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For poets who want unrestricted constructive criticism. This is NOT a vanity workshop. If you do not want your poem seriously critiqued, do not post here. Constructive criticism only. PLEASE Only Post One Poem a Day!!!
1/24/2018 5:03:55 AM

Oliver Furlong
Posts: 11
By the kitchen sink my time is lost,
hovering by a random fruit fly flies by,

by a hanging holiday trinket of a glass blue-eye

foreground to the view of the Elmworth estate

before me, a window of a world unfolding,

dawn breaking beyond to the sound of traffic.

Soft skin under a hot tap,on with the washing,

sponge, liquid rinse and thoughts straining,

mixed in the conveyor belt of doing, looking,

feeling filtered water dripping

corroding thoughts of my own reflections

humid droplets out the corners of my strained eyes.



Cutlery clattering plates brittle like cymbals,

piercing the quiet morning,

radio spirals through mumbling boiling kettles,

swollen tea bags, woven plans of action,

thin discussions on the weather or ‘did you sleep well?’

Kids in breakfast motion, buttered toast crunch,routine before school.

Part-remembered dream leftovers,

replenished sink, dirty bowls and plates.

A finite pause, escaping the start of the day ahead.




Days pass, evenings draw-on,

moons wax and wane,

a stolen lifetime looking down plug-holes,

scouring off baked-on layers,

washed down drainage pipes, let fantasy unfold

so many begotten thoughts, age forgotten,

tears of solitary agony suffused joy,

sundrops raining through the window,

imbued recollection, a veil lifted

playing back impressions made, of yesterdays,

revealed poverty, where words might be

in unutterable matters of poetic form,

soul-searching at the crude metallic altar.
edited by Ollie Furlong on 1/24/2018
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1/29/2018 2:05:02 PM

Stephen Wilson-Floyd
Posts: 49
I like this poem. For the most part, it stays specific which is a condition of the adage "show don't tell". It seems lyrical in parts. It seems like abstract poetry may be of interest to you. I would suggest Dylan Thomas. It also reminds me of Sylvia Plath's poem "Cut". It starts "I have cut my thumb instead of an onion/ What a thrill". It simply drips with sarcasm. This poem is pretty good as is in my opinion. Best wishes.
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2/4/2018 4:22:30 PM

Oliver Furlong
Posts: 11
Thanks Stephen for that very constructive feedback. It's much appreciated. I shall read some more of Dylan Thomas' and Sylvia Plath's work, they don't get much grander, I am humbled by your kind comments.
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