start over. Ah, well. It's a sonnet.
Excellent!
I personally am curious where you were when discovering it had taken off into a realm beyond its limits? See, just as the Shakespearian pulls us up short just shy of the concluding couplet, the Petrarchan also pulls me up short at the octet's 7th or 8th line, but of course! And if I persist in letting it take a Miltonian slur, then I must be pulled up short at the 11th/12th line to tie it up completely. If that happened to you with this, its no wonder it was too nearly finished ere you wanted to start over to leave off or rewrite.
Woodlands' dreamy allure seems so beautifully expressed here, mingled with the interesting suggestion of dreams being so much like the sea. A sea of contemplation?
Excellent imagery and well-laden with it too..."blurry' draws the definition of the dream evolving, the specific trees mentioned seem significant to mythology, mayhap? Yet it is all esteemed as an underwater landscape of seaweeds, a forest by dream's imaging therefore unattainable and too transient.
Delightful Petrarchan! I wish I could figure out how to give such good critiques as you offer. When I do, these comments will be more sensible.
Post a Comment