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Forum Home » High Critique » The Wait (not to sure on the structure)

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!!!
2/6/2012 11:27:39 AM

Bethany Chipperfield
Posts: 2
Each Second; an hour,
waiting. Constantly waiting.
For you.
Can't you see I'm shaking, quaking?
Destroyed masterfully by a shiver -
tearing up my spine,
ripping me deep.
Still, I wait for your promise
of simple words,
words are the only things that mean,
anything. Anymore.
Cold has struck higher, harder
hacking me deeply.
Cut into veins of ice, now I'm
devoid of hope.
Any hope of you.
Numb overtakes me, lacerates me, berates me
each limb now lost,
only for you.
Misguided I am left.
Waiting. An Eternity of waiting.
No hope.
No feeling.

(be as critical as you want all critism is welcome)
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3/17/2012 4:33:03 PM

David Smalling
Posts: 4
It is okay to wait, just do not let them read it, but feel it. I read your anxiety ... but the poem has none, this is a disconnect between what you feel and what the poem tells. Make it cruptic, with only the promise in a few concrete statements. You can do it again, I believe.
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3/17/2012 4:45:02 PM

David Smalling
Posts: 4
This morning when the sun began
I began to time the coming of your words
The fusing of our flesh
Like light and morning glory
And the mountain was far away, and its ice
Summit dripped drop by drop
With seconds that does not suffice
To count the lengthening brevity of day.
The wind came and suddenly stop
There was no footsteps after it
Only its silence like a torn blanket around my heart
The sun slivers away so the moon will come
All that is left of the ice today
I am such a little drop jn a swollen bulge of sky
Such a clamor of the heart for things melting
I have no more expectation of the sun
And the moon is such a little drip of hope
Cold and shivering ... the last dew hangs
Waiting .... waiting
Precariously like a heart in love
And to think this moment
My life depends on this
How hard will the wind blow
I hang for dear life at the tip
Of a leaf shivering under the moon
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