Poetry critique thread

Dammit, supposed to be a line break after "indicate"

This is top level garbage. Get the FUCK off my board with this emo normie shit

[copy in notebook]

There is a mini fridge
Filled with bottles of
Russian clear
Kentucky amber
There is a floor
Covered in aluminum corpses
Glasses that could burn
There are walls
Covered in yellow tar
Flags
There is a table
Covered in ash caskets
More glasses that could burn
A book
There is a bed
Covered in a filthy comforter
That provides no comfort
Covered in blood
Sweat
That lies on the body
Bad heart
Bad stomach
Bad lungs
He will die young
It does not upset him
There is a room
Covered in anguish
In smoke
There is a gun
Covered in rust
The plastic cracking
There is a man
Covered in vomit
In blood
His life wasting away in self imposed isolation

[copy in notebook]

Black water
White fields, miles unending
Ice rain falls softly, muffling everything
Barren trees, interspersed (find out correct spelling of that) with ancient evergreens
Coldness that seeps into the bones, the joints, and freezes the blood in your lungs
Barren, no creature ventures here
The desert in the north
Absolution remains under the black tar
No answers remain in the heat, the urban hive, or the unnatural order
Only one can find themselves in the northern desert

[copy this in notebook]

A noose of piano wire, taut and cutting
A silver thread necklace
Shoes of barbs and thorns
Come at a heavy price
Hanging in the balance between everlasting suffering
When the time comes, stand on your feet
Suffer as the barbs and thorns pierce, red life flowing
The silver necklace eases
Soon the wounds fester,
Pus forms, lesions weep
The pain too much to bear
Throw yourself into the necklace when the festering becomes white hot pain
A hemp rosary, prayers unheard by anyone but the sky
The executioner hears you beg
A false idol, hooded and nameless
When the wounds pour pus and infection, the pain becomes worse than the nothingness
Throw yourself into the rosary of the executioner

These are just a few that I've written. I'm very self critical, so constructive criticism would be very well appreciated

The Wind blows east
Into the ocean
I sit upon my nimbus
Floating through the sky and waiting to find
A patch of land on which to land
A soul to search for shore with me
A summer breeze to make me smile
Some friends to make my life worth while
I drift aimlessly on my cloud, over the ocean
The Wind will blow me to shore

there's a really awful catholic twitter user with that avi who I wish would drink AIDS blood

Made the mistake of checking out
a reading last week, yesterday, I mean,
I mean it was okay, okay in that pathetic
kind of way where everything was safe
and nothing really happened. To be honest
this was over a year ago
and I was not there, but I heard about it
from trusted sources for that kind of thing,
the girl who spent her paycheck
on the best "did it herself" dye job
in town, it was perfect and inspiring to say the least,
she read a poem called "Sylvia Plath's Bath Robe"
in which she held us all at gunpoint and
the gun was a metaphor for
translucency and we applauded for
something like five straight hours,
I was not there, at least not in spirit,
I was having that dream where my teeth
read a poem called "Sylvia Plath's and so" on
a carousel and a wiry little dude hops off
and calls me an imposter, and I say,
at gunpoint, "Not me, not my teeth," crying
like a frantic mother in crisis, so
he puts his fingers in my mouth
and we chatter like poets from
the Next Lost Generation, as
we expect to be called, then dreaming still,
the idling car dies at the stoplight again,
the one I used to own,
still do, in fact, I remind the reader,
and it died and everyone applauded for
five straight men who successfully crossed
the interstate then "did it themselves"
in a sense, like Data from Star Trek:
The Next Generation, that one time,
I was not there, but sources reveal
he began glowing, and pulled a perfectly spherical orb
from his mouth and the credits rolled
like a piping hot simile from the recipe
book of Sylvia, the Witch of the North.

I know just enough about Harry Potter to know his broom is a Nimbus 2000, and I can't shake that association from your poem, which hurts it by default (at least from my perspective). So with that ingrained bias in mind, this shit is generic and filled with cliches. The "alone at sea, searching for land" metaphor for loneliness has been worn out for centuries. Your "emotional" statements are too superficial and obvious to have any impact. "A summer breeze to make me smile"? Rhyme scheme aside, "make me smile" is useless. We know you like summer breezes, everyone does. You don't have to tell us they make you smile,. If anything, that part over-exaggerated your happiness, so I pictured a really stupid looking Harry Potter standing on the beach smiling like the singer from Warrant in that Cherry Pie music video. I wish I could end on a nice note, but this is bad, like not even worth a rewrite bad. Sorry you're lonely. Veeky Forums doesn't help. Go outside for a walk when you get a chance.

My inner editor sends up red flags whenever I get too heavy with the Catholic shit in a first draft, but that's just me. You have some good details that help enhance the sense of pain/suffering, but a little trite in spots, "pain too much to bear," "white hot pain," "Come at a heavy price," are all a little too familiar for me, and I don't think that's your goal. Conceptually, I'm not sure you're poem goes anywhere, just exhausting one particular event/mood, and there's a Hot Topic shock value instinct that gets tiresome, almost comically so. The more read over it, the more it reminds me of Slayer lyrics (not a compliment, sorry).

I enjoyed this a lot. The lofty opener made me hesitant, but I like how you transitioned to something personal. If I had one particular complaint, it's the final stanza. Yes, it's a nice thematic bow that does its job, but maybe to a fault. There's a sentimental quality that makes me picture someone reading it aloud, wearing one of those floppy bard hats under a balcony. Everything up to that point was great though.

A swig I have learned to love
Glug
Glug
I wish upon to bring me above
Love
Love
Here I raise my final glug
Above
Above

I'm not a religious person, but I've always liked religious themes. I wasn't too sure about the stuff you said either. I always feel like I come off as way too pretentious.

I can understand that sentiment about pretentiousness. I get the same feeling about my stuff. If anything, the overly serious quality is the most "pretentious" thing I pick up on in your work. There aren't really any other emotions or moods balancing out the palette, so it's one-dimensional.

If I could turn nothing into anything, anything could be whatever I wanted

If I could live forever, I wouldn't live in fear of dying

Ur mom gey
No u

hunwald

Sunlight
Stings the eyes
Like biting flies
For hollow men
The embodiment
Those who dwell
In four walled shells
Bored to hell
Talk to themselves
Do not pick up the phone
And if you do
Say all is well

I pray everyday in the hope God will take my atheism away
Moths to a flame and
Flocks led astray
Noodle broth left to rot in the microwave

Watch the clock
Tick tock
You gather moss
You've lost the plot
You'd rather have a job
But something's off
You're cut from rotten cloth

Mechanical sounds
No peace
Stress
Death

Married now
Road trip
Children
Alive

No more pollution
Just trees
Family

Attached: 22-william-bouguereau-adolphe.jpg (660x850, 160K)

>it's an everyone post and no one critique thread
hmm, wonder why it died

This is pretty good if you rap it like Eminem in Lose Yourself

Mechanical writing
Not a piece
Unstressed
Dead

Mirages of melted wax wing to touch the east rise,
Before the short tumuble of the Suns ballastic path.
Earth grows thick and Persephone blows Boreas to raise the dormant woods,
Filled with vengeful dreams that will show as bursts of expression,
Fully formed flowers.
Spirits inhabit the plants for one more glimpse of life in bloom,
The prospering pines her remanent,
the leaves dance projecting Maya,
Unto the next summer sun.

>Mechanical writing
:^)

I actually really liked this. You have the tone nailed down, even if it evokes something simple.

>verb'd
Ew.
Other than that, the imagery resonated with me and your choice of words has good euphony.

When issues fade and problems die
When causes are all satisfied
Revolution shifts its sights
To symbols, pasts, and nameless plights

Heifer whines could be human cries
Closer comes the screaming knife
This beautiful creature must die
This beautiful creature must die
A death for no reason
And death for no reason is murder
And the flesh you so fancifully fry
Is not succulent, tasty or kind
It's death for no reason
And death for no reason is murder
And the calf that you carve with a smile
Is murder
And the turkey you festively slice
Is murder
Do you know how animals die?

Kitchen aromas aren't very homely
It's not comforting, cheery or kind
It's sizzling blood and the unholy stench of murder
It's not natural, normal or kind
The flesh you so fancifully fry
The meat in your mouth
As you savour the flavour of murder
No, no, no, it's murder
No, no, no, it's murder
Oh... and who hears when animals cry?

This was so gay I'm on AIDS medication rn.
I'm sorry but all I can think about after reading this is the original Dragonball anime.

Feels a bit corny to be honest.

Maybe try to be a bit more subtle with the emotion you want to affect in others? I'm a vegetarian Buddhist but this felt contrived my duderino. It could work as a polemic post-hardcore song with minor editing, though.

Try to experiment with techniques other than rhyme.

Thank you, I appreciate it. I try to write simply and I like symbolism a lot. I also like metaphors. For example, cups that can burn are just cups that had high proof alcohol in them

Rate my Haiku

A building,
Filled with children,
Kindergarden.

I wonder what it would be like to own a typewriter
Maybe the sound of the keys reverberating in the air
Would give these words some meaning
Maybe the neatly defined, ink-covered letters
Would press these thoughts out of abstraction
Into being.

Hammers, strike you down on the softened steel.
Bend it like old men, by the years worn down,
Bend in summer’s sun, when strawberries burst
Upon the toiled earth, bright red and plump.

Thanks for trying to make me a better writer user. I love you.