Your revisions

How much are you revising?

A lot of my poems I am completely cutting but sticking with the themes I originally had. I think I had better potential for some of these than where I started--hence workshopping the pieces. But how far I want to cut and go with them is insane. Does anyone else have this desire?

Assorted

Assorted

The rustling of the grass in the wind
and the chirping of crickets
is all you can hear
as the smoke rolls across the bog.
Seven stand in a circle
blissfully ignorant
and unaware
of what lies ahead
simply enjoying  the warm summer night,
the dank green nug,
the spark of a flame.
As the lighter clicks, it
Echoes.
Round and round
they go.
Echoes of laughter rolling across the sky.
 
So hazy.
If the sun was shining it still wouldn’t penetrate
the wall surrounding seven
standing in a circle.
In the bright moonlight they assess one another,
laughing, teasing, eyes watering.
By the pond they joke a bit.
Who can’t hold their shit?
Red faced and out of it?
A few feet away the water laps,
the sound blends in softly against the
Echoes.
Round and round
they go.
Echoes of coughing thrumming across the grass.
 
The velvet sky above
is spangled with stars so bright,
it’s as if they are bits of the sun itself
falling to shine upon seven
standing in a circle.
Down to the tip
and still they go,
burning their fingers
and reveling in a taste so sweet
it might never be legal.
When from the road above shines a light
and the stunned silence has no impact on the
Echoes.
Round and round
they go.
Echoes of sirens approaching in the night

-Heather Cobb

Kassandra-Peer Shackle Poem

Coffee Eyes humble, knowing;the color as follows: dark espresso pools copper hued caramel & milk chocolate swirls wrapped in a vanilla blanket inviting me in for a cup, an extended stay within your irises, floating in caffeinated bliss; Coffee electrifies, arouses; strength renews with a ‘click’: the coffee pot sputters the dark roast blend tickles my nose I float atop the aroma, stop and pour a cup, look down into the familiar pool within it, reminisce sip, smile; Every day I drink from your eyes.

A Revised Poem of Mine

Wanderlust

Enlightenment.
By a lonely pond
in the dark woods
you can find it.
Hidden beyond the pine trees you walked by,
behind the drooping curtains of willow branches you ducked beneath,
before the patches of meadowsweet,
scattered there along the bank.
Take a moment.
Take two moments.
Watching the light dim amongst the leaves
as the end of the day rolls in.
An orange dusk in a green world
to which there seems to be no end.
Light and life and shadows
fading.
All fading to black.
Listen to the chirping of peepers
and crickets
in chorus with the silence of the night.
Close your eyes.
Can’t you feel it?