I did enjoy it; 'twas quite interesting.

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"...the great tragedy of the world is not that people suffer, but how much they miss when they suffer. Nothing is quite as depressing as wasted pain, agony without an ultimate meaning or purpose." ~Fulton Sheen

Very kind of you to say so. If you have anything critical to add, please, do not hold back.

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'A stranger with a head full of lead photographs me.' - Steven Wilson

Nah, since I write mostly prose I can't really critique poetry other than tell you if I like it or not I think I decided one day to be afraid of writing poetry and to avoid it, because my poems were not what I wanted them to be. My prose comes much closer, however, recently I have begun to doubt it--specifically in the area of plotting conflict. </rambling>

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"...the great tragedy of the world is not that people suffer, but how much they miss when they suffer. Nothing is quite as depressing as wasted pain, agony without an ultimate meaning or purpose." ~Fulton Sheen

This is great. It's a unique style of poetry that actually doesn't nessecarily rhyme and tells a story, but it does so in a very meditative, focused fashion. It reminds me a little of epic poems or some of the lyrics of Van Morrison, to whom I'm currently listening.

Excellently done.

--
"The harder they come, the harder they fall." -Jimmy Cliff
We stand by you, Jark! No matter what!
FINAL FANTASY VII: ADVENT CHILDREN...Vaginal sex can wait
Rudie can't fail, bitches

Something about the first stanza displaced me. The first two lines and the internal rhyme (which read and scan beautifully), I think, set up a whimsical feeling. That left me wondering what the 'scout' was--something about 'light armour' gave it another fantastic overlay, and made me think it wasn't really a scout. Making another simple reference could fix that, I think, like mentioning a horse or something about how he traveled (especially his isolation).
That said, it kind of made the rest of the poem hard to understand on the first read, but the glass bird imagery is beautiful, and segues into the kind of surrealism that enchants me, personally.
That said, I would really really really love to see this in short-story format. You could read some of Aimee Bender's stories, for a point of reference in surrealist writing (and aside from that her work is just really enjoyable). I'd really love to see what you can do with this.

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Words, colors, light, sound, stone, wood, bronze belong to the living artist. They belong to anyone who can use them. Loot the Louvre!... Steal anything in sight.
--William Burroughs

I understand completely, as I am afraid I possess the same curse; except, only the opposite. I can, generally-speaking, critique poetry easily enough, but when it comes to prose, I just do not know what to comment on or how to fix anything.

I enjoy reading it, certainly, but when it comes to a critique, I am unfortunately worthless.

--
'A stranger with a head full of lead photographs me.' - Steven Wilson

Thank you kindly for the comment, as well as the favorite. I am pleased, too, that my attempts at offering a different sort of rhyming method did not go unnoticed. I did not want the poem to be read as simply trying to rhyme, but rather allowing the story itself to, as they say, glide right off the tongue.

I do hope I succeeded.

--
'A stranger with a head full of lead photographs me.' - Steven Wilson

I am afraid the first stanza's vagueness is an intentional fault of mine. I know I should have made it more clear from the first line, but to clarify now: "Swept over the Eastern tide" was trying to come across the notion that the scout crossed the sea on a ship. I know I could have went further into detail here, but I felt I was already pushing the length too far, and I wanted to leave more to the imagination from the start.

I will have to re-read this tomorrow and see if I can add a line or two. It really should not be difficult.

(As a side note: I also thought about including a horse, but again, I was growing increasingly uncomfortable with the length, and decided against it.)


I think you might be right about the prose. The more I think about this story, it could serve much more use if it were given the opportunity for detail; and sadly, poetry only grants a writer so much room for imagery. I suppose the most brutal truth of it is that I am simply not a prose writer. I have tried repeatedly to write this out, but it always sounds too jumbled and redundant.

Of course, with that said, your thoughts are greatly appreciated. I will re-examine those first two stanzas, and see where I can make an appropriate revision to further explain his whereabouts. It does make little sense how he arrives by ship and somehow ends up in a cave.

Very little sense, indeed.



--
'A stranger with a head full of lead photographs me.' - Steven Wilson

You are most welcome and you completely deserve it. You did a fantastic job, rest assured, nothing went unnoticed. It truly is an original poem. I love it.

--
"The harder they come, the harder they fall." -Jimmy Cliff
We stand by you, Jark! No matter what!
FINAL FANTASY VII: ADVENT CHILDREN...Vaginal sex can wait
Rudie can't fail, bitches

--
"...the great tragedy of the world is not that people suffer, but how much they miss when they suffer. Nothing is quite as depressing as wasted pain, agony without an ultimate meaning or purpose." ~Fulton Sheen