i dont know if i will keep this up or if it will be worth keeping up, but i figured i could use some constructive criticism anyway. please tell me what you think, your honest opinion, no rewording necessary.
My world is a murky gray,
Filtered sunlight makes the day,
The night is of a darker shade,
This, is the world iíve made.
The raven is my only friend,
His blackness on which I depend,
To light my path when I am lost,
But it all comes at a cost.
My eyes that see in only shades,
Long for color in bright cascades,
Glimpsing hope, but finding none,
I go back to the path Iím on.
And then its time to pay the price,
I only have to pay him twice,
And when he asks, in my surprise,
I give him both of my poor eyes.
Pleased, he gives me one last gift,
In a world of color Iím set adrift.
some old stuff of mine that i liked, 4 seperate poems here, all my poems are pretty short, i dont have the attention span to make them any longer, or the skill.
im not a real poet,
but who did i deceive?
the wind wont spread my evil breath,
what thought would you receive?
i tell all feeble lies,
no truth to my tall tales,
nothing left, no concept even,
spoken by the gales,
the tears of the sky,
wash away all reason,
feed the changing season,
spread by whispered lies,
frozen winters heart,
tears become ice,
lost scattered, broken apart,
the wind says its goodbyes,
I sit in darkness, ignorance,
In a cage with bars of steel sorrow,
A cracked lock, heart shaped,
Wrapped in chains of unknown tomorrow,
No light glimmers beyond the cage,
I am nowhere known to me,
blinded by sadness, binded by fear,
Is this really where i want to be?
A jewel falls upon a link,
Shimmering with a radiant light,
A warmth flows down my cold skin,
An end to my eternal night,
For so long I've held back these tears,
And with a new freedom they flow,
Melt away these chains of torment,
Finally I am free to let go,
the stars in the sky hang gracefully
staring down at you with eternal eyes
never judging who you could be
they know their place in the skies
shining brightly for so long
as though they know all is right
but they dont even know whats wrong
for them its all just night
and though the moon begins to set
the sky lightens with sunrise
the stars are not gone yet
they are always there, with their eternal eyes.
goodnight stars, goodnight
you make everything all right.
i can stand the pain of a broken bone,
but not a broken heart,
because this being all alone,
is tearing me apart,
so when i look into your eyes,
and see such honest love,
it lifts me up into the skies,
im soaring like a dove.
i think #4 is my favorite, because i wrote it out of love.
No one can see through my disguise,
They shouldnít try, thereís nothing to gain,
I am the master of secrets and lies,
No one can see how much Iím in pain,
Each night tears fill my lonely eyes,
Each morning I put on my mask again.
The ones I love donít love me back,
I canít care because they donít care,
I feel like Iím always under attack,
Of my existence the arenít even aware,
I can feel my soul turning black,
Itís hard to live under everyoneís glare.
Its easy to live in ignorant bliss,
Its so hard to try and understand life,
Or the cruelty of deaths glorious kiss,
All of humanities pain and strife,
If it were gone even it they would miss,
Take it away, its cruel as a knife.
MY EYES rocked. It was descriptive yet short. It was surprising and jarring leaving me wandering. Although this poem left me with a lot of questions that could start a story I was still left satisfied with the brief glimpse into the beauty of the macabre and sad. I could imagine Tim Burton writing this one.
Poem 1 seems to be missing a stanza. Were the ideas of seasons or the elements suppose to be complete?
Poem 2 The cage metaphor seems weak while the last 2 stanzas are much stronger.
Poem 3 Opitimistic yet simple. I like it.
Poem 4 I liked the first 2 lines but the was average.
The last poem made me want to find more lines. I like the first 2 stanzas but the last one seemed like a quick end just to finish the poem.
Glad to have given you some input. I don't think you suck though. It is obvious from your first poem that you can write. Some people can be prolific and write off the cuff like Krunkd Floo or NUnyah while others have to write a lot before they are happy with one. My own writing is that way. I have written a few poems over the years as I struggle to understand things and I find only a few of my writings to my liking. Nunyah Bidness has a good thread going which will expose you to a lot of classics, ones I don't particular care for but ones that help to develop a base to build off of. Plus I think Nunyah gives great advice. Krunk Floo is harder for me to follow but he gives helpful advice in an enigmatic manner like a court jester. Finally check out Coldfire's poetry to see how she has developed through constant practice and experimentation. She has been posting so long that you can see points at which she is improving. Hope this all helps you to keep writing and sharing. Thanks.
__________________ And so it goes.
Last edited by calvinNhobbes on Dec 16th, 2006 at 05:35 PM
I was hoping that some of those threads would help you to be inspired but I didn't think they would turn you off to writing. I have written more poems that I am not happy with than I care to admit. I still write poetry though because in the end it is really for me. When I get words written down that can hold my thoughts with crystal clarity it makes me happy. When other people don't see what I see I don't consider glasses, I describe what I see to better share who I am. Please don't be discouraged, instead let your talent mature and let us watch it develop.
In a place where the young envy the old,
Where itís neither too hot, nor too cold,
Where all hopes, beliefs, and dreams reside,
And there is nothing but emptiness inside,
Everyoneís favorite color is black,
And the patrons might give you a heart attack.
But everybody is so full of glee,
Because toothy grins are all you can see.
Donít let them fool you because they understand,
Soon your day to join them will be at hand.
The beautiful stones that mark where they lay,
To comfort the living who come everyday,
Tell tales, of who they used to be,
Or rather the lies for the living to see.
These beautiful stones carved with patience and care,
Donít matter to them, they are no longer there.
Comforted by the dying flowers at their feet,
Although not as sweet as a hearts last beat,
The pains of their lives cannot follow them here,
But they keep their memories crystal clear.