Poetry (Week 3)

So, following from my procrastination, I've decided to post another piece of poetry that we had to work on for this week. Last week we were asked to write a prose piece on our favourite place and re-work it into poetry. My prose piece was so jumbled, fractured, rushed-- I decided to channel this into the piece itself. It may seem nonsensical on first read, so I'd advise you to read it several times.

The piece itself is based on one of my favourite places to go walking when I return home. When my head feels weird and I don't feel myself I always bring myself there. I feel like I've unloaded some of the crap in my head that builds up. I know when I need to go there and I know when I need to leave.

So here it is. Feel free to critique or comment below~

Butterflies In Bloom (Based on Castle Coole in Enniskillen, Northern Ireland)

Lured by the promise of respite
my feet brought me to a black gate:

Ten foot tall and ten tons
two minutes to seven and the sun
-set the scene with amber umbras
twisting like the path that pulls me
down through the winding
roads that led me here are
barricaded by dense green
guards stand tall like
giant towers of babel
-ing birds flit, fly
flourish and dip their beaks in the stream
-s of daffodils vainly stretching their yellow heads brighter then bulbs, narcisstic little
butterflies breezing by with sparks of
blue mass of waves calling out with silent
barks of a golden retriever let loose on the
swans, like white paper boats in the distance, buoyant blurs of
buzzing blares at my ear, one, two, three become a
menacing miasma creeping crawling calling me in--

Lured by the promise of respite
my feet brought me back to the black gate.

Sea Sick

I'm in the middle of writing yet another Influences blog but I thought fuck it, I might as well share something I've been working on.

For our second week of Poetry we had to rewrite Sea Fever by John Masefield. How this poem came to be a classic I have absolutely no clue. Fair dues, its got a good use of repetition (and a good rhyme scheme) but seriously?! I felt sea-sick just reading its three stanzas. Thankfully I'm able to put my disillusionment to good use as I managed to rewrite it in my own voice. I looked over the Imagist Manifesto and found that I could make this a bit more... interesting. Instead of feeling nauseous I'm hoping this is a respite from some of the poetry I'll have to endure over the coming months.

So here is my draft rewrite of Sea Fever by John Masefield:

I’ve gotta go back
to the blue,
nick a ship
steer the bastard through
that peaceful mass
wind whistling fast
feel the tongue of the fog
greet me once again.

Replying to an unanswered question
I’ve gotta return to the blue,
it’s a bloody addiction, I’ve run out of fags,
its my last time I swear, its calling my name,
the breeze and the white,
the daze,
the seagulls flit shitting all over the waves
washing, wiping my face:

a blistering respite.

Okay, I promise, I’ll shut up after this,
but reflected in the sea,
is me, bohemian,
bearded, brute,
long hair scruffy jesus style,
chucking bread at the gulls
high-fiving the whales,

‘cause at the end of the night
sleep seeps through,
woozy dreams wander--

Complete.

As always, any feedback would be appreciated~