I'm an amateur poet. Mostly I have been writing self pitying stuff, but I have gotten over a few issues and tried my hand at something personally uplifting. As the title mentions, best name is the name for the poem, and feel free to criticise, but I ask that it be constructive criticism. And here it is:
As the sounds of waves,
crashing and ferocious,
Greet members of an instinctual flight.
Seen from afar, they do seem like angled Ms,
Drawings which all Piccassos draw in their age of innocence.
Sun's rays warm the poet in all of us,
Make's hopes embrace sweet.
As we age we change.
Some hold to tumultuous flotsam,
The debris breeds discontent,
Those who hold onto the past
Miss the joy of sinking.
They sink not into the abyss,
But into the raptures of self,
Making fears of the unknown,
Experiences of the sublime.
Thus the first thing a budding plant learns,
Is to plant your roots deep and head for the sun.
Soil may be sandy, or sparse,
Seasons will bring winds and drought.
This will to survive, equips the hardiest of plants,
So that when the time comes to blossom,
They catch the wind in their sails.
Most Helpful Guy
While I am inclined to be a traditionalist myself, I am not as judgmental about the flowering of the vernacular as I am in other aspects of life...
That said, the Picasso line I agree, is very clunky, cliche. I get the "age of innocence" dual reference as necessary for drawing relevance to both new thought and youth, but the phrasing is dated.
I think the shift in metaphoric type. The "sounds of waves" I assume to be life's hardship, and the last stanza corroborates substantiates this interpretation. A poem shouldn't have to maintain a consistent line of imagery, but I think your images are directing the train of thought into one direction, which is good.
I enjoy many of your images. The "debris" of life, the "raptures of the self." I would perhaps change "experiences of the sublime" to something more descriptive of the sublime. The sin? The grasp? The whispers?
As for the last stanza, I have no idea why, but cacti would be a good subject to elaborate on. They are after all the "hardiest" of plants, living in the desert.
I would name this poem "The Wine of Time."1