Poetry critique thread

I like it, but like others said the ending is weird.
I think you can still keep the repetitiveness representing the waves without it being akward if you write it a bit differently.

Somehow it feels a bit sluggish, but I like the general idea. It needs more flow...especially if you mention waves. If you want the breaking of the waves then the poem should have more flow at the begginning and less flow at the ending. But it feels like you have it opposite.

I am not sure I understand it. It feels too abstract.
While the 1st and 3rd paragraph feels connected the 2nd paragraph feels disconnected.
Why are you trying to say? or what emotion do you want to bring to the reader?
p.s are those things called paragraphs? I am not sure since english not my first language.

>unfinished song
Commercialization, sexualization
Privatization, and criminalization
When will we finally see full legalization?
Politician corrupt the InI nation
Babylon has found its way into peoples mind
Cut ties with Babylon lies, or only misery ye shall find

Life is precious waste no time
Meditate now, keep the infinite light in [I] sight
Don't abuse the herb, make your mind steady with dedication
Purify the poison with the medication
Don't use hatred as yer foundation, cause love is plenty
Divide and conquer is [the] politician strategy
One love is [must be] the motivation for the [Rasta] education
From the Nile to the Rhine inna this time
Across the world [population] see the fine changes of positive [Rasta] vibration

>short poem for a friend who died
When you where sad
Dark clouds covered my heart
My tears wept for your death
When you lay your final rest on the bed
The grand angel you met

And you told me from the sky above
"Weep not for me, my dear love
For I am in heaven, here is enough
Here I am together, with the Dove"

>poem for a friend. the () are corrections she made. Cause Spanish is my third language
Abrir tu corazón por amor y afección. (afecto)
Abrir tu corazón por sufrimiento y rechazamiento. (rechazo)
Abrir tu corazón por todo (toda) emoción y sensación.
Abrir tu corazón en todo (toda) dimensión y dirección.

>pic for the sake of a pic

Saturn

II

You're gonna carry that weight.
There's no one, nobody cares to ask why,
because you're not made for happiness.
All the skies' beds'll drop your dream
since you're not made for happiness, Saturn.
Where off to, sunless, you've that jungle rain soul,
ain't no one who'll house a kink-in-a'-ring.
And you'll make be and move out forever.
You'll slingshoot the dark film, you'll be alone again.
Again and again.
And each second you'll be alone reminding yourself,
it'll be a cold forty-maybe years. Then?
There is no then.
You've got that load none's gonna ask you what for,
let the act yap tils it dries, do again do again.

And you're gonna carry that weight,
until there's no he or she left in the world to love.
Then you'll still carry on, loneliness ain't no less a vengeance.
And you'll die in sixteen languages,
but what does it matter, you'll sing till you're song,
even when you've no one to break the new day with in the morning,
even when you've no one to gaze at clouds with in the evening.
even when you've no one to warm the bed with in the night.
I'd rather be dead than do many things alone.

And you're gonna carry that weight alone,
until the black that bleeds through your white turns it darker.
That's because you aren't made for happiness,
otherwise I wouldn't send you so far away from here.
Is dark.
Is low.
The worst of it is it is.
I don't so much know what the feeling of her is.
And so much of her, so much good, that she deserves better than me.
I am content long as I make her happy.
You're gonna go, gonna carry that weight.
Time better hurry, best time not be late.
Time must not betray me.

And it'll be the end of you, Saturn.
No coffin can bear the weight of your ring.

-----

A poem has so very little room, and when you introduce yours with the honorable Sisyphus - already elbowing you, your mother and the nurses and gasping out - he will want to break away, he is claustrophobic, you seed him into an unfamiliar metaphor and you don't follow up with him. There is clumsiness in calling blood rubies and coupling it with diamonds, like postcard poems and roses-are-reds, your third stanza sets a gap in your story the width of that the nurses break through: because you're obscuring yourself and you're actively trying to. This is not wrong, mind you, but you don't do it in an interval as short as your poem. And this is just me, I feel distanced by the poem whenever I have to make sense of your pain.

I don't see the point in calling your blood rubies except that throwing diamonds in there makes the stanza tie together. I really just hate that "horrible rubies" line in general. Like it tries too hard. Otherwise pretty good for what it is. Lot of potential.

Song of the Loner

Wolfyboy you're at it again

Trying to play pretend like

You're something better than these folks

To you I say

Take another toke!

Have another smoke!

Be the dirty bloke you are meant to be

And then you'll see

What life's all cracked up to be

Addicts of the round table are gathered today

Always peculiar in their ways

This one has a twitch

That one has an itch

And this boy has a stitch

And this girl flicks a switch

And it's all gone in an instant

They've all fallen victim

To the heartless game of profiteering-

The productengineering of deathly herbs

And they all swerve

-out into traffic

Obliterated by God's madness

How could he let this

                                      hap

                                           pen?

To that I say

Take another toke!

Say another joke!

With no badness there would be no sense of perfection

There would be no erection

Either in a city of France

Or beneath your underpants

It would all be a blob of grey

So what the hey-hey I say!

Do away with somber days and your

Melancholy ways

Shed this imperfection

Now comes your insurrection

Usurp the throne

Cast away your scraggly beard

Become the Youth forever more

Be a person that you would adore

God could ask for nothing more

Than for you to explore

Out of the curiosity and kindness of your heart

This is only the start

Like a most pleasant fart

Fermenting into a form of art

That is unwittingly wafted

And so the horse is before the cart

Post something you wrote, my dude.

>Somehow it feels a bit sluggish, but I like the general idea.
It's Fagles' Iliad, lad...

I wrote mine after a suicide attempt and following hospitalization. The last stanza was just spitballed because I wasn't sure how to end it

in my originial I called them "ugly rubies" do you think that sounds better?

Me gusta el concepto. Los parentesis tambien. Mi unico problema es que se siente un poco "general", demasiado universal. Un poco de "imagenes" le darian mas autenticidad e individualidad. Pero en general bueno.

The first stanza would be better as its own poem. The rest of the piece feels like its scrambling after the opening.
>I am here for I let horrible rubies
>fall from my wrist
this is a weak enjambment, because its confusing but not in a way that gives you the 'Oh!' sensation
also frankly the wrist cutting narrative feels weak in general.

I really like the first stanza though.

>unfinished song
Gonna kinda pass on this one, because songs depend heavily on several things and it being unfinished only makes that much harder to critique
but i am weary of the -zation rhymes and how they needlessly abstract words in the sake of sonics

>short poem for a friend who died
i think first line is typo'd, if not then strange choice doesn't work
L2 & L3 are phrased awkwardly
the second stanza takes a turn I have no truck with

>spanish
I can't read it sorry

I only really like the last two lines. Sorry. The rest feels a bit spoken wordish and I'm not into that sort of stuff.
>nobody cares to ask why
be careful about innocuous cliches like this, they'll still mess up your writing.

lol

I really just don't like "rubies" I think it's a metaphor that serves no purpose. If you intended to wrap up the poem by saying you were happy to be alive then I would understand calling your blood something precious like a jewel. But imo it kinda makes an otherwise interesting poem seem like a Hallmark card (I think the other user said that too).

Wat?

Whats the matter, user? Having trouble.. reading between the lines? ;)

>writes poetry not even a computer can understand
>lol u don't get it ?? :p

I wasnt intending to say the blood was precious. I wanted a sort of contrast of something beautiful like a rare gem to something hideous as self harm/blood. When i wrote in the hospital I was feeling ambivalent of being alive and felt that I had failed at something.

Wew Im opening up more to user than I usually do in therapy...haha

Go fuck yourself!

Okay, I can see that now. Maybe what's really bugging me is that you took a stanza to tell me that. I think I like the first stanza so much because it's got a lot of subtext. Same as the last one. I just think you could come up with a million cool ways to show me what happened instead of just telling me and peppering in some rhetorical devices. But I'm also just some fag on the internet so yeah..

Idk if this is a meme but even the little bit I was able to decipher from your poem was absolute dogshit.

>poem
>doesn't rhyme

lmao

stick to prose if you can't keep up a simple rhyme scheme, faggots

HUG - Huge Unified Group
There is one moment in time
Our bodies melt together to shine
becoming one entity of the divine
in this empty space
The pain itself becomes sublime
emitting love from deep inside us
A warm feeling making us alive
We are entangled in hugs

Seriously though do you need a hug? Good poem though. Like other user said it does indeed feels spoken wordish, but I suppose that's a matter of taste or style.

Besides the html, I like it very much. It feels light

Post your own shit then. I have never read the lliad, but it doesnt seem to work in English. I was gonna read it someday, but now I am gonna pass on that.

Gracias amigo. Estoy de acuerdo es general.

Thanks for pointing out the typo. I always confuse 'were' and 'where' haha. To me it doesnt appear akward...could you be a bit more specific?

>with mouths of traine whitle, whose coming is like a train
It seems redundant.
>whose metal is hot coal
I think saying "who burns/blazes hot like coal" or "who burns/blazes like hot coal" or "whose heart blazes like a furnace" works better in relation to the reference of the train.
>in four positions
"in four directions" seems to make more sense, not sure?
You can rhyme 'immensity' with 'intensity' to describe the intensity of the fire or sword or something.
The rest looks fine.

short but powerful. And direct to the point. No way to mistake it.
Reminds me of the time I wanted to quit poetry and thought this was gonna be my last poem:

This is this, and that is that. Argued the fool.
This is that, and that is this. Argued the fool.
This becomes this, and that becomes that. Argued the fool.
This becomes that, and that becomes this. Argued the fool.
Abiding in peace, stood the wise in silence.

Have to agree on this one. The poem just needs to be worded differently and then it can have a lot of pwoer.

Its alright user your criticism is appreciated thank you very much :) part of my rehab is to put myself out there more whether its through a medium or otherwise. Im also just some fag with internet too

Ekphrastic Poem on James Abbott McNeill Whistler's “Nocturne in Black and Gold/The Falling Rocket”
1875

Lights gild a shoeshine sky,
Oasis for men that toil,
At the center of it all.

Haven from red steam so dry,
Safe from steels that boil,
Under stars that fall.

Streaks like towers, precursor divine,
Gifts of chem and oil,
Half wide as She is tall.

first time I've ever written poetry

lights of fires
dims of liars
the young woman cowers for
holy men
as the dead
seek peace in this sire

>that one fag who will unmercifully attack anything because someone wasn't nice.

Criticism doesn't require Hart Crane level skills you fucking dildo. Having a grasp on aspects of craft and when they're lacking in what one reads is itself a skill completely seperate from meaningful creation. Name one aspect of craft I mentioned that the poem actually has. Ill wait.

>Inb4 youre just a coward

Go back to your mom so you can be unconditionally validated

weird metre, try reading it out loud and see how clunky the rhythm is. also i'm not sure what a lot of it means "peace in this sire" - what does this mean? Is 'this sire' God or like Jesus? Maybe give the piece a title so we have at least a starting point from which to begin interpreting it.

I really like this with and without the accompanying image. Good job.

To look at a star
One-and-twenty-billion
Years dead
And say it makes me feel
Non-existent
Is an injustice.

To say I feel
Insignificant,
And to-the-decimal
Infinitesimally small,
Is a gross tragedy.

To reflect upon
My lack of worth
And assert myself
As a flaccid approximation
Of a philosopher
Or pseudo-philosophizer.

In doing so I sacrifice
Another's perception of my worth
When a possum scratches the roof above
And Dan almost steals that case.

To fit four in the backseat
To be smarter than sober.

Then turn me into dust.

Stare into the pool,
In the surface see slices of yourself
Trembling.
The tiles urge

And crowds, bullies, brutes,
The slack waste of your perfect system,
Wait, below, in full bulk,
Stone solid in the weak waves.

Where your shorts and their pattern
Mean nothing: an affect,
From a poof,
In tired garishness.

The image fractures, then,
And the crowd dissipates, as it does,
And the cries go quiet,
And the waves stay the same.

First three stanzas are basically the same. The first one alone would have been fine. I quite like the Dan almost steals that case, it's a nice transition. Though four in the backseat and smarter than sober is like a pop song, and not a good one. Plus turned into dust is pretty unoriginal.

Your criticism was half-assed and un-insightful, like I imagine the rest of your writing.

Question: Do you guys post your work to any websites?

I used to know a few community-driven sites but all seem to have closed. Just wondering if that's still a thing.

/r/OCPoetry
best amateur poetry I've found was there
if you hiss at the thought of reddit you might not like it, because there is plenty of shitty stuff there too.

This is a great poem

CUT MY LIFE INTO PIECES

...

>no rhymes
>no metric
user, I'll be blunt. This neither works as verse nor would it work better as prose.
>like boughs in a storm
>huge loud things
See, some verses follow one another smoothly in that Arnaut Daniel fashion, but not all of them, so you have this weirdness where shit don't flow.

I kinda like it. I understand what you're saying, and the prose isn't bad at all but
>I let horrible rubies
>fall from my wrist
is really cringe. Never compare blood to rubies as a general rule of thumb. But since you're obviously tying it together with your mother's tears,
maybe something like:
>I am here for scattering
>rubies across skin
>while my mother drained
>her diamonds into bottles

And a bird that came and said to her:
child I will lead you to safety
to warmth and joy and gentleness
but the bird I heard, was a liar
and the child disappeared
her pale hands gripping at the thorny loam

A woodsman came upon the path
had heard the story once before
but failed to head the warning there within
and the bird spoke to him and sang:
I will take you home to riches and a wife
who will bear you children and a grand, grand garden
and the man, he too, was vanished.

[A king]

And that tiny heart
grew in size and shape
Nails dug into pretty palms
lips sprouted, pouted, split apart
and that trill trilled louder, shriller, higher
and carried farther

The bird was but the tongue
of a great and heaving beast.
who fed upon the waryless
a thing that could, when presented
take a man and tempt him
to play a tune
upon it's ringing teeth

That's a bit ambiguous, is the quoted lines an example of good flow or bad flow to you?
>no rhymes
yea, I was hoping the repetition and alliteration could carry the sonic weight
>no metric
I write plenty in meter, but i don't really like too.

Still I appreciate the points and a blunt critic is my preferred critic

...

Postmodern mess about memory and truth

I like the imagery you use. Keep it up you'll only get better

Here's mine, it's called "soft shine"

Soft shine
The moon and the world
How my telescope see
With metal rings
All around it
Soft shine
The moon and the world
How I have long to find you
In black hair little brow eyes
Love is true
Soft shine
The moon and the world
How I have longed to know your touch

>Let me spend more that 5 minutes on something the poster admits has only gone through two revisions.

Imagine whatever you like. It all stems from butthurt.

how many revisions make me worth your time?

Excuse me, professor.

Ela é um filme de ação com vários finais. Ela é política aplicada e conversas banais. Se ela tiver muito afim seja perspicaz, ela nunca vai deixar claro, então entenda sinais. É o paraíso, suas curvas são cartões postais. Não tem juízo ou se já teve, hoje não tem mais. Ela é o barco mais bolado que aportou no seu cais. As outras falam, falam, ela chega e faz. Ela não cansa, não cansa, não cansa jamais. Ela dança, dança, dança demais. Ela já acreditou no amor, mas não sabe mais. Ela é um disco do Nirvana de vinte anos atrás. Não quer cinco minutos no seu banco de trás, só quer um jeans rasgado e uns quarenta reais. Ela é uma letra do Caetano com flow do Racionais. Hoje pode até chover porque ela só quer paz. Hoje ela só quer paz. Hoje ela só quer notícias boas pra se ler nos jornais, amores reais, amizades leais. Ela entende de flores, ama os animais, coisas simples pra ela são as coisas principais. Sem cantada, ela prefere os originais. Conheceu caras legais, mas nunca sensacionais. Ela não é as suas nega, rapaz. Pagar bebida é fácil, difícil é apresentar pros pais. Ela vai te enlouquecer pra ver do que é capaz, vai fazer você sentir inveja de outros casais e você vai ver que as outras eram todas iguais. Vai querer comprar um sítio lá em Minas Gerais. Essa mina é uma daquelas fenomenais. Vitamina, é proteína e sais minerais. Ela é a vida após a vida, despedida pros seus dias mais normais. Pra que mais?

First time on this board. So, is this thread only for English poetry or would stuff in my mother language be ok as well?

it's ok

>These are the children offering critique

Ok, I'll bite.

Als je probeerde te praten, brak je stem en
werden de gruzelementen afgevoerd door de wind.
Voetstappen werden vacuüm gezogen, als was je aanwezig
op het hemellichaam waar je ‘s nachts soms tegen fluisterde,
hopend dat tenminste íemand je verstond.
(Je kreeg nooit antwoord.)

Als je probeerde te kloppen, braken je handen en
baadden ze het raam in karmozijn; een waarschuwing. Treed niet verder,
pas op voor de hond. Omhoog kijken was nutteloos—er viel niet langer
iets te zien, en de beklemmende stilte drukte op je oogleden.
Je borst was ijzingwekkend stil en zuchten lukte niet.
(Je lichaam gaf geen antwoord.)

Als je probeerde te schrijven, brak je pen en
morste hij de meest boosaardige inktvlekken op het papier,
die je ziel in duizend stukjes sneden en je hoonden
vanwege je onhandigheid. Je knieën knikten en je tanden klapperden en
je blauwe vingers poetsten en poetsten, tevergeefs.
(Je hart gaf geen antwoord.)

Ik ben pas net weer begonnen met schrijven, dus wees lief, alsjeblieft.

Voelt een beetje saai aan. Maar het kan ook zijn omdat Nederlands een droge taal is haha.

>(Je kreeg nooit antwoord.)
Verander in "Je stem gaf geen antwoord"
Als je stem geen antwoord geeft kan je ook geen antwoord krijgen.
>Je borst was ijzingwekkend stil en zuchten lukte niet.
Je hart zit in je borst, dus het lijkt me logischer dat die zin voor
>(Je hart gaf geen antwoord.)
komt.
>braken je handen en baadden ze het raam in karmozijn
Dit voelt onhandig. "braken je handen en rusten ze op het raamkozijn" lijkt mij beter.
> en de beklemmende stilte drukte op je oogleden.
Je kan niet horen met je ogen. Verander oogleden in 'oren', of verander stilte in 'leegte'.
>de meest boosaardige
"de meest donkere" klinkt beter.
>Je knieën knikten en je tanden klapperden en je blauwe vingers poetsten en poetsten
Perfect

Over het algemeen is het goed geschreven. Misschien kan je op een of andere manier meer de emotie van frustratie proberen te laten overbrengen.

Ik schrijf bijna nooit gedichten in het Nederlands, dus neem mij kritiek niet al te serieus.

Heel erg bedankt, hier kon ik wat mee! Achteraf knap stom dat ik sommige dingen zelf niet had gezien ('je kreeg nooit' -> 'je stem gaf geen', bijvoorbeeld), maar vooruit, omdat ik nieuw ben vergeef ik mezelf. Ik ben het overigens niet met alles wat je aangeeft eens, maar heb toch een aantal dingen veranderd:

Als je probeerde te praten, brak je stem en
werden de gruzelementen afgevoerd door de wind.
Voetstappen werden vacuüm gezogen, als was je aanwezig
op het hemellichaam waar je ‘s nachts soms tegen fluisterde,
hopend dat tenminste íemand je verstond.
(Je stem gaf geen antwoord.)

Als je probeerde te schrijven, brak je pen en
morste hij de meest boosaardige inktvlekken op het papier,
die je ziel in duizend stukjes sneden en je hoonden
vanwege je onhandigheid. Je knieën knikten en je tanden klapperden en
je blauwe vingers poetsten en poetsten, tevergeefs.
(Je lichaam gaf geen antwoord.)

Als je probeerde te kloppen, braken je handen en
kleurden ze het raam in karmozijn; een waarschuwing. Treed niet verder,
pas op voor de hond. Omhoog kijken was nutteloos—er viel niet langer
iets te zien, en de beklemmende leegte drukte op je oogleden.
Je borst was ijzingwekkend stil en zuchten lukte niet.
(Je hart gaf geen antwoord.)

Ik heb hier overigens nog meer werkjes liggen, maar ik wil de draad niet onderspammen. Misschien dat ik morgen nog wat post.