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I think it is a beautiful poem Diana- The concept of comparing humanity and a garden- I love the thought!

As for feedback, I found the meter throws me off just a bit, since there isn't consistency throughout the lines- when reading it aloud, I had to re-read it several times, yet it didn't quite match up.
Also, with the line, the "water needs to flow freely" the emphasis when speaking the line also feels a bit off.. but if you reversed it and said "freely flow"- it rolls off the tongue a bit better.

Keep writing Diana! Poetry is from the heart

Do you think sad poems are less popular than glad poems?

I enjoyed reading about the poem and the critique and thought I'd share my recent experience of submitting a poem. I had one that was in a rating submission at Number 3. I changed just one line and it sank to Number 7 out of the 14! The line was about the poet's intentions!

I am guessing people don't like seriously depressing dark poetry! It was a very quick sketch,free verse almost, so I don't mind too much - I just find poetry and personal taste intriguing!

What do you think?

My Sad Depressing Poem Submission

In addition to tastes, I think mood plays a huge part in sad poetry as well. Since it is a means of personal expression (And I do stress personal)-Poetry written or read in moments of despair affects us in an entirely different way than when we are happy and uplifted. Poetry can be an expression of our mood, but it can also impact our moods just as easily!

I am giving a high school graduation present to young man that I changed his diapers from birth as a family friend. I kept his first pair of black cleats (from 5 yr old) to his last pair of white custom soccer/football Nike's (size 12) and I am putting them in a shadow box for him to have as a gift. I want to add a personal poem in the shadow box with both pair of shoes but don't know how to write. Can you help clean up my thoughts and structure with suggestions? THANKS FROM BOY TO MAN From black to white and all colors in between spring, summer, fall.... We covered the feet of an athlete who always gave his all. Mud, dew from the early morning grass and dusty heat of the Texas summers covered us... The feet we protected each season gave us reason to be proud. We kicked the ball, we tackled, we stole a base, we stopped on a dime, we gripped the grass and the turf While the kid made his name known to all. From league all-star to all-district, to State and National Champion We were part of the boy, his dreams who became a man among the great teams. Go forth young man with your future plans and remember that we were there when you got started. We are the part of the legacy of greatness, the passion and for the love of the game. We survived and Rxxx Mxxxx made his name.

Forgive me for not getting back on this sooner! (Moving has taken much of my time this month)
I looked over your poem and restructured it just a bit into a rhythmic style. Feel free to use, change, or discard the comments!
Angela

From Boy to Man
From black to white and colors between
in spring, in summer, and fall
We covered the feet of an athlete;
the one who gave his all.

Through early Texas mornings
in mud, in dust, and dew
We gave our heart each season;
our pride in him just grew.

As he reached for greatness
he kicked, he tackled, he raced.
We gave our all to be a part
Of the dream he chased.

His legacy grew, he was the champ
In city, in state, in nation.
Our all-star became great among teams
our pride grew to elation.

Now as a man, look to your beginnings
Your passion, your greatness, and love
We gave you your wings on which you flew;
Rxx Mxxx, your name rings from above.

Hiya Cheryl! Congrats on "taking the plunge"- I can tell you have rolled up your sleeves and are working hard

I have to ask you-- is this poem about your desire to write and the risk taking involved? this is beautifully symbolic on multiple levels.. I have reread it multiple times and each time, a new meaning and a new picture forms. Its wonderfully layered! I'd be interested in hearing other readers perspectives as well- I'm touched.

Here is a suggestion. I made a few changes respecfully. How does this sound to you? children who skip through the wilderness like your father's home, Enclosed by loyal dogs that guard the gates of chrome, built by slaves without claim who still remain unknown, be creative in you course and do not stop to roam, for there are beasts that wait along the traveler's trail, Hungry for the stubby legs of the children that run to peril, a creature most infamous lives past the flicker of light, a devil lives in the darkness may find you in his sight,

The last world war one soldier Harry Patch just died aged 111. The poet laureate Carol Ann Duffy wrote this poem for the occasion.

LAST POST
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If poetry could tell it backwards, true, begin
that moment shrapnel scythed you to the stinking mud�
but you get up, amazed, watch bled bad blood
run upwards from the slime into its wounds;
see lines and lines of British boys rewind
back to their trenches, kiss the photographs from home-
mothers, sweethearts, sisters, younger brothers
not entering the story now
to die and die and die.
Dulce- No- Decorum- No- Pro patria mori.
You walk away.
You walk away; drop your gun (fixed bayonet)
like all your mates do too-
Harry, Tommy, Wilfred, Edward, Bert-
and light a cigarette.
There's coffee in the square,
warm French bread
and all those thousands dead
are shaking dried mud from their hair
and queuing up for home. Freshly alive,
a lad plays Tipperary to the crowd, released
from History; the glistening, healthy horses fit for heroes, kings.
You lean against a wall,
your several million lives still possible
and crammed with love, work, children, talent, English beer, good food.
You see the poet tuck away his pocket-book and smile.
If poetry could truly tell it backwards,
then it would.
listen to Carol Ann Duffy reading the poem

I think your poem is fantastic and i think it is wonderful you came out and wrote it in the forum for all to see. Dark poetry I find means something very deep to the writer alone and not everyone is tuned into what you are trying to say. I too write alot of dark poetry, I have gotten good reviews on my poetry site that I write on but even if I didn't the people are not inside my head and were not there at the moment the poem was written. I suppose the one line could have gone a little smoother but other than that keep up the great work and share more. :tut:

Morning Song

A sort of dedication to Sylvia Plath

Love drew you in like a freight train.
A furnished field brimming with
the sun that reflected your eye.
Baby blue wings of a bird,
They speak of the morning song

He carries a steady pace,
Still as a statue when he listens with ears
He takes you slowly like he does with the world
And finds desire in your objections.

Oh love took you in with softened hands,
It caressed you with airy motions,
When the evening comes
you'll hold onto the morning song.

The sky signals the end of love
As it touched you with arms wide open,
The lyrics they left a scar
Soon you�ll be singing the morning song.