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!!!
7/20/2017 9:20:14 AM
Tommy Allen
Posts: 1
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Give into pure thought, I'll entice you a spell,
Extracted from fear, fear my own hell.
The trees, they fall, the air, it drowns,
From beasts of skin, these earth-dwelling clowns.
Stuck in my mind,
Thoughts confined,
Of a life lived purely; a being redefined.
So I slip on my thought cap,
A brain full of tears,
To express all my feelings,
Few cheers - no cheers,
Jeers, the jeers.
The savagery of melancholy,
Befits of thee, a contrast to me!
Diluted eyes make everything fine,
Even through qualms,
Of spilled red wine.
If wine be thine own,
Yourself to condone,
For the seeds of pain already be sown.
No nature to blame,
Your soul to shame!
For life is more than only a game.
Blow your head off with solemn conviction,
Nought was heard save one conniption,
A cry to thy god,
A blatant ophidian.
A human unfit of a life coexistent,
Fear of slipping, running so distant.
Human, none of nature,
Just a foul spirit, a damnable creature.
O cruel confinement, I so wish I could live,
In a tale of nature,
True, righteous existence to give.
But such is the fate of all human being,
Of a life of eyes, prone to not seeing,
Seeing the pain of mother nature's tears,
For shame to you all,
You have become your own fears.
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This is my first poem published to PoetrySoup. I'm searching for some harsh words to improve my works, and motivate me to create art in the realm of literature to the best of my ability. I am 15 years old and find English classes to be simple and disengaging.
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9/12/2017 9:28:07 PM
Jack Webster
Posts: 255
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(in a perfect world)
A poem should never be an iron maiden, spiked
with the author's opinions, and shut
on the reader as punishment.
Contempt for the reader is not a solid foundation of a poem. In an ideal situation, a poem is a space, one the author creates, through prosody and imagery - for the reader, to share with the reader, as a friend might, the musing that has added to the quality of life for the author. A true poem is an act of love - not romantic love, but philosophical love. Hate poems happen, but these are only poems by virtue of technical skill. They are not Poetry - if you'll allow me to claim a philosophical distinction between a poem and what Poetry is.
Your poem wants for conversational phrasing. The language of The Bard and Christopher Marlow is an ornament best left on the still body of their work. Borrowing their language only holds one up for comparison to their masterful skill, and assigns oneself an impossible task. If you speak well, it's best to write as you speak. Much of prosody lies in the span of a breath, the relationship of phrasing to line breaks and caesurae, as well as lexical stress, morae, and the sonic qualities of alliteration and sometimes rhyme. I would focus on these elements, rather than attempt to resurrect the extinct species of Elizabethan English. Meter and metrics are immortal. They perdure beyond the change of syntax and coloquial language. Prosody is the nature of the ear itself, and even, in some way, the nature of the mind, as well. Do not distract yourself chasing golden apples, and in so doing miss the beauty of your living language. Steal a branch from the tree of life, and plant your own living golden apple tree! Study the old poets. Find what is immortal, and leave the dead where they lie. (No prosodic necromancy, young spell weaver! If one raises the corpse of Elizabethan English, usually it is not pretty - it usually staggers around rasping, grey and tattered, and devours the sound of the poem!)
The angst of your poem is made clear, as a presence, but the clarity of its purpose and imagery is lacking. It seems to be about the destruction of the natural world and mankind's apathy to the suffering it creates - however, saying so is somewhat a leap faith.
The parts you say clearly are: referring to the reader's Higher Power as an ophidian, that the reader should feel shame, and mother nature's tears. The rest is a bit like scuffed, unpolished silver - it has a satiny texture, but difficult to see anything clearly in it. But, that doesn't mean it is worthless or lacks potential.
My suggestion is... rewrite... as a sonnet. Not a Shakespearean sonnet... make the volta the first line of the sestet. In the octet, I want you to write 8 lines that viscerally capture mother nature's beauty, the color, diversity, the powers that shape the world, the balance of life itself, her fragility in the midst of her unyielding resiliance - no telling - SHOW... with images - focus on verbs and nouns, use adjectives only if necessary - mother nature's beauty is in her energy, her activity, and these are verbs - things acting, interacting, acting upon.
THEN - the volta/ sestet - using images show it being destroyed (have you seen the video of the tree-stripping logging machine?! utterly horrifying). MAKE NO ACUSSATIONS. Tell nothing. SHOW.
the beauty of the octet creates a spiritual space for the reader to experience nature. the volta shows the destruction. you won't neex to say anything. they will feel it. if they feel it, their eyes will open as wide as their hearts.
accusing and attacking the reader simply leaves them bruised and defensive.
good luck!
(remember - conversational phrasing... please, see Master Shakespeare back to his peaceful rest. He's done the world his good. To us he leaves the rest!)
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9/14/2017 6:27:48 PM
jack belck
Posts: 12
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You need to know exactly what you want to say--then say it well. This is stream of conscious stuff that needs to be dropped and discipline imposed.
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