[Alessio Boni]

This is my first poem posted. I wrote it about two weeks ago. I'm quite the amateur in poetry since I've only been writing for 2 years, so please be brutally honest.

This poem is loosely formed of tetrameters and pentameters as I think some verses were made more solemn by extending them slightly.

(First Version)

I’ll follow you to mountain beds,
To shores, or plains, or farmer’s sheds,
And leave the material – rotten world.
I seek escape, and that is said, -

From all the linear models of our living,
Split by vice commodities are giving;
Imprinting all our life with vanity
And chains of sanguine sanity -

At length foreseen, but never to I,
Nor all the members of my ethnic creed,
But nonetheless, as loose the metric lays,
Dislodged by state, I search for better days -

As you did too, but I for different sake
Portray the wish adjacent to my will,
That is the need to flee modernity,
And find a transatlantic home or dell -

Within a woodland biome far from all,
And far from those who travesties foretell!


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(Revised Version) - I put a couple of anapaests and tried applying the corrections in regard to clarity and naturality as suggested by the critiques.

I’ll follow you to reedy beds,
To rills, to mountains, farmer’s sheds,
And leave this idle place behind.

I seek escape, and that is said,
From all the linear models of our life,
Just blessed by vices commodities give.
For such has spurred our lives with vanity,
And kept us chained to a sanguine sanity.

At a foreseen length, there’s violence and fear.
Not for the members of my ethnic clay,
But nonetheless, as flimsy metric’s here,
Conventions void of rule have marked my way.

As was for you! But I, for unlike sake,
Have found your dictum within my will.
My will that longs to flee the modern state,
And find a transatlantic home so swell
Within a woodland biome far from all,
And miles from those who scorn the 'cottag'd dell!'

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(Final) I played around with Glenn's suggestion of adding some sort of lore so I put the poem in the guise of an Italian Jacobin simply asking to come to Pantisocracy.
The only archaic word I kept was 'oft' as I believe it fits.

When I can wake to sounds of kin,
And rise to see a people's vale,
With such demulcent breeze within,
Without the banes of purple gale,

When I can see myself enveloped,
In every morn, by rays of light,
I come to see what you've developed
Wraps your commune with delight.

If I could skip along the fields,
Outstretched aside the Susquehanna,
And build a shed, with rest to yield,
Devoid of rules like old Brahmana,

I'd live, by graces of your flowers,
An undogmatic life of glee,
In which a day would seem an hour,
As I'd frolic on your leas.

Although our creed might oft’ diverge,
I think it's good we flourish even.
In Buiano I had the urge
To build, with care, a second Eden,

But found myself debased to wine
For sires met but only twice.
And since my vineyards fell to crime,
I seek a plot of land for vice!

For virtue, love, and all I’d hook,
And all I’d feel for only me!
For man’s not man without his nook,
So take me with you S.T.C.

- An Italian Republican, 1795.