The Tangled Branch Discussion Forums

This a poem I originally posted on NAPO. I have undertaken a rewrite and would to know which if either version has any merits.

One version

Rust dusts the milk sheen as sun settles in an arc
across the proud heads of church spires and drying snow. 
Every step, or echo, stretches brittle in the cold,
their fragile prayer containing crisp words like hope and grace,
for faith forces out the elasticity of doubt collapsing around this town,
blows the paper cups and headlines away,
stitches night and day into one long band of colours -
car lights that unfurl holy ribbons up into the distance. 
This winter clarity is a bell summons to worship
spirit over reason, ritually bows to ancient myth and forgiveness;
breath a cleansing incense.

Other version

Hope has collapsed around this town,
of abandoned coffee cups, paper bags and dark stars
And yet, winter’s clarity summons us to worship,
to raise spirit over reason, our breath a cleansing incense. 
Sundown rust etches an arc on the snow,
from which every step releases a brittle echo.
Car lights unfurl holy ribbons into the distance,
stitch the somber road into a single band of colours
and we sing When We All Get to Heaven.

Hello Dave - 

I'm not a good at critiquing poetry or writings in general, but I do know what I like, what resonates.  I find that I like the more simple and uncomplicated, the less clever with fewer words.  My personal taste, at least for today.............

I prefer "Other version" for the reasons I noted above... but I do like them both, the different paths they take.

But, Dave, I'm mostly anxious to know that you and your family have been spared the horror of all that awful flooding.  Please be stay safe and dry.

Aj

Hi Dave,
             I agree with Aj...to an extent. There is a freshness and dynamic in the 'Other'.  But Version One has some tasty morsels too

A combo?

Hope has almost collapsed around this town
of abandoned coffee cups, paper bags and dark stars.
Rust dusts the milk sheen as sun settles in an arc
across the pride of church spires and drying snow.
And yet, winter’s clarity summons us to worship,
to raise spirit over reason, blows the paper cups
and headlines away, stitches night and day.
 

I get the impression this is still a work in progress for you.
Agree with Phil, it's somewhere between the two.
Really like these lines:

breath a cleansing incense.

Sundown rust etches an arc on the snow,
from which every step releases a brittle echo
and especially like the use of 'brittle' combined with 'echo' here. Or the fragile echo of steps in the other version.

Lost faith/hope, or lost values?
The paper cups and headlines I assume refer to the pandemic.
There's a really good poem here Dave, just needs a few tweaks IMO.

Thamks for the comments and help guys. Pleanty to think baout and tinker with
Dave