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Writing Dagger's Poetry


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Er... yeah. Exactly what the title of the thread implies. Criticism is very much appreciated. ^__^

[b]The Turning[/b]

One day, I stopped caring where he was,
whether the world that he occupied
could be seen from where I stood,
alone and malcontent.

Well, malcontent no longer-- I found
something bright outside of him,
beyond what I thought was good,
something which sulked within myself
until new distance broke it free.
Fresh air, solitude, words scribbled hastily
and tucked into my pocket.
Creased and folded, that paper
would stay with me for a while.

Not quite a revelation. Just the knowledge
that I didn't need him, that perfection
lay hiding in my hands--
it's a simple sort of peace.
I'll tell him when the time is right. When
winter wheels into rebirth, when the stars
cycle through to spring.

Someday, when I have the strength to shed
those last shackles and stand alone.

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[size=1]I'll make this clear right now, I'm no expert with poetry or anything, and frankly I've never done well with it. But I like this a lot. Especially the first couple lines, and from "Not quite a revelation.." to "...simple sort of peace."

The middle verse, for that matter, is attractive to me because it's more action oriented, instead of just a person's thoughts. It tells a story. Well, the entire poem does, in a way, but.. oh... bah hum bug lol.

It's a very calm, serene poem and I like the quiet confident feeling I get from it. It's refreshing. That, and the style in which you have it written... I've always preferred free-form poetry to anything else. Though I'm only assuming this has no form - after all, I'm no poetic genius. ^_^ The last two lines remind me of a couplet though, and that makes me feel smart. Oh dear. But I digress.

Very pretty, and [i]very[/i] well written. I lurv eet![/size]
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Arcadia, you are my hero....ine. Without you, I wouldn't be able to keep any of my threads alive. Thank you so much for commenting! ^__^

Here's something completely different. It's not particularly profound, and the title basically gives it away. I was just having fun playing around with the language.


scarlet paintstreaks
dripping tearlike down your egg-white canvas
vivid shocks of color, bright blocks
behind the bloodstains.

melting clocks.
surrealism spilling from the tabletop
to a nonexistent floor.
here light bends
as though warped by water--

here the essential fabric wrinkles,
folds in upon itself
to herald the vast collapse.
worlds bound by flatness,
beauty and atrocity contained within a frame.

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[size=1]Heh, well, you know. I'm actually stalking you, but what you said sounds so much better.

I especially like this one, just cause I think his paintings are so fascinating. Not always especially beautiful or anything, but they definitely make you think. So this was a pretty good representation of that, if I do say so myself.[/size]
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Excellent writing, Dagger. I am truly impressed with your word choice, in particular. I feel that you give a beautiful elegance to even the simplest of words. You have an amazing grasp on the existentialism of the English language and it?s forms.

The first poem: What a story. The emotion of this perspective is incredibly profound and riveting. You have a superlative ability to give a life-testament to a mere sentence. I could think of many relationships that could relate to this poem, even in the metaphorical sense.

?Someday, when I have the strength to shed
those last shackles and stand alone.?

This line I enjoy in particular. It gives the poem a sense of completion without dulling it?s edge of realism.

Second Poem: This one I like even better. I?m not sure how you could describe your work as anything less than profound. You focus on the obscure, and give it a personification, a beauty. I love how you mixed our conceptualizations of reality and words with this poem. The mechanics of it had it sliding off my tongue like cream. It really seems like you grasp dali's vision.

Please, continue posting more.
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I would've posted earlier if I [strike]ever came into this forum[/strike] had seen it.

I really like both the poems you've put up. Unlike many other poems written in that free verse style, they don't seem to be melodramatic for drama's sake, and there seems to be a clear reason for your moving to the next line when you do. They both read very well and give the reader a definite feeling, and your combination of words has that "poetry" thing going. You know, like, it doesn't completely make sense, yet it so does.

I really enjoy the last line of the salvador poem. But overall, I like the first one better.

Sorry this is kind of short, it's hard to talk about poetry :p.
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Arcadia, Drix, and Terra, thank you [i]so[/i] much for your wonderfully detailed comments.

I wrote this poem during fifth period math.... hmm, I should really start paying attention in that class. Anyway, I'll probably try to revise it when winter break rolls around.

[b]Red Delicious[/b]

Don't be fooled.
Blood is never sweet; it tastes of tears
and sea salt. Beneath that lies a dull metallic bite.

But still she raised her finger to her lips,
as though seeking to draw poison from the wound.
Her knife had cut a little flap of skin, shaped like half the moon.
She'd been slicing the reddest apple ever seen since Eden,
or earlier.

Blood would be pale by comparison.

Try, if you will, to extract her emotions from the empty kitchen,
her half-peeled apple.
Even the slightest pain stings more deeply in solitude.

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The Turning:

This poem has a [i]wonderful[/i] feel to it. As both Arcadia and Drix said, it told a story, and flowed at a nice pace. The ending was hopeful yet grounded, and you didn't stray from the truth and reality of the story and into the metaphorical oblivion that some writers tend to succumb to. Very nice piece.


A poem about a poet of paint. I loved this poem. You seem to take the artists' picture and translate it into words. Quite eloquent, Dagger. ^-^

Red Delicious:

First of all, that is a [i]great[/i] metaphor, between the apple, the skin, and the blood. This one made you think.

"Her knife had cut a little flap of skin, shaped like half the moon.
She'd been slicing the reddest apple ever seen since Eden,
or earlier."

You use beautiful imagery here, of the cut into the skin of both the girl and apple, shaped like the moon.

"Try, if you will, to extract her emotions from the empty kitchen,
her half-peeled apple.
Even the slightest pain stings more deeply in solitude."

I'm assuming you're using the kitchen for a metaphor of her soul/body, etc. She is empty and bleeding. You end it succinctly with the message that all pains are greater when you are alone.

My only complaint about this poem was that it was hard to follow, and you seemed to jump over strings of thought right into another. But otherwise, a great poem.

Overall great work Dagger! I'm glad I finally got around to commenting...^^;; Post more!

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Karma, all of your remarks about my last poem are completely spot-on. I'd noticed the same problems, but couldn't quite put them into words. It made me very happy that you commented--I've read your reviews of other people's work, and you always manage to come up with really insightful observations.

I try to vary the style in which my poems are written; I suppose that my "voice" (or whatever one would call it) comes out more easily in prose, so I do most of my experimentation in the form of poetry.

[b]Song for a Miner[/b]

The pulse of hammers pounding is
A drumbeat in my coursing blood.
So I invoke the dreaded flood?
Rain down and melt this land of mine
To barrenness and purity,
Erase my love and wash it clean as
Snow from azure skies unseen.

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[size=1] You show good diction (word choice), good use of images, metaphors--aka the things I like in writing.

Some of your poetry is hard to follow, it doesn't really give as much narration as there could be--but this is fine. It is fine, because:

Poetry should not mean--
but be.

I don't care if a poem means something. Most poems do have a meaning if you want them to--while at that same moment, they don't if you don't want them to.

As for your poems in general, I'm too lazy to go through them one-by-one, but I can tell you they work well, and they seem to come from your heart, not your head, which is what matters. You seem to like the word blood, and use it often, just like me at times.

Excellent writing, as Drix said. Keep writing--this is only the smallest, most tiny part of your poetic abilities. Me myself, I'm still a baby in a womb when it comes to poetry and writing it. But day by day I am fed by the outside of my womb--the world--and what I write about it.

Keep writing, keep writing, keep writing, keep writing.[/size]
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Mitch, you're so lazy :p * bites him *

Now, on to the poetry:

"Song for a Miner":

Interesting poem, with gorgeous imagery, as always.

"Rain down and melt this land of mine"

Awesome double meaning of the word mine. It was utterly perfect.

This poem has a 'rebirth' feel to it, with all the washing away and erasing and such. I'm not sure if you did it on purpose, but you leave it open as to what is washing away, either rain or the liquid metal of the mines. Quite interesting, as I said before. ^-^

It would be fun to see this played to a tune, a miner actually singing it as he pounds away at the earth....you never know, it could happen! ^.~

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