How to Revise and Improve Your Poetry
Here’s a little insight into how I routinely revise my poetry after I’ve written the first draft. It is important for me as a professional poet to produce an acceptable final form. But all poets, regardless of their standard should always revise their work, and try to end up with the best it can be.
This example shows how the first effort gets revised, and the reasons why this was necessary, and then a final draft after revising the second attempt.
I’ve bullet-pointed the things that make this poem seem amateurish to a good poet, and rewritten the stanza in what I would deem a more professional presentation of the topic
"Facing Old Age". Here is the first stanzas of a free verse prose poem on the topic of facing old age:
In the quiet of the morning, I stand before the mirror,
confronting the reflection that time has sculpted.
The silver strands in my hair catch the light,
each one a thread in the weave of years.
My hands, once steady and sure, now bear the tremors of age,
but they have held love, cradled dreams, and wiped away tears.
Old age, you are not an enemy but a companion,
walking with me through the final chapters,
reminding me that every wrinkle is a mark of survival,
every ache a badge of endurance.
Here's an analysis of what might make this poem seem amateurish to an experienced poet, followed by a rewrite:
Elements that may appear amateurish:
• Relies on clichéd imagery of aging (mirror reflection, silver hair)
• Uses overly sentimental phrasing ("cradled dreams," "wiped away tears")
• Contains mixed metaphors (weave of years, walking through chapters)
• Employs predictable, greeting-card sentiments about aging ("every wrinkle is a mark of survival") • Directly addresses "old age" in an on-the-nose manner
• Overuses commas, creating a choppy rhythm
• Contains redundancies ("reflection that time has sculpted" is implied)
• Uses abstract generalizations rather than specific, concrete details
Rewritten version: It’s an improvement
Morning light cuts hard across my face.
What my father saw at sixty, I see now,
the thinning archipelago of hair,
hands that betray me with small tremors.
I've stopped counting losses.
Time asks different questions now:
not what will be accomplished,
but what might be salvaged,
what essential thing remains
when the periphery falls away.
This rewrite attempts to approach the same theme with more restraint, specific imagery, and a less sentimental perspective while maintaining emotional resonance.
But it can still be improved
Looking at my previous version, I notice:
The opening ("Morning light cuts hard") is more original but still relies on visual imagery
"Thinning archipelago of hair" is trying too hard to be clever
The father reference feels inserted rather than organic
"Hands that betray me" is still somewhat clichéd
The ending veers toward abstract philosophizing rather than concrete experience
The language doesn't fully engage with the physicality of aging
Here's a more refined version: (And the one I would go with)
At sixty-three, my body keeps its own accounts.
The spine's slow compression, measured in lost inches.
Through kitchen windows, a jay's blue startles against winter branches,
beauty no less transient than mine.
What use to mourn the disappearing self?
The cup trembles slightly between palms
that once could split firewood all afternoon.
Today, I'll count only what remains:
this breath, this moment's light,
these bones still bearing weight.
This revision aims for:
More specific, embodied experience with precise details
A natural image that connects to mortality without being heavy-handed
Greater precision in language and rhythm
A more nuanced emotional stance beyond acceptance or resistance
Concrete sensory elements rather than abstract reflections
I hope you find this useful in your own poetic journey
Tom
PS - Look out for some cracking poetry writing guides coming shortly!