Long Critique Poems
Long Critique Poems. Below are the most popular long Critique by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Critique poems by poem length and keyword.
If life was a canvas how would you paint it
If life was a canvas how would I paint it
Bright colors making rainbows, a picture of fun
Would you paint by the numbers and quickly be done
Approach with simplicity on your brain
A life full of cheer, one that's easy to maintain
This fear arises after staring at my page
A vision played out, a scene of puppets on a stage
A life mapped out from beginning to end
This how you'll dance and all will blend in
From this nightmare I awaken, intent to flee
Trapped in someone's vision, I demand to be free
For my thoughts to run wild, to erupt when they may
Deciding what I dream, what I think, what I say
No cage for my brain, no shackles for my life
Persuade all you want, try to entice
There's one thing I've learned, I yearn for a fight
Opportunity to overcome, triumph, to do right
Just out of spite I'll paint my picture
An array of splatters, a distasteful mixture
A canvas made dirty, ruined in your view
Full of feeling, truth, maybe a little rude
Strokes of genuine love and pain
New life and sunshine, some death and rain
A vision to stay true to this life we all live
No hiding the turmoil or effort we give
While embracing the moments we all live for
Family, adventure, comfort and more
A smile that brings light and calms a storm
Devastating events that cause you to mourn
The good and the bad, the beautiful and ugly
Unique beliefs, standards, and controversy
Displaying our fears of the mundane and unknown
Of the sights we have seen, the ones yet to be shown
A love hate relationship with all that we know
Places we've been, left and hope to go
Outside the lines, no connecting the dots
Refusal to reform nor stay in one spot
No outline to my life, no limit to my potential
More than one muse, all is influential
I'll hang it on my wall for all to critique
To say what they will, my future is bleak
A magnificent mess of highs and lows
A hint of mystery, let the suspense grow
With an area untouched, left blank for a reason
Specially reserved for the upcoming season
A masterpiece in the making, one of a kind
A Jessie Original, you can't have it, it's mine
One man's dream is another's nightmare
So to each their own, let's keep it fair
At the strip you see colorful lights,
you walk tripping over your own lines,
shouting words that never crossed your mind,
while your vaults are getting lighter.
Under the counters, death hides
without its scythe—waiting.
The air you breathe
smokes your ing lungs,
the food you eat
serves you dinner
in the emergency room,
as you laugh at the romance,
watching a favorite TV show.
The newspaper prints in blood,
forty-two homicides before breakfast,
carved into the morning broadcast,
as you applaud an idol’s outfit.
No institution speaks,
as you believe you ever had a choice.
One door away from war,
as you shiver inside walls.
Sitting in your kitchen,
memorizing stains on the wall.
You numb yourself with distraction
as you burn others for printed paper.
Pretending it seals your wounds:
"Let me have a cellphone, a toaster and a fridge
then I'll be happy."
You sit in silence,
using a monitor
as a frame for your head.
Programmed to scroll down,
giving hearts for bathtub streaming,
you feed desire through a screen.
They hover above you,
sipping your soul with a straw,
their pockets choking—
still asking for more.
A machine seeking life,
barking for attention,
misled by your own leash.
Silent, your mouth still moving,
drooling—watching
your neighbour’s rooftop pool.
Are you our sort of writer?
Do you write
Stories or poems
Memoirs or nonfiction
Or some other form?
Blank pages wait for something new, do you
Put something on it before you walk away?
Stop waiting.
Open your notebook,
Empty, empty, do you need a pen
Click it and write
A passage or metaphor
And with it
Will you marry your thoughts
It is your destiny.
To rest your eyes you’ll see
Something with your mind
You’ll take stock of your life
And leave your heart naked
Do you want a disguise-
Rouge and bright
Will you marry your lines
Will they shatter or fade with the sun
Will they weaken with the passage of time
Others remember you by.
Now your muse is weary
I have an answer for that.
Come on friend, sit at the table
And see what you make of that.
Your thoughts will be silver
Your words framed in gold.
A shimmering life if you look
Images for the heart
It will sing to you.
It works, even if just a little
Your story has a hole, a ghost to tell
Behind your eye, you have an image
It’s your time to shine
Will you marry your lines?
Thanks to Sylvia Path for her great works. My poem is based on her piece, titled “The Applicant.”
How do I write a poem about me,
What story is there to tell?
Do my words paint pictures,
Do they cast a spell?
What would someone say if he wrote a critique
About what it is that makes me unique?
I am often a dreamer,
And in my dreams I'll be found
Singing and dancing and prancing around
In swell musical productions
Full of glorious technicolor,
Stupendous cinemascope,
Quadrophonic sound,
And, of course, the more recent innovation of spectacular HD.
These days my slumber's not nearly so deep,
And my dreams are interrupted at least twice a night
And, often as not, I can't get right back to sleep.
So as we come to another year's end,
I find myself sitting alone here again
With pen in hand and tongue in cheek
Painting word pictures,
Casting my spells,
And trying my damnedest to be unique.
Is this an attribute of,
Or homage to,
My latent creativity,
Or a reflection of my artistic vanity,
Or merely a part of my all too-natural fallibility?
After all, I'm only what I'm here to be.
So how do I write a poem about me,
What story is there to tell?
I was born, I grew;
I learned, I knew;
I loved a few;
I won not one;
I lost a lot;
I proved, I got to here today,
Scribbling and painting and casting away,
Still trying my best to weave a spell,
And hoping that some future critiquer
Will find me, not trite,
But a trifle uniquer.
Look at you
Look at you
I mean look
Really look
At how God took
Took time
To mold you
Complete you
Craft you
Create you
Into this master piece
With ease
Each sketch
Was perfected at it's best
It wasn't hard
Because you see you were unique
From your head to your feet
People critique
Because they don't know you
But they show you
Who they are
Who you are to
Tell me who's more you than you
No one
Is
You are the life to a lifeless plant that gives
Gives soil, give water , you give the root
Your the basketball that goes in the hoop
The ingredients that goes in the soup
Look at you
You are more than legs and thighs
You are like a roll of thunder have they heard your cry
Have they ever looked in your eye
And saw the crystal clear
Image
Take out the negatives
Run it through
And look at the positive image of you
That's the view
That you been waiting to see
Took years and years and tears
To flourish
Into this beautiful flower
With ever petal that was grown
You owned it
Every bouquet that was displayed
It represented
Trials
My child
Trials and tribulations
Thinking about segregation
In a nation
That no longer represented
Value morals
It sucks
To see without certainty
That we have to build
Pick yourself back up live
Forgive
Forget
Don't live a life full of regrets
People don't look like what they have been through
So stop wishing you were them and. They were you
Look just look at you
Stare
Get the glare
With other opinions who care
When you look with your eyes
What do you see
I see a puzzle
With the right pieces
Jeans with the right creases
I see
The looks
I see the pureness
I see a feathered pen
Ready to write
Anything in sight
I see the light
The tunnel through darkness
The sparks through sparkness
Gentle giant
I see the climate
The weather
I see us getting it together
I see lifting up
Instead of putting down
I see readjusting those well earned crowns
I see history in the making
Getting back everything that was taken
Taking a stand
When I see myself
I see that I "I CAN*
Written by: Concetta Hardnett
01/08/2022
Judge me not, just wear my biting shoes
And then see, wear no blinkers of views
Of which little I care,
Nor care such shoes to wear,
And there’s no room I think
To paint peacock’s eggs pink,
Or else wait and hope I lose my muse.
______________________________________
Limerick | 06.09.2022 | Humour
Poet’s note: Every writer, prose or poetry, every performer, painter or player passes through this phase—to feel like shooing off the critics like a speck of dust on the dress he wears. It is good to feel sure of what one writes. But every lump of gold has to pass through the test of fire to purify.
Smokey hillside, offers flavors
of privacy bared open.
Reading like futuristic three,
maybe fourth dimensional sign
that says "open".
The neighbors business blabbed
all around by "Miss social, "the "original", organic-loving and down to earth hippie.
She corrals Betty's stew and wafts it up for my senses to approve.
As I walk the lush and the crunch
of her ravine.
She carries on about what a beautiful day it is-
Showing me the harmony of relationships that the greenery of the Glade has procured out of Barter alone.
Lifting my shirt in a tuft of tantalizing-underhandedness,
to persuade me to agree.
As she sneaks a charming smile
simultaneous in pure corruption to let it go down easy.
A sugarpill for my already cult hypnotized serenity.
Field urchin pick pockets flirt the occasional cameo, with tails in question or exclamation.
To show I'm headed the right way.
Like sports judges, critiquing my
choice of approach or in the approach my body language parlays.
The autumn air has an air to it.
A magic that lies in hibernation
the rest of the year,
letting you think it may never return.
But here it is mixed with stove smoke and creating thin tendriled and adult curved imagery from the chimneys, in snapshot fluidity.
Slow and easy so that I don't
miss a thing.
After a bit I find the birds want me to critique this time.
After getting poll position,
and stuffing their feathers,
they sound off.
With a contrived, but surprisingly,
not at all nauseating display of
look how small I am but!....overacting cutesy.
In a way, it's a bit disgusting.
In it's neediness in competition.
What is this Star Search?
I chose my favorite after long deliberation.
But told no one, so that no feelings
were hurt and next walk will be a
continuation, thawed, right in step
with today.
Give me a man who's introspects
Who concedes the flaw that's true
Give me a man who can laugh at himself
And can walk in another's shoes.
Give me a man who can stand apart
But who's able to blend in
When the road ends he can restart
He plays fair when he strives to win.
Give me a man who can see the world
Without a filter of preconception
Who can recognize when the script is overthrown
By one nagging exception.
Give me a man who can take a critique
But who can also dish one out
Admitting fault doesn't make you weak
And sometimes there is room for doubt.
Give me a man who hears the quiet voice
The soft alarm that something's wrong
Who steps back, revises his choice
Like rewriting the words of a hit song.
Give me a man who likes to jump in a pond
And swim to the far shore
Who wants to see what lies beyond,
And what the journey's for.
Give me a man with a strong arm and a soft word
Empathetic, but not to the point of harm
Who can go against the herd
When the party line raises an alarm.
Give me the company of men such as these
They'll keep me honest too
A trust so deep to keep at ease
And friends to see me through.
#2 Rumi Quote:
If you are irritated by every rub,
How will your mirror be polished?
________________________________________
Be not perturbed when life presents hurdles,
Nothing worthwhile comes sans struggle;
Do not tag every challenge unjust or unfair,
Blemish on your mirror, not a reason to despair.
Read not a rub, always, as a rub of critique,
If it’s uninformed, there isn’t much to heed;
Stay the course, amity speaks for your deeds,
Judge not harshly when repentance pleads.
Endeavor mindfully, to learn from mistakes,
Sow in every failure, seeds of sweet success,
Find your happiness on other side of regrets,
Be not irritated by life’s every give-and-take.
Reject ego and pride; introspect, reflect,
Mend your ways, adapt to realms of change,
Look in the mirror, measure your progress:
Is your today, better than your yesterday?
Your smile shines bright
Fields can't contain its light
Miss it with every step
Longing for our chat, kept
Hellen, your name I say
In every statement, it stays
Title of love poems too
For it brings thoughts of you
My feelings for you unique
Unusual, hard to critique
Started as online friends
Now wishing for kidnapping trends
To be near you once more
As we were in days of yore
Hellen's love, what a wonder
My heart starts to ponder
The days we talked all night
Your presence, a guiding light
Oh, how I miss those times
Wishing for moments, so sublime
Your smile, Hellen's grace
Time with you, never a waste
My heart aches to see
The Hellen's love, just you and me.
©Otieno Elvis Gikoi
30LettersToHellenOfLove
ArtFromHeart