Best Critiqued Poems
Strange thought just entered my head
What if I critiqued my own poems
D'ya think I'd really be tough on myself
Or would you detect a slight bias tone
Tried using the criteria of accepted norms
I'd be down at the bottom, no bones
But for humorous verse and originality
Call me Oliver Wendell Holmes
First I followed time honoured patterns
Of poets that have gone before
But that's not what makes a poet of note
Originality is what raises his score
So go ahead and break all the rules
That have been in place forever
Develop your style of creative writing
And be proud of your endeavour
Categories:
critiqued, funny,
Form:
Rhyme
BETWEEN FARAWAY DISTANCE is THE POET and I
Treacherous stretches mounds of greens feed fresh the mind. . .
never ever upon a spangled heavens or in seagulls’ crash - hush,
nor on echoed notes of tweeting nightingales did I hear; feel. I find
the need to stop, steadily listen to the drumbeating of my heart.
Vivid is the touch of class brushed unto words, phrases and lines
paraded to thousand eyes to be read; critiqued or appreciated.
Not the lyrics, not the tones, not ev'n verses nor blues could conceal.
His pens, the aroma of spring flowers, sweet! Drawing grins to lips:
his style, maybe common to some but to me: truly, one of a kind.
Speaking softly to my nerves, tickling senses to consider he. . .
Our panache oppose however in seeking depths likeness bursts,
boundless in abandon from fountain of muse, more than amuse.
Not a sonnet, not a kyrielle, not even a haiku nor a tanka could hide.
Unstoppable, the poet and I, our thoughts and feelings fused. Twined
in our inks displayed not only a blooming romance hue. Yes, between us
is a faraway distance, so flagrant - challenging intentions if sincere or not,
but shared portions of rhymes, talks and times won; serving as shapers,
enriching our vows. Not long, the poet and I is wearing golden rings.
Written January 01, 017 (09:55 am)
Categories:
critiqued, inspiration, love, poetry, space,
Form:
Free verse
Inspired by a new contest
that has recently appeared
in The Soup.
It seems the gauntlet, (has been thrown down)
A line drawn in the sand
A challenge made to see "What's What"
To those who'll fall or stand
And strips away the accolades
Of poems that are bland
No more X's, no more O's
No more patting on the backs
No more two word kindly comments
Just the straight but helpful facts
And when dissecting poems
Try not to use an axe
You might be toting genuine skill,
Or blessed with parity
But writing Great Stuff, takes more than just will
Now, that's been a rarity
To get critiqued on ones own bill
Instead of pop-u-lar-i-ty
Categories:
critiqued, appreciation, growth, poetry, strength,
Form:
The rights to pursue happiness? Our rights to religious freedom? Right not to be discriminated based on race, creed or color? These our the civil rights that our forefather’s granted unto us...based on denied practices which if in another country were you born would have been granted the right to do...which at the time the 14th Amendment was written and later critiqued to embody sex, age or sexual orientation. Marriage has never been included in these rights based on what I see.
Our rights I somewhat question these new aged agendas, solely based on the written doctrine that separates church from government policy, which and whereas marriage was created inside the church and sanction by the church...only later to be documented solely by the government for a means of recording legally sanctioned church marriages...in the effort to document social security claims.
Our rights, yes granted when in line with what is done in other established countries or within a civilized society in another place. If this not be the case? Then pedophiles, bestiality are things which some people believe our their right to do free of prosecution by law? Our rights or not? Question of practice or desire, immoral or acceptable is my arguments to you?
Categories:
critiqued, religion, social, marriage, marriage,
Form:
Lay
Seeking Critiquing by JTC For the Comment Contest
It seems all my poems
Get battered and beaten
Words pulled apart
And thoroughly eaten
Put in a grinder
Then blown out the shoot
Stepped on and kicked
And given the boot
Partially read, then
Swore at with callous
A comment or two
Expressed with sheer malice
With anger indignant
And four letter words
In some kind of language
No one has heard
With blatant offense
And misunderstandings
Vindictive replies
With negative branding
Then when I'm all done
And I'm feeling Blue
I post it for members
For Them to review
No one should be harder on their written work,
Than the Author.
It's great to be honored
but it's better to be critiqued.
The best comments are both good and bad
The worst comment, is the one not given
Categories:
critiqued, abuse, appreciation, conflict, encouraging,
Form:
Rhyme
You see,
Majority of my time is the concerned thought of,
You, with me.
A foolish fantasy,
A just and content concept of,
You, with me.
You see,
I’ve critiqued and brutally criticized myself thinking of,
You, with me.
Change in habits, self-harm,
Drained myself, mentally and physically, at the possibility of,
You, with me.
However, you’re blameless.
You see,
It’s my fault for ever thinking of,
You, with me.
For even hoping, at the tiniest of attention you give,
And to the minimal energy you pour out.
For following like a lost puppy whilst you lead me on.
For ever dreaming, and wishing to see,
You, with me.
You see,
Perhaps I’m a bit senile for,
I have YET to grasp the fact that,
We will never be.
Epilogue
(And now I have, the notion of us to EVER BE, devours me, as I’ve always preferred the relationship we had in my head to the one we HAD in reality.)
Aeilnorvy.S
Categories:
critiqued, angst, break up, crush,
Form:
Free verse
I have seen men carved from stone
rising above the Black Hills,
I’ve seen ancient trees born back when
Ceaser still worked his will,
felt a thundering water pound down,
and from four Great Lakes drain,
I have known the prairie silence
that can mess up the brain,
I have seen a bright desert sun
that’s murder on the eyes,
I’ve seen so much in this great land,
but am not satisfied.
I have lain with Asian beauty,
traced touch along her curves,
and I have brawled with drunken foes
over something absurd,
I have toted nephews around
perched high upon my head,
with good friends I have painted towns,
they look better in red,
I’ve worked with people whom make sales
seem effortless, sublime,
learned much from all these folks I know,
yet I’m still not satisfied.
I’ve bashed-up on the broomball court
’till I can run on ice,
skied mountains faster than my car,
arced passage on the white,
ridden horses ten times my weight
and let them know who’s boss,
hiked along a thin cliff-edge path,
somehow made it across,
it seems that almost everything
I am willing to try,
but victory fades oh-so-quick
and I’m not satisfied.
I have read classics quiet profound,
Montaigne and Adam Smith,
earned myself an advanced degree
despite profs quite leftist,
in dorms I’ve stayed up half the night,
argued philosophy,
I’ve called out politicians’ crap
pretty much constantly,
critiqued the deep corrosiveness
of media and their lies,
I’ve read more books than I can count,
I’m still not satisfied.
Though more and more I realize
this might be a good thing,
if people ever were content
then they would stop pushing,
satisfied with just what they have,
their tech, their jobs, their mind,
they’d never trek that extra mile,
to discover and find,
that would just be a slow decay
until the day I died,
the truth of it, I’m glad to say:
I’ll never be satisfied.
We’re not meant to be satisfied.
…we’d just get bored of it anyway.
Categories:
critiqued, confusion, people, perspective, philosophy,
Form:
Rhyme
Pain—the best part of being human
Pain—the worse part of being me
Pain—a process of refining
Pain—an aftermath of being mean
Pain—the longings of young people
Pain—a blessing or a curse
Pain is just pain
Nothing more and nothing less
Pain—a redflag to the carefree
Pain—a driving force for me
Pain—a temple for the heartless
Pain—the darkness I could see
Pain—a burden for the childless
Pain—the route for you to bear your kids
Pain is some pain
Something here(??) and something there(??)
Pain—the cost of your tattooing
Pain—a trademark of your sin
Pain—a symptom of you living
Pain—a yeast to your limping
Pain—a reward for your heartbreak
Pain—a cup y'all must taste
Pain is much pain
Some things hurt and some things burn
Pain—a thing we hate to feel
Pain—a sign of _this is real_
Pain—a sting that doesn't kill
Pain—this isn't part of our deal
Pain—the birth of my recklessness
Pain—the death of my kindliness
Pain has gain
Body piercings are beautiful but it does pain
Imagine you living without pain
You'd bleed to death yet feel nothing
You'd be betrayed yet not hurt
You'd never cry because
You can't feel pain
Pain will be a myth
I wonder if we'd enjoy life without pain
How much more of childbirth
Posted on 10th June, 2020
Critiqued by Tampi Lilian and Yacit Telfim
Categories:
critiqued, deep, depression, life, pain,
Form:
Strangest thought just entered my head
What if I critiqued my own poems
D'ya think I'd really be tough on myself
Or would you detect a slight bias tone
Using the criteria of accepted norms
I'd be down at the bottom, no bones
But for humorous verse and originality
Call me Oliver Wendell Holmes
First I followed time honoured patterns
Of poets that have gone on before
But that's not what makes a poet of note
Originality is what raises his score
So go ahead and break all the rules
That have been in place forever
Develop your style of creative writing
And be proud of your endeavour
(My apologies to Oliver Wendell Holmes!)
© Jack Ellison 2013
Categories:
critiqued, introspection, humorous,
Form:
Quatrain
It started as a twinkle in inspiration's eye
Then it became a wrinkle in my soul and mind
I thought...this thing's become a pain, It burning like a fire
So I got out a legal notepad and my old stolen guitar.....
And it flowed like a river....
I pitched it on sixteenth street, up and down Music Row
I didn't have to ask directions, they all told me Where To Go!!
A homeless dude out by the Ryman, said he was gifted in the rhyme
So he critiqued it for a dollar and I rewrote it one more time.....
And it flowed like a river....
Yeah it flowed like a river...angels singing all around me
You talk about delivered! this one's gonna win a Grammy!
A number one! Song of the year! I knew it was crackin' fine
'Til my wife said she could buy one, for a dollar thirty nine!
And I drowned in the river....
Categories:
critiqued, creation, endurance, fun, humor,
Form:
Lyric
In all honesty
I believe Love is actually blind
That she lost her road
And headed straight
Into the mess, she lays in today
I hope we all find her, bathe her and clothe her
Cos she's really a mess right now...
Love used to be the gatekeeper
Between the legs of young girls
Keeping the invaders out in the wild
But these days,
She's more like the green lamp on the traffic lights
Beaconing every car to drive that route
Deep into 'The Virgin Close'
Love used to be the backbone of every man
The strength and blood that pushes men to fight
Work and be the better person
But these days
She's become the gravity pulling every man down
She's the pickaxe used by gold-diggers
Digging the wealth out of our young men
Leaving them broke—like some shattered glass
Love was so innocent back in the day
All she knew was just letters
Written by some secret admirer
And believe me
The shadiest part of the letter is
You've got beautiful brown eyes
That's a classical one
But these days
Love does Sexting
She's all about the unspeakable...
Love is so rusty
She needs some work done on her
She needs rehabilitation
From her figure to her concept
Especially her use in this context
She is meant to be the binder
Between us all
But sadly, Love is blind
We've gotta spit on the ground
Make mud and rub in her eyes
As we proclaim the phrase (Jn. 9:6)...
Here's Mud in Your Eye
And all will come to know that
Love is not blind
Love is not proud
Love is not self-seeking
Love keeps no record of wrong
Rather, Love is kind
Love is patient
Love is true
Love protects
Love perseveres
Love is beautiful
Just like the Sea...
Inspired by Martha Machief
Critiqued by Ess—Jay
Categories:
critiqued, bible, first love, love,
Form:
Free verse
Resonation
no-one at first heard the tumult
the question to the arts,
take that
scythe rip that canvas crack that bronze
bust that marble
shatter it to shards
I heard the howl of a suffering soul
most recent in the line of bards…
no-one at first heard the cries
or played those tarot cards…
the prophecy was grim
gate-keepers of the holy shroud
did not acknowledge him
critics dismissed
professors critiqued
but she's' burst forth from the psyche and that collective conscience we all have though not ready for her resonated the soul
turning topsy turvy upside down blasted from with in
you old masters--
keepers of the kingdom blasted by a rebel yell
most foul
the Howl she barks a new tune with with syntax and symbols unacceptable
to all but a loon
we know it now we look out the horizon from the rim
She's here she's born
he bellowed the boon
And she anew will return again
I heard it once the howl of the suffering soul…
Categories:
critiqued, art, character, discrimination,
Form:
Free verse
Fanciful musings written in challenged braille scribbles
midst reveries' graffito on stone-cold deafening walls,
like Greek hieroglyphics for the poetically deranged
awaiting symmetry's reflectively critiqued paroxysms
Categories:
critiqued, allegory, allusion, appreciation, creation,
Form:
Free verse
The South End Poetry Group
wrote, shared, critiqued,
then self-published in a book.
Not content to hold and
admire our work, we set
about to give others a look.
We put up a special booth
during the fall festival
honoring our home town.
We raised our tent, to
block the sun, secured
with stakes in the ground.
To catch their attention
we used bright balloons, in
colors of red, white and blue.
We tied them securely
on each side of the tent
in case the wind came thru.
On the tables, we placed
covers in our school's colors.
In front, a large banner
telling who we were and why
we were there, then displayed
wares in an orderly manner.
But the wind had no care
for all our effort, and
spurned our colorful array;
came in with a mighty
whoosh, like a giant broom,
and swept it all away.
Categories:
critiqued, books, poetry, wind,
Form:
Rhyme
Me...flawed private facade
Unmasked public despair
Looked upon and onto buildings
Filling open space
Galaxy crossing,nation wide
Devils in disguise spat in the
face
*spits*
Of the one who makes you
Remorseful and unremarked
Deeply undermined
Gradually tormented
But yet successful
So I ask
"Who are you to critique and
lessen the quality of my work?"
I,but a profound pebble tossed
into a lake of surcease
My own art in which I lay
myself
I laugh in your face
Ha!
Not to be taken down from the
podium
Standing here ready for your
words
You...flawless public facade
Masking private despair
Looked upon yet onto nothing
Filling only your own
Critics become the critiqued
Categories:
critiqued, life
Form:
Free verse