Best Critique Poems
By Elton Camp
Many times I’ve gotten this request
To politely refuse, I’ve learned is best
“Your honest opinion is what I ask”
Actual desire for praise does mask
Dare to say anything but “It’s great”
And your very guts they will hate
Any criticism will drive them wild
Almost as if you slapped their child
It has more faults than a dog has fleas
Yet lavish praise is all that will please
You can know that the writer will say,
“What makes you a critic anyway!”
“You are as presumptuous as can be
To say such insulting things to me.”
He’s forgotten he made the request
Now it is you who’s put to the test
If, to critique a work, you dare try
Expect broken bones and black eye
When Dad died, I wrote a poem to read,
a tribute to the love he bestowed.
Tears fell as, at jet speed,
I scribed emotions that overflowed.
Before the funeral I showed it to you,
hoping you would allow me to share.
“Amateurish,” you said and I didn’t pursue.
For rhyme and meter, you didn’t care.
Just three months later I’d compiled a book;
a publisher said she was impressed.
How I loved that expression, that look
you gave me when with it was published.
*For Michael’s “I’m More Than What You Thought” contest
by Carolyn Devonshire
why is it I never in my life gave cadence as to critic another poets work
yet they find it perfectly acceptable to rate my own submissions
they aren't Jesus they don't walk on water so why should I bother with them
some are intellectualized wandering wizards others need attention like a baby
there I gave you your treat so wander back to your warm spot and shut your mouths
it doesn't help me when you crtic it just makes me think of what a perfect ass you are
going off someone cause of stupid grammattical errors we can't take it with us when we die
they themselves are mister perfect never doing anything wrong
see positive enforcement strengthens the heart where as negativity brings you down
plus who are they anyways:
Stay optimistic, even if you're
facing a set back. There are
many stages we go through in
our lives, but we manage, to get
back, on track. All good things
are possible, if you have
confidence in yourself and do as
much as you can. No one has
accomplished anything, in one day,
there has to be, a plan! Establishing
a routine, takes time, but it can lead
to many big opportunities, down the
road. At this point, you're bound to
find a way, to unburden, your heavy
load!
Let the good times outshine the bad times
Let the laughter drown out the tears
Let the light chase away the darkness including all your fears...
Turn your pain into strength and smile for you are alive, making all things possible but only possible if you try.
The critic is the frustrated wannabe who picks at others to compensate for his insecurities and to boost his delusions of grandeur. Most are moderately adequate poets at best and find it pleasurable to take it out on those who have some talent….Leave them on the “ignore” shelf.
Allow me a moment to deconstruct,,
Every wall characteristically set up.
And all the fabricated stories from corrupt
Individuals; Residuals of a past,
I broke through and shattered like sugar-glass.
Let me tell you; I'm not invincible.
My personality is not intrinsical.
My body nor mind isn't irresistible.
Sometimes my heart and my head cosmically clash,
Emotion covers my face like a rash.
I'm a disastrously lousy liar;
I can't hold piss for pounds if its worth a few pence.
In debates I can never just "sit on the fence",
I need to say my bit no matter how intense
The opposite argument may make sense.
I like to drink like most twenty year olds,
Though sometimes I drink more than my emotions hold,
And sometimes I let those emotions slip in tears
And open my heart to all my sorrows and fears.
But god forbid I should have a pained heart.
God forbid I should live a life of youth,
And drink from it all the human traits of life's juice.
When happiness and suffering go hand in hand
I still bleed love and loyalty from every gland...
...Because I believed in those sacred fruits.
Well just because I build a barricade,
And paint on a brave face to replace my true self
Don't categorically place me on that shelf;
Among alcoholics, arrogant clowns and thieves,
Who handed you the gavel to judge me?
Though all of this stuff may file under "Me",
Don't think I wouldn't move sun and earth, part the sea,
To bring to you what you hold dearest of the dear.
That I wouldn't hunt through fire-filled chasms, your fears.
Because, what is love without a few tears?
The mafia is like a hemorrhoid:
-Both absolutely no use
-Both put the squeeze on their victim
- and both are a pain in the anus!!
Well I don't want to even think about the world today
I'd rather take a little break and make a way to play
When end to ending has no end well then my friend retreat
To find a better time to mine the wisdom of defeat.
Today the life-size Trumpy dolls
Are selling fast in discount malls.
They come in only orangey white,
For Trump the color scheme is right.
Accesories include: red ties,
old man-tan cans, ten books on lies.
And if a bit more coin you bid,
He'll name you every whore he did.
His list is long and trending white -
Except exotic ethnic night.
The only arty deal he's made
Was made in Moscow getting laid.
He bargains down, each lustful thrust,
To screw the screwed like Trumpy's must.
So fans of Trump I'll tell you true
He doesn't give one whit for you.
You say he's not of Washington
And wants to change how things are done.
Well I agree the time is due
To find new minds who'll serve us true.
But we should really all disdain
An egocentric, crazy brain.
And that is why a Donald lie
Will Trump a lie from you or I.
He says he loves our fighting force,
This dodger of the draft of course.
He was a coward during war -
What makes you think he is no more.
I don't believe he is sincere,
A latent bully bringing fear
The day our towers were brought down
Trump hears the Muslim cheers in town.
Another fabricated fact
Made foul by one who lacks in tact.
It is the way Trump fosters hate;
Embellish then prevaricate.
To me the only thing a fan
Can boast about this flim-flam man
Is that he has'nt started war -
But given time - he'll give you more.
Some faces may be turning red
In anger at the words I've said,
But friends I hope my diatribe
Is taken as a slight aside.
I give you words to mull around
Inside the pride we all have found
By sharing freedom's liberty
In search of commonality.
Young Guns is a movie about Billy the Kid,
but it is not at all historically accurate.
The movie makes the Kid look like a homicidal lunatic,
when in reality the Kid was very kind hearted.
To quote George Coe, a very close friend of his,
"He would have been a successful man under different circumstances,
but he got a poor start in life with damaging consequences.
He had a reputation for helping the elderly, the poor and the young
and yet despite the Kid's expert skill with a gun
he was always in good humor, ready to do a kind deed for someone."
Anytime I happen upon the Young Guns movie
I want to pick up objects and throw them at the screen.
Thanks for the average dinner last night
It wasn't exactly a culinary delight
It wasn't that nice but it wasn't that vile
That it made me so sick or bring up some bile
It just lacked flavour, finesse or shazam
The chops were bland, I think they were lamb
The mash was lumpy with minimal seasoning
Now please stop crying, with you there's no reasoning
I've told you before now I'll tell you again
I am the judge of all women and men
When finishing a project
That’s all yours and thus unique,
The last thing that you want to hear’s
A negative critique.
Yet when you’re going public
Anyone can have his say
Despite the fact the way he feels
May spoil your lovely day.
In giving an opinion
Sometimes holding something back
Is better than the words which seem
Too much like an attack.
For honesty, at times, can cause
A person to be hurt,
The outcome I would do my best
To very much avert.
errrr strings burst from sirens
lights strobe in our ears blinding us
i can hardly listen to speaking mumbles
a heavy bass resonates between us
down another drink upside down
countdown to rundown
ooppps punched in face by fist in face
blood falls out of face that has been punched by fist
blood from face falls on floor fist removes from face
placed down by bodies side
unclenches
screaming idiots covered in plasma
laugh silently
punch angrily
die readily
night ends on sticky floors
fight ends before it began
light comes on
get out get out
Louis Bayard
for all we know he didn't really have to try hard
some exquisite bon mots
then those searing synopses had us back in our throes.
Critique On This New And Vague Form I See
I simply can not do this new, empty and vague poetry,
what in the living hell does it give?
Perhaps a glimpse at failure and insanity disguised
or utter stupidity that dares to live!
I long to see words that mean something tangible,
such as human needs,thoughts and even sad good-byes.
Not this crap that is chaos and thus so inflatable
ripped with foolishness and massive, vain lies!
Give me clear words of hope, love or even deep hate,
the kind that one can touch, taste or feel.
With all the stored knowledge it is not now too late
to again find and taste poetry that is real!
If any are angered and this poem thus deeply offends
consider source, poet that has grown tired of "pretends".
Robert J. Lindley, 1-15-2015
Note: The more that I read the "say nothing crap" posted on other poetry sites and how its highly praised as great, the more I want to vomit.
Can these people ever be made to understand that poetry expresses thoughts, feelings, imagination etc. in a coherent way but always with a "message"
ingrained in it, MESSAGE SENT AND HOPES THAT THE READER PROFITS FROM THE READING..
Writing " very deep" is one thing but they are just writing chaotic pap and calling it beauty and fancy names IMHO.
Let your words come like leeches
sucking bad blood from the body
of my work. Swell with pride
excising disturbing humors.
Ill, I have come, and arm-bare,
begging to be saved.
Open a vein, young apothecary.
There is plenty of humor to spare.
I do not mind the mending knife,
the fire of its kiss only brightens my chances of living.
I do not mind the gluttony of innocent words
as they draw away the poison.
Fever throbs in my ears.
Cure me.
From where we’ve been, must be the truth,
That was sought in the hollowness of time.
Struggling to reach from the outside,
To ratify oneself.
From the innermost fragment there flows a justice,
That one greets from behind.
Leading against the vanishing compulsions of mystery,
Finishing those who follow.
*Image of Freed Fountain Pen by Pixabay.
Coffee Crumb Cake Critique
Coffee, dawn's waker-upper, cause to rhyme,
The second cup broadens your eyes, sublime,
Noontime, pot perking as penning moves on,
Performing phrases ... possessed noumenon,
Evetime trance poured milk and Kahlua,
Like Jericho's walls, pen falls ... Joshua.
2022 June 04