Not For The Thin-Skinned

[PandoraGlitters]

Tzara, thank you bunches and bunches for responding to the poem. I owe ya one. It is great to get such detailed feedback and you have made me think about the initial image (as well as many other things). I will print your critique and Sara's for when I rewrite. What I am aiming for with the placemats is to establish the setting, and to get the sense of these people as anchored in this relationship: that it isn't just the relationship with the son that the prospective daughter in law will get but a relationship with the son and his mother. I wonder if the trouble is in the word plot. (Definitely not plop!)

Thank you, again, for the effort you expended on this. It is wonderful to hear how you are reading it and what works, and isn't so much working, for you. You and Sara have really helped me to see it with a bit more clarity and objectivity.

x 12

(If you don't like the roses, you can always give them to Sara.

Champagne, I am coming back later to respond to yours after I get some coffee in me.

 

[champagne1982]

Placemats plot the courtship
of prospective daughter and mother
in law. The rounded equanimity of the table
confesses no favorites, each placed between
the other two.

Conversation is constructed from the proper
boil of tea after the fact, as it steeps, the tannin
unfurling from the silver ball
that the girl pulls around and around
in its small orbit. Looking in, the mother sees
the moon, menstruation, follows
the slim crescent of hand down to the young
woman's lap, peering through knit
to her ovaries. The mother evaluates these fruits
in practiced palms without squeezing,
careful not to bruise.

The son says nothing but cuts his ham,
the only one who dares to hold a knife.

Hi Dora,

I like this poem and I hope you get some use from my thoughts.

Instead of the first full sentence starting the poem, try rearranging the strophe to have it begin with the table.

The rounded equanimity confesses
no favorites, no head, no right
hand. Placemats plot the course,

I would use course instead of courtship because of the meal theme and plotting on a map. It may be cliche but I think the phrase should be allowed here, since the poem is strong enough to support it.

I see the hand easily enough but you could refer, instead to the curves of her waist or undersides of breasts? Just as evocative in my mind as her hand but blatantly drawing parallels to her sexuality and reproduction, particularly the breast shape.

And the son daring to hold the knife... perhaps, using it is more indicative of the way the women would behave...

I hope I'm not too far off where you'd like your poem to be and that I've added value to the process of editing.

 

[PandoraGlitters]

Champagne, I love your suggestion about the first line. Much better flow, isn't it? Thank you. And for your other insights as well. x 12

 

[PandoraGlitters]

Postcard From Perfect

There's this place I want you to visit
a city or a town, no matter, you decide
but the only thing is,
it's a place where madness
means you're well

on the road to lunacy and riding
on the moon can't be a bad thing.

Postcard from perfect begins with a little one-two punch to reason which you reinforce with the reference to lunacy. The poem starts off by pulling the rug out from under the reader. (I want you to visit a place, but it doesn't matter if it is urban or rural) Then we are meant to feel that going crazy can't be bad. (This creates mystery and I want to know more).

I like second person for this even though the idea of making someone eat mud pies made me go "ew."

Remember that park with the swing
that always had a puddle where your feet
wanted to land and the big boys
would come around and tease you
because you didn't want to fly so high?

Well, here, there's a playground
where the only puddle is the one
where even the big boys have fun
and you can make them eat mud pies.

That theatre with the sticky floor
and the seats that always ate
your mittens has been renovated.

The stand alone line that follows I really like because it makes me realize how perfect life is already that I have this luxury. (Ok, it isn't entirely free, but pretty close.)

Oh, clean water is free.

Librarians, in this perfect place
don't suppress your need to laugh
out loud or even cry in sobbing
blubber snorts, when reading.

All the authors and poets here are perfect,
you can't keep yourself off the emote train.
So, all aboard and don't forget to write.

I love your line breaks. You end on strong images. The one that is most interesting is the idea of an emote train. It makes me see the space as virtual space which makes more sense when you tell the reader she can pick if it is a city or a town.

Here in Perfect, it rains when you want it to.
A perfect rain for splashing in
that makes rainbows out of black
clouds and doesn't wreck your painting;

artwork you proudly carry home
to show your mom who'll hang
it on the fridge with magnets
shaped like all the places
you've ever been,
when you ride on the moon.

Technically, I think you need a colon rather than a semi-colon after painting since what follows painting isn't a complete sentence.

I was left with the sense that longing for a perfect place is the madness of an immature person (mother hanging the artwork on fridge magnets). I like the way you begin and end with the postcard/artwork and bring us what feels like round trip on that train.

 

[champagne1982]

Dora, thankyou. It's the first time I had a successful second person poem visit me. Eve's Habit was a spot where experimenting was comfortable, since it was kind of private and you knew no one was going to make any unconstructive comments.

I'm happy the poem here works for you. Several of the members of this board have often told me to let my voice be strong in my writing, I guess second person can't be anything but the author's voice, there's no way to blame the mud pies on some omniscient narrator, although I'm betting you'll still go "ew" even so.

Thanks for your comments and I'll try to keep the elements you tagged in your notes foremost in my mind during the edit (which may just fix up the grammar). Would a dash work as well as a colon at the end of that line?

 

[PandoraGlitters]

Actually, I'd put a verb in the first part by taking out "that" then maybe just use a comma, like this.

"A perfect rain for splashing in
makes rainbows out of black
clouds and doesn't wreck your painting,

artwork you proudly carry home
to show your mom who'll hang
it on the fridge with magnets
shaped like all the places
you've ever been,
when you ride on the moon."

 

[champagne1982]

Actually, I'd put a verb in the first part by taking out "that" then maybe just use a comma, like this.

"A perfect rain for splashing in
makes rainbows out of black
clouds and doesn't wreck your painting,

artwork you proudly carry home
to show your mom who'll hang
it on the fridge with magnets
shaped like all the places
you've ever been,
when you ride on the moon."

Oh yeah. That works and scans better. Thanks!

 

[PandoraGlitters]

Placemats was published you guys. Thanks for the help. Can I be greedy and ask for more? I will try to respond in kind. I'm too in love with this to be objective. I need clear eyes.

Late

It's late. Fire ate through the log; only ends
remain. It is too late

to blow against the grain and rouse
its flames (and to what point?)

There is nothing to cook: no meal
no plan, no book.

If you poke the darkened bark, it rolls
exposing its charred belly, barely warm.

It never burned as hot, nor burned as long
in hatred as it did in love. Still, I

will scatter what is left out on the ground:
little to bury, nothing to find.

 

[PandoraGlitters]

PS. Tzara I miss you. You helped me so much with the poems and building confidence. It is appreciated.

 

[Tzara]

PS. Tzara I miss you. You helped me so much with the poems and building confidence. It is appreciated.

You know, sometimes I'm so wonderful I can't hardly stand myself.

Hey, congratulations are, I guess, in order, Ms. D. Heartfelt ones, in fact.

I'll try to comment on this later poem tomorrow.

But let me just say well done.

 

[PandoraGlitters]

Thanks, Tzara. I appreciate that and I will look forward to your criticism. If anyone else would like to chime in about what they think or feel about the poem, go ahead. I was trying for a sort of eroded iambic pentameter but I'm not sure it works. Let me know what you think, please?

 

[MickNasty]

Deranged

I'd just finished watching The Ruling Class. Peter O'Toole was inspired. I don't think I've ever seen him more on his game. It made my mind wander to what would crazy think? So I jotted this down and hope that you see through my killer's eyes.

To the mods - Yes. This poem was rejected from submission due to the "snuff" nature so I'll leave its fate in your more than capable hands. If it offends or otherwise *should* be removed, it won't be taken personally by me... it is what it is.


Deranged
By MickNasty

Blackness descends like wet blankets smother
Poison fruit tempts me though meant for another
Crimson life ebbs as payment for sin
Young flesh in my arms, taste satiny skin
Who was this angel that fell from the heavens
Into my life of deranged fascinations

Trolling for castaways ‘neath bridges and tenements
Discarded Barbie dolls absent of sentiments
Screams tickle my ears less now than before
Require adjustment to my virtuoso score
Each opened and broken then cut short of breath
My mouth locked on theirs to taste love’s sweet death

Oh happy days bring me such pleasure and pain
Of innocence found, of lover’s refrain
Dancing to Mozart, I’m pulling their strings
Their lifeless remains in my arms give me wings
To fly from this gutter, this dungeon abhorred
By all who would visit, by all who’d ignored

Now sadness descends like a stone in a lake
My playtime is ended, no time to partake
In the loving embrace of freedom and death
Releasing the lucky from life’s pain and stress
But I’ll see you next Tuesday, if you’ve got the time
Your tears will enthrall me, your screams so sublime

 

[annaswirls]

Wow! It was rejected at literotica? I am impressed, I did not realize they actually read our work that carefully.

I don't think this was too gorey or graphic. I am pretty sure another poet here had poems about a flesh eating man.... or wait, maybe Jack the Knife series?

Hmm. In places the rhyme works for the poem, gives it an old time, formal feel...

To fly from this gutter, this dungeon abhorred
By all who would visit, by all who’d ignored

but others it makes it too light:

Dancing to Mozart, I’m pulling their strings
Their lifeless remains in my arms give me wings

At any rate, I don't think it should be removed, but I am just a ghost myself.

Keep on writing,

~AS

I'd just finished watching The Ruling Class. Peter O'Toole was inspired. I don't think I've ever seen him more on his game. It made my mind wander to what would crazy think? So I jotted this down and hope that you see through my killer's eyes.

To the mods - Yes. This poem was rejected from submission due to the "snuff" nature so I'll leave its fate in your more than capable hands. If it offends or otherwise *should* be removed, it won't be taken personally by me... it is what it is.


Deranged
By MickNasty

Blackness descends like wet blankets smother
Poison fruit tempts me though meant for another
Crimson life ebbs as payment for sin
Young flesh in my arms, taste satiny skin
Who was this angel that fell from the heavens
Into my life of deranged fascinations

Trolling for castaways ‘neath bridges and tenements
Discarded Barbie dolls absent of sentiments
Screams tickle my ears less now than before
Require adjustment to my virtuoso score
Each opened and broken then cut short of breath
My mouth locked on theirs to taste love’s sweet death

Oh happy days bring me such pleasure and pain
Of innocence found, of lover’s refrain
Dancing to Mozart, I’m pulling their strings
Their lifeless remains in my arms give me wings
To fly from this gutter, this dungeon abhorred
By all who would visit, by all who’d ignored

Now sadness descends like a stone in a lake
My playtime is ended, no time to partake
In the loving embrace of freedom and death
Releasing the lucky from life’s pain and stress
But I’ll see you next Tuesday, if you’ve got the time
Your tears will enthrall me, your screams so sublime

 

[Tzara]

Placemats was published you guys. Thanks for the help. Can I be greedy and ask for more? I will try to respond in kind. I'm too in love with this to be objective. I need clear eyes.

Late

It's late. Fire ate through the log; only ends
remain. It is too late

to blow against the grain and rouse
its flames (and to what point?)

There is nothing to cook: no meal
no plan, no book.

If you poke the darkened bark, it rolls
exposing its charred belly, barely warm.

It never burned as hot, nor burned as long
in hatred as it did in love. Still, I

will scatter what is left out on the ground:
little to bury, nothing to find.

I like this poem. It has quite a rich sound to it, with all the repeated vowel sounds: late, remain, grain, flames, for example. And the erratic rhythm works well, I think, given the subject.

You're missing a closing punctuation mark at the end of L4.

There are too many pronouns, though, and often these render the subject of a line ambiguous. For example:

• In L7 (If you poke the darkened bark, it rolls) "it" seems to reference the bark, but that that doesn't really make sense. I presume the log is meant, but that isn't clear.
• In L9 (It never burned as hot, nor burned as long) does "it" refer to the flame or the log? Again, unclear (well, to me).
• Though L11 (will scatter what is left out on the ground:) doesn't contain an explicit pronoun, it does contain an implicit reference, but to the fire or the log?

Senna Jawa once used the phrase "gray army of pronouns" or something like that to make a point that pronouns suck meaning and specificity out of a poem. At least, that's how I interpreted his comment. A pronoun is essentially a placeholder, usually referring to something that has been mentioned more specifically earlier (how I interpret all these "it"s anyway). They tend to fog the image.

The last line seems vague to me—it doesn't feel like a resolution (perhaps this is what you intend). Particularly the nothing to find at the very end. Who would be looking for some trace of the love/hate/flame/log?

Anyway, some basic comments. Just my opinions, after all.

 

[PandoraGlitters]

Thank you very much, Tzara. Your advice on this is deeply appreciated. The pronouns will be trickiest to correct because of meter but I'll work on them. The rest is easier. You're super for taking time to read and comment.

Anyway, some basic comments. Just my opinions, after all.

 

[champagne1982]

Hi MickN.

I think your poem was rejected for the reference to Barbie Dolls. It's an oblique inference to underage sex (I know, how perverted that I think this way, but if I do, you can bet the Lit screeners rejected it because of that simple suggestion).

Attach a note with your submission that your mention of discarded Barbie Dolls simply illustrates the destruction of innocence and not any kiddie porn inclusion. If you do, a human will read your poem and decide rather than the script editor program used otherwise.

 

[MickNasty]

Hi MickN.

I think your poem was rejected for the reference to Barbie Dolls. It's an oblique inference to underage sex (I know, how perverted that I think this way, but if I do, you can bet the Lit screeners rejected it because of that simple suggestion).

Attach a note with your submission that your mention of discarded Barbie Dolls simply illustrates the destruction of innocence and not any kiddie porn inclusion. If you do, a human will read your poem and decide rather than the script editor program used otherwise.

Interesting theory, but they actually sent a cut-n-paste of references to "Was there excessive violence, snuff, or abuse of characters in your story?"

I'm not concerned. I'm not here to win contests (though the survivor contest certainly does have an appeal, even to an amateur such as myself!) but to become a better poet. If those in this thread wish to critique it, then I welcome it. If not, then so be it.

Thank you for the help though. I do appreciate you taking the time on my behalf.
Mick.

 

[champagne1982]

Interesting theory, but they actually sent a cut-n-paste of references to "Was there excessive violence, snuff, or abuse of characters in your story?"

I'm not concerned. I'm not here to win contests (though the survivor contest certainly does have an appeal, even to an amateur such as myself!) but to become a better poet. If those in this thread wish to critique it, then I welcome it. If not, then so be it.

Thank you for the help though. I do appreciate you taking the time on my behalf.
Mick.

Ok then.

 

[MickNasty]

Ok then.

*sigh* that's what happens when I'm writing white papers all day and going all analytical. I forget how to comunicate!

My indifference is more likely a defense mechanism than actual laissez-faire and the fact that you actually *read* what I wrote and tried to help me get it submitted speaks volumes of your intentions.

Really - I do appreciate the folks here who help me by offering their critiques. And those who offer their tips on getting my drivel read

Mick.

 

[The_Big_O]

Hi, im new here. Havent really made that many poems, but i came across this site and wanted to give it a try. I have mainly only made lyrics in the form of raps etc. therefore i guess im kind of used to straight honest feedback like: 'that sucks' or 'cool shit' so i wont get all emotional if you think its bad, constructive critique is welcomed. I am a foreigner so critique on the grammars is also highly appreicated. Here's my shot for you:

Darkness swallowed me as i entered myself,
An unexplored room of nothing..
Heartless.. wont let emotional pain prevail.
Its growing from seeds to something.

Im stuck between worlds; love and compassion,
you think their equal.. but wait!
The one makes up for the other.. Distraction!
Combine them and your left with hate.

Put together the first two verses.. then see;
What i am trying to say:
Relationships are hard and its ruining me,
But i guess its a part of the play.

 

[champagne1982]

Hi TBO.

The first line is a bit of an awkward construct. It sounds as if you're a hermaphrodite who's all set to--
Well, forgive me...
set to fuck himself. You need to analyze each sentence and ensure you're saying what you intend.

My apologies if you wanted to sound like a quasi-incestuous dual sexual.

 

[The_Big_O]

whaha, honesty from the heart. Thats honest feedback in its purest form, true what your saying though. hehe. I'll try not to write poems the way you explained here next time.

 

[The_Big_O]

Im trying again, this time i used a little bit more time on it. You think i should work and construct it alot more than i did here? Is my writing fucked up? If it is, how should i move on to improve my works?

Im prisoning myself in a cold cage,
A bold age, locks with love and hate.
The guard holding the key to my heart,
Opens, splits and then rip it in half.
I cant escape these prison-cells,
I cant escape from myself.
Emotions built these walls and bars,
Trapped in regret that leaves a series of scars.
I write about this subject, got it on lock,
But i cant seem to think outside of the box.
The agony of pain fills the air inside,
Wonder if the outsiders knows im alive.
I can hear the whispers, their calling my name,
The voices of brutality got pictured and framed.
Violence thrive inside. Im dying to live,
Myself, the only one i can never forgive.
​

 

[champagne1982]

I'm moving this one to the radical crit thread in the hangout.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Room for a little one?

When hell froze over
the man himself
skated round lost souls,
emptying their pockets
of stolen golf balls.
There arose such a wailing
teeth chattered
not gnashed,
and the flames of hell
dripped icicles,
grinning teeth dropping
seeds of destruction.