Critiques and Revision

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  • Rookie Jason Brierly (10/4/2013 7:19:00 PM) Post reply
    0 person liked.
    0 person did not like.

    Any chance of a critique?

    It's all in the name

    Pointless and aimlessly,
    The poet takes flight.
    Unaware at the moment,
    Of what he will write.
    The precursor begins the flow,
    The go,
    " He knows that he wants to write" ,
    Yet doesn't quite know,
    What avenue of creation to take.
    And surely
    As the creek will rise,
    Creative juices aplenty,
    His art takes form
    As ink meets with paper,
    With a little help from a friend,
    The words woven intricate,
    Lay out a form unknown.
    Interlocked and likened literature Of a duly noted nonsensical.
    Deep and steeped
    In stark contrast
    From the norm of poetry,
    My flowetry takes form.
    " How B?
    Words so intricate in flow?"
    " A mad man's internal" ,
    I say.
    Thirty years in the making,
    A mad man's nonsensical
    Takes on,
    In a busy mind of mine.
    Thought odd and weird,
    A style unique;
    A story of epic proportions unfolds
    As a knightly troubadour led astray,
    Cuts a lyrical hand,
    Opens his mind,
    And in doing so,
    Opens a vein of creativity
    That spews forth...
    Little upper thought,
    The proverbial flood gates
    Of my mind open,
    And with a thought,
    Brain sends message
    Through billions of electrical signals.
    Message sent down wire,
    Through arm into a hand,
    Weak and weary
    From hours of holding this pen.
    At this pen
    The electric signal stops.
    From there,
    The ink dances a waltz
    Across a once blank paper,
    Not so blank.
    An ink released
    To paint upon this canvas,
    A picture unseen.
    A picture is worth a thousand words?
    Picture this...
    My words
    Are worth a million images.
    Images that,
    Through a sequence of words
    Rendered upon parchment,
    Intricate in detail so...
    And meaningful,
    That images grow
    And appear upon the mass's,
    Impressionable mind.
    Like this....
    " The lovers entwined, legs interlocked. A love so deep; a love so inspiring and moving unknown. Two souls merge as one... heartbeat... breath in unison, and from between one's lips, under breath, and heartfelt, the verbal archer takes aim, and release... " I" ... slowly and quietly... " love" ... fluidly into the ear canal... " you" ... to vibrate ever so soothingly, reverberating upon the ear drum. A lover's passion so great. Doing a dance of passion... forever locked in a soul mate's embrace..."
    As my flowetry free form
    Becomes the image in your mind
    And you see the two
    Entwined in prose,
    You heed the gravity of my words
    The words aflow,
    To impress upon your mind
    " Million picture, flicker show" ,
    And you realize,
    Truly within...
    " A mad man's nonsensical" ?
    Truly not nonsense.
    With that,
    A lovely picture is painted,
    For fear of over doing
    With verbal vomit,
    Intricate B...
    must part...

    Intricate B

  • Rookie - 15 Points Nash Thomas (10/4/2013 10:51:00 AM) Post reply

    pl see my poems and comment

  • Rookie Erin Thomas (10/3/2013 4:19:00 PM) Post reply

    How do I withdraw my poem from your silly little popularity contest?

  • Rookie - 0 Points Joaquin Santana (10/2/2013 10:56:00 PM) Post reply

    Do I really have to come here and ask someone to comment on my poem?

  • Freshman - 1,367 Points Mike Acker (10/1/2013 8:25:00 PM) Post reply

    critique away my fellow poet friends.....

    My Eve

    If, I were the Creator for a day,
    what kind of woman would I then create?
    Who would she be?What would she have to say?

    For looks, I may start with straight, darkened hair.
    Her eyes would be as green as jade.
    I would then make her skin most soft and fair.

    For height, I may give her an inch or two
    below my own so when I hug her tight,
    she will never doubt if my love were true.

    I would imbue her with such intelligence,
    that when we talk I will admire her thoughts.
    Her speech would never lack in eloquence.

    For traits, I would give her a smile so bright
    as to shine unto my darkest moments,
    and a laugh; contagious, hearty, and light.

    In her beating heart, I would firmly place
    the love of humanity above all.
    Last but not least, she would lack not in grace.

    Maria, Andrea or even Sue
    will all come to mind as names I may choose.
    But, strangely, only Pamela will do.

    Once I am done I will surely have to pray,
    that this dear woman I have created,
    free to leave, will choose instead, to stay.

  • Freshman - 1,367 Points Mike Acker (10/1/2013 1:09:00 PM) Post reply | Read 2 replies

    Hello fellow poets....critique away...honest critiques only!

    " Strings"
    Throughout my life,
    I thought I was free,
    until, recently,
    I have begun to see,
    the faint, shadowy,
    lines of strings
    attached to me,
    directing fully
    all my activities.

    I sat on many a couch
    discussing my life's tragedy,
    convinced I was the master
    of my own destiny.
    But, the constant yanking
    of the strings,
    above and beyond me,
    dispelled any notions
    of autonomy.

    God's hand,
    or the gods' hands,
    or demons lurking,
    or even, my
    subconscious stirring,
    were all seen as causes
    for my anomalies.
    But, no one felt
    the inner and outer
    pulls and tugs
    as only I could feel
    that directed my life
    and destroyed my hopes
    of prosperity.

    And every time
    I came close,
    to looking up,
    to try to see
    my masked,
    master puppeteer
    hovering above and
    just beyond me,
    the strings on my feet
    would suddenly
    be yanked so forcefully,
    that my face would turn
    in a state of utter
    and abject humility,
    dashing any hopes
    of being able to see
    the face of what has always
    been controlling me.

    Then the fear
    would grow within me
    that if, I were able
    to finally and clearly see
    the face of whomever
    has been pulling me
    I may discover,
    to my horror,
    that the mask he wears
    is of a face of no other
    than me.

    Replies for this message:
    • Freshman - 1,367 Points Edwina Du Casse (10/21/2013 1:44:00 AM) Post reply

      Mike Your poem is such truth for many-I know I could relate- I liked the last three lines.reminds me of my poem reflections in a mirror of life, titled 'Youth gone'and shadows. I liked this work. My ... more

    • Freshman - 1,367 Points Diana Rosser (10/1/2013 2:47:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

      I like this, particularly the idea...though the style took some time to get used to....I think that this is because it is neither prose or rhyme, nor does it have a steady metre but I do think if you ... more

  • Rookie - 0 Points Nathaniel Watkins (10/1/2013 1:29:00 AM) Post reply

    Hello fellow poets please read and honestly give your opinion of my work! Thats all i can ask! Good luck to all.

    Noronradss55 aka {Nathaniel E. Watkins}

  • Rookie - 97 Points Indranil Bhaduri (9/30/2013 11:04:00 PM) Post reply

    Respected fellow poets. I would be most happy if you read through my simple poem 'End Of Existence' which is written regarding Female infanticide. The link is given below. Please vote and comment. With good wishes to all.

  • Rookie Rohn Moosh (9/27/2013 5:47:00 AM) Post reply

    The night you went around telling people we were soul mates.
    You dragged me by my ecstasy and made your way through unfamiliar faces.
    You walked up to complete strangers in an attempt to be what we can never be around the proverbial.
    We were Ruffians.
    Hand in Hand whiskey in the other.
    Holding onto our glasses tighter than each other’s hands.
    May be I needed the drink as much as I wanted your hand.
    May be you needed a drink just to hold my hand.
    “I want this night to be Embarrassing” you said.
    Embarrassing was good.
    People usually don’t remember embarrassing things.
    The memory goes to a place in your brain, where it’s locked and ignored beyond the time and space fabric.
    But it was calming.
    The idea of dumping the remains of this night,
    Right next to where you’ve locked our love.
    You are what heavens made up of. The paint that dyed it blue.
    Blue is ALSO the color of your eyes, Blue is but all it rejects.
    You smell of babies and sex.
    I don’t know what babies smell like, but if ever I GET one. I want IT to smell of you.
    Coming to think of it.
    Babies and Sex is all I ever wanted from you.

  • Rookie Wahed Abdl (9/25/2013 7:26:00 AM) Post reply


    After all
    The deafening silence shattered
    Justice opened eyes
    Seems to be watching
    Rocks didn’t melt
    Sky didn’t fall
    The punishment, whether capital or life
    She is no more to know
    The questions in her eyes
    Freezed in the air
    Haunting every soul
    Dreams flooded in tears
    Blood pooled between dancing legs
    Smiles cried on tender lips
    The birth place of humanity
    That breathes life in the world
    Bled intestines
    Breast feeds
    Oogling orgy to spread its weed
    Time starts thinking to stop its wheel
    Shines at the peak of the death to rest in peace
    Heads held high to stare own fall
    (All the accused in Delhi gang rape found guilty

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