I posted this poem earlier. I worked some exercises with a marvelous teacher. If you please, I’d love it if you could tell me which version you like best: 3, 4 or the original copied below 3 and 4. I’d love to hear what you think!

Man in Winter Street V 3

Searing breezes on frozen, black ocean surrounded by snow.
A fierce blizzard took Sam, leaving his dead body in a snow bank, waiting to commute.
Now Lilly is alone, remnants of a sunny day, still nice but wearily phobic.

Ever careful, the suited mourner walks the drive, with sacred motion,
over the choicest, gray-tan, brittle but sturdy cement from polished mixers.
wishing for benevolence that steams the room, clearing the icicles, sterilizing.

I drive into the deadly white against the malignant black with ice,
creating specks of surety that my mettle might survive the soaked curtain in my head.

Man in Winter Street V 4

Searing breezes on frozen,
black ocean
surrounded by snow.
A fierce blizzard took Sam,
leaving his dead body
in a snow bank,
waiting to commute.

Man in Winter Street V1

Beautified black jacket flies, fit not easy, escaping a dead street
with searing breezes on frozen, black ocean surrounded by snow.
Gray metals and tingling plastics modulate the meeting of obligations,
and gorgeous white Cadillac rests on sparkling garage floor for clean hobbies.

Now Lilly is alone, remnants of a sunny day, still nice but massively phobic.

Sam was doing his best to bring home prey for a mean gas grill.
Kitchen table lights had howled of manifested financial manipulations.
And terrier in porthole, standing guard over the stellar, irradiated castle.
Marvelous grounds kept with deluxe machinery, all created from scratch.

A fierce blizzard took Sam, leaving his dead body in a snow bank, waiting to commute.

Ever careful, the suited mourner walks the drive, with sacred motion,
past a dirty and dark SUV with child seats, contrasting against snow
and the finest, gray-tan, brittle but sturdy cement from slick mixers.
Reminders of kids of kids, perhaps not on this trip, missing Grandfather Sam.

Knowing nothing good is to come, desperately wishing for poise,
for compassion that steams the room, clearing the icicles, the mourner
continues to move modestly as if frightened by the North wind.
Lilly wishes the day to end, but she longs for deep circles of comfort.

Dreaded Carl drives into the deadly white against the dangerous black with ice,
realizing his life is not quite over – His mind has scraps of chance and hope,
creating specks of faith that his spirit might survive the soaked blanket in his head.