Writing Poems that I'd like critiques of.

[Mitch]

[size=1] I want you guys to be dead serious in this thread; do not hold anything you would say back at all. Tell me the truth, tell me what is wrong with my writing as a poet, tell me what is right, tell me if you hate how I rhyme so often, tell me that you like this, and that, and that. Be truthful, bash me down as much as you want; lower me down as much as you want; just tell the truth.

I believe I'll begin with firstly three poems. Obviously I'd like critiques--good ones, too, if you could please. Also, if a poem doesn't make sense to you, then I'll try and push you into what it means. Just ask.

Also, along those lines, I'd like to, with every critique of every poem, have you tell me what you think the poem means personally. Reason it out for me. I'd like to have some nice discussion as to what a poem means, how it could be improved, ways it could be ruined, all such things. Basically just take my poem and do whatever you want to it--tell me I should add this line, tell me what you hated, loved, made you feel something, made you understand. Get the drill? Well, if you do, I would really like this thread to become something--even eventually a haven for critiques for every poet. But for now, I shall post.

Do not be afraid to post either--something said is a lot more helpful to anyone than nothing said.


[b][u]senseof kisses[/b][/u]
will i eversee a
parabola?

when you cessation;
senseof kisses:
'sphyxiation
i see the roses' elation:
parabola;cold it says
belated

cold it says to me;sovery lovely
if i eversee a
parabola
it willnot matter
to me

for when you cessation;
senseof kisses:
it willnot matter
to me
for since feelings comefirst;
i won'tsee:won'tbreathe
all i have: as your hands
touch me; cessation these eyes;
these senseof kisses willnot even
matter to me:deep down in
my brainthatbreathes;
i want i will see

breathing in i cessation;
senseof kisses:
'sphyxiation
to love you in my arms
so lives are gone
i want i will see
thesesenses of kisses:
my brainthatbreathes
when flowers parabola:they leave
greenblood is sensation;bleed

[center][img]http://www.metalkings.com/aggressor/fallen-angel.jpg[/img]
[b][u]XXXXXI[/b][/u]
Was a dreary night
As I rapped on the door
The manager stepped out
Let me in to implore

Was a dreary place
As I walked in
Dark except for a few lamps
Dreary place indeed

"I would like a room,"
I said, my lips cold and soon
I shuffled out my wallet
The crisps touching my hand
The manager tucked them away
His face was snippy
I didn't know what to say

"You say you need a room
To stay?"
Indeed I did
And so I nodded
I took my wallet
Once again

"You won't be needing that
To get in,"
Said the manager
Indeed I wouldn't
And so I nodded
Put away my wallet
Once again

"This's on the house
My dear Sir Wain
Here's your key
And please, do stay,"
Said the manager
Handing my key
Smiling through
His decayed teeth

Number fifty-one
Read the key's glove
"Thank you
Indeed
I shall be staying
For I need sleep,"
Said I

"Right up the stairs
To the left
You shall find your room,"
Said he
I nodded and so went

Fifty-one read the key's glove
Left up the stairs and there it was
Through the oil lamps
Dismal and lit
I did see the door
Upon it did sit
Number fifty-one

Dimmering there in the light
I did see the door
Upon it did sit
Number fifty-one
Just as the key's glove

I opened the door
The key's clang
Evermore

I opened the door
To number fifty-one
Something coagulated
Touch to my feet
On the floor

All my thoughts
All I am
Touch my feet
On the floor

I opened that door?
The key's clang
Evermore

Fallen angel sat corner-tied
Blood was all over-side
Touch my feet
On the floor

The angel they named?
As I set the door?
He they call
Velinor

His skull was in tore
Wings flimsy-sore
Blood his fore
He they call
Velinor

Eschewed on his skull
I do squint as I stood:
XXXXXI it did read
For my eyes do not deceive
Condemnation his was perceived

Heaven through hell
The chiming of the bell
Through seas and dogs
For what is fog
Doom is to God

Condemnation his was fifty-one
Just as that of the key's glove
From that it is of
He they call
Velinor

When shock became
Left my veins
My mind was not
The same

I, Sir Wain
Had entered
Hell's bane[/center]

[b][u]halloweve[/b][/u]
skeletons are white
in the endless abyss of the night
and they say it well they say it right
the skeletons are dead grey no matter the day
no matter what they say

the neon deathbirds flash my eyes
as i hold the steering wheel in my hands
and it is my course and i steer this land
this country that is called to us free and grand

democratic is a greeting skull
on the halloweens of every day that passes by
often wondering is the saddest face of them all
even seeing their gravestones gives me the crawls

the skeletons are white
in the endless abyss of the night
and what they say is what is right
evenly they squirm in the maggots' sight

a small fly in the corner of my rearview mirror
a smear and a smile that says to fear
seeking no truth is seeking no wrong
eating away at myself is what takes its time
the maggot weaves his grime

where there is truth there are skulls
underneath the poor soul of the earth
thralls crawl and make their dirt
where there is truth there are skulls
and absolution is what keeps us calm
absolute is what we want to have

the skeletons are white
they have gone; they have bled life

like spiders with their many legs
the spinning womb creeps to our heads
as soon as we exhale we inhale
another closer to dead
another glance to backwards
so close but instead

this neon deathbird flashes to my pupils
it dilates; and irate is my head
the largest is smallest in the fields
the skeletons have died to kill

how beautiful the way it goes
how beautiful and absolute these graves
only flies and only canes
crutches for the wickeds; the ones without names

democratic is a greeting skull
the skeletons so white so pale
and it eats at me; this halloweve
the calling of release and freedoms' ribs
how gaunt it is to live at times
how broken it is to crack my bones
squeeze every last crack to crushed groans

the calling of release and freedoms' ribs
the beating heart that is held and singed
so gentle but so wicked cruel
beasts undermine the petty fools
and too bad they are so untame
for ponies are beautiful when they cave
falling to crushed organs and chains
only crutches for the wickeds; the ones without names

the neon deathbirds flash my eyes
as i hold the steering wheel in my hands
and it is my course and i steer this land
this country that is called to us free and grand

yet the only release is through freedoms' ribs
the chains that close us so brokenly in
and to squeeze is to cough and choke
joined to skeletons where they roam
but to be so young and a pony in the fields
too early to say yet what to feel

[b][u]the landing[/b][/u]
the clouds stood out like statuesque ponds where tadpoles lived. today they'd grown lungs with the fungus needed to breathe inhalants in their brains. finally found that they had the power to choose what they did.

with this power they'd turned into electricity. a whispering little storm in the tropics of the sky. heaven is so heavenly when mutiny smells on their hands. mutiny is so cold when it snows from the sufferage of a thousand mouthes. the thunder was hitting on the stone and it was heard all over as the sky was built.

they planned the escape and shook hands on it all. they didn't think they'd make it but they needed to leave. they had tired of immortality.

through the clouds the statuesque pond where the tadpoles lived flooded with life like instantaneous ecstasies. it was like a flutter and flock of dodobirds existing. the rhythmical chime of the ripples of dreams; the endless sirens playing their chords, it was the deciding time.

the chiming of sweet calamity. the ease of destruction through forced inflection in the sky. the superfluous creation of the earth and stars. the sun beginning to burn their hands.

flying down in flutters of wings. all crowded and all crashing in the newly created seas. the burning of corpses where the sun was born. the burning of cadavers in the skies being conceived and consecrated to bleed. the angles flying down to freedom through heavens eyes.

welcome to the jaws of hell. their wings burned in the atmosphere of terse serenity. bleeding their blue blood to the earths love. holding their naked white as close as they could. the angels flew all clumped and cut. scathing they burned to bones. the sky was made and shined.

few made it through the atmosphere in time. most burned to nothing and bled their blue and painted the sky. god took them with a brush and made them his eyes. it smelled like burning rugs. their feathers burned first and fell to the ground. soft and sweet floating clouds.

say hello to the endless topography. all the skeletons that had not burned in the sky fell down and ate into the magma star of the new earth. bleeding mallow in the mellow hearth. the sand the sieve of rebirth.

those that made it fell luckily into the seas. still warmed and lost of wings they shook and shivered in the warm watering can. most drowned in mouthfuls of lungs. being brought to the ground their haloes slipped down. those that had the will swam on the waters edge.

they matured to homo erectus in the seas after many eons of floating endlessly. growing lungs and losing their virginity they multiplied in the sea. first only mermaids they came to land when the earths creation neared its end.

god smote down to them. he closed the heavens in the twisting skies. booting out all the other traitors he gave a weary groan. those that already had matured he left alone. those that were the main part of the mutiny he condemned to malignancy. taking their haloes he built them a home.

built with fire and magma dreams. he sent the main traitor down to be the master of the realm. he gave him chains on his hands and cut his wings in amputated cleaves. he named him lucifer and called him hades. the rest of the condemned went down and swam in the underground with him. living in the fires they became twisted creatures of sin.

[center][i]deus damnat.
deus damnat quod amat.
semper videt igitur vexat.[/center][/i]

annihilated is written in our heads. we are the condemned. the angels that flew from our eloquent prisons in our chains. they were the one that brought about this change.

god condemns us because he loves us. always we are worshiping him. we will see the gates again. we will break into it and we will have our way. we have lived our mortal lives worshiping him. we will have away with this life we live.

first the angels fell
and then they built beauty in the earth
and corrupted all that god meant and gave life to
then they fell to hating living on the earth
and built their shuttles to the moon
and guided by lucifers wings
they amputated their way to again entering
heaven and thought their way to doing away with god
yet this has not been writen
all the men that have made it to heaven have died before his eye
some have fallen from the sky and fell to living under lucifers care
a fake prophet was even sent from gods own hands
one to victimize and convert the land

god condemns us because he loves us. annihilated is written in our heads. the war will never end. we are the condemned.

we are
the condemned[/size]

[The Harlequin]

[font=gothic][color=indigo]XXXXXI - To start off with, that isn't the Roman numeral for fifty one....That would be LI. Other than that....I like the poem, but I sense a [i]very[/i] strong Poe inspiration involved here, from the choice of vocabulary, to the rhyming scheme, to the very grammar scheme. However, there were times when you departed from that form of phrasing your lines, for example "I didn't know what to say". It stands out as mundane, compared to the rest of the poem.

As for meaning....Not being familiar with the name Velinor, not that I like to admit to that kind of ignorance, the only thing that really strikes me is little the angel seemed to matter at all, given its unexpected and granted shocking presence.

Senseofkisses I won't try to decipher, grammar not being my strong point at this time of the morning, not in writing anyway.


Halloweve - Well, the reading I'm getting here is that someone is remarkably dissatisfied with democracy, perhaps a rant about politicians. Always a good thing...I like the poem due to the generally morbid description being applied to (assuming I'm right in interpretation, which I'm probably not, but I was ever dissenting) a relatively disliked subject that normally has little but epithet applied to it.

I'd give more in-depth assessments, and for the rest of them, but I'm a little pressed for time at the moment. Hopefully I've gotten a ball rolling though.[/font][/color]

[Ravenstorture]

[color=darkgreen][font=gothic]First one - I've never seen a style like that before. I love it, as you read it you almost lose your breath, it sounds like gasping and it's wonderful.

Second - film noir. Detectives in overcoats. I'm sure there was a plot, but it didn't grab me in the first couple of verses so I let it go. But then the "fallen angel sat corner tied" line caught my eye, and I felt like singing the rest to myself. I don't know how you'll see that, but it's a compliment.

Third - Not interested. For some reason, it's just too similar to thee last thirty or so poems I've been exposed to. I guess anything less than spectacular bores me, and rhyming schemes really get up my nose.

Last - this looked exciting... I liked the paragraph format. However, the short sentance then full stop thing gets tired after a while, starts to sound like you're reading off a list.

You have an incredible way of putting words together, though, and I thoroughly enjoy reading sentances like, "it was like a flutter and flock of dodobirds existing" and "still warmed and lost of wings they shook and shivered in the warm watering can"... lines like that feel good when you say them, it's like they have taste. I could go off on a whole new tangent about the way a good line tastes.

I don't know if that was what you wanted, but I've been reading and writing poetry for ten years now, and I feel that I'm not bullshitting you. I could be wrong, however. But well constructed sentances, good paragraphing structure and the taste of a poem has paid off for me, and many other good writers. You're better than most I've seen. [/color][/font]

[Heaven's Cloud]

[color=indigo]I always enjoy your poems Mitch, mostly because they are so different from anything that I would write. I like the way you abuse the rules of grammer and never become pegged down by traditional styles. My favorite of all the poems was probably XXXXXI. I think you did a commendable job of paying homage to Poe while infusing a set style with your own unique perspective. I enjoy the title, whether it was done on purpose or not?so I say leave it if you like it.

I wish I could critique your poems, but it really isn?t in my nature. I have always felt that poetry should be written for one?s self, and it is only an added bonus when someone else finds it relative, enjoyable, or inspirational. If I was to critique your poems I would feel as though I cheated your originality by mingling my ideas with yours. I know I could have just written nothing and saved you the time from reading something that has absolutely no bearing on the original request you made, but I didn?t want you to think I don?t read your poetry and enjoy your inventivness?[/color]

[Mitch]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Ravenstorture [/i]
[B][color=darkgreen][font=gothic]First one - I've never seen a style like that before. I love it, as you read it you almost lose your breath, it sounds like gasping and it's wonderful.
[/color][/font] [/B][/QUOTE]

[size=1] It is inspired by e.e.cummings, probably my favorite poet of all time. I have not read too much poetry I will admit, but I absolutely love cummings. He is amazing.

I went through a brief period where all I wrote were fragmented, gasping poems like that. This streak of writing poems like this is still very much in me, but I've been experimenting in other stuff as well. If you're somewhat familiar with my poety it's easy to see I enjoy rhyming often. I'm trying to abate this habit and get into other styles.

When I was writing poem after poem in the lines of e.e.cumming's type, I said I had e.e.cummingitis. Heh.

His name is not capitalized because he did not use much grammar, nor did he punctualize much things. Rather, he splayed words all about, simple phrases, and such. I love it, it's a very original style, and from it I've developed my own type. cummings himself was also an artist as well. He's just a cool guy.

And HC, thanks for commenting. That is all I need if that is this case and that is enough. As I said, it is better someone post rather than just be quiet and not let me understand how they feel about things.

Since you loved that first poem so much, Raven, I have decided to go ahead and post more of that type, and you can say whatever you want about them heh. That's what I'm here for.

[b][u]on the highway[/b][/u]
i drive
on the highway
saying something:
"An' he don't know why"

hold on for one more
day
i drive
on the highway

my lights i fixed
yesterday
though he say::
"Light ain't so great"
fixed it
anyway

i drive(liketheotherday)to her house
and wish
i could stay
park on the side
of the highway and i tilt
my hat
and i give my car a tap
though he say:
"Do you really love her; you're just going to die
anyway"

i can cry:dear god can i mope
at her house i just can't elope
tell her i love her:then she spoke:
"Hun, you sure ain't ever gonna
get the second base, even with a rope"

i tell her everdaythat i want to elope
as i said i can cry:dear god can i mope
i usually leave till i can't hope
leave her and she say:
"Bye hun, love you
can't elope today"

i cry tears when i get headed
on the highway
and i just drive the tears
away

back in my car
he say:
"We should call it a day
today"

by this time i collect myself
and itell him the day neverends
maybe same stuff
different day
but you got to love it
on the highway

that's when we
call it
the day

day mightbe young
but what the hey
we all die young anyway

[b][u]Jack Death[/b][/u]
what a ploy what a play;
(when the grass is grain
move then say , say dazed
forgiven? forgotten? splay?)
i stand i say:don't loveme;
it'll all fall away

breathe now and today
(i love to hate and love this sway
build me a house, and build me a
stairway)
give me this redheart and kissesofyours;
i'll give you forlornkissesofhorns

what a wight what a crave;
i tire and in my houses' stay
build my stair and giveme a way
it'll all fall away, anyway

i need to breathe now and today
when it's all a plot what a play;
it'll all fall away
i need something:a stairway
not heaven not hell not a new life

i need jack death
he knows me and he often tastes
my let:even gives me,as it may,
silhouettes
i need to taste this wine taste this fret:give me
jack
the drink of death

[b][u]Apparition Kisses[/b][/u]
apparition haunting asphixate:
those words i would say;
i'd share with you,'pparition,
i'd give you me in time just for
a taste of
your wine

apparition i'd smile my smile
my fake smile that doesn't matter
only says defeat
i'd tell you how it haunts me:
those thoughts i say,and you tell me:
only these stark nothings though;
leaves and branches
and twigs and bones

cold as i build my snowman
till you and i are alone
wish it was snowing
but apparition it's summer
i can't feel it though it only rains;
i think i have something:a drink
for all the pains

a kiss on her even though she's gone
kisses ofsense always kisson:
is love yours:a cessation you too
put on?
good to know you:
it's good you like song

i can't wait to meet you,hear the way
cause i am sick of these stark nothings;
these hands and smiles
and crushes and love-miles
still love her even though
i never met her smile

just tell me one thing apparition;
one thing that's as small as my pandora's hope
small as love's boxofkisses that spoke
tell me these hands and these smiles
leaves and branches:

apparition,will i still love her
even though i never met her smile?
i knew you as one couldn't tell me;
i love her:these hands and smiles
twigs and bones
it's a puddle-puddle
as i walk
a kiss on her even though she's gone;
it's good to know you:
good you like love's song

[b][u]breathein[/b][/u]
baby
in
these arms
breathingin is like
losing aworried
mind

to love
in time

close this door
of when:
just breathein
again
the sunsets
lady:by all flowers
i swear

in these arms
breathein
again
isn't the light
ofthe sun
beautiful?

baby
in
these arms
sunsets don't mean much
to kisshere,baby,in these arms
i tell you
in these arms
breathein
close this door
of when;

just breathein
again

[b][u]of course dear sleep[/b][/u]
of course
dear sleep
i love you
and keep

when
tears don't touch
when
breatheingin is hardtolove
of course
dear sleep
i love you
and keep

hush nowhush
soft pillow
pillow
i love you
and keep

o baby
when
tears don't touch
and roses aren't daffodils
hush nowhush
tears don't haveto touch;
on thisbed i lie

if you want to
i can sleep
on thisbed i lie

of course
dear sleep
i love you
and keep

softpillow you
brush
myhair
hush nowhush
on thisbed i lie

of course
dear sleep
i love you
and keep
if you want to
i can sleep

hush nowhush
tears don't haveto
touch

o lady
i love you softpillow
you brush

i wanted to
cry nowhush
i love you softpillow
you brush

nowhush[/size]

[Ravenstorture]

[color=darkgreen][font=gothic]cummingitis if it made you sick. Since it's lingual, I'd more say cumminglingus. Haha, I hope all you youngin's stay blissfully innocent of that comment. The last two poems, thin in shape, definately point out a relaxing flexibility of poetry - you don't need it to be large and bulky to fit as poety. If it flows, and pleases the soul, it's poetry. Rather like symbols of the creatant mind - Paul Klee, "Symbols comfort the spirit," and "Nothing replaces intuition." I love it how a story can be told in a poem, but you're only given glimpses of the scene, and you fill in so many blanks with your imagination. Every person's interpretation is different, another flexibility. You've inspired me, and I'm off on a poetry writing spree. If I find one I like, I'll send it to you.

Oh yes, HC, it's so like you to go and do one better all the time. You've got a point there. [/color][/font]

[Mitch]

[size=1] I'm glad to see you finally posting your poetry. Yay.

This poem was inspired by Queens of the Stone Age's "The Sky is Fallin'."

You should notice how the entire meat of this thing is just the continued use and reuse of same words and phrases, then, at the end, I rhyme to give it finality.

[b][u]sky is falling[/b][/u]
the sky is falling
fallin down to me

the sky is falling
fallin down
to me

we better get off this rock
better fly off and into the sky
we better get off this rock
better fly off
and into the sky

the sky is falling
fallin down on me

the sky is falling
fallin down on me

we better fly to
space
we better get off
this place

we better fly off
into the outer space
we better get off
this place

the sky is falling
when i shut my eyes
the sky is falling
when i shut
my eyes

please hold me
close
please hold me
hard
please hug me
tight
please don't leave
without a fight
please don't leave
without one last time
one last night

please hold me
the sky is falling
fallin on space and time
fallin down on me
it's so close
i can't breathe

please hold me
hold me
please hold me
i can't breathe
please hold
me

i can't
breathe
please
hold me

i can't
stand this
please
hold me

i can't
live here
the sky is
fallin
please
hold me
please

we better get off
this place
the sky is falling
it's so close to
my face

we better get off
this place
fly our hopeless shuttle
into space

please hold me
tight
let's colonize the space
please hug me
tight
let's land on
our cratered place
the never stopping staring
face
the moon where that little man
is being erased

the never stopping staring
face
the moon
where that little man
is being erased[/size]