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Yo sorry for abandoning you cats. Loopin' back now.
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Nov 17, 2013 05:56
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budgieinspector posted:It hasn't been a good year for me. Huh. What's this speaker's voice? Does her/is humor work throughout? I don't really think so. Is every line an event teased by the previous line? It isn't. it should be. edit: (dumb comment removed) I think that what's here is good, just that it can be refigured to flow more effortlessly. Gaston Bachelard fucked around with this message at 19:18 on Nov 17, 2013 |
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Nov 17, 2013 06:09
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pre:everything everything gold and grey everything everything green and blue we, the ones who wander, breathe a moss-dressed bridge of callused stone into ourselves shed leaves and dreams your gripping toes, your palms approve to halt the slick slide of decay a message buried out of view hands quick to pen, piano, paint through fall and hush-sheathed winter soon to make of branches, silence, streams walk your feet, wheeled, shoed, or hooved what qualify as Civilized Things eventually, all things move to try and take what cannot stay you take the woods, the woods take you mother broke a beer bottle wet chunks of glass rocking on the dance floor hair unbound, kinked from braids wrinkled face collapsed in anger words a cloud of spit and screaming "you stole from me you have no soul you fucker that was our gig not your gig not-" richie, sax man, rolled his eyes so hard, i saw whites from the bar frizzy blonde tender set down another Shirley Temple "it's on the house sweetie how's school going? you're in, what, second grade?" i stared at peanut shards, tiny plastic swords, half-dead Christmas lights eyes and lips unstruck coins tongue too soft to say "they hate me they all hate me because of her"
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Nov 23, 2013 16:35
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SO I wrote this thing real quick as an incubation task Will pop back in a few days to contribute criticism Untitled The fine corpse drinks exquisite wine Alone, he raises the glass to A thousand children dancing upon the lost sunset To fill the hollow chasm in his heart, just this once. Twelve glimmers of hope dipped in alcohol Dreams in poison, they dance as he’s left with Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, He burrows his face as they cry “Face salvation, for differentiation is dead”, From their castles as similar snowflakes. Silver snakes drinking from silver platters- To the cannibal king, not much matters. For context, the poem was wrote by writing all of the odd lines in absurdist fashion, then splitting them up and writing the even numbered lines in order to try and make something cohesive. Don't hold back with the criticism for it, but any of my descisions seem odd at first, that's why.
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Nov 24, 2013 02:46
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There seems to be a lot of stuff happening here. Your focus is the corpse drinking while watching children dance which for absurdism works well. Focus on that and the sensations involved. Diversify your vocabulary. When you get into meta-works like this, I think you can make assumptions about your audience and go for what flows over your point. Trollhawke posted:SO I wrote this thing real quick as an incubation task
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Nov 25, 2013 18:18
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Hello thread. I wrote this very quickly this morning and revised it once. Any thoughts? Slow Medusa I woke early, at pale blue hour saved for bakers, and go-getters heading to the gym before work, I felt fine, but stiff, and you were still asleep. Though the details escaped me, I knew, last night I’d been dancing, and not with you, and I felt the panic welling up, and my limbs and joints hardening. I felt fine, but as always, the process is slow to set, and when you finally turn over and wake, I’ll be half turned to stone, unmoving, unresponsive to your words shouted to a statue. I spun with the Medusa last night, not with you, I put my head on hers and let her slithering locks entangle me, and, like an idiot, stared into her eyes, and didn’t look away.
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Dec 4, 2013 03:44
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big business sloth posted:Hello thread. I wrote this very quickly this morning and revised it once. Any thoughts? The section of the poem that works best for me are the five lines that begin with "last night I'd been dancing,...". It has a nice flow to it with an abrupt end which structurally plays to the larger theme of your poem about desire for the obscene. It builds and builds and builds and then is shut down. If we accept the speaker of the poem as being a mediating force (ego/self) between a lusting for sex and death (id) and the rationalization that the status quo is not only healthy but desirable (super-ego), then this segment resonates with the critical dismissal of the lusting. Not in the text, but the meta-textual with the last line of the sentence being one word and stopping abruptly. It's a microcosm of the rest of the work, but I don't know that it could work on its own. That being said, I do think the first sentence of the piece is a little confusing or at least a little excessive. If you were to start with "last night..." it would be a punchier work with a real hook of a first line. I understand if you're playing the bakers and gym attendees as a force of responsible super-ego to serve as a foil for the speaker's own lustful thoughts, but it needs to be re-worked. "Pale blue" as the only color in your work is a strong choice, especially with it's connotations towards both longing and serenity. It might also be worth setting up the last section of the poem follow a similar pattern as the "last night..." section: quote:last night I spun with the Medusa, quote:Last night I’d been dancing, But that's just me, I like a symmetrical compositional style. The poem is definitely going places and has a great foundation.
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Dec 4, 2013 06:54
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Thanks for the great break-down. I often get too proud of actually having written a complete poem to really get in the mindset of editing it, but this was quite insightful. I re-worked it and I think I like this version (it has line breaks!). Last night I’d been dancing, and not with you, and I felt the panic welling up, and my limbs and joints hardening. Sick and awake at a pale blue hour saved for bakers, and go-getters headed to the gym before work, watching the still curve of your body, furiously asleep. The process, as always is slow to set, and when you finally turn over and wake, I’ll be half turned to stone, unmoving, unresponsive to your words shouted to a statue. Last night I spun with Medusa, not with you, I put my head on hers and let her slithering locks entangle me, and I stared into her eyes, and didn’t look away.
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Dec 6, 2013 18:59
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big business sloth posted:Thanks for the great break-down. I often get too proud of actually having written a complete poem to really get in the mindset of editing it, but this was quite insightful. I re-worked it and I think I like this version (it has line breaks!). Just a grammatical point, you should have "Last night I'd have been dancing..." or "Last night I was dancing..." not "I'd been dancing," as I'd is a contraction of "I' and "would" which doesn't really make sense (I would been dancing). quote:Sick and awake I get the feeling that you're really in love with the exposition of waking up early, in a state of duress, next to a lover that you've betrayed. And I can understand why: it's an emotionally charged scene, both because of the operatic theme of betraying a lover in your dreams (and without your control) as well as the relatable doubt one experiences in a relationship. However, I don't think it's necessary to include in the poem, as you're expressing these ideas much more elegantly in the other stanzas. You know what they say: kill your darlings. I'm not saying you have to delete it forever, but you could use it somewhere else. This poem would be strengthened by shortening it, eliminating everything that isn't essential. It works as an intimate and small poem. It's a play-by-play of this man's dreams without any sort of editorializing (with some exception) and the atmosphere of the speaker awaking abruptly is clear. The extra lines slow down the narrative of the dream and this poem doesn't need the suspense it would generate. Trust what you've written and people will understand what you're saying. quote:The process, as always It's not necessary to say "as always" because that's the only indication that it's a repeated experience. It also acts as a sort of aside which hinders the increasing emotional intensity, and being such a short poem, I don't think it works in your favor. quote:Last night I spun I would suggest having something between "Medusa" and "you" or eliminating the "not with you" and still shoving an "and" in there, just for the purposes of flow. Also, what do you feel is added to the poem by splitting it with line breaks?
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Dec 7, 2013 06:59
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I was using I'd as I had there, but thinking on it I don't like that either. But I do love that exposition. I can't usually bring myself to edit out things I like/are working, even if they might not be working FOR the poem. Having the three distinct sentences in their stanzas gives it a more symmetrical feel I think, and separates the distinct moments from each other.
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Dec 7, 2013 07:21
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big business sloth posted:I was using I'd as I had there, but thinking on it I don't like that either. But I do love that exposition. I can't usually bring myself to edit out things I like/are working, even if they might not be working FOR the poem. I think you should edit it that section out and read it out loud a few times, to see how it feels. I mean it's a great place to start writing this from (why is the speaker awake? how do they feel? who are they with, etc), but it stands out as really different from the way you wrote the other sections and is (for me) the weakest part of the poem. You're conjuring a very complicated emotional sensibility with every other part of the poem. By not describing the present situation of the speaker, you leave it up to the reader to imagine where the speaker is and how he or she feels. It removes a level of alienation between the reader and the speaker and makes the emotional core have that much more of an impact. But I understand that you like that section, and it's not "killing your darlings" because it's easy. But I think you should read the poem aloud to people you know with and without it and gauge their reactions.
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Dec 7, 2013 07:32
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Oh, I only meant to express my disdain for cutting it. But I did cut it and I agree with you. The moment of the poem really lasts about a second or two in real time, and taking time to set up the scenery really slowed that.
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Dec 7, 2013 19:06
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Pestscode:
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Dec 10, 2013 08:53
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Feste posted:Pests Bleh. Editing poetry. I did something I don't usually do and changed the content of your first stanza. Also changed the grammar of the third. I find it hard to concretely articulate all the reasons I made the changes, but the main reasons revolve around changing the poem to be more focused around addressing the Coyote, because the second and third stanzas kind of halfway-house it while the first is very impersonal, like the idea of what you wanted for the poem sort of grew out of the first stanza, but now no longer fits with what it became. I think it has more strength like this, and it helps with the grammar in the third. I tried to change it in line with what I feel the poem is about, but as always in things like this, just feel how it reads to you and if you don't like how it sounds - salvage what you can or just scrap all of it. The second stanza I'm not mad keen on. There's ambiguity also present about being born or there being war in the the United States. Not that it really matters, because I think both apply in this case, but it's worth mentioning. Overall, the formatting doesn't bother me at all, though this kind of formatting seems more appropriate to something like an AAB rhyme scheme, or wanting to place extra stress on the final line of each stanza, neither of which apply here. I think this poem needs to be longer to be fully fleshed out. Whether that means some more stanzas of the same variety, or extension of current stanzas, is up to you.
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Dec 10, 2013 14:50
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this is the first poetry i've written for ages: marian rejewski the water creeps and a raft of ice kisses his knee steps forward his cock crumples like a can of Coca Cola and the skin that surrounds his balls is snapping and he thinks of home i'm not super happy with the formatting at the moment but i think the words are at least okay, it's vaguely about marian rejewski, the polish guy who cracked the nazi enigma code CestMoi fucked around with this message at 23:37 on Dec 10, 2013 |
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Dec 10, 2013 17:38
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Feste posted:Pests I'm not quite sure what you're going for. I mean, if it's what it appears to be, and you're positing some sort of status-kinship with the coyote, you're not telling the reader what it is about you that defines this correlation. You're essentially saying that you expect to be hunted, starved, and evicted wherever you might go. Why? If you're trying to communicate a different idea, I'm not catching your drift. CestMoi posted:this is the first poetry i've written for ages: Is the lack of punctuation absolutely necessary? Because it's difficult to critique something that I'm not entirely sure I'm reading correctly. Example: The first stanza seems straightforward until you get to the first line of the second stanza. This: the water creeps and a raft of ice kisses his knee. Becomes this: the water creeps and a raft of ice kisses his knee steps forward. Or: the Water Creeps and a raft of Ice Kisses. his knee steps forward. (In which "water creeps" and "ice kisses" are quirky nouns, without any action bestowed upon them. And then his knee steps forward, which isn't really something knees do.) Or: the water creeps and a raft of ice kisses his knee. [he] steps forward. (Which seems to be the most likely candidate, and the most pleasing arrangement. But I honestly don't know if that's what you want to say. Even adding a single word to that first line--"he steps forward", "three steps forward"--would make a huge difference.) Otherwise: "the skin that surrounds his balls is snapping" feels awkward. "His scrotum", "his sack", "his satchel", "his wrinkled, pink coin purse", etc., are all more succinct, and they don't make it sound like you're unsure what that part of the body is called. "Snaps", "tightens", "clenches", or "shrinks" would get rid of the sudden switch to passive voice. Lastly, it's entirely unclear why you feel that the piece encapsulates Marian Rejewski in such a way that the title should simply be "Marian Rejewski". I know nothing about the man. Was he well-known for bathing in icy water? Was there a famous incident, during which he forded a stream in mid-winter? Or is this just an imagined scene, which happens to feature an important-but-not-terribly-famous person? If the last, why him? And what might be done to clarify why it should be him, as opposed to anyone else at any point in history? If the former two, perhaps a longer, more descriptive title might be in order? Marian Rejewski Crosses the Vistula River, 10 December, 1942, or something.
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Dec 11, 2013 03:40
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in terms of why it doesn't make sense at the start of the second stanza, that's because it originally was a really longwinded phrase that was horribly cliched instead of steps and someone pointed this out to me and i overcompensated drastically. i've added a "he" in there now so it's at least readable now. cheers for pointing out the weird switch to passive, that's been fixed now. in terms of "the skin around his balls" i think i just like the flow of it better than any of the other words/phrases i tried out? i've also changed the title to marian rejewski, london 1940. the basic idea of the poem was that the guy was, according to some historians, the reason why we won world war two, but of course as a polish guy who fled to london in the first weeks of the war rejewski couldn't do poo poo about his home. the cold shrinking his genitals is an incredibly deep and insightful metaphor into his impotence and emasculation. that's obvious to me because i wrote the poem and have been reading about rejewski lately but i'm not sure there's a way of making the meaning more obvious to someone reading it so i probably won't
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Dec 12, 2013 14:50
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Is this poetry so much as a wordplay exercise? I'm still not sure. Guess we'll see what happens. In the meantime I'll go through the thread and see if I can't pick something up. Analysis paralysis, indeed, can be calamitous; A mind that's elsewise fabulous is quickly made gelatinous with waffling pusillanimous, which causes pain analogous to dealing with some fatuous, insipid little gently caress. Though better than intransigence, besides impulsive accidents, one's usual systematic sense is swayed by mental flatulence enforcing strictest abstinence from coming to a preference, no matter its irrelevance to anything at all. Albeit rather blasphemous, or maybe quite antagonous, and even if it's scandalous, 'twill surely be unanimous that, faced with choices tantalous, we must make strives miraculous to try embracing randomness, or else we'll go insane.
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Dec 13, 2013 21:54
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This is the first poem I have written in so long. That said, I also think it is the best poem I have ever written. Something about writing at 3 or 4 in the morning really brings out the best of my creativity. Walls You erected these walls to shield your frail mind, your soul of glass, But you sealed your dreams with you, becoming a hollow, empty mass. This is a prison of your own design, a monument to the deepening night. You must break free from the chains crafted by fear, fused with spite. So tear down your walls, let the unknown feast upon your addled brain, For you cannot find the light and comfort without abiding the dark and pain. Burn bright enough to blind, a beacon of eternal warmth and hope. Shower incandescently every corner of the sea from your precarious slope.
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Dec 19, 2013 04:52
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Upside down cake Slathered with rum and fruits Listen to the hands take Your delicious pieces using tools and scoops Dance on the edge with the wildebeests scowl Teeth yellowing as you smoke Children searching for a fix Always on the prowl Will the two ever merge to one? What creature might come next Half beast half cake would stun The crowds with their faces vexed
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Dec 19, 2013 23:42
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I write poetry semi regularly, but most of it is prejudged terrible and never sees the light of day, I guess the reception of the following with discern my right to talk about other people's poetry. Sometimes I read this and it feels like the closest I've come to passable, sometimes it feels goofy as hell. Anyone want to tell me I'm terrible? Today I saw a tree. A thousand bloodied branches. Forever splitting at the ends. And strong wood gave way to dead dry leaves that clung and withered in the dark. And every leaf; twitched and curled and split and snapped and lied and cursed and cried and hosed and fell and It was only when they fell. They found nought beneath but mud and earth as dead as they. Smothering the choice that bore them. Were I an axe I would cleave that tree. And purge the mulch from the ground beneath my fractal feet. But my right hand is a bible My arms and legs are legal tender And my throat is stuffed with leaves These things cannot wield anything but poor excuses and other lumber. Today I saw a tree But I am in a forest And I could not tell which tree it was again
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Dec 22, 2013 03:46
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Got a question for my own edification, and this seems the best place for it. Are there any modern poets who focus on very short poems? By short, let's say under 50 words, preferably less.
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Dec 22, 2013 04:55
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BKPR posted:Got a question for my own edification, and this seems the best place for it. Are there any modern poets who focus on very short poems? By short, let's say under 50 words, preferably less. If by modern you'll accept a capital "m" Modern, then William Carlos Williams is probably one of the best poets who clocks in around and under 50 words. Ezra Pound has some shorter ones too. There are probably more recent writers, but I've been reading a lot of beat poet recently. Williams is certainly more well-known for this with poems like The Red Wheelbarrow WCW posted:so much depends On that note, Jack Kerouac wrote a book of haikus, which are under 50 words for the most part. Both Williams and Kerouac sought to find new (and possibly more "american") forms of expression and part of that grand experiment was pairing down what they wrote to the absolute basics needed. If you have any questions, feel free to ask. Hopefully I could edify, if only a small bit. You can go weirder still and look at someone like Schwitters who had a few poems that don't have any words and are a combination of either the way the letters were arranged on the page or the sound of the poems. You can find his Ursonate (in its many iterations) online as voice recordings. It's just sounds. Likewise there was a brief bit of French poetry in which the poets dealt only with letters that (I think) was a modernist attempt to divorce all meaning from words (as in this chaotic and lovely post-war world meaning has failed us) and just appreciate the visual beauty of letters and their composition. E.E. Cummings is a more coherent version of this, which is saying something. Grapefruit by Yoko Ono features a lot of sub-50 word poems that act as instructions. It has been debated whether they are poems, blue prints for conceptual performance pieces, meditations or something in between. Yoko posted:TUNAFISH SANDWICH PIECE Then if you want to look at the art world, you have painters like Basquiat and Cy Twombly. I'm not very familiar with Basquiat, but some of his paintings included text and I know he was a poet, so that could be of interest. Cy Twombly was a large scale painter that occasionally included text on it. I'm most familiar with his Fifty Days at Illiam which is a retelling of the Iliad. He's not expressly a poet (unlike Basquiat who did write poetry), but he was well-versed in cryptology and symbolism, so the minimal amount of texts can be seen as an effort to use as little as possible to create as much as possible. Also he liked to draw dicks, so if the thread title is to be believed, then he's was working well-within the scope of modern poets.  (part of 50 Days at Illiam) More recent artists like Joseph Kosuth and Bruce Nauman created short neon signs in their work. Kosuth played around with neon-signage in semiotic games as can be seen in Four Colors Four Words [timg]http://i.imgur.com/RpS2gL2.jpg][/timg] Kosuth also painted dictionary definitions like in One and Three Chairs  But that's only if you consider it some format of found poetry. Nauman liked playing between kitsch and art with works like:  He would also play with the fact that neon signs could be mechanically produced en masse by having multiple signs with changed meaning, either through anagrams, rhymed words, or multilayered signs that would blink words with opposite meanings:  The reason I mentioned the visual artists (besides that I'm more familiar with them) is that working with such a small word count to create a new minimalist form of expression has been zooming around the visual arts world for the past century. Depending on why you're interested in tiny poems, you might find what you're looking for in the visual artists I linked. edit: switched out linked images for [timg] Feste fucked around with this message at 08:33 on Dec 26, 2013 |
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Dec 26, 2013 07:14
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Awesome, thanks for the info!
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Dec 26, 2013 14:40
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RN029-ARIN posted:Is this poetry so much as a wordplay exercise? I'm still not sure. Guess we'll see what happens. In the meantime I'll go through the thread and see if I can't pick something up. I really like this. You've got an excellent ear which is readily apparent in how smoothly a poem with such large words flows when read. I think you should keep working in this vein. And I mean before free-verse was such a popular thing, there were definitely poets who wrote as intellectual exercises. You might want to check out some of the crazy structural formats like the Sestina (which I'm too tired to explain so here ya go) of which there are many which will provide a technical challenge to ya. The other side of that coin would be something alongs the lines of the British Metaphysical Poets who were a bunch of writers concerned with being the cleverest person in the room through "metaphysical conceits". Conceits are basically a metaphorical comparison between things that aren't really alike at all except for something tenuous. Poets writing in this tradition didn't really care if their metaphors were airtight so long as they were clever. John Donne (Jack the Rake/Reverend John Donne) is a classic example. His early poems were him hotdoggin to get women to sleep with him and his later works were about faith and God. I really like Gerard Manly Hopkins though, especially the Windhover: GMH posted:The Windhover
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Dec 27, 2013 09:52
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Awesome, thanks. I'm glad to hear it's something that is appreciated and not purely masturbatory. :P I'll look into the sestina more, and other strict structures. I never really find myself inspired with everything to write about something so much as I start out with a vague topic and the rest arises out of the framework I've imposed. Maybe something will come to me in playing with such a structure.
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Dec 27, 2013 13:59
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Well you can have your ideal life In your prison of office blocks I’ll take my babies and my unconditional love And bury them in the hot desert sand Where no car goes Is where I’ll lay my heavy flesh down Cut it from the bone Kill it before it goes sour
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Dec 27, 2013 16:34
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lostdogcantstay posted:Well you can have your ideal life ----------------- So I made a poem recently. I used to make a lot of poems back in my younger days but I sorta stopped for some reason, wanted to move onto stories and whatnot, bigger things yanno. But I made this one today and since I'm on this forum now I guess feedback would be nice. Yes it's what you think it's about, but I had this idea in my head for a while and I wanted to make something out of it. ...I might have a problem with repetition of words though, I hate trying to trick the flow of the story sometimes. Also trying to mix up the length of verses to feel more punchy, you know, short and fast like a battle. ---------------- I Chose You When I was but a boy barely your age The world was so much smaller I told you Everything was as simple as red and blue Yet for you and your world the very same is true How long has it been since we'd meet again? How you've come so far, how strong you've become. Fire and water Grass and sky The first we learned Would be the last to fight Healing burns and soothing wounds Predators Sharp of fang Side by side With their prey Swift of speed Bound by oath Together with you Friends and enemies matched together Stand true beside you Yet animosity never troubled their hearts When before there was love There was respect to the stronger I know you still judge me Just the same way Never stood by you, never saw you grow. Far away I went on a new journey Yet I had left my deep shadow behind Where you always stood begging me to stay Waiting for me to return home one day All I had before was my young freedom I will never regret having you All I regret now was my foolish heart Tearing me away from your side too soon. Time and space Sky and sea Elements Life and death Light and darkness A neverending clash Oceans scream Mountains quake Howling gales Through the dark forests Yet you never faltered My love still burns within your heart Your hatred drives you to me You believed this was all entirely you and your choice But the world is not so black and white for me We only turned older but our spirits remain The rush of adventure deep inside All around us stand every creature known Strongest hearts of all, all because of you All because of me, all because I left All because you will never forgive me All I wanted was to give you a life Of adventure you forever denied If I could not give you a life with love I would carve a path born from your hatred Fate collides Rising high Clash of souls Can you feel Your friends scream For the battle of your life? Fight me son Battle me Show me how You became A master of beasts Because I chose you, my son For just as you trained your team with love I trained you through hatred
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Dec 29, 2013 21:21
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Why would I stand up? This chair is comfortable And is secure in its position People who are around us understand
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Dec 30, 2013 17:56
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Had a terrible two weeks where nothing happened at all; I just stared at a bitch of a poem that refused to turn into anything worthwhile. I'll make some editing posts tonight/tomorrow, but for now, a few new pieces. We Know and That Is Why The great dark distance spread above a place of haze, exhaled lungs. You, composed of scraps of breath, feeling vapor, scarcely used suspended between sea and moon obsessed with leaping upwards, cry against cruel gravity, and move towards stardust stillness as you do. Yet swift as soon, the earth that churns, knowing only killing pressure, swallows to complete conversion, changing corpse from air to ore, and, with small pleasure, shovels you through conflagration to roiling core. When jumping, unaware, you are suspended on the x and y of elemental parents and astonishing circumstances. At a wedding outside Boston, a bow-tied accountant dances. 10°F I am not the bear that huddles humphs and hides, idle wild 'neath cracked earth nor earth itself, pierced with roots and starched with snow weighed with dormant nature so I am not the leafless tree, stripped to wind's brutality frost-scored filthy cradled 'tween the frigid rock and sky What beast am I, I say, to slumber stupored, wrapped in dirt or dreams None at all, my thumbs decree and open a window to pointless winter
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Dec 30, 2013 20:22
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Trustfund. posted:Why would I stand up? I think you should cut this down more. Too many words in your not-many-words poem. It would be funnier if it was shorter and had a better flow. quote:
Also added some punctuation and crunched the lines together. I'm not sure what the double spacing was attempting to do. It's so short that extra visual space between the lines doesn't affect the text in any meaningful way. It just makes an apathetic poem seem even more distant, to a point that I don't care about it. This way also has a bit more of a natural speech rhythm to it, but depending on what your intent was, that might now be helpful.
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Dec 30, 2013 23:29
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I haven't written in ages. Recently I've been feeling the urge and finally worked up the nerve to put pen to paper. I got excited when the word Unknown flashed at me from my phone. I figured you'd realised your job in life. Instead it was someone else realising theirs.
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Jan 2, 2014 18:43
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Popeahuntis posted:I got excited This, so short, short enough to text. But drat that's a great endline with nothing more needing to be said, that is fantastic to me.
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Jan 2, 2014 23:05
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I'm not good at the poetry thing, but I wanted to share this. I know it's not great, but I like it anyway. So let me give it a try: Silent night pounds through my ears like waves of blood then rise and look upon the dark and dreary city night hidden from my shaded eyes by sickly yellow light pulling open curtained windows moist with dew moonlit shadows then unite my thoughts with you summon then a thousand creatures from the shadow realm Kirin, Pulao, Imp, and fox running round the votive box where plumes of incense and dripping candles light their hearts with messages divine and dark for you Stalk in the dappled midnight grove with hidden moon for nimble messenger to carry fragrant words of doom Kirin wise and old, most auspicious golden beast treads not on flowers, grass, or utters words unkind thus for this dark purpose wise Kirin is best left behind Pulao skitters in the darkness with an ecstatic purpose seeking bells to bang and bother: copper, silver, gold or other little dragon, noisy friend, lover of the temple gate this task cannot be your fate: in your heart there is no hate stride farther in the grove and seek the shadow call the nine tailed servant of the western mother pay the price in blood and horror whisper words in canine ear and disappear Yellow light again enfolds me dark forest temple no longer holds me on some dark path where no sun touches my vulpine servant pads as evening hushes With darkest words of love for you.
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Jan 4, 2014 18:33
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Would this be a good thread to post tindecks of spoken word poetry for critique? I want to get into it but have no idea what I'm doing.Popeahuntis posted:I got excited I like all of this except the word job, try role or purpose or something else people use in that phrase. I really like the formatting in particular.
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Jan 5, 2014 12:48
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RIP ZEEZ
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It's taken me a year, but I've FINALLY found a space willing to let me organize an open mic! It's a completely rad community center that just happens to be surrounded by a bunch of non profits, better bring my briefcase full of resumes and bribe money with me on the off chance that I find some people what need a thorough bribing. Make poo poo happen in 2014 everybody.RN029-ARIN posted:Is this poetry so much as a wordplay exercise? I'm still not sure. Guess we'll see what happens. In the meantime I'll go through the thread and see if I can't pick something up. Have you ever tried rapping? That's some pretty fierce wordplay, I'd be curious to see what happens when you put it to a beat. Popeahuntis posted:I haven't written in ages. daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaang. This is good. This is really good.
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Jan 6, 2014 03:17
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PHIZ KALIFA posted:It's taken me a year, but I've FINALLY found a space willing to let me organize an open mic! It's a completely rad community center that just happens to be surrounded by a bunch of non profits, better bring my briefcase full of resumes and bribe money with me on the off chance that I find some people what need a thorough bribing. Make poo poo happen in 2014 everybody. Good for you man. I run a reading series and it's one of the best things I've ever chosen to do (so much bullshit but so worth it).
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Jan 7, 2014 07:33
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Popeahuntis posted:I haven't written in ages. Yeah sorry, but I don't think this is as strong as the thread wants you to believe. Think about how the sentence works to create and advance tension, all while remaining logically sound. Unknown would flash ON your phone. Nothing would come FROM your phone. Still excellent movement until then, because your lines are at the phrase level. Mostly. The line betrays you later though, when it seems to control time in a way that approaches melodrama. The second half of the poem is all evaluation of the image. There's no room for danger or disaster. It's too clean and sure of itself. I'm not led to an understanding beyond the speaker's. Most often, what the speaker knows is the least interesting thing in a poem. Superb opening tho, and a good form to gently caress around in. Just don't let the form decide the poem.
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Jan 7, 2014 07:41
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I just wrote this now over about an hour. It's short, but I really like the imagery I evoke in it. Black Holes Hollow words and cavernous eyes cannot hide the contempt within Pain so weighty, it collapses under itself We have become starving chasms, consuming everything forever Until beating hearts are all that remain, Equals in both tempo and rhythm Their constant pulse rending the silence we tried to drown them in. Firecube fucked around with this message at 08:06 on Jan 8, 2014 |
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Jan 8, 2014 07:17
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| # ? Apr 29, 2024 18:45 |
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Bachelard rear end posted:Yeah sorry, but I don't think this is as strong as the thread wants you to believe. Think about how the sentence works to create and advance tension, all while remaining logically sound. Unknown would flash ON your phone. Nothing would come FROM your phone. Still excellent movement until then, because your lines are at the phrase level. Mostly. The line betrays you later though, when it seems to control time in a way that approaches melodrama. The second half of the poem is all evaluation of the image. There's no room for danger or disaster. It's too clean and sure of itself. I'm not led to an understanding beyond the speaker's. Most often, what the speaker knows is the least interesting thing in a poem. I think whether or not the message comes from the phone or the flash comes FROM the phone is fairly irrelevant in conveying the feeling of this poem. At least, I was perfectly aware of what was going on either way. For me, it was "...realized your job in life." The phrase "job in life" is very stilted. Hey man, what's your job in life? What happens after that, I'm not sure. I guess I'd have to break it down for myself: The speaker sees an incoming call on his phone, from an unknown number. He's hoping that some second person (the caller, but why would someone he knows come up as unknown?) has "realized their job in life." But when he answers the phone, it isn't who he assumes it to be, it's actually a stranger. I might be ousting myself as a luddite here, but I don't really get what the significance of the unexpected outcome of this poem is. It's a joke I don't get. I'm curious as to what "room for danger or disaster" or being "too sure of itself" would be in your critique, too. Maybe that's just my fault for not knowing, but I can't identify the problem or come up with a solution to a critique like that. The thing is though, I like the humble, quick nature of the poem, and I really want to see what comes of it.
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Jan 8, 2014 07:40
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