The Poet's Corner

[Stag]

The Nerd Fitness Poet's Corner

 

In this softly lit corner at The Nerd Fitness Pub, poets can gather to share and discuss their original writings.

 

The poets corner is a safe space.

Swears might fly without being censored, risky and controversial topics may be brought up: This is the nature of creative writing.

So a fair warning to weary wanderers, some things posted here may not be child or work appropriate.

But honestly, why are you even bringing your kid into The Pub, or drinking on company hours?

 

Ideally, the corner can be used to keep writers accountable to producing new work.

 

When you are posting your poetry:

-It has to be your own work. Plagiarizing is lame and sad. If not your own work, please make that very clear.

-Let readers know if you want your piece to be work-shopped, or if you would rather not hear suggestions.

-Don't be worried about people judging you. This is an extremely open and understanding community. We would love to see your work.

 

If you happen to know of a user who has writing as a goal, it would be great if you passed this along to them!

 

So poets and poetry enthusiasts, grab a drink, sit down, and show us what you've got!

 

---

 

Featured Poets

 

Harnvin Ginn Lantana

DinoBytes

lolavictrola

HalJordanGL

[DinoBytes]

hey! this is EXACTLY what I need to keep myself accountable for the remainder of this challenge! I have been struggling with trying to get my work to fall under one subject. granted I like the individual verses I come up with, but I keep starting new topics and thus will likely not achieve my goal to have a product to read on the 8th... but we'll see if I get to it with a little help from my friends!

[Stag]

hey! this is EXACTLY what I need to keep myself accountable for the remainder of this challenge! I have been struggling with trying to get my work to fall under one subject. granted I like the individual verses I come up with, but I keep starting new topics and thus will likely not achieve my goal to have a product to read on the 8th... but we'll see if I get to it with a little help from my friends!

Awesome!

 

Although I'm focusing on page poetry right now, I've done a few spoken word pieces on stage with some success. What directions are you heading so far? I'd be happy to help out with any prep for your slam I can. But I agree, less than 2 weeks is a little bit of a time crunch to write, polish up, and get a poem down smooth. I've done a piece in a week though, so it is possible!

 

It sounds like you are a bit in your head right now. I have a real problem with "paralysis by analysis" where I think so hard to make it perfect in my head, that nothing actually gets written. That kind of paralysis is even worse with stage poetry when I know an audience will be judging me. So I'm really sympathetic here. My manta has become "write first, edit later." So if I spew out a 2 pages of crap with only 3 redeemable lines, well that is three lines I wouldn't have got down over thinking.

[DinoBytes]

Yeah I'd agree with that.. I have a few verses that do go together which I kind of want to tweak a bit still. I think I can build on it and still get it done in time to practice the reading.

This is my first slam so I want to do well. But simultaneously I want to do it rather than just let it blow by because I wasn't satisfied yet.

Here's some of what I have critique please!!!

These feet cover great distances and scale the highest heights, they have seen the mountain tops and

Taken many flights.

Yours, however, strong and steady

Have had less turbulance.

You've stayed close to those you love and shared their life experience

Like the country/city mice would say, I'd trade mine for yours any day

But, If I'm silent and listen close, I hear a gentle whisper. The owner I have never met, but I've chased him and his sister.

They are restless when,

they whisper in my ear. I can't stay,

so now goodbye, again we're on our way

The stars tonight are loud, for instance

The mountains shout their prideful size

The sunset screams its color a blaze across the skies.

The oceans roar in mighty rage

The grass beckons me to run

The trees will murmer "turn the page. Follow what you'll never find but search the earth

It's fun"

At times I'll miss our interaction and reconnecting too but perhaps what I miss the most is being in what's home to you

I don't know if I'll ever stop following that sound. It's hard enough to think about the idea to settle down.

I'd like to say I'll stay right here, but I know it won't be true. One place is not my home. And I know you knew it too

If home is where your heart is, I've many miles ahead, my home is so large I'll cross an ocean to my bed

But though the land and the seas separate us and time our ties dissolve. my heart is far from broken and there's nothing to resolve.

True friends will remain regardless of the distance. Our conversation bitter sweet when comfort is not instant.

Dangerous distance

Taunts those who listen

I don't especially like the singsongy rhythm right now, but when I read I can change the syncopation so it'll sound a little different than how you'd read it here.. anyways. Tell me what you think!

[Stag]

Before I edit, I just want to preface with I always make suggestions and guide from a place of care and with the hope for mutual growth. Negative critiques are never an attack on the writer personally.

 

Some general comments:

 

Try to avoid abstractions. These are word that are abstract and paint a vague picture at best. Abstractions are opportunities to insert a memorable picture or image that will stick with the reader/listener.

Its the difference between:

"I love her so much I'd sacrifice myself" (words highlighted red are abstractions.)

&

"I swear to god if I had an Adam’s apple I would tell her to peel it and take a bite"

That line is from Andrea Gibson's "Honey." If your aren't familiar with her, she is an amazing spoken word powerhouse.

 

Rhyme works sometimes. But more often, a poem can stand alone without it. If you do use rhyme, use it with purpose but not out of feeling of necessity. Rhyme, especially the end rhyme that you use here gives a feeling of innocence or perhaps like a children's book. This could also contribute to the "singsongy" quality.

 

These feet cover great distances and scale the highest heights, they have seen the mountain tops and
Taken many flights.

Yours, however, strong and steady
Have had less turbulance.
You've stayed close to those you love and shared their life experience  (This borderlines on cliche or trite)

Like the country/city mice would say, I'd trade mine for yours any day   (This might be a reference I'm not picking up on. You feel kinda forced here into matching the rhyme structure)

But, If I'm silent and listen close, I hear a gentle whisper. The owner I have never met, but I've chased him and his sister.   (I feel like there is a story here, may be ripe for further exploration)

They are restless when,
they whisper in my ear. I can't stay,
so now goodbye, again we're on our way   (Particularly here a story book / nursery rhyme quality comes through)

The stars tonight are loud, for instance   (Applying sound imagery to a typically visual image is neat. Mixing senses like that can lead to some really interesting images)
The mountains shout their prideful size   (Also the personification of objects is neat. Although if I'm being honest, I haven't followed the progression from saying good bye to this nature images)
The sunset screams its color a blaze across the skies.
The oceans roar in mighty rage
The grass beckons me to run
The trees will murmer "turn the page. Follow what you'll never find but search the earth
It's fun"

At times I'll miss our interaction and reconnecting too but perhaps what I miss the most is being in what's home to you   (An exspression often thrown around in poetry is "Show, don't tell." There is a lot of telling going on here, and the next few lines, but not much showing.)

I don't know if I'll ever stop following that sound. It's hard enough to think about the idea to settle down.

I'd like to say I'll stay right here, but I know it won't be true. One place is not my home. And I know you knew it too

If home is where your heart is, I've many miles ahead, my home is so large I'll cross an ocean to my bed

But though the land and the seas separate us and time our ties dissolve. my heart is far from broken and there's nothing to resolve.

True friends will remain regardless of the distance. Our conversation bitter sweet when comfort is not instant.   (I'm pretty sure that sentiment right there is what you are trying to get across through the whole poem. It doesn't quite come across until these last couple "telling" lines. My advice is to find a ways to ground this sentiment in memorable, and concrete images. Even abstract concepts such as longing and feeling distant from another can be rendered in a way that is not abstract.)

Dangerous distance
Taunts those who listen

 

 

 

 

 

I hope that wasn't too much "red ink" as to be discouraging! It's exciting that you are writing and I wouldn't want a heavy editing to shake you from that! Take from my suggestions what you want. Realize that ones person's mileage may vary greatly from another's. Good luck with edits and general creation! Also I'd be happy to answer any specific questions and such.

[DinoBytes]

See that andrea Gibson stuff is exactly what I want to do. I really appreciate your critique it's not offensive at all. In fact it might help me really get on top of this thing!

The friendship thing was kind of a comparison idea. I was trying to make it like a conversation between someone who stayed near their hometown growing up on into adulthood and retirement and someone (the first person) who travels and never really settles down into a real home. How the person who wanders hears the call to leave and find a new place after being in one location for too long.

The country city mouse thing I thought was familiar enough but maybe I was wrong. It's the story of a country mouse and a city mouse see the grass is greener on the other side so they switch places and experience each other's daily life.

The mixing senses thing is something I love to do and I wish I knew better how to incorporate it into my reading. I just thought of that whole stanza one night when I was walking on the beach and the stars were calling out for my attention. Anyways I tried to grapht it into it because I thought it would work as the owner of the whisper characters which are calling the traveller back to the road.

Like I said I have many different small bits of pieces. But not enough for one standing on its own.

Thank you again for your edits! I will incorporate them and work out some more kinks!

[lolavictrola]

I'm so glad to have found this page. I'm a lapsed poet.. despite having been published and truly loving poetry, I have neglected to write a poem in just over a year. I'd love your feedback on a few of my more recent, less shopped pieces. Be kind! Below are three poems of mine:

 

- July, July - 

 

Humid air hangs like fish in oil

underneath the willow tree carved with declarations.

We brown and speckle,

like farmstand eggs.

 

Tell me that summers always last a lifetime.

 

 

 

 

- Wasted - 

 

We hunch over promises like shattered dreams

hidden under ice and two (three) fingers of liquor.

In the neon shadows, faces are cast from fog,

see-through and all shadowed eyes.

 

Keep 'em coming.

Each swig is a pathway to Nirvana-

yes, a meditation in a shot glass.

 

Siren, call us home,

onward to the place where gin meets hope

Undress our sad and sullen gray faces

Remind us of what we were before.

 

 

 

- Fig Trees -

 

All the sun long, it was running

low and golden

waving in the light blue stream of warm and light,

fresh and springtime,

green, yet always on the verge of falling yellow.

 

Hush. Now I only head its quiet breath of setting suns

and falling

and green and summer flowers.

 

How I was young and carefree

but all the while perplexed by fig trees -

branching off and spreading wide with limbs that stretch as far

as mine would...

would they listen to the lengths of my imagined stature.

 

One is here, another is there,

and I, with my crown of leaves and sunny cheeks,

must choose between the tempting fruit.

 

If only a fig tree,

on a wheat summer's day,

could hold as much of its sweetness,

as I can in my dizzy head.

[DinoBytes]

I don't feel nearly qualified to critique your work as I'm relatively new and not nearly experienced enough to feel like I've made a helpful contribution... but as a lover of poetry, I like your stuff dude! Especially July, July. Short, simple, sweet, but special

[Stag]

Hey Lolavictrola! Thanks for posting =]

Enjoyable stuff, and of course I'll be kind. Well I mean, I'll be honest, but from a place of kindness. =]

(side note, while I have a bit of a poetry base, I'm by no means an pro and have tons of room to grow, as do most poets I think)

(also I'm not published yet. totally jealous. kudos!)

 

- July, July - 

 

Humid air hangs like fish in oil    (Remove the word air. "Humid hangs" can stand on its own, air is implied. Also in doing that you get some nice heavy sounding alliteration.)

underneath the willow tree carved with declarations.   (Makes the reader want to know what declarations are. Fill us in, or just leave it at "carved willow tree")

We brown and speckle,

like farmstand eggs.    (I love this line. Given its July, this could be referring to tanning and freckles, but it could also be general aging and getting liver spots. Either way, that is a brilliant outdoorsy image.)

 

Tell me that summers always last a lifetime.    (This final line borders on played out or over done. If you could find a way to make a reference to omelets or another egg product, that might be a fun way to wrap up this short and sweet poem)

 

 

 

- Wasted - (Potential here for a more catching title. The Nirvana imagery could inspire a great drinking/enlightenment title)

 

We hunch over promises like shattered dreams    (Cliche, and a bit over melodramatic.)

hidden under ice and two (three) fingers of liquor.    (If this a reference to drinking in a cold or icy place, that needs to be made more clear. If this is reference to the ice in a drink you are drinking, it might be neat to specifically name what you are drinking. Its all in the specific details. Like the specific cocktail or drink components)

In the neon shadows, faces are cast from fog,

see-through and all shadowed eyes.    (see-through feels a bit wordy, maybe transparent or like ghostly terms like "apparitions")

 

Keep 'em coming.    ( =] )

Each swig is a pathway to Nirvana-      (Buddhist sometimes walk (in this poem's case stumble) on large mandalas for meditation. Maybe preferable to pathways? I'm also picturing a drunk making Buddhist sand art out of margarita salt at a bar. Wiping it away, buying another drink, then starting again. Anyway I love the mash up of zen and debauchery here. Just some ideas to play with.)

yes, a meditation in a shot glass.     (The "yes" is questionable. Your call)

 

Siren, call us home,    (Siren has two meanings, the Greek mythological temptress of men, or the alarm siren. The temptress has more of a calling nature, and would make sense for like a post-bar, regretful one night stand deal. But police siren would work too. Maybe add one more line fleshing out the distinction)

onward to the place where gin meets hope    (Swap "meets" for a stronger verb. Maybe a verb associated with bar-tending or mixing drinks)

Undress our sad and sullen gray faces     (Sad is an abstraction. Could be made more concrete. Also careful with the multiple adjective stacking on a single noun)

Remind us of what we were before.

 

 

- Fig Trees -

 

All the sun long, it was running   (Nice job taking a cliche (all day long), and spinning the structure to your advantage.)

low and golden

waving in the light blue stream of warm and light,

fresh and springtime,

green, yet always on the verge of falling yellow.

 

Hush. Now I only head its quiet breath of setting suns   (I love the word hush in poetry. Especially when written an extra h or 2 at the end. That probably wouldn't work hear though)

and falling

and green and summer flowers.

 

How I was young and carefree  (overused phrase)

but all the while perplexed by fig trees -

branching off and spreading wide with limbs that stretch as far

as mine would...   (Of your three poems, I'm struggling the most with extrapolating meaning from this one. Just slightly cryptic.)

would they listen to the lengths of my imagined stature.

 

One is here, another is there,

and I, with my crown of leaves and sunny cheeks,

must choose between the tempting fruit.    (Its almost a shame that I can't read a woman being tempted by fruit, and not think of Eve. That's okay, just recognize close readers might draw that out)

 

If only a fig tree,

on a wheat summer's day,

could hold as much of its sweetness,   ("of its" can possibly be cut and retain meaning)

as I can in my dizzy head.  ("I can in" can possibly be cut and retain meaning)

[Stag]

Shucks, I'm all inspired to throw one up now. Wrote this last week, still in the early stages of editing. Work-shopping encouraged.

 

 

-Open Season at the Golf Land Family Fun Easter Egg Hunt-

 

5 years old, high functioning

analyzes the egg hunt field before the whistle.

Turns pleasure seeking missile, honing past lesser prizes

to snarl fit, tug-of-war, with half of the one coveted Golden Egg.

Struggle stressed, he clamps eyes hard shut,

A projector rolls behind his lids.

 

First, the Easter Bunny swallowing a shotgun

steadying metal with forepaws

a big fluff toe, depressing the trigger

blowing jelly beans skyward

caught in the mouths of clapping children.

 

Next rolls the egg field.

Grass blades, slicked by blood.

Each florescent oval,

turned shaking maraca

filled with teeth.

 

Next the sizzling of spines

as molten fudge spat from a Hershey volcano

sears through skin, cartilage, and bone.

 

When the Golden Egg pops between the tugging,

his film reel breaks, eyes click open.

He ignores the prize, a falling strip of paper.

Snaps from egg clench to throat throttle.

“You fucker I’m killing you.â€

Mothers gasp rush.

“I’m going to put a hole in your skull.â€

Screams, nail gouge, shirt tear.

“That was my egg. I will hunt you.â€

 

When grip shatters, gasping back, he sneaks the fallen strip into his pocket.

It reads,

“One free round of mini-golf,

Making memories one hole at a time.â€

[DinoBytes]

just for the sake of returning the edit favor, not because my opinion should be carefully considered or anything, but it seems like the rhythm is stumbling in this one. and some lines are maybe a bit too vague?? I do love the creepy sadistic easter theme though. it's very different.

[lolavictrola]

Thanks for the feedback! It's so funny reading feedback.... for some things I pulled a Grumpy Cat (NO), and others I though "Hmmm... interestinngggg.." I'll let it simmer for a while.

 

Now it's your turn!

 

-Open Season at the Golf Land Family Fun Easter Egg Hunt-

 

5 years old, high functioning

analyzes the egg hunt field before the whistle.  (not sure how I feel about "analyzes"... "surveys" maybe?)

Turns pleasure seeking missile, honing past lesser prizes (grammar thought - should it be "pleasure-seeking"?)

to snarl fit, tug-of-war, with half of the one coveted Golden Egg. (I love the beginning of this line, but don't understand the end. "half of the one coveted"... half? I have trouble with understanding the image)

Struggle stressed, he clamps eyes hard shut,

A projector rolls behind his lids.

 

First, the Easter Bunny swallowing a shotgun

steadying metal with forepaws (love "forepaws")

a big fluff toe, depressing the trigger (review your end line punctuations / capitals. It helps the reader follow thoughts.)

blowing jelly beans skyward (great image)

caught in the mouths of clapping children.

 

Next rolls the egg field.

Grass blades, slicked by blood.

Each florescent oval,

turned shaking maraca

filled with teeth. (ew. but great)

 

Next the sizzling of spines 

as molten fudge spat from a Hershey volcano

sears through skin, cartilage, and bone.

 

When the Golden Egg pops between the tugging,

his film reel breaks, eyes click open.

He ignores the prize, a falling strip of paper.

Snaps from egg clench to throat throttle.

“You fucker I’m killing you.â€

Mothers gasp rush.

“I’m going to put a hole in your skull.â€

Screams, nail gouge, shirt tear.

“That was my egg. I will hunt you.†( Something about this line... "hunt" feels anticlimactic)

 

When grip shatters, gasping back, he sneaks the fallen strip into his pocket.

It reads,

“One free round of mini-golf,

Making memories one hole at a time.â€

 

 

I really enjoy this piece. My comments are just little tweaks that might enhance it. As it stands, it is very strong!

[Becoming-Bane]

Well. I dabble so I might as well be a part of this. Dont be afraid to be brutally honest. I want to improve as much as possible.

 

~My Last Year~

My eyes go dark
My skin grows cold
Now I watch as my life unfolds
My childhood
The teenage years
Now I'm trapped in this box
With these wheels and these gears
Sirens grow closer
Worried voices are clear
If only I'd known
This was my last year

 

~Smile~

I love the way your eyes light up when you smile
like an aurora over the sea.
the universe can be seen in your iris
a pin hole window to infinity
and when you smile at me my heart melts
like a chocolate bar on your dashboard mid July.
I never want to see that smile die.
So wait for just a while
I need to capture the sun so you have something else to outshine.

 

 

~Would You~

 

Would you kill me if
I told you, you were perfect.
Would you hear me if
I yelled it and would
It be worth it?
Would you slit my throat if
I kissed your neck?
Would you hear what I
said with my dying breath?
Would you tell me
How you really felt?
Would you make my last
Moments really count?
If I gave you my life
would you turn it down?
If I gave you my love
Would you turn around?

 

 

~Sic Transit Gloria~

 

I watched the world decay.
The sun burned bright for such an awful day.
And in the sun the buildings burned.
Smoke and ashes fluttered and turned.
Like fresh snow the ashes fell.
Darkening the oceans swell.
A woman stands just a silhouette.
In the darkened ocean soaking wet.
She looks into the ruined city.
And tears fell down a face so pretty.
Lost in thoughts of days long gone.
Glory fades and time drags on.
I felt her pain in such an awful way.
I watched the world decay.

 

These are just the ones I like more than the others if you want to see all of my writing that I have been able to gather check here. There are also a couple stories I need to finish and some pics I took.

[Stag]

Thanks lolavictrola and Dinobytes, I agree with your feedback. Will polish the piece up and will probably post it again sometime edited.

 

HalJordanDL, Workshopping time!

 

~My Last Year~

My eyes go dark
My skin grows cold        (Both these lines don't tell much, and are melodramatic)
Now I watch as my life unfolds     (Meaning you are reminiscing? Don't tell me you are remembering, show me! What concrete things are you remembering. Or if this is predicting your life unfolding in the future, again what is it you are seeing/watching)
My childhood
The teenage years
Now I'm trapped in this box   
With these wheels and these gears    (Taking this line and the one above into account, are you trapped in a car? If so what kind of car, sensory images does the car invite. Even if I've misread this line, that take away is: Readers delight in particulars. And try to use all 5 senses)
Sirens grow closer    (This is a trite expression. There are other more interesting ways to invoke this idea.)
Worried voices are clear
If only I'd known
This was my last year   (Without knowing more back story and details, the reader doesn't know what to make of your "last year")

 

 

~Smile~    (Without changing original content, I want to show how the poem could be trimmed and retain meaning. Lots of little words makes this sound like prose, try to cut the tiny words where possible)   (In blue just general editing suggestion) 

I love the way your eyes light up when you smile   (Your eyes light up when you smile)  (With following sea image, her eyes could be a lighthouse metaphor.)
like an aurora over the sea.   (An aurora over sea.)
the universe can be seen in your iris   (The universe, in your iris.)
a pin hole window to infinity    (Pin hole to infinity)
and when you smile at me my heart melts   (When you smile, my heart melts)   (Side note: "smile...my heart melts" is one of the more cliche expressions in poetry. Although you freshen it up a bit in the next line, still avoid!)
like a chocolate bar on your dashboard mid July.  (not too to much fat [excess words] to trim here to the end)
I never want to see that smile die.
So wait for just a while
I need to capture the sun so you have something else to outshine.

 

~Would You~

 

Would you kill me if
I told you, you were perfect.
Would you hear me if
I yelled it and would
It be worth it?
Would you slit my throat if
I kissed your neck?    (Poem should start here. Though the line isn't really gripping, the idea of wanting to kiss someone's neck but fearing they will slit your throat for it is wild and engaging. A whole poem could be made from that one idea. Again, gripping lines come from compact and visceral images.)
Would you hear what I
said with my dying breath?  
Would you tell me
How you really felt?
Would you make my last
Moments really count?
If I gave you my life
would you turn it down?
If I gave you my love
Would you turn around?   (This poem is really heavy on the melodrama. Also, I recognize that poetry like this one is deeply cathartic. But, it just isn't compelling to a reader who doesn't understand what is compelling these emotions. It gets lost in the generalizations, with no memorable (from a unique, refreshing, perspective) moments to savor in the onslaught of questions.)

 

~Sic Transit Gloria~

 

I watched the world decay.
The sun burned bright for such an awful day.
And in the sun the buildings burned.
Smoke and ashes fluttered and turned.
Like fresh snow the ashes fell.
Darkening the oceans swell.
A woman stands just a silhouette.
In the darkened ocean soaking wet.
She looks into the ruined city.
And tears fell down a face so pretty.
Lost in thoughts of days long gone.
Glory fades and time drags on.
I felt her pain in such an awful way.
I watched the world decay.

(This is your strongest poem of the 4. It has images and metaphors to picture. You repeat the "I watched the world decay" but the line is telling not showing. If you do a savvy job describing the decayed world and your watching perspective, you won't have to tell us. Also, kill the rhyme. Notice how forced you are into city, pretty. There are better ways to capture beauty than saying pretty, but you feel obligated to have a word to rhyme.)

 

You said to be brutally honest, I tried. I feel like a jerk when I red up poems like this but I hope that this was more constructive than offensive!

 

 

 

In other poetry news, my poetry class was horrifying today. Poetry is fun and expressive right? WRONG, at least not in this college class. My poetry professor, while very funny, is a loose cannon. Frequently yelling, like aggressive yelling, at us for not doing well on our poems. (note: this is an intro class) Typically I've avoided being on the receiving end, but today I got scolded hardcore for misinterpreting the assignment, and having 16 lines when the assignment was for 15. Luckily, most (potentially all) of the class messed up too. Apparently there was not enough tension, and my images weren't narrow enough to meet the assignments criteria. So, I'm going to have to edit this piece beyond recognition.

I'm also going to drop from mandatory Monday posting (even though I haven't done one yet) to just posting when I have a new rough draft. Post will be done frequently anyway due to my class.

 

 

Anyway, here is the pre-edited version of the poem that got me yelled at:

 

-When the Levees Fail-

 

Squally night at Memory Lake nursing home.

It’s Jambalaya Tuesday.

Particle board shrimp slopped top

wheelchair snap-on trays.

Brassy blues pours on deaf grimaces.

 

Shaking a box of raisins

don’t fix no wrinkles.

 

A pink curlers ma’am hunchbacks on walker.

She’s waiting for a dignity towel,

hates her damp crotch.

But my eyes sapphire like her grandson’s used to.

Smiles me with teeth gapped

like a post-Katrina cemetery.

 

Ma’am, you are lovely.

I am so sorry.    (Editing note: Ugh. I can't wait to kill this line)

You are almost through this storm.

[Becoming-Bane]

Thanks lolavictrola and Dinobytes, I agree with your feedback. Will polish the piece up and will probably post it again sometime edited.

 

HalJordanDL, Workshopping time!

 

~My Last Year~

My eyes go dark

My skin grows cold        (Both these lines don't tell much, and are melodramatic)

Now I watch as my life unfolds     (Meaning you are reminiscing? Don't tell me you are remembering, show me! What concrete things are you remembering. Or if this is predicting your life unfolding in the future, again what is it you are seeing/watching)

My childhood

The teenage years

Now I'm trapped in this box   

With these wheels and these gears    (Taking this line and the one above into account, are you trapped in a car? If so what kind of car, sensory images does the car invite. Even if I've misread this line, that take away is: Readers delight in particulars. And try to use all 5 senses)

Sirens grow closer    (This is a trite expression. There are other more interesting ways to invoke this idea.)

Worried voices are clear

If only I'd known

This was my last year   (Without knowing more back story and details, the reader doesn't know what to make of your "last year")

 

 

~Smile~    (Without changing original content, I want to show how the poem could be trimmed and retain meaning. Lots of little words makes this sound like prose, try to cut the tiny words where possible)   (In blue just general editing suggestion) 

I love the way your eyes light up when you smile   (Your eyes light up when you smile)  (With following sea image, her eyes could be a lighthouse metaphor.)

like an aurora over the sea.   (An aurora over sea.)

the universe can be seen in your iris   (The universe, in your iris.)

a pin hole window to infinity    (Pin hole to infinity)

and when you smile at me my heart melts   (When you smile, my heart melts)   (Side note: "smile...my heart melts" is one of the more cliche expressions in poetry. Although you freshen it up a bit in the next line, still avoid!)

like a chocolate bar on your dashboard mid July.  (not too to much fat [excess words] to trim here to the end)

I never want to see that smile die.

So wait for just a while

I need to capture the sun so you have something else to outshine.

 

~Would You~

 

Would you kill me if

I told you, you were perfect.

Would you hear me if

I yelled it and would

It be worth it?

Would you slit my throat if

I kissed your neck?    (Poem should start here. Though the line isn't really gripping, the idea of wanting to kiss someone's neck but fearing they will slit your throat for it is wild and engaging. A whole poem could be made from that one idea. Again, gripping lines come from compact and visceral images.)

Would you hear what I

said with my dying breath?  

Would you tell me

How you really felt?

Would you make my last

Moments really count?

If I gave you my life

would you turn it down?

If I gave you my love

Would you turn around?   (This poem is really heavy on the melodrama. Also, I recognize that poetry like this one is deeply cathartic. But, it just isn't compelling to a reader who doesn't understand what is compelling these emotions. It gets lost in the generalizations, with no memorable (from a unique, refreshing, perspective) moments to savor in the onslaught of questions.)

 

~Sic Transit Gloria~

 

I watched the world decay.

The sun burned bright for such an awful day.

And in the sun the buildings burned.

Smoke and ashes fluttered and turned.

Like fresh snow the ashes fell.

Darkening the oceans swell.

A woman stands just a silhouette.

In the darkened ocean soaking wet.

She looks into the ruined city.

And tears fell down a face so pretty.

Lost in thoughts of days long gone.

Glory fades and time drags on.

I felt her pain in such an awful way.

I watched the world decay.

(This is your strongest poem of the 4. It has images and metaphors to picture. You repeat the "I watched the world decay" but the line is telling not showing. If you do a savvy job describing the decayed world and your watching perspective, you won't have to tell us. Also, kill the rhyme. Notice how forced you are into city, pretty. There are better ways to capture beauty than saying pretty, but you feel obligated to have a word to rhyme.)

 

You said to be brutally honest, I tried. I feel like a jerk when I red up poems like this but I hope that this was more constructive than offensive!

 

 

Yeah the melodrama was because I was still a teen and just starting writing with those. the last one. Sic Transit Gloria is the most recent and kind of goes with a tattoo I want to get im more of a story guy these are just time passers. thanks for the feedback.

[Stag]

Oh very cool, what is the tattoo that you are going to be getting?

[Becoming-Bane]

Oh very cool, what is the tattoo that you are going to be getting?

Its the ruins of a modern city with the sillohette of a girl looking into it and a banner(or some other interesting way of showing it) with the phrase "Sic Transit Gloria Mundi" on it. I also want to get an edgar alan poe themed one

[Stag]

So this was a retry of the poetry prompt I screwed up last assignment. Basically the criteria is:

1.) Go on a walk someplace familiar.

2.) Notice something boring you would normally over look.

3.) Go home and write a poem about that boring thing.

4.) Take the boring thing and make it extraordinary with interesting details and metaphors.

5.) Keep the poem less than 15 lines and 10 syllables per line.

If you are looking for an interesting poem prompt, you could give this a try.

 

February Salt Stains

 

The asphalt blotches are briny apparitions,

Dusty amoebas snugged in tar.

 

Like inverted inkblots under frost light,

They are case studies in driveway Rorschach,

 

The powdered bones of winter,

Thumbprints of ice defiance,

Nightmares of sleeping snails,

Salt’s echoed haunt of melting.

[DinoBytes]

I like the prompt a lot! that's hard!

 

I feel like I can help maybe with this one.

 

The asphalt blotches are briny apparitions

(maybe the? or a comma instead? sounds better I think?)

 

Dusty amoebas snugged in tar.

(tucked? snugged makes it sound like theres something missing. might be a personal problem with the word haha)

 

Like inverted inkblots under frost light,

They are case studies in driveway Rorschach,

 

The powdered bones of winter,

Thumbprints of ice defiance,

(ice's defiance or else defiant maybe?)

 

Nightmares of sleeping snails,

Salt’s echoed haunt of melting.

(what? haunting echo: melt? or melting. haunting echo; salt? not sure how to remedy that one  but it just sounds confusing and misworded to me..)

 

nice work though. I like it you're really good on the fly! I hope I have a chance to repost my slam for tomorrow to get final feedback before reading it! stay tuned!

[DinoBytes]

Okay.. I'm reading this in a few hours... Critique welcome I tried to fix it but I know it still sucks.

Feet.

Feet are beautiful. Yes, your dirty messy feet.

Touch every surface you've ever gone

on each set of stairs

leave breadcrumb trails for anyone who ever dares

follow.

They carry the stories in the grooves of your toenails, callus, smell

you're embarrassed by the volume but these are tales that feet will proudly yell

feet

planted at birth to grow roots in the earth.

Intertwined guaranteed to cause a panic should they ever be transplanted.

my feet,

instead of strong deep, grow up and free towards air and sky.

I can’t recall a time when I

wouldn’t try

to change my

surroundings. As a kid I moved furniture to awake in a different space.

I would fantasize this was a new and different place.

sometimes in silence, I hear a gentle whisper. The owner I have never met, but I've chased him and his sister.

The stars tonight are loud,

The mountains shout their prideful size

The sunset screams color a blaze across the skies.

The oceans roar in mighty rage

The grass beckons me to run

The trees will murmer

"turn the page follow, maybe never find but search is half the fun"

I don't know if I'll ever stop following that sound.

perhaps my roots will never even get to reach the ground,

not many, as I understand, live their lives in transit

but not many fully see the world and I don’t know how they stand it

At times I'll miss our interaction and reconnecting too but perhaps what I miss the most is being in what's home to you.

I'd like to say I'll stay right here, but I know it won't be true. I can’t just call one place my home.

If home is where your heart is, I've many miles ahead, for my home has grown so large I'll cross an ocean to my bed

But though the land and the seas will separate and time our ties dissolve. my heart is far from broken and there's nothing to resolve.

your feet plant firmly on the ground while mine turn slowly round and round

but Dangerous distance

Taunts those who listen

[Stag]

Yes Yes Yes!

 

I'm so glad you got up on stage and did it! Congratulations!

 

First off, this piece is so much more fleshed out and interesting than your first draft. Really good work!

That whole rift of feet came out of "These feet cover great distances and scale the highest heights, they have seen the mountain tops". Impressive editing =]

 

I can't bring myself to do a heavily scrutinized edit of this right now, because my perception is tainted by how excited I am that you got up and rocked it. No sense nit picking a piece after the fact, and cheapening the experience you just had. If this was an experience you enjoyed, and you plan I performing again with a version of this poem, remind me to throw down an edit in a month or two. Then we can both check it out with fresh eyes.

 

In the meantime, stop saying it sucks (it doesn't), realize other people you performed probably have more experience (so its not worth comparing yourself to them yet), and just bask in the glow of your accomplishment.

 

Again, congrats!!!

 

p.s. thanks for the critique on my poem, you hit some things that I was questioning. I will alter accordingly when I do my edits for the classes' portfolio.

[DinoBytes]

Thank you thank you thank you! I did muss it up a bit on stage, but I felt more and more confident about it and I ended up liking it by the time I left the stage! I know there's still some stuff to tweak but it at least tells a story now. And I look forward to revisiting this one. I'll move on to a few others I'm working on in the mean time.

[Stag]

Messing up is totally expected the first time. =]

 

My first time at a college poetry reading, I was reading off a print out. My hands were shaking so bad that my paper was rustling almost as loud as I was talking. Some jerk off in the audience grunts, "His hands are shaking." And for the rest of the reading that was all I could hear on repeat in my head. Now I memorize or use a podium so my hands aren't the focus.

 

Then another time more recently, I was doing an open mic in L.A. with some really good poets before me. An amazing woman had just read a powerful feminist poem about rape and motherhood for a video to qualify for the "Women of the World" poetry slam. Then comes me, reading my "Hey Bald Eagles, Suck on This" (which is basically a vulgar spoken word piece about how great pigeons are.) So I was way upstaged in quality and content. Anyway in my nervousness, I forgot to bring up my water bottle, and my mouth got so dry that I couldn't make sounds because my tongue was sticking to the roof of my mouth. I had to run off stage to get my bottle and the host made comments about my awkwardness. Bahaha.

 

Anyways, my point is, crap happens. Words and water bottles get forgotten, and people can be jerks. But it is all good fun, and I hope you keep at it because the good always out weighs the bad.

[DinoBytes]

For sure! There are a ton of great poets out here and tons and tons of great slam events. There was even a slam competition at the acrobatics performance on Friday right before Saturday which was why I kind of got worked up to go (my acro friends told me I should totally slam and that they needed more open mic poets haha) I plan to do some more but I want to memorize them and incorporate ASL which I think makes it more powerful

[Stag]

Most recent poem. Class focused on how poetry can read fast or read slow depending on rhyme, enjambment, how the stanzas break, punctuation, ect. As a way of exploring speed a bit, and getting out of our comfort zones, we had to write a poem 25 lines long, with no punctuation. Personally, I feel like this poem could use a little bit of punctuation, and when I edit it, it will get some. In the meantime, what works, what doesn't?

 

 

Wolf Pack to Purse Chihuahua

 

In Proto-Eurasia

A smoky canine horde

With arrowed snarls and hollowed gawks

Scuttled through pines in leery longing

Of the caribou crackling over smoldering pyre

Tended by a hairless mother in buffalo skin

Who heard the whimpering pack

As children in the wind

And tossed some charred bones to these writhing shadows

Forging a bond of warmth and marrow

 

So one dusk thirty thousand years later

A panting fashion accessory

Crammed in a Coach purse on Hollywood Boulevard

Could cease nibbling a pack of Marlboros           

Having caught sniff of cheeseburger grease

Dripping down its owner’s chin

And harken back to the diluted wolf within

Leashed in DNA

And dilate its pupils to “feed meâ€

And wiggle in zipper bound frenzy

Pop off lipstick caps

And scratch sunglasses

Until finally when graced with a morsel of beef

Piddle the purse

And return to chewing the cigarette box