Poetry Refined

 
Ah, yes, poetry. There are so many types out there today. Almost anything goes. But a good poet is one who constantly refines her works and her abilities. Not everyone can be a poet. Poetry is a delicate art, where an entire story is put into so few lines. A difficult balance to be sure. But even more difficult is the editing and polishing of a poem.

It has been a while since I've posted one of my works. Like so many of my poems, I've worked on this one many times to get it where I feel it is perfect. This is one of my love poems, and it is still a work in progress. There are 2 stanzas that I just cannot get to my liking. Yesterday I published it in the Poetry group that I'm a member of - Poetry in the Round on Writers Digest Community. Today I publish it here, with changes to the previously posted poem. And that's how poets work. Not quite right, not quite right, not quite right. Fix, fix, fix. Refine, refine, refine.

 A true poet, in my opinion, is one born with the gift of poetry - where the soul yearns to have its words put on paper. Poetry is the song of the soul.

 I prefer classical poems because of their beauty and simplicity, while obeying all those tedious rules early poetry had. So many of today's poems are rough, harsh, and often hateful images. There are few modern day poets that I like.

This poem is written in a classic style where some of the words have specific meanings to my story. For instance, lave - a word not commonly used in modern days meaning to bathe, but I liked the sound of it in this piece. Here, then, is my poem 'Give me but a Rose.' After the poem, I will show some stanzas and how they have changed. This won't show the many, many previous changes, just the current changes that I like.

 
 Give me But a Rose

 You ask what you can give me
 to show your love divine.

Give me but a rose, my dear,
 and this will be your sign.

It must have grown in earth’s rich soil;
 sweet essence so refined.

Cleansed several times by rain’s nectar,
 a red grail that doth shine.

You with said flower, freshly picked,
towards Elysium will climb.

Up to the gods you must ascend;
they’ll lave our rose in wine.

They’ll notice your enamored heart,
the solemn vow of thine.

Weeping, they’ll pour their precious draught
around our hearts to bind.

 -Eternal tears which trusses us
for now thru all earth’s time-

And so, my fair, it will become
a thorn less rose enshrined.

You ask what gift I’d take from thee.
I’ll take such bloom entwined.

Oh, give me but a simple prize,
a gem as I’ve defined.

A humble choice the gods have blessed -
your love to me consigned.
by DM Yates

 
Changed:

It must have grown in earth’s rich soil,
favored by the gods on high.  (hmm dup of later stanza)

Dipped several times in love’s nectar,
a red cup that doth shine.  (over use of 'love', doesn't fit will with prev stanza)

You ask what gift I’d take from thee.
I’ll take such bloom entwined.  (needs to be moved to closer to bottom where it fits better)

Picked on earth this flawless flower;
you (with said plucked) must climb. (uck awkward)

Up to the gods you must ascend;
Our rose they’ll dip in wine.   (need more romance here)

Then they’ll look within your heart,
your solemn love to find.(stilted & too many loves used)

I hope you enjoyed my poem.  May it make this a romantic day for you.

LHR, my friends and PAWS for Success.