I'm pretty sure there isn't a critique thread up. Let's get it Veeky Forums
>For your own sake, make sure you somehow prove your authorship before you post anything. I sent an email to myself with my word document and I posted it all on Medium. (Those are some suggestions)
Here's my latest thing:
Adoration
O God, O God, O God. Yes, I reflect you. I do. I come free and you are encased in front, still in silence and shape. I see you with eyes closed. I feel you while hands are folded in prayer. I am bigger than you as you stand upon and ahead of your mother, above your ark with two angels angled towards your grand stature. My eyes see a darker black in the evening of my sight. The noise has left. I think nothing and I move nothing. I am in silence. Forwardly, I forget Gaia, forget Apollo. I forget the shutting of my mortal eyes, for there I am somewhere else.
Margot was by me late last night along with Orion. I was to be in her company and I delivered her a gift. As she came outside into the bleakness of the cold night, I gave her the bag, but immediately told her to put it down. Say nothing and nothing was said. Blank was where we were, there in the sky, in the air, in my ears. We looked up with yearning eyes towards the firmament, but unwanted, welcomed stars came. There was only silence and stars of darkness filling the void of sound. Seven seconds of hearing no noise was all. No bother came and I did not want to leave that silence.
O God, I trail back. Yes, I kneel in ever growing darkness of my eyes among the Divine light illuming the kingdom of Heaven above and illuming where I am low. Darkness was great inside my left as was the same outside my right. And deepening in my vision in front of you was darkness. Nothing I hear. Gaia, she is silent. I am obedient. God speaks passively and I adore thee.
And I, with puttees abuckle and pray be done, Greeted the red-bellied men, who, with great frowns Stepped back, like crabs to pagan ploys My white skin clashed and was aglow. I set my blade down, a musket acock And I asked the red-bellied relks, “Who are you, primitive men, see you not of the Orient, We come wih idyll, no war to seek for God shall peek.” My petasos down, and fine gown, made a muffled sound And my feet crunched the ground, as the Native’s looked ‘round They did not speak the tongue of us, they were primitve creatures With tusks and voices off-season. Fire cackled and heads were cast low, And columbus, with ouvre, stuck a pike into earth, And declared this the tierra de dios So we laughed. We captured a few of the red-bellies To send forth to Spain and broach the Queen Of our new land And of our new peoples. So we panned God’s lost beings, creatures and gifts, And we creaked the planks with new nous “I come humbly, yet we all come brave, With 72 rafts and noses held to sky And robes fluttering to ignorant malady, Let us embark a return with banners high and hopes highest” I had rooted the festives on, with smiles and grins stretched And we sang gay songs, with water as our drum:
“To stables red gables, and swift-spun pikes, we‘ve chartered new lands and people alike The sun shining bright on our faces of white With Thalassa carrying the ship with might”
From vast pax to the scramble of Spain, With hopes held with the sky and ported to the crown Swords were crossed and caldrons coughed, In honor of Heceba’s new fate. Three baubles now send Sancted signs of sin.
James Campbell
and it wasnt even that far down
Colton Cooper
No one's gonna see it without the nice bold subject line. We're using this one now
Aiden Nguyen
conquistadors?
I'm not a real expert on poetry, but your vocab seems pretty nice. Each line seems to be pretty vibrant and expressive
read the first chapter, very Veeky Forums-y, very angsty fella
Owen Myers
I'm the OP from the previous thread,you have a good approach here. It's very Dostoyevsky in the 21st century type of feel,it would be nice if you could somehow tone down the edge but keep the angst.
(Keep in mind this is supposed to be tongue-in-cheek and a bit ridiculous)
It was on the morning of my twenty-third birthday that I discovered—a scene lit, it seems to me from posterity’s vantage, by some ineffable quality of the dramatic, a delicious caprice of irony, such as one encounters in comic operas or Greek tragedies—an unknown shadow of a man rutting away at my intended in a manner that recalled (with a certain je ne sais quoi) Pasiphaë and the Bull of Crete. One need not further elucidate the sequence which followed, as it is rote, ordained to pass in the selfsame manner the day (it could not have been the sixth, for the quality of the beast’s barbaric thrusting and eyes shot with red comported nothing of the image of God) that cuckolds were cursed to walk the earth. It was, however, and taking after the general willingness of Providence to huff and let her favor fall upon other heads, to my chagrin that I was betrothed to the great beauty of the age, a certain Eugénie A— (her surname I shall leave to the reader’s imagination, for fear that the old crone’s birds still tweet into her ear), the daughter of a then grande dame (for the benefit of us all she has seen it fit to shuffle off her mortal coil, and none too soon), who had herself been the great beauty of Bonaparte’s epoch, and a striking officer of the Grande Armée, who, having failed his emperor at Lützen, thought it better to deign to the lesser rank of a Bourbon master.
