Poetry Critique Thread

the part of me which seeks to please
others share like a disease
i kiss their toes for want of likes
they kiss me back. it's businesslike.
the circlejerk around the world
is rhizome shaped and twists and twirls.
a heart, plus one, a pocket's pulse
the screen lights up, the synapse calls
'cross the cleft, a harrowed cry:
"more dopamine, we're running dry!"
stevedores in minds dispersed
work ceaselessly for zucker's purse
and in the end there's nothing gained
just cravings that we all exchange

Just want some opinions. If you don't get something, tell me specifically.
_______________________________

I try to whistle that tune you taught me.
Only issue is, I can't whistle.
the only gift of love, unable to be heard.
Ironic.

But its alright.
The grass here is sharp,
paralyzing logic, manufacturing sorrow,
Perfect for your melodies.

Did you know?
The leaves are gentle as they die.
They bruise and wound themselves,
only to fall silent deaths.
It's the most beautiful funeral in the world.

Winter smothers the hearth,
burying your memento on a blank canvas.
You likened yourself to Guinevere once.
Was this your doing?

Ah, it's fine if you don't know.
You never liked spring.

I like it, but It comes off as altogether too pretentious, and the flow isn't quite right. It has a good concept, but poor execution. Also, it feels like you couldn't decide if you wanted it to be conversational or not, and that causes it to feel halfway between the two. But that's just how I feel. A lot of people seem to like that balance. Here's something I need reviewed.

all bad, you don’t have the talent. either put in the hours or don’t bother. my eyes hurt

When the sun is low
and the breeze has gone
We will meet again
to sing our last refrain

Oh the neverending cold
you must have grown so old
But now the breeze has gone
and, too, the sun is low

Wrap around my sheets of wind
Set alight the self within
Strike out on my endless skin
I'll still be here when you rescind

Have you now sailed your fill
And tasted salt again?
Now the breeze has failed against my will
So I sing the last refrain

Shelter from my sheets of wind
Stow away the self within
Whisper now to spite the storm
Poison me forever more
Play a game you cannot win
I'll be here when you begin
Make a life that's warm and dry
Never stop to wonder why

A congestion of thorns bulging,
And splashing over one another,
The way laundry gets thrown,
And contorted in the wash.
Or that condition where too many teeth
Start to fill in one place.

Each spike is adroitly placed for decoration,
And painted with something that is,
Like silver, but more sullen,
And unabashedly so.

Makes a sparkling dress that mesmerizes,
Those lonesome folk who dine on peeks through,
Bludgeoned glass.

The shimmering robes pronounce the
Tumultuous glum within.
But with all of their sorrow so
Desperately worn on the sleeve,
They are still an illusion.

Laughter takes the crowd surrounding,
The fool whose groping hands,
Are buried in somber light.

fuck you bitch mine isn't as bad as those other two

ok ill see what I can do about the flow, but yea the concept was my main focus in the piece. Thanks ill try and modify it.

...

oof owie sorry for trying :)))

...

It was good until it started getting repetitive. Like a really anti-climatic roller coaster.

The commas. Make them stop.

Oh wow! A poem about sunsets? Innovative and refreshing 10/10

>makes fun of stereotypical poem themes
>posts love poem

Might as well try one more time before calling it quits:

Crossing the desert, an oasis I spy
And parched as I am and as shriveled by sun
I've still enough water to moisten my eye
I aim myself towards it and forward I run.

I stop short
confused, brows formed in creases
It's an island, unreachable.
The earth simply ceases
giving way to silent air, and endless unknown
There is no path to the luscious brush overgrown.
I can think of nothing I've found in my previous walks
I could've brought with me to make any bridge
At the impossible landscape I stand there and balk
staring longing and thirsty from the edge of this ridge.

There is nothing to lament.
There is no one to explain.
I must continue on
yet steadfastly I remain.

work in progress

Miente, cosa rara corazón;
esconde tus sentidos y tu voz.
Que ellos no se enteren
que es tan frágil sin condena,
sin caminos que lo lleven
a otras tierras -de gangrena;
sin días de colmena, de colmena
sin cicatriz ni moratón, corazón.

spoken like a true dilettante. blind to his own mistakes, overperceives them in others, as a natural byproduct of ego bias

I like to give some voice to my stuff so just look around or whatever

soundcloud.com/dirk-slice/animal-style

Then a furrow of dustlight
Enters then barely crawls across the chambers
Just enough for us to make out
The Spanish dogs in formation
The pluming organ swells coiling around their tongues aloll
Held in the slow pulse of anticipation

And in the light their teeth and yours
Are the same shade of white
And I ache for the bite.

i have forgotten words
that are as a frame to the life
when will they work?
serious means for calm moments
before becoming meat
i have to replace the mirror
and to look at myself

The house is still
the same. I shed
my coat, lean on
the window sill.

Beyond, the raw
and dismal street
that seemed to lure
an hour before.

At last I own
my futile thought
or real escape.
I should have known.

Staggered to read a poem with actual rhyme and metre in 2017.

Relevant and keenly observed - I like it.

I REEE! I REEE!
My wrath on thee!
Kike, shill, faggot, cuck and nigger,
White man's brain is surely bigger!
I do not want to be a soyboy,
You say "oy vey please eat my soy, goy!"
I do not want to join a Klan,
Or be a skinhead Nazi man.
Look soft! The glow of CIA in the night!
A-REE! A-REE! Screech the alt-right.
They holler and shriek with all their might,
Forgetting Americans aren't even white.

Nah bro i got it

Me gusta, se siente sincero y tiene buena cadencia, fluye muy bien al leerlo en voz alta. Las ultimas dos lineas son el punto mas debil, creo yo.

Aqui va el mio:

Brillaban tus ojos blancos
Claridad de luna llena
Mostraban temor sensato
No a la carne, si no a la esencia,
Mis labios harallon su marca
y tu mano castigo la imprudencia
dolieron tus palabras amargas,
pero mas dolio tu ausencia.

Fias la mano del lazarillo,
tendida bajo el lucero,
sumiso su cuerpo esbelto,
palidez de la asuzena,
Los dientes, el hierro al rojo,
y mis brazos las riendas.

Espejos del firmamento,
se ofrecen ya sin verguenza.
Un vestido teñido escarlata,
mi silencio; su recompenza.

What happened to the advice, user?

I got a good chuckle out of this.

unironically the best all week

I will put Chaos into fourteen lines
And keep him there; and let him thence escape
If he be lucky; let him twist, and ape
Flood, fire, and demon --- his adroit designs
Will strain to nothing in the strict confines
Of this sweet order, where, in pious rape,
I hold his essence and amorphous shape,
Till he with Order mingles and combines.
Past are the hours, the years of our duress,
His arrogance, our awful servitude:
I have him. He is nothing more nor less
Than something simple not yet understood;
I shall not even force him to confess;
Or answer. I will only make him good.

Some Arcadian landscape, you create
when on our bed you lie prostrate
And though I've seen this world before
it's depths and heights I still adore.

It's battle scars like furrowed fields
are proof of what this land did yield.
Those perfect marks I'll worship here,
to let her know I hold them dear.

Her lips formed a symbol
I could not imitate
The sounds abound
It is far, far too late

No tree to lean on
No lake to dip
Early morning dies
And with it, life tips

This is emotional, although I have trouble finding the thoughts behind the emotions. I am not even sure whether it is far too late to escape or to prolong.

Las últimas dos líneas las agregué mientras escribía el post. Usaré el poema como letra para una canción que estoy haciendo, así que la fluidez y cadencia son uno de mis objetivos principales.
Sobre tu poema, lo único que debo decir es que arregles la ortografía. Son entendibles y se pueden ignorar ciertas omisiones de tildes, pero cambiar una "s" por una "z" en una palabra básica como "recompensa" parece casi como un insulto a tu propio poema.

Brick wall

In my relaxed, carefree day to day life
I am halted.
An obstacle has appeared
I can confront this.

Brick wall, Brick wall
You are questioning me?
I defeat the brick wall
The brick wall does not care

Brick wall, Brick wall
Why do you press further?
Your logic is flawed, I say
The brick wall continues

Brick wall, Brick wall
Why do you stand here?
Your placement is incorrect, I shout
The brick wall questions my placement

Brick wall, Brick wall
You are questioning me?
I can move, I am not to be put in place, I scream
The brick wall has won

And though the brick wall did not deserve to best me, I gave up.
I had spent so much energy rebutting the brick wall, and it had spent so little.

...

BANE?

mice are so nice
just hide your lice
not such a bad price
for those who won't roll dice

...

Posted in the other critique thread, but I assume it's appproriate here: will be critiquing each one in the morning

Have a night (or day), all

Bump

Really? You could've at least given a critique or something if you had no poems to post.

>water rolling it's wheels
fucking dee ar oh pee pee ee dee

there are entire magazines dedicated to formal poetry, bud

thereviewreview.net/publishing-tips/red-roses-blue-violets-lit-mags-publish-form

Here's a critique. Your condecending tone is tacky and unoriginal.

Is this the Krusty Krab? No, this is
Patrick. This is the Zimmerman
Telegram. This is the tax-man. This is the Doctor calling. This is the hand on the door. This is the lapsed judgment. This is the puny room. This is the dark. This is death's dry hand. This is the chute. This is the coat rack. This is where we keep the vinyl records. And this is the brush. This is the stooped Chinaman. Is 'tis the Krab, Krusty? Oh, Patrick, 'tis!

Last two lines are dissonant. You have two subjects with separate functions yet you place the second clause dependant upon of the first. Doesn't fit well IMO. Does that make sense?

+1 the rhythm and readability. I'll admit to being biased against material of this subject matter, but for what it's worth you kept me engaged for the entire piece- well done.

Best in the thread

You could work on flow and your meter to ease the readers workload.
If you give a mouse a rhyme scheme, he's gonna want some order.

anybody know books/essay/ideas about creating metrical patterns in free verse? It's a lot of fun, but I struggle with it.

I suck at titles

that slight wobble
and the hand shooting out to prevent the inevitable fall
half drunk and entirely too conscious
in that place where moonlight shines
cocked triumphantly against an impala
with the front driver side dented to all hell
pissing
and for a moment life is wine
---
I saw God today
please do take note of the capital G
wild eyed
yesterday's new's for a bedding
begging for quarters
dangerously close to looking human
I didn't make eye contact.
---
It's the aching behind your eyes on a Tuesday night
too-small rooms and too-big thoughts
when nothing straightens and the girl won't call
phantom hands itching to lobotomize
the bum on the corner froze to death last Thursday
in the streets those bastards abound
the rain on the tin's howling for blood
and you've never been one to disappoint

i like it

>Oh wow! A poem about sunsets? Innovative and refreshing 10/10
Poetry is not about inventing emotions or things, it's about expressing well known emotions and phenomena in new imaginative ways, you faggot, so that everyone can relate to it.

Pretentious as all hell.

I like the lines 3-5 from the first stanza. Not sure about the rest.

not him, but poetry can definitely be about new things, and the optimistic Sunrise poem was super-super cliche

It can be, but it doesn't automatically mean it's shit just because it's about something as well known as the sunset. How many books are about death? So are they shit just because le death?

I'm not disagreeing about the allure of well-worn topics, just the idea that poetry isn't about invention

based

>makes a good modernist style poem, by distant from Pound and Eliot
>pretentious xD

This is why nobody here can take anyone else seriously because nobody can fucking read, are under 21, and only read Nu-Kowski works.

So I'll give you a critique:
You don't do well with punctuation; lots of the commas arent needed
And the use of dealt seems unfit

I like it, though.

Also does nobody here critique others? I've posted 2 now but it seems as though this board likes to talk more about anime than books

>this board
>reading

I agree with your points, though. But now you'll be called pretentious for calling it out

you do me, and I'll do you

The biggest issue with this, honestly, is how narrative it feels. The actions flow prosaically, which affects how the heaps of images come across. Instead of feeling like necessary cultural markers to orient one's self, they feel like garnish in some places.

this, whoops

You better lose yourself in the moment
Use it, fuck the music, I'mma let it go
You only get one shot before I back out and fire back
At your hat, your back, your ass crack, your nutsack
Your Cadillac, if you make it to that, I'm hitting that
The 70's was smack, the 80's crack

>The night is dark and the wind howls

da-DUM da DUM da-da DUM-DUM

I like this line

>With body straight but head that's turned

da-DUM da-DUM da-DUM da-DUM

Good pentameter here, but it didn't answer the ending of the line before it. Think Bethooven: da-da-da-DUH; da-da-da-DUM. Use the answer/call, greek: thesis/antithesis, to add depth.

>I want to reach but my hand fouls

da-DUM da-DUM da-da DUM DUM

same metering here. its very similar to the first line. I like that it goes from hand fouling to...

>Surprised by the fact that

da-DUM da da DUM DUM

waaay different meter here. I guess it might have to do with having your hand fouled/your intentions misconstrued? The change of pace is very direct. the second your hand "fouls" the rythym of your life gets a bit mixed up, unfocused. I can dig this.

>I want something called ours

da DUM DUM-da DUM-da

femmenine ending on "ours", coupled with the 'heartbeat' of the poem being interrupted, and I say that the first stanza is a success.

too lazy to do the second stanza.

was meant for

the poem is pretentious because it calls on different themes and allusions like Eliot, but lacks the ability to use metering, rhyme, etc like Eliot. Also, its not avant-garde enough to be considered good in an ironic sort of way.

its free form verse with not attention payed to any sort of elements that make up a good poem. Its a thesaurus. Its not deep. Its bullshit layered on bullshit.

this is a fucking mess. its old and i tried to fix the worst bits. any help appreciated.

Having ignited myself into a burning man
Sinly fires had still made me quail
Leaplicking furor at which skin reels
And this furnace now with it's dead eye embers
Conveys a chargrey wave of heat

Now I yield to the wite of this great winter
In hopes the failures wielded by my soul
May be extinguished into an even flat ash,
Loosed to the wind and forgotten
Casting out of me this heathen's heat

Leave me sweatered in the Sunday dawn
Here I will drink my tepid tea

Much thanks. The reason behind the meter changing in line four is, like you said, related to my hand fouling. It mimics the change in my consciousness after realizing I'm trying to reach for the girl, which I shouldn't and haven't done before. I would also love to hear your thoughts on the second stanza, which is a lot different from the first..

Here is some rubbish I will be ashamed to have written eventually for sure.

___________
2/3

chaos of verdant solitude
verberant razors of grass and pebble
lapful of brain matter

the frequency of these alignments
the system;its gravity wells, adapting
the simulation that loves you
and that subsides

a rapture of red

a harsh row of chairs
two perfect lines of legs
one perfect line of blindfolds
a misconstructed axis
of red

a word that would have meant
and end to words stronger than silence

Gongula

Ah, more men of culture! Thank you friends

>being this blatant about plagarism.

cmon now user.

>The sensation is bittersweet

da-DUM da-DUm da-DUM da-DUM

Good use of metering here. Lands perfectly on sensation/bittersweet. You could also use a pyhhric to add emphasis to Bittersweet, something like

'The sensation of the bittersweet'

which would have three unaccented syllables before bitter, emphasizing the effect. Its really a style choice desu

>Though infinitely away from

da-DUM da-DUM da-da DUM DUM da

Don't like the metering. Feels strange. Needs something to break it up. doesn't sound natural at all. As far as content, I think it detracts from the poem in overall value. Its too cryptic and vague for an emotion to be grasped by the reader/listener. Also, the line ends on a unstressed syllable that isn't particullary important. Change this line a little bit and you'll have more depth

>The point when lovers meet

da-DUM da-DUM DUM-da DUM

again, weird metering. I enjoy that you use point as an object in time rather than space, but this could easily be left vague by removing the preposition "when" and letting the reader be unsure, as is the uncertainty of the speaker who is unsure of how he feels about the lover.

>I do love her, really, I do

da-DUM da-DUM, DUM-da DUM-da

the metering on this can be taken several different ways. I don't like the line overall. Feels wonky and unnecessary. Its also a bit contradicting because we've already established that the speaker wants to be with this girl. if anything, this line changes the meaning as if he is feeling unsure if he loves her or not, which is dissonant from the entire poem. revise.

>But that thought of yours

DUM-da DUM-da DUM

not much to say about this line. 5/10

>Make me feel complete
]
DUM-da DUM da-DUM

I enjoy that theres vagueness here with "make" being in the command form instead of the conjugated form for "yours". the dissonance here is good, and its metering is good. 8/10

Overall, not a bad poem. Could use some work, but passable.

B+

>>Though infinitely away from
>da-DUM da-DUM da-da DUM DUM da
>Don't like the metering. Feels strange. Needs something to break it up. doesn't sound natural at all. As far as content, I think it detracts from the poem in overall value. Its too cryptic and vague for an emotion to be grasped by the reader/listener. Also, the line ends on a unstressed syllable that isn't particullary important. Change this line a little bit and you'll have more depth

All you have to do is reverse away and from and its fixed

>Though infinitely from away

>does nobody here critique others?
I think this falls into the trappings of every critique forum; people just come and wait anxiously to see what people say about theirs and they aren't worried about giving feedback to others. Here particularly there's always the fear that someone's going to critique your critique and call you an idiot which is even more deterring. I see it on /ic/ all the time but over there I can actually offer critique because I know about illustrative art. I know almost nothing of poetry so I can only compliment a few people and hope someone helps me learn.

are my comments and critiques.

here is a poem i jotted down as a sort of practice for iambic pentameter, trochees, Pyrrhics, and enjambments. its not good, but i think some might like it.

--untitled practice poem--

here we sit in coffee shops and bars
wondering anxiously before the masses
order from the crowd: grande latte soy less
for me my friend. i have heard the stories
about the estrogen that's running rampant
killing off mens ambition; men turned boys
the fall of the irreparable hearts
who's "once upon a time's" inspired in us
greatness, now hides behind the tired men's faces
limping along with absent minds; yearning
for days in which the young were great and proud
but now we live our lives this sadder way
a lowercased and banal life; sadly watching
clocks for the moments that we free our self's
and settle in the comforts of our mess,
looking for the heroes, but we are blind.

>alifeinlowercase.wordpress.com/

wordpress if anyone wants it.

"Respect"

Build, shipwright.
The Skyfiller, constructed mass.
Vesselless as I am, I seek.

Soughtful towards this,
Pilotship; to command the allfather
to monolith mallcrawlers
and longshadow gallions.
League-laden depth,
furlong wingspan,
levityless, despairful,
gravity-commanding.

For when I arrive,
toweringly statured,
all become knowful of
the chestcaving truth.

Or at least,
that's how I see it
in my head.

your tendencies in imagery aren't bad at all
just quit writing a narrative.

Good shit.

rewrite this without using the word I and I bet it gets a lot better

...

In this poem, nothing happens for more than 3 seconds. Also, it ends quickly. Other than that can you critique ?

I don't want someone who's only experience with poetry is throwing fucking words on a text document to critique anything. Its rubbish.

Thanks for the critique user.
I'm glad to hear my imagery seems to be working well. I didn't intend for this to seem strictly like a story though. It's supposed to be a metaphor for something that happened to me and how I felt about it. I made it more literal because I like that kind of metaphor, where instead of saying something is "like" another thing you just say it is that thing. But I also tried to make it a little surreal to clue people in that it's not meant to be taken literally.
Maybe I should rewrite it in some way to make that more obvious? Either way thanks again for the input and giving me something to think about.

...

not the person you responded to, but I'm pretty sure he means write poetry, not pretty sentences with enjambments. Movement is implied within poetry, and its not like prose where you must explain everything; the reader isn't dumb.

eg

>the boy had run

vs

>the boy had ran like a gazelle

vs

>the boy ran very fast, somewhat like a gazelle chased by a lion.

You would use the second one in rare cases, first one if it wasn't the focus. Also, pay attention to the metering I used in these very lame, very quick examples. There is a certain rhythm to words, but judging from your example, you already know about all those tricks.

>"everyone here is under 21 and illiterate!"
says the guy posting here

Fresh off the dome

Just wrote something about being unsure of poetry:
Unsure,
Unsure if it turned out well
Unsure if I am to tell
Unsure if I am just a self absorbed twat
Because I am not sure if im better then that

>Unsure if I am just a self absorbed twat

remove 'just' to fix the metering of this line

>Because I am not sure if im better then that

split i'm to i am, i will fix the metering

D- poem, low effort.

A-

good use of metering and playing with the structure. the variations are fun but this clearly shows an understanding of poetry. my only complaint is that the subject might be a little to boring to really say something great about the universe, or hold some universal truth.

first stanza has some technical issues. i don't have a solid grasp of more advanced prosidy techniques so i don't know if i can call out things such as the spondee on line 5 with 'curves up' and whether it was warranted there or not.