Poetry Discussion Queue

[das_risiko]

You should be aware that, as is said in the Welcome thread, this specific subforum (Poetry Discussion Circle) is about focused and intense critique and discussion of poems; in order to offer your poem up for discussion, you should first make two non-trivial critiques, as specific and substantial as possible.

I posted three critiques yesterday. If those are not sufficient, please let me know and I will post more. I critiqued "Midnight Rendevous" by Naamplao, "Normandy" by neonflux and "January 07" by unapologetic. Naamplao even used the line I suggested. Again if my critiques were m=not enough or were not what you were looking for, please let me know and I will post additional critiques.

Thanks.

 

[champagne1982]

Arguments With Fate

So what of this rage that I
rail and rant into the empty
hours here, in the dark and lonely
nights, when fair is but another
word with meaning, not applied
to women who haven't lived enough,
cried enough or laughed sufficient
tears to bathe a babe unborn
or mourn a parent, too young to pass?

What of a love still waiting
for its time to blossom and grow
amongst the first, warm days
of infatuated touchings and eager
kisses? Those never felt on lips;
aquiver, with glistening lashes
closed over eyes, bright with tears,
prepared, to shed in grief and regret,
that rage which blots out moments
I could choose to smile with you?

There is no dignity in waiting on time
to either knock or cease to press
opportunity to live a different path.
No power in obeisance to a master
who holds the hour I might spend
in struggle or in joy. Give it back
to me and I will determine all the good
or evil that this life will wright.

I'm submitting this poem in hopes that I'll get some help making this better. The second strophe is giving me some "flow" problems, any suggestions as to how I can get it smoother or less rushed would be appreciated. Thanks in advance, poets. Have at 'er.

 

[naamplao]

A Good Read

I wrote this poem shortly after my divorce. It is a fairly light piece with a fun metaphor. Feel free to criticize it. I have found most criticisms here to be very constructive and invariably lead to a much stronger poem.

I hope you enjoy this write...

A Good Read
By Naamplao

Don’t judge my cover.
It’s worn, sure...
faded....maybe,
torn and dog-eared in places,
but all pages are attached,
the spine is firm.
Lots of good reading
for someone looking for discovery,
a treasure, or something
to curl up with on a cold evening.

No!...don’t put me down,
back on the shelf.
Look at my contents,
thumb the pages a little,
read a bit,
get my flavour...explore.
I can intrigue, fascinate, outrage
and provoke laughter or tears.
It’s all there...
if you take the time to look

Heard a bad review, eh...
vile, venomous and vindictive,
in my humble opinion...
Well, consider the source,
judge for yourself.
I was on her shelf for many years
her property so-to-speak,
not easy to talk about,
but, that is the past
I’m back in circulation now.

Yes...many chapters in my life,
lots of skills to draw on,
jack-of-all-trades I am,
pride myself in knowing
a little of everything.
The blank pages?....
Why, it’s space for more story,
not ready for the “discard” box yet.
Still life under this dust jacket,
take your time...I’m a good read!

 

[miss_mystery]

Rideau Canal

Hi folks. Always fun to find a workshop, and I hope that I might join.



Rideau Canal



You untangle your legs
from the twist of other bed-sheets,
although I imagine that they are clean
and crisp, as I have never made them;
I unwind from him, outstretch one toe
and fingers pointed like willow-slim branches
reaching for water, make a dive

for the door. We come together
to bathe in the borrowed shelter
of her bones of iron and limestone.
She dresses us in rags, in lake-weed
wrapped around sexes, transforms us
into freshwater myth, naiads bespangled
with droplets of moonlight. Below
the shift of her skin, our thighs flash
quick-silver—columns reflected
in the birch that line her flanks
and the fish that drift by, oblivious

to any indecency. In the confluence of bodies
that she wears, slipping one into the next,
they dream cool, piscine dreams.

 

[unapologetic]

After the Storm

I watch the water
beneath our feet.
The stream slips
swiftly away,
and this cliché,
a babbling brook,
sings sweet, though
predictable, songs.
Who can say if we should sit
On this bridge,
looking over the edge,
or let the storm swollen
current carry us away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm especially looking for help with line breaks, but any assistance will be appreciated. Also, is it too transparent? Can you tell what I'm really trying to say?

Thanks!

 

[champagne1982]

Thrown Clay

It was enough that her hands
warm the clay and smooth
its surface even as she moulds
folds and creases in a spiral
down around the barber-pole
hardness of the cylinder.
She loved to come into her studio
and fabricate something human -
like God, out of clay: She made him.

It takes shape, round and masculine,
a simulacrum of Her Adam with feet
of clay, waiting for her lips
to descend and breathe life
into this, Her Art. She accepts
her divinity as her fingers
sweep along the rigid symbology.

Her new religion that allowed
this manifestation of the need
that consumed her, clasped
tightly in her hands in offering
to her mother goddess, Isis.
Phallus and fertility and ritual
sublimated through Her art
in a garage-studio out back,
behind the kitchen of her reality.
________

This is a challenge response written for a different web site. There are word choices that may seem a bit awkward but let me know what doesn't fit, that's why I'm workshopping it here.

 

[twelveoone]

By the River

thank you Eve,

Decided due to lack of time, couldn't deal with comments
Right now I'm trying to wrestle it into a sonnet
and the first to go was the juxtaposion of flowery language with the garbage.

 

[champagne1982]

In regards to comments on poems inside the queue

Both of these comments that follow are in reference to unapologetic's "After The Storm. They would much better serve the poet if you placed your comments in reply on the actual critique thread, I think.

I think this works if you just hyphenate 'storm-swollen'.

And don't you need a question mark at the end?

Please forgive my presumptuous impulse to respond in this way, but I had fun with your words, juggling to understand the meaning. I realize that the following may be at complete odds with what you meant, but here is the result of my treating your poem as a jigsaw puzzle:


I watch
the water beneath our feet, streaming swiftly
slip away, and carry this cliché, a babbling brook
sweetly sings songs predictable.
Who can say if we should sit contemplating on this bridge
or, looking over the edge, let the swollen storm-current,
carry us away.


Hopefully it is of some use to you. Otherwise, never mind me, I'm just playing in the sandbox.

Disregard if you feel otherwise.

 

[lorencino]

Both of these comments that follow are in reference to unapologetic's "After The Storm. They would much better serve the poet if you placed your comments in reply on the actual critique thread, I think. Disregard if you feel otherwise.

I am really interested in discussing poetry and making a massive contribution to that discussion but I need it to be easy for me to do so. This is not the first time I am reading a thread and then, when I respond to something that is said on that thread, I'm admonished about posting to the wrong thread. And I've seen others being told that they are posting in the wrong place. I am completely confused about how this whole eccentric website structure functions. It is like hearing a statement in one room and then having to hurry of to another room to respond. It's not normal, it's not natural and it's counter-intuitive, or at any rate, to my particular intuitive inheritance. I have difficulty finding a thread I've just posted to and all this time spent wandering around like a directionally challenged Klutz is time. that could have been spent commenting on poetry.

In a nutshell: I don't understand where I'm supposed to write what, and even if I did know wotz wot, I'm having trouble knowing how to get there. The interesting thing is that I am a graphic designer and my work includes designing websites and planning the navigation systems for these websites. Obviously nothing as complicated as this site nor as heavily used as this site. I just wish it was not such a major learning curve for a newbie to be able to function at a literary level rather than a technical level here.

My approach, when things are not working, has always been to look at the system first before blaming people. Only when the system is relatively flawless, should one start badgering people.

 

[Lauren Hynde]

You can't blame the system if you don't read the first post of the threads you post to, or those threads with titles such as "READ THIS FIRST".

 

[champagne1982]

I did hotlink the thread in question.

As far as navigation, consider each new post a twig on a big ole tree; by looking at an oak, you can tell what species it is by the leaves but you don't know what it's growing in until you check out the roots.

 

[average gina]

How's the queue going? May I submit one? I have to choose one that I really want to work well. Do you guys mind looking at a couple of villanelles to see if I need to do anything to them? You don't have to post but one, but I'd like to get input on both...puhleese?

 

[Angeline]

How's the queue going? May I submit one? I have to choose one that I really want to work well. Do you guys mind looking at a couple of villanelles to see if I need to do anything to them? You don't have to post but one, but I'd like to get input on both...puhleese?

Hi. Happy New Year.

Why don't you start a thread with both of them and I'll put an announcement thread on the regular forum that they're there and you'd like feedback. You might have to wait a few days because of the holiday, but I bet we'll get some folks in here.

 

[average gina]

Hi. Happy New Year.

Why don't you start a thread with both of them and I'll put an announcement thread on the regular forum that they're there and you'd like feedback. You might have to wait a few days because of the holiday, but I bet we'll get some folks in here.

I don't ever recall getting the type of input in them on the main forum that is being offered here.

 

[champagne2008]

I don't ever recall getting the type input in them on the main forum that is being offered here.

I think you've completed this forum's prerequisite critiques on the other poems here. Why don't you add your poem to this thread and one of the moderators can post it to the circle? It's easy. Just reply to this thread with your complete poem and at the bottom of your reply, list the points or questions you'd like everyone to address in their critique/review.

Welcome

 

[naamplao]

There doesn't seem to be any poetry submitted at all this year. I don't really understand why as this is a great forum for discussion. Here is one I wrote about 10 years ago.


Defiant
by Naamplao

Don’t turn your eyes
when you are talking to me.
I have done nothing wrong
I am not a leper, not soiled,
it is a growth , a parasite
feeding on me, it’s not my fault.

Please don’t ask me how I’m feeling
when I am looking so low,
I am not ready to share, can’t you see?
I have battles to wage, demons to fight
with no hope, no plan, only a dogged
will to survive, to win...I must win!

This does not mean that I don’t need you,
don’t need to feel your arms around me,
clutching me to your bosom, mewing soft,
meaningless, wonderful expressions
of your caring, I truly need this, but
I cannot ask for it now for I am not ready.

I don’t need your pity! Pity the lost...not me!
For I shall beat this cancer, pummel it
into the ground, dance on its form,
scream a warning to all disease,
that this is MY body, MY life
and I will NOT quietly submit.



As background to this piece, I wrote this shortly after having an operation. I had a non-classic appendix abscess. They did not know what they would find when they operated and the following biopsy revealed a microscopic cancerous tumour which, if it was as little as a millimeter in size, would have limited my life to about 6 months, so I am told.

I was frightened at the time and no one could talk to me...because they did not know how. As I have done many times before, I turned to the one friend that would listen.....my pen.

I have shared this poem with other cancer survivors and have received good feedback from them. I was lucky. I am 10 years cancer-free due to the fact that the tumour attacked a useless organ and was completely removed without spreading. I was lucky but there is not a day that goes by that I do not think about it.

I hope you enjoy the poem and get some insight into what goes through the mind of a person recovering from cancer....at least my mind anyway

 

[RaLaWrites]

Part Time Princess

This is my first poem. I'm an author on the site but writing a poem put me out of my comfort level which is sort of what I want.

I hope it's not too bad! Any and all feedback would be greatly appreciated.


_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ __ _


Long tresses the color of black molasses.
I like them and him, his skin, his glasses.
His wry smile as he whispers to me.
Vividly portraying pictures of he and I,
his princess with her legs spread, his face between my thighs.

A gentle flick against my clit.
I clench my teeth and make a fist.
My fingers entwine in his mane.
Sharp gasps, soft laughs and drops of rain.
An explosion of hair, it covers me.
His face is hidden, I'm unable to see.
Not on purpose, it's what he wants.
To tease and arouse, excite, taunt.

My legs on his shoulders, resting there.
My skin is porcelain, pretty and fair.
Such a contrast to his deep tan skin.
His tongue wiggles, probes, then goes all the way in.
My squeals of joy soon turn to screams.
He grabs hold of my hips to lap up my cream.

My fingertips touch his beautiful head.
My body feels heavy, legs like lead.
He licks fast, hard. He knows I'm close.
The sweet, sticky juice is what he wants the most.
He worships my cunt, loves me for me.
I don't feel the same. Why not? He'll soon see.
I climax, smile and give him a push.
He's confused; my brain is supposed to be mush.
I stand up, wink and put on my sweater.
"You're always good, but Ray is better."

His eyes go wide and he frowns.
He's angry and livid but makes no sounds.
It's not just that I want another.
It's just that "another" is also his brother.
I shrug and grin, curtsy and twirl.
"Told you I'm not a princess or good girl."
I head for the door but stop in my tracks.
I'm frozen in place, his eyes on my back.
"You've got nice hair, it turns me on.
It's thick, wavy and really long.
You wanted it too, no need to lie.
But I've got a date with Ray. So long, goodbye!"

 

[Angeline]

This is my first poem. I'm an author on the site but writing a poem put me out of my comfort level which is sort of what I want.

I hope it's not too bad! Any and all feedback would be greatly appreciated.


_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ __ _


Long tresses the color of black molasses.
I like them and him, his skin, his glasses.
His wry smile as he whispers to me.
Vividly portraying pictures of he and I,
his princess with her legs spread, his face between my thighs.

A gentle flick against my clit.
I clench my teeth and make a fist.
My fingers entwine in his mane.
Sharp gasps, soft laughs and drops of rain.
An explosion of hair, it covers me.
His face is hidden, I'm unable to see.
Not on purpose, it's what he wants.
To tease and arouse, excite, taunt.

My legs on his shoulders, resting there.
My skin is porcelain, pretty and fair.
Such a contrast to his deep tan skin.
His tongue wiggles, probes, then goes all the way in.
My squeals of joy soon turn to screams.
He grabs hold of my hips to lap up my cream.

My fingertips touch his beautiful head.
My body feels heavy, legs like lead.
He licks fast, hard. He knows I'm close.
The sweet, sticky juice is what he wants the most.
He worships my cunt, loves me for me.
I don't feel the same. Why not? He'll soon see.
I climax, smile and give him a push.
He's confused; my brain is supposed to be mush.
I stand up, wink and put on my sweater.
"You're always good, but Ray is better."

His eyes go wide and he frowns.
He's angry and livid but makes no sounds.
It's not just that I want another.
It's just that "another" is also his brother.
I shrug and grin, curtsy and twirl.
"Told you I'm not a princess or good girl."
I head for the door but stop in my tracks.
I'm frozen in place, his eyes on my back.
"You've got nice hair, it turns me on.
It's thick, wavy and really long.
You wanted it too, no need to lie.
But I've got a date with Ray. So long, goodbye!"

Hi and welcome to the forum. Please read the "Welcome" thread on this discussion forum for rules about how to submit your poem for critique in this discussion circle.

 

[RaLaWrites]

*Slaps forhead* I forgot to give feedback to another poem but that issue has been taken care of.

Another thing: I did some editing of the story above and decided to post it.

Here's the link:

http://www.literotica.com/stories/showstory.php?id=383572