Poetry critique thread, is this where i put this?

poetry critique thread, is this where i put this?

i feared all i was to be was the guy you dont take seriously
i tried to hide it all behind petty jokes
that always failed to impress you folks
now to some im just that guy that smokes
with failed dreams and high hopes
but no real ambition cause i failed the high school mission
due to shit tuition and by my own admititon a lack of motivation
but enough with excuses and explaining the causation
enough with that nerdy kid who needs an ego deflation
through a summer transformation and some social adaptation
i gained the tools to understand the way the world works

opening my eyes hurt
but living in ignorance was worse
then when id lost hope, my faith in the dirt
i saw your face, to me your beauty was a curse
reached out, exposed my weakness
came in to my life and you cleaned up the mess
of my thoughts, my doubts, my feelings
then when i felt my mental wounds healing
you started pushing drama
destroying what we'd built
i did believe in karma
but you feel no guilt
so i felt
but am i right?
who knows, you might

it all came crumbling
faster than i could tell
but there's no point mumbling
i hope you're doing well
you know ill never forget the way that i fell
in love
with you
it really did feel true
i really had no clue
what
went wrong
maybe it was me all along
or was it you
resentment for what you put me though
sitting alone in the dark feeling blue
i tried to hide it, hoped no one knew
viewing memories with that rose coloured hue
forget about the bad times00000000
focus on the good
being there for each other when we really should
so alike we repel
yet so different you can tell

is 1 chance is all they'll get?
hopefully they dont forget
how they felt when they met
the way she made him sweat
how she played hard to get
how they had their hearts set
lest they regret

1

Gather around, for we go in hell
We'll make a plan
To let this day meet our demand
With our hearts intact and
Our hands geld high
We'll rue the day
I know we will

We make it over and down the hills
Through shrapnel and led
Through echos of yell!

2

Love your brother
Carry him in your arms
If his blodd washes your face
Remember him, by his heart
But not by his dare
Or by his unfortune
But know him respected, know him by good work
Know that he died for us, and lived by his word

standing in the bleak darkness in a fuel station at the beginning and the end of everything alone

we are all meat on the highway

jaundiced pig feet meat, cold and lifeless in the drizzle as men look on. the sternum snaps under the pressure like a man breaking a crab claw in half

red all over from a gash staining all red like a warning siren. mouth no longer a mouth but a gash into the meat

covered and hauled away like uncooked pork saved for later

finish filling your car with gasoline and head out into the darkness of eternity once again, a ship of the dead amongst the stars

this is the world of eternal night and we are all living in it alone

I wrote you a haiku

I call it "Etiology of an user"

Ahem


"Though your poems suck
Its snowing on Mount Fuji
Some things never change"

~Fin~

Definitely not my style, so bear that in mind. First part comes off as pretty Linkin Park-y. Using words like "folks", "nerdy", "causation" makes this seem a lot more amateur to me, as if it was the only thing you could come up with to rhyme; speaking of rhyming, don't do it so much. You looked best when you forgot about rhyme. If you're going to rhyme, I'd suggest a more regular meter. Otherwise, free verse.

Okay, Latvian infantry man. Work on your English some, but mostly, work on developing story in your poems. I mean... there was no reason for this having two parts because there was not more than one thing that happened. No deeper look into the psyche of someone in the military. Keep working.

Cool. I don't like the repetition of words but I'm a little OCD. Good imagery, good switching in concepts. However, quite one-sided. Doesn't achieve the balance of real life.

And here's something you can critique.

Two of each to make the world,
the rest to drown anew;
an earthly flood from heaven hurled,
a turning of the stew.

The fish are dying at our feet,
rats sliding off the boards,
the flood is come, and seeking meat,
the waves a mongol horde.

The lion jumps out overseas,
to lace the graceless deer.
They've left all with the bleeding breeze,
they've left me alone here.

Revised

Gather around, for we go in hell
We'll make a plan
To let this day meet our demand
With our hearts intact and
Our hands held high
We'll rue the day
I know we will

We make it over and down the hills
Through shrapnel and led
Through echos of yell!

Love your brother
Carry him in your arms
If his blood washes your face
Remember him, by his heart
But not by his dare
Or by his unfortune
But know him respected, know him by good work
Know that he died for us, and lived by his word

Time in a pendulum
Speed of a
Tense split frenulum

Last stanza could use some work with rhythm. "Bleeding breeze" is interesting, but if you're talking about rain and wind a better adjective might work. Other than that I like it.

>split frenulum
actually made me wince

Crush

When the atoms that
Make up you touch the
Atoms that make up me,
My Gift is slipped from my sleeve
Like a young calf down a
Hard gulch. A pathetic crying thing.

Under it I am crushed
By the weight of
Expectation and a false reality,
Projected infatuations seen shifting
through shy glances, an ideal
of you too false to keep.

The Gift is yours, I suppose,
In all its tetherings,
Limits and deficiencies.
How humiliating, to give so meager a thing.
So I keep it for myself
In hopes that it will spring and bloom
And maybe, when matured,
I can give it back to you.

All I could think of when you said "My Gift is slipped from my sleeve" was a piece of poop dropping out of a pant-leg.

Citadel witness
building a tower
decorated in gold.
Natural quickness,
a garden of flowers,
creeping vines;
they do grow old.
I was a builder,
a maker of mountains.
Slow to partake,
eager to behold.
I was a destructive,
capabilities boundless.
A beggar with nothing
after all had been sold.

Cool rhyme scheme, needs editing. "They do grow old" sounds like you just needed another beat. "I was a destructive" –– ??. Also, slow to partake/eager to behold is way too much telling and not enough showing.

Quaint. 'Nice'. Worthless.

This guy's only half passable complaint is about the meter. The rest is something he heard other people say and never thought about. Your poem is lazy, lacking, and clearly the work of a neopyhte, but, you shouldn't listen to this guy.

I lost my place
Now Im somewhere new
I miss your face
In my head Im in you
She doesnt need me
She doesnt care
But neither do you
Now feelings are rare
Now feelings are gone
Except seldom yearning
For a place to belong
For a passion burning

It's not really all that good, I know. I just wrote it after I saw someone die.

On Creating the Universe

I was alone in a dark,
when I made places.

I took my flesh,
and rolling into a ball,
I cupped This in my hand.

I pressed us into a stone,
and shattered it against the
vitelline wall of everything.

The shards shined as stars,
bright but feeble.

use imagery when talking about love or it's guaranteed to be horrible.

I found the rhyme scheme to come off as forced, consider putting it in meter to make it 'flow' better.

Why is "the Gift" capitalized?

i'd consider looking for a different word than stew in your first stanza.

also, maybe ad "all" before alone so your syllables match up.
"They've left me all alone here"

Cassandra

I have not heard,
Nor have I seen
of a sound
or a sight
so quaint
so dear.

I have not seen,
nor have I heard
of a dream
or a song
so pure
so clear.

but I have seen,
and I have heard
of a girl
or a saint.
so brave
no fear.

This is for a young pregnant friend of mine. been working on it a lot since the last comments i received in an earlier thread. I'm happy with the first two stanzas, but i'm not certain about the last. I feel i touched on how I think she is pretty and nice in the first two stanzas. trying to work in some admiration of her strength and the good that she is doing. was going for a simple meter. Drawing inspiration from "Do not go gentle into that good night" and "when I hear her I have wings."

Eyes eyes eyes
But whether prisons, or come to the hospital,
eyes eyes eyes always in the sun,
It is currently at work in late May
crops in Antalya side at dawn.

Eyes eyes eyes
They cried in front of me several times
He stayed naked eyes
big eyes and naked six months old baby,
but they were not even a sunless day.

Eyes eyes eyes
eyes're a mahmurlaşmayag
joyful fortunate
supremely intelligent and perfect
language to be something epic of human love into the world.

Eyes eyes eyes
It is here in the autumn chestnut of Bursa
and summer leaves after rain
and Istanbul every season and every hour.

Eyes eyes eyes
I rose the next day, the next day,
brother people together
Your roses will look with your eyes,
They will look through your eyes.

Vitvasser floats on this black pool—
a curious thing, stained glass monochrome
by flesh mediated and blood given.

'Neath hateful eye of Midnight Rock,
on the shore-skim of my killer,
I kneel to die, and reflect on the walls.

Such white, night-time gleaming arroyo walls—
cut by swift water, a man would say,
if he were a fool.

I'm sorry.

Its not that great, but maybe I was unfair.

Keep working on it user.

I know it's not that great, I just wanted to get it off my chest, y'know?

Moo moo moo
what cows do
when left to
watch a coup
who who who
what were you
seeing two
cows you knew
slowly grew
moo moo moo!

I get it. That's part of why poetry is great. Its meant to be distilled thought and emotion.

What wisdom.

Doesn't speak to me. Conciseness is key.
Please be a little more concrete. If you're writing this for other ppl, they will have no idea what it's going on about.
It's sweet and fits the purpose. Doesn't need to be an artistic masterpiece about the purpose of life. I like it, she will too.

My own poem:

Night passed again,
on fairies' wings,
leaving trails of stars--

I could have sworn
I saw a friend
just past the door, ajar.

Dreams crawled off the carousel
of beasts of broken horn--
the morn stood not so far.

I sputtered bubbles of awake,
felt the throaty grass that dwells
just past my door, ajar.

Fuck up my poetry.

to have crafted what mortal men admire
and played better adversary to kismet
these are the petty designs of the romantic

i have crafted my model cities, everleering
invisible to all eyes but mine own
in native pantomime
i have attempted to imitate paradise

ever-expanding stages to accompany ever-expanding actors
three axes and the dumb flesh of the human flank
in contemporary movement to seconds of thirds
and thirds of fourths

i have attempted to imitate paradise
and the works of its earthly constituents
for who could defer Shangri-La
but he who gave it symmetry

t. Stephen Dedalus' dad

First two stanzas need fixing to feel more cohesive with the last two

cool, thanks.
I like your poem.

Revised:

Night crept by while it was dark,
I did not feel it pass––
just inklings of the Northern star.

Under the awn, the dawn was born,
jumping bleakly like a spark.
It inched just past my door, ajar.

Dreams crawled off the carousel
of beasts of broken horn––
the morn stood not so far.

I sputtered bubbles of awake,
felt the throaty grass that dwells
just past my door, ajar.

Great, like this new one a lot more
"Inklings of the northern star" has a wonderful ring to it

Good to hear. If you share another, I'll write another and we can critique.

Alright

Took a line from Performance and built a poem around it, this is just an improv. Haven't ever done this before so it's pretty shit, sorry

limp fingers along tired surfaces
have you not tired of neverending celebrations
bohemian atmospheres
acerbic humors
the names and faces and footsteps that have long since blended into the carpet
lost distinction
and remained only as a vast stain upon memory
have you never
looked about the room and wondered what it's like to be born dead
to be born for the worn out high places
to be born and forever be
in between the lines and through the stanzas
an intruder on another's own time

America is a blinding place for nightlife
and there is no escape from the bright lights

lights
neon lights illuminating the faces of new lovers
a ballad of modern Prufrock between the parlors and the smoke that obscures the finer details in faces
the finer points of modern dialogue
the finer grooves that time has worn amongst those who masquerade as the young
by God is this what we've become
errant treading reminders in the places
of
the giants that used to walk the earth
ghosts flitting about and fro
drifting among the Beefeater and the vast expanses of the city
have we not raised a spectacle for society and society a spectacle to us
and how a howl has arisen
quickly quenched by the gaping mouth that was its origin
favoring static
static for its lot
realization of its silent alarm
America is a blinding place for nightlife

and there is no escape from the bright lights

Will reply after feeding my need for porn.

Okay, cool poem, post-Americana or something. Gatsby extended.

All my stuff tonight is improv. I'll just start with your last line.

and there is no escape from the bright lights
dimmed nights
barfights
universal fucking rights:
one million dead in 94
I saw the leg bones stacked in the corner of the catacomb
like machetes.
One of my friends couldn't stop getting hard
fingering the holes in the skulls (he told us later he was impressed).
Still hot to the touch.
like machinery.
The whole world is standing in Tiananmen Square
staring death in its metallic face like the orifice of a tank.
We smoked something last week
behind the grocery store. I told everyone I saw Ginsberg
chasing a little boy through the aisles.
he was racing michael jackson. and the pope.
staring death in its metallic face, I forgot the punchline.
I go forth unto undestination:
where grey is grey, and lilac grows,
and I remember exactly how to get home.
I hate that I keep waking up with such an ache in my conscience.


Turned out worse than I would have liked but ––whatever–– I get to sleep. Catch up with you in the morning.

Definitely reminds me of Howl. Would take out the part about Ginsberg and the pope and replace it, but I do like the "I forgot the punchline" that follows it so try to keep it in a similar style, just more fitting with the rest of the poem

Yeah, when I say I've never done this, I mean I've never written poetry before. Glad you think the stuff is cool tho

got roped into some bet about writing a poem about this girl's feet and came to this thread for inspiration

that one moo cow poem was p good

Yo, bro,
Zthis a rap tho?

i wish people still wrote in meter. poetry is dead

>The Night Watch
I take my post when darkness cloaks the sea.
Eternal cold envelops broken ships.
Deprived of sleep, escape reality.

My gun is hanging heavy, carelessly,
Unlike the belt that binds disjointed hips.
I take my post when darkness cloaks the sea.

Assigned to elevator one of three.
I pass the time caressing pistol grip.
Deprived of sleep, escape reality.

A loud, destructive pounding pesters me.
Absorbed by foam with bright accented tips.
I take my post when darkness cloaks the sea.

Aware that every second moves slowly.
Awake, but fading; eyes about to slip.
Deprived of sleep, escape reality.

Atlantic sun develops eagerly.
Disarm, debrief, surrender every clip.
I take my post when darkness cloaks the sea.
Deprived of sleep, escape reality.

slouched by the stove pattering fried eggs
med-low flame soaks her buttered melts
spring poppy yolk suffocated in white
under fractured peach linoleum eggshells

she told herself herself
in a parfait of minced words.
it read:
today I slip through the hummus
the self escapes through cracks in the pastry
assured
on breads
while whipping three eggs

cheap chip cheeping
twit twit its twits
twisting and sweeping
beceause they beeping beeps
being beeps they beep the beeper beeps
beating beta' betamax
as he baiting beta baits
being alpha
beat beat alpha bait beta
bit by bit he beat-beating betas
beat by beat beta losing bits
killed to bits
beta is no longer close to vasco the guma
beep beep he is the jeep

are you retarded

I liked it. It's juvenile, sure, but I dig playfulness in writing.

Ok this is good

I bleed for you
the city laughs
the streets weep
as figures pass
outside my window
their faces pale
They cling to life
tooth and nail
"please try to remember"
we always forget
that everyone
has blood to let

This is a period of temporal decay
What is beautiful settles at our feet
The rays of sun would shine freely
Through the trees
But there is no sun
Only trees
And spring is not a bastion of hope
For those about to face winter
It is coldness robed
In a cruel promise

>postmodernism