Poetry Forum

AcerSaccharum - all messages by user

2/20/2020 6:09:21 PM
It Happened Again	A high school party Bright colours and backwards hats Jostling Circling Lighting smokes Around a bon fire Hidden by silhouettes of trees. The intoxicating sips are an adventurous feeling. The girls get loose And the guys get loud. Fist fights And smiles. The hangover in the morning Recalls the joyous memories of the night, And begs for another round. Every weekend is another blast More drinks and more girls, Maybe more drugs. Years have passed, The weekend rituals have etched Tired lines in a sunken pale face. That goes to work each week To recover last week’s spent cheque. And comes home to be Mundane Miserable. Another night with no purpose Drinking Escaping Feeling diseased. Whether at the bar or dim living room. Surrounded by a new crowd. The frequent drinks Are an exhausting routine. The wise ones have stopped the weekend ritual Before their youth drowned out. Feeling tired and beaten The hangovers in the mornings Are a painful reminder. You did it again, You haven’t stopped. Maybe next week.I've been working on a few iambic pentameter poems and wrote this free verse the other day just to give my brain a break. I've combed over it a few times, but looking for more suggestions on what to edit or how to improve.
2/22/2020 9:41:19 AM
It Happened Again	Thank you for your critique and suggestions! I shall take advantage of them when editing this poem. I appreciate it very much!
3/7/2020 1:57:31 PM
Night vom	I really enjoyed this, a poem about a poetic device but it came across quite clever and obviously very vivid. I like the free form of the poem, each word contributed effectively to the message. Great work!
3/7/2020 2:01:06 PM
Depressive Nostalgia	Teenage years well wasted and better spent Childhood memories now forever gone, To exist only in reminiscence. Conversations I will never hear again. The bittersweet feeling of longing for past days Younger years. Only to crave today just the same as I age. This sentimental sadness Has become almost comforting, Like an old friend you can’t let go of For the sake of time spent knowing each other. Am I sad, Or just miss being happy. To be alone with these thoughts, The existential meaningless Races through my mind Like a headache that will never subside. It is rare to wake up with a smile, And even more rare to go to bed with one. edited by AcerSaccharum on 3/7/2020
4/8/2020 7:29:46 PM
Pint Glass	My infatuation Is a dimly lit Faded Blurred bar shelf Stocked With beautiful bottles of Liquors. The colours and fonts on the labels Drip so easily into my eyes As I lean carefully Over the counter Like a thousand times before. Chrome taps of cold carbonated relief Are stationed like IV bags Filling frothy glasses into the early morning. Surrounded by tight t shirts And fresh jeans, My watch catching the neon glare, Elbows sticking to the counter, As my always dry throat Welcomes a friendly pour. Each sip slides down smoother, And as I die I feel alive. For tonight. edited by AcerSaccharum on 4/8/2020
5/28/2020 4:21:21 PM
not even a wave	Short and to the point, however I would not say simple! (I mean this in a good way). I like the forlorn meaning, rather bittersweet feeling I get from these few powerful lines.
7/11/2020 10:27:24 AM
Nostalgia	The video games I played as a teen will always be the same. After marriages, deaths, births, fleeting friends and different jobs. You put in the disc, and the familiar characters have not left or grown old; working on the same missions, fighting the same enemies, with their same comrades. In the same scenes. It is a sense of comfort. When all else is gone and new, I reach for the old. edited by AcerSaccharum on 7/11/2020
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