Standing Stones - Poem review by Stefan

Standing Stones by Aron Woolnough - poem review

"The poem 'Standing Stones' signifies a playful short story written with an inspiration for a lady captured in a magnificent nature and surroundings. It is written in a simple yet catchy style filled with metaphors. Descriptive enough to cover the nature of the thoughts and actions as well as the location in which they happen , it is a short romance story aimed on how love can play with our minds sometime towards a person in a perfect scenery.

The mood of expression as well as the style in which this romantic poem is written is close to the traditional British poetry scene that introduced us to the traditional emphasis of imagination and experience - yet it is modernized with rich vocabulary presenting the scenery impeccably well, so the reader feels the emotions and the idea behind in a positive and easy mood.

The desire for the lady which is the main object of this romantic poem is the emotion that keeps the reader lustful - describing her in a lively mood while contemplating with the writer's feelings towards the image of the lady.

The writer's preoccupation with the object of the story - the beautiful and mystical lady focuses on an indefatigable search for the increasing desire, whilst with a focus on the literary form perfectly resembles the female beauty in 3 short verses.

Vintage enough to represent the emotions with the scenery whilst personal and engaging in describing the emotions and thoughts in the writer's head, the motions are well structured within the verses creating a continuous structure of the story - describing a thought-provoked time lapse from the beginning to the end.

With optimism in the very end and lustful feelings, the story wraps up with hope for the future of the two people engaged in a platonic yet real love. This short poem resembles how romance doesn't need much to be expressed within its three verses - filled with rich emotions and thoughts inspired by a woman's beauty".

Thank you Stefan for this review. If any other readers would like to submit their reviews (good or bad), comments, their work or any literary reflections, please e-mail them to me at aron.woolnough@gmail.com or leave a comment below. 

Aron

'Standing Stones', by Aron Woolnough

Standing Stones

She whistles through thistles whilst under the bleeding sun,
and when I called her name, my fingertips went numb.
From the chalk plateau, her damning hail moans,
dragging a salty tempest over the alkaline grassland.

Amid standing stones, a birthstone-blue star
looks at me suspiciously, as I came to hold the hand

of a captor haunting me; she dances on top a barrow,
I fall down to my knees and sit solus in solace.

Last light leaves the monolith, the ground begins to chill,
her hushing susurrations will keep us hand in hand
and we will dance forever under the swollen sky,
until the stars are dying and the wind has said goodbye.

'Hushed Lyrics', by Aron Woolnough

'Hey, wait up - it was
nice to meet you', he said.
'I've been waiting so long
just to feel this again'.
He was a lonely soldier
out for a battle.
He was a lonely soldier
when the music died.

Oh, she danced in silence in the silver spotlight.
He met her moving and they moved all night.
She didn't seem to notice, didn't seem to mind;
and at first he was loving, at first he was kind.

She was speechless when she watched him leave,
but he left in a rush because he couldn't believe
in daydream dancing to his own heart beat.

He looked into the mirror with a wistful smile,
he closed his eyes and heard her breath. 

But he didn't hear reason, when he feared of her treason.

'Hey, wait up - it was
nice to meet you', he signed.
'I've been waiting so long
just to feel this again'.
He was a lonely soldier
without a battle.
He was a lonely soldier
when the music died.

'Every night I dream and then I wake', by Aron Woolnough

Every night I dream and then I wake.

I dreamt of spring last night.

The wet blue day had only just begun.

A busy buzzing bee dropped into our garden

when the blossom flew across the Sun.

The blossom landed in your tucked-back hair

and the bee landed on my pale freckled arm.

It nestled between us and tickled me with it’s stinger.

You watched the sun rise and I watched you.

We never stopped smiling, but the bee buzzed off –

and then I wake with the cold bitter air by my side

and see I slept on solid dirt during the dusk. The low winter Sun drops.

I dreamt of summer last night.

The shinning white day had only just begun.

We drove to the Zoo and we gasped,

a lioness dozed under the high Sun.

She was fierce, could cut a man in half.

The ground was marked by thick claws.

The beast soundly slept as we studied it,

but we found no meaning for a lioness

and we left it for the honey bees –

and then I wake to trace the hard naked hills

and see them shaping the bloody horizon. The low winter Sun drops.

I dreamt of autumn last night.

The cool brown day had only just begun.

Dead leaves had dried to a crisp and we crunched

them under our footsteps, following the Sun

through the tree tops towards no where.

Weaving through the trunks without a path,

but everywhere we reached, there you were,

standing by my side. You kicked through the leaves

and I laughed until you left –

and then I wake as a siholuette standing against a bright white moon. The day had only just begun.

I dream of winter tonight.

The cold black day has only just begun.  

Shivered plants fade away and leave a hunger.

I am freezing without the low hanged Sun.

Lost in the darkness, searching for a light.

Hoping to find you for the rest of my life,

but only finding fright and sleepless nights.

I walk about a void under directionless stars,

the white moon slips into darkness –

and then I wake, the sun has risen and the day is hot, but my skin is still so pale.

"Inamorata mid Paramour" by Aron Woolnough

A long time caging my rage
and I'd be hating just fine,
but yee, but yee, be down
because I played the fool
and I, curse I, be damned,
you broke the ice with a kiss;
how did thou end up like this?

Falling upon a bed asleep
while she left me alone to weep
and dream aside his ash filled pipe
aghast haunting my aerial drift,
and shift as they purge a bedchamber
to fire putrid pain onto my gut o' amber,
but it's all in my head, it's all in my slumber.

A giggle, a gasp and she fingers his chest,
he tears through her dress onto caress
her captivating beauty, not letting me go,
burning forth from me uncontrolled,
jealousy, churning darkness by the sea
swimming amid a sick alibi
choking I can not preach goodbye.