#1
I stepped out of myself yesterday
And walked past the old wooden bridge,
Hanging so poorly over the murky stream
That was no longer there.
Only tall grass and crickets were conversing
As I passed overhead, and woodlice were dropping
Beneath my steady feet
To serve as company to them.

So I reached the last border,
Past which there was nothing of me anymore,
And I dropped to the ground and lied flat on my back
On the edge, looking out.
Lifted my neck, arched my chest,
Watching carefully at the very clear line;
Merging black skies with blue earth,
Or rather blue sea turning pink
At this time of dusk.

And I roll over,
One hundred and eighty degrees,
And the skies are now eerily purple,
Reflected in eyes eagerly fixed on
A sea holding on to a very dark,
Almost black, shade of gray.

So I stepped back into myself,
Turned away from that path,
Walked in the house, switched on the lights;
Black sea spring will only be there
As long as I’ll be willing to leave me behind.

And that’s the last time I ever did that.
This is not a pipe
Last edited by carmel_l at Jun 9, 2007,
#2
I stepped out of myself yesterday
And walked past the old wooden bridge,
Hanging so poorly over the murky stream
That was no longer there.
Only tall grass and crickets were conversing
As I passed overhead, and woodlice were dropping
Beneath my steady feet
To serve as company to them.
This is great, I love the imagery and the descriptivness(is that a word?) you wrote this with

So I reached the last border,
Past which there was nothing of me anymore,
And I dropped to the ground and lied flat on my back
On the edge, looking out.
Lifted my neck, arched my chest,
Watching carefully at the very clear line;
Merging black skies with blue earth,
Or rather blue sea turning pink
At this time of dusk.
Beatiful, this was great, love the last two lines

And I roll over,
One hundred and eighty degrees,
And the skies are now eerily purple,
Reflected in eyes eagerly fixed on
A sea holding on to a very dark,
Almost black, shade of gray.
This is also great

So I stepped back into myself,
Turned away from that path,
Walked in the house, switched on the lights;
Black sea spring will only be there
As long as I’ll be willing to leave me behind.
Is this about dreaming as in you step in and out of yourself?

And that’s the last time I ever did that.

Great ending, perfect way to finish. I loved this. It flowed nicely. It was originall. Some great imagery in there. Yeah it was the type of thing I enjoy reading. C4C: https://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showthread.php?t=601275
#3
I stepped out of myself yesterday
And walked past the old wooden bridge,
Hanging so poorly over the murky stream
That was no longer there.
Only tall grass and crickets were conversing
As I passed overhead, and woodlice were dropping
Beneath my steady feet
To serve as company to them.

Is it the bridge that's "no longer there", or the stream? It reads as if you're talking about the stream, in which case shouldn't it be "which hung" or something along those lines instead of "hanging"? And in the penultimate line, i think it would help to be a bit more descriptive, maybe just find another word to compliment "steady"?

So I reached the last border,
Past which there was nothing of me anymore,
And I dropped to the ground and lied flat on my back
On the edge, looking out.
Lifted my neck, arched my chest,
Watching carefully at the very clear line;
Merging black skies with blue earth,
Or rather blue sea turning pink
At this time of dusk.

You already use "dropping" towards the end of the previous stanza, and then "dropped" in the third line here. Maybe use something else in one of those instances. And maybe there are some exceptions to the rule that I'm just not comprehending right now, but to me it should be "and looked out" in line 4, and "Watched" in line 6. Last three lines are great.

And I roll over,
One hundred and eighty degrees,
And the skies are now eerily purple,
Reflected in eyes eagerly fixed on
A sea holding on to a very dark,
Almost black, shade of gray.

This is good. I like your use of colours.

So I stepped back into myself,
Turned away from that path,
Walked in the house, switched on the lights;
Black sea spring will only be there
As long as I’ll be willing to leave me behind.

And that’s the last time I ever did that.

The ending seems kind of abrupt. Like you've taken the time to describe all the steps you'd taken to get there, but then you only use three lines to describe getting back. I know there's no point in going back over what you had already said (assuming your return trip was similar to your departure), but it still felt like maybe there could have been a bit more. The ending lines were great so I wouldn't put anything after them, but maybe consider something before them?

This was very enjoyable though. Nice job.
#4
I agree the tenses may need some work on, but to be honest some of the "slip ups", even if not quite correct, don't really affect the coherency of the piece. I will look into it though, especially what you mentioned in the first stanza.

Anyway, thanks guys. I hope I got to your pieces, I've been returning a few crits and I hope I didn't miss on either of you. If I did please PM me.

Other that I would really appreciate some more comments.


Carmel
This is not a pipe
#5
As already mentioned, there are a few slip-ups. But this is a cracking piece, no mistake. It's very rare that a piece can conjure up such vivid images in my mind but this one managed it. You've managed to weave together a great piece of escapsism, your writing has a very hypnotic quality. Nice to see, now that I am back, that you're still here, as you're one of the better writers.

So, great piece, the product of a very vivid imagination.

Alex
"You can never quarantine the past."
#6
I stepped out of myself yesterday
And walked past the old wooden bridge,
Hanging so poorly over the murky stream
That was no longer there.
Only tall grass and crickets were conversing
As I passed overhead, and woodlice were dropping
Beneath my steady feet
To serve as company to them.

This stanza was very nice. Very interesting of idea, for leaving oneself that is, and for the most part, it was excellently executed. No real gripes in this stanza.


So I reached the last border,
Past which there was nothing of me anymore,
And I dropped to the ground and lied flat on my back
On the edge, looking out.
Lifted my neck, arched my chest,
Watching carefully at the very clear line;
Merging black skies with blue earth,
Or rather blue sea turning pink
At this time of dusk.

The second line seems awkwardly phrased to me. It works, but I think you could put it better, and the fourth line kinda killed the flow for me. I think maybe it was the abrupt breaking of the line. Other than that this stanza was great, especially the bit about the colors. Very interesting writing here.

And I roll over,
One hundred and eighty degrees,
And the skies are now eerily purple,
Reflected in eyes eagerly fixed on
A sea holding on to a very dark,
Almost black, shade of gray.

This stanza was probably my favorite of the piece. The imagery was magnificent and the idea was great. Nothing really to change here.


So I stepped back into myself,
Turned away from that path,
Walked in the house, switched on the lights;
Black sea spring will only be there
As long as I’ll be willing to leave me behind.

This was a great ending. Closed out the story excellently.


And that’s the last time I ever did that.

This line made me smile. I suppose if you want to get technical, it's not of great importance to the whole base of the story, but it's a nice little line taking the narrator back to the present.

Overall, this was a good read. The storyline was very interesting, and your execution in telling it was great. I thoroughly enjoyed reading it.
#7
I was pretty impressed with the way you established voice in the first four lines and maintained it so artfully throughout the rest. It reminded me of a woman with a British accent reading Kafka's journals from France on a gray day in the outdoors.