/crit/ -- Critique Thread

I liked it. But it definitely needs some work.

Here are some lines i thought were awkward. Just read them again and see if you agree with me.

>I walked through the door with you, the air was cold,

I like the way you're just kinda bringing us into this memory of yours. But following that up with "the air was cold" is comparatively a dry, simple statement compared to the beginning of the line.

>And you still got it in your drawer even now.

I get the impression you were experimenting with word order here. Even if you weren't, it's still clunky and awkward to read, doesn't really flow off the tongue like the last line of a stanza should

>Oh, your sweet disposition

Ryan Adams fan?

>And I might be okay,
>But I'm not fine at all.

It's sort of irritating when a poem states on thing and then states something opposite the next line. It's over dramatic and frankly stupid.

>Wind in my hair, I was there, I remember it all too well

these are three different statements that could work together, but are awkward as hell to read the way you've worded them. There's little flow, and they're so different from the first two lines in the stanza in their basic structure that it disrupts the ending.

Seems like what you need to work on is the phonetic aspect of poetry. Don't be afraid to rip a line or stanza completely apart and then put it back together. Revising my own poetry has taught me a lot.

Calling something bad or garbage, and then offering vague advice on top of that doesn't actually help anything but your ego.

Like the vibe. You mix the intangible with sensory. I like it.

I agree with the other anons in saying the last stanza seems out of place, but you shouldn't necessarily delete it. If at the beginning or end of the other stanzas you add that "alone" or "although" in there somehow, I think the repeating rhythm throughout the poem will tie the whole thing together nicely.

One thing i liked was how the first three stanzas ran together to say something collectively, and then the fourth was detached from the rest while still building upon it.

>"Love you" for a "glad we met";
>Unseen tears for drops of sweat.

If saying you wrote this poem to be famous on tumblr was a serious statement, leave this. But if it was just an insecure ploy to fend off heavy criticism, I'd revise this. Make it less to the point, stick with the vagueness of the others lines.

All i really have to say about this is that I've always felt these type of poems are heavily detached from real life. They don't evoke anything except maybe an admiration for your craftsmanship, which is def above average.

But I'm a moron, so . . .

Yeah, this is pretty bad. Two things i could recommend is to stop treating your poetry like a letter to whoever made you self harm. Poems written in second person can work, but this one doesn't.

The other things is that all your lines seem very detached one another, nothing plays with the next, nothing runs together. Boring to read.

>I am an expression
>used as a definition

I don't know what fuck you're trying to say, but this made me laugh.

A pretty interesting poem. I'm not going to dive in and strip out whatever vague meaning may or may not be there, but I had fun reading it.

Almost reminds me Of EE Cummings the you jump around in pauses to make simple, vague statements. Nice to read.

This reads about as narcissistically as I'd imagine Kanye West's autobiography to be. You don't give anything for the reader to latch onto, relate to, imagine, or picture. How are they supposed to react to this?

I get the distinct impression you only started writing poetry because you were heartbroken. That shit sucks, we've all been through it. But I'd say half of all poetry, especially that written by young people, are about loving someone or losing them. And it's possible to write about that and pull it off, make it good and original. But this isn't.

Each line is very detached from the others. There's no over reaching arc that pulls everything together at the end with an ending that stays with you.

But i think the main thing is that you know what you're talking about, but the reader doesn't. Reading this, as an outsider, is like jumping into a movie that's at the climax. You give us no imagery, no plot, nothing we can imagine or picture or relate to with our own experiences.

Literally nothing happened or caught my interest in that entire thing. You have talent. But you don't constantly need to remind the reader how good you are.

Good fucking ending, lingers with the reader.

>and my fingers feel wood and stone as through thick gloves.

you made this concise and kept it from being awkward or vague. Good line

Maybe you get a little caught up in atmosphere of the poem, and lose your way semantically. You say "seek not what has been" yet you are:

>clutching in the dark, for the faded
>memories of feelings

Furthermore, I don't get what exactly you're trying to back, what was lost your trying find. The closest we get is:

>and with my whole being possess that moment.
>The warmth of the sun, the rays filtering down through the canopy.

which is def interesting to read, but doesn't really give us anything tangible to latch onto. This may be too vague to evoke anything.

Really liked it though.

This is pretty good. I don't usually fall for that classic, rhymed, and organized style of poetry, but you do it well.

>When the evergreen is glowing
>In the dying light of day

Right from the start you gave me an image, time, and setting without sacrificing any of the phonetic aspects of you poem. Impressive.

In the second stanza you go sort of abstract, yet it stays grounded. Maybe it's the use of future tense. You're writing in such a way that a lot of it kind of flows on for the reader to imagine. It's very nonconstrictive and memorable. Does a good job of putting the reader into the scene.

The last stanza is the worst, losing that kindred kind of energy the first two had. I think it's mostly the last line, which is out of place, speaking more prophetically than the rest of the poem.

Have you ever seen death, desolation, or disease? Probably nowhere else but Skyrim. They're just words with definitions to you and me. They don't represent or draw upon memories from anything we've experienced.

The language you use here is hard to picture and follow, doesn't evoke anything. But if you begin by using language to which we attach personal meaning (some smaller form of death or destruction that the average person has likely experienced) and then use that feeling to convey the ideas you want to convey, it'll register much better with the reader.

Gone, gone too far and alone
Walked until your weight brought you
To your knees; did you feel clearly
The cold creep beneath your skin
As you curled your knees and chest together
Burrowed on the grass and let it in?
Dream of home, dream of home
The stars shine no differently
Gone, gone too far and alone

And in the morning the children will find you
Huddled, bundled, frozen, and dead
Your face will be a smooth river stone
Your eyes will be a blue and white echo
As peacefully you sleep in the meadow.
Yet now you must shiver, and moan, and wait
Pilgrims with homes don’t roam this late
They wake early, and so early to bed
And in the morning you will long be dead.
What will she say when she learns?
And who will be the one to tell her?
Will she come to hate you for this
Or herself?

These questions should not unnerve you.
You have gone, gone too far and alone.
Yet you weep, weep and dream of home.

Glissading brusque youth; in autumn’s garland of bay,
Proudly prances and struts, with the lithest of hearts.
But in the fainting of stars, it withers away;
And with one last pirouette: – He gently departs.

My tears will not rain; they shall not fall on the pall,
For all has but vanished in one wasting breath.
I shall strew it with petals of spring’s finest fall –
Let the fragrance of flowers dance twain with thy death.

Idk if the other explanation gave any additional clarity. But you never replied so I felt I should maybe explain also that, if you don't live in rural areas, the night sky is very vivid when out in the country. But certain areas of the night sky in the country can appear to be whited out, missing it's hue and stars because of the light generated by a town or, especially, a city. So that idea, in conjunction with this , maybe helps picture what I'm describing at this point? Because if the imagery is laid out alright, you should be seeing a city on the hills along the horizon where the glow from its populous has whited out the sky right right above it. It's here that whole reflection being made should come together. But being that the end is a patch and everyone who's (which yes, it should be 'whose', btw, typo) read it so far thinks it pointless, I know that the patch isn't good enough. All the advice is really helping me figure out the best way to end it though.

If you do ever respond, I'm curious. You said you followed the conceit, I'm wondering what you took from it before what I had to explain? And if it's on par with what is really buried in there.

should be

He was running fast now, and dragging the blond haired girl by his side. He needed to get to the yacht as soon as possible so they could get away unharmed; make a run for a new life. He held freedom by the tip of his fingers; all he needed now was to get a little closer so he could grab freedoms' entire hand. In his other hand: the girl; in the girls hand: a bag full of money they wheedled off the Russian Mafia.

They ran over the gangway; the ship started departing right away. They had managed to get hold of 10 fucking million dollars, which meant they could live the beach life in Mexico for the rest of their lives.

He saw that the excitement made her horny, as she smiled seductively. They started kissing heavy; he slid his hands under her shirt, and grabbed her by her hips to push her closer to him. She started to unbutton his white shirt, and stroked her long soft fingers through his thick chest hair. He smoothly pulled of her shirt; swiftly unlocked her bra. He saw proud perky breasts jiggling invitingly; he felt his penis swell against the inside of his khaki shorts. She moved down and unzipped his pants; practically teared off his shorts.

Her soft red lips curiously explored the shaft of his cock. She licked the tip of his dick intensively: breathing out "Whuuuueeeeee" in excitement. She started moving back and forth faster, and faster. His dickhead was massaged by the inside of her cheeks; it gave him a strange tingeling sensation on the inside. "Whuuuueeeeee" she wheezed out eagerly, "Whueeeee, whueeeee, whueeeeeeeeee." "Whueeeeeeeeeeeee"; he felt sperm building up in his shaft; he couldn't hold himself back any longer. He grabbed the back of her head, and forcefully pushed his throbbing cock in her mouth. As he came-he opened his eyes.

Reality set in. Pure ecstasy on his face changed in a split second to shock. His large black pupils popped to half their seize; the broad smile contracted, and widened into an O-form. He saw his mom curiously staring at him with the hose of a red vacuum cleaner in her hand. It was too late, he couldn't hold himself back anymore: sperm shot through the room with the power of a thousand burning suns, because his dick had managed to escape out of his boxers. Disappointment dripped her face as she said: "Oh user, what has become of you?"

Anyone want to help me with a Dutch poem I wrote?

Spiegels bevriezen mijn illusie en
de opgegooide bal raakt nooit het plafond
in zijn eindeloze rit door tijd en ruimte,
hetgeen ik ‘een vloek’ en jij ‘zwaartekracht’ noemt.

Ik kan kermen en krijsen als een oud wijf
dat zojuist haar eega verloren is,
maar de realiteit verbuigen
is een zeldzaam talent.

Ik draag mijn broze lichaam als
een bloem die verschrompelt
zonder ooit gebloeid te hebben.
Er ligt geen fenikskuiken
tussen de verlepte blaadjes.