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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!!!

2/6/2012 11:27:39 AM Bethany Chipperfield Posts: 2	Each Second; an hour, waiting. Constantly waiting. For you. Can't you see I'm shaking, quaking? Destroyed masterfully by a shiver - tearing up my spine, ripping me deep. Still, I wait for your promise of simple words, Yet words are the only things that mean, anything. Anymore. Cold has struck higher, harder hacking me deeply. Cut into veins of ice, now I'm devoid of hope. Any hope of you. Numb overtakes me, lacerates me, berates me each limb now lost, only for you. Misguided I am left. Waiting. An Eternity of waiting. Left, No hope. No feeling. Alone. (be as critical as you want all critism is welcome)
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3/17/2012 4:33:03 PM David Smalling Posts: 4	It is okay to wait, just do not let them read it, but feel it. I read your anxiety ... but the poem has none, this is a disconnect between what you feel and what the poem tells. Make it cruptic, with only the promise in a few concrete statements. You can do it again, I believe.
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3/17/2012 4:45:02 PM David Smalling Posts: 4	This morning when the sun began I began to time the coming of your words The fusing of our flesh Like light and morning glory And the mountain was far away, and its ice Summit dripped drop by drop With seconds that does not suffice To count the lengthening brevity of day. The wind came and suddenly stop There was no footsteps after it Only its silence like a torn blanket around my heart The sun slivers away so the moon will come All that is left of the ice today I am such a little drop jn a swollen bulge of sky Such a clamor of the heart for things melting I have no more expectation of the sun And the moon is such a little drip of hope Cold and shivering ... the last dew hangs Waiting .... waiting Precariously like a heart in love And to think this moment My life depends on this How hard will the wind blow I hang for dear life at the tip Of a leaf shivering under the moon
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