Take it further.

Nice, Richa. I love "the last silver hour of water."

I think your rhymes hurt more than help here. Rhyming well is difficult, and works best when it seems effortless and unobtrusive. Mainly, though, this just seems kind of vague--more telling than showing, which is usually fatal in poetry. Rhymes won't really carry a poem if it lacks interesting language, good imagery, some kernal that's revealed rather than foisted on us, etc. Really good poets make rhymes seem natural and effortless. Look at this, for example, by the new Poet Laureate of the United States, Louise Gluck:

Fish bones walked the waves off Hatteras.
And there were other signs
That Death wooed us, by water, wooed us
By land: among the pines
An uncurled cottonmouth that rolled on moss
Reared in the polluted air.
Birth, not death, is the hard loss.
I know. I also left a skin there.

Wordy wordy word. blah blah blah. Too many words. You spent five lines describing the fucking ceiling fan, for chrissake. "I hear not a sound." Do you really talk like that? How does a window cast a shadow? Chases itself wildly yet, in spite, goes nowhere.

I dunno, Richa. Despite the semi, the seagulls have now apparently grown as tall as the gravestone of the grandfather. Might want to rethink that bit.

What the heck is "mock rabbit mesh"? How can "potentially created little fingers stare back" at you? And did you like how that sounded--"potentially created little fingers"? Because it's pretty awful. Its "cost" not "fee." Why do you contort your lines to accomodate such weak rhymes (i.e., "heart seems to deeper sink"; "of your sweet love I need a dose"? The inversions just make this more stilted. Why not go for near rhymes (your word choices might be richer) or just dump the rhymes altogether?

I'd dump everything except "the universe is curved," use that as a first line, and see where you go from there.

Sylvia Plath wrote a poem about her miscarriage (yes, I got that this wasn't really about miscarriage, but anyway):

http://www.angelfire.com/tn/plath/fields.html

Maybe it's because I haven't read Cervantes in a million years, but I don't get this. Why does the Don have a forked tongue? What was the act that no author can leave unpunished? The head's dignity & honor? (Are we looking at a bust? a statue?) Why is romance's face false to its nature--and what is its nature?

Broad strokes but no defining features. What are you trying to say?

And Cervantes is famous to this day, so how did he "surrender his quill to oblivion"?

I like this, Intransit. How about "his hair matted and gray" instead of inverting it--the rest of this is so straightforward that that line seems forced. Also, might want to make it a comma after "Jesus"--right now that dangly modifier means his hair has its face in hands.

Somewhat impenetrable, but some good lines. You lose your meter in "the young as some other race"--since you stick pretty closely to it otherwise, its loss is jarring here. Your refrain (full circle/becoming) could do well as the repeating lines of a villanelle.

Nights in White Satin?

The Whiskey--very impressive! Knock 'em dead!

Well, I don't know why you'd have to be doing something "productive" other than sailing, but that aside:

There's good stuff here to be chiseled out. Too many modifiers. Why a "dull" permanance? How 'bout a "silent sail"? Lose "caring." Kill the ending.


space . . . i believe in . . .
jefry with one f, jef-ry

Wow, way to lose a butterfly and gain a steel pin! Nicely done, Mr. Z.Bub.

The first stanza is great--the rest not quite up to it, but still really well done overall.

Bah--a 5? FoG is right--you nailed the image of Biblical times really well, and the way you tell it--clear, simple, no stupid archaisms-- is perfectly suited to the story. Have a 10.

Jezus, you're 16? Fucking ay.

Nice remix! I like the concept, and breaking up the lines really helped move this along.

bogart

Oh me oh my! A thing of beauty is a thing of beauty. May God's righteous rod (oh my) raise ye up (and down) and up (and down).

Ah--did you fudge a few marks you profess to hit? Where's the suicide or self mutilation, hmm? You fall a little short in the self-referential/reverential overuse of "I" (although I suppose--wait, really really very very good works, nebbermind). I don't know whether to give you a 10 or a zero--which would you prefer?

Some decent stuff in here, but the straight-out ranting sinks it. And "swatherings" isn't a word in any dictionary I know.

This has some of your usual grace, but I don't really get a sense of context --maybe throw a few clues as to causes or create a denser atmosphere? The ending seems a little melodramatic.