zimmie
10-14-2009, 04:41 PM
I have recently started a poetic creative writing class. I'm a complete novice at writing poetry, so I thought I'd post my first two efforts, to see if anyone could give me any tips or hints. In the first week, we were asked to write a poem that played with the fiction of a writer addressing a reader. In the second week, we were asked to write a poem that encompasses a number of widely differing viewpoints. These are the poems I've written;
As the Lid Ash is Scattered on the Table
I succomb to a freshly sueezed grip of his veined hand,
I feel his grip get tighter as the night grows lighter.
His teeth gnash at my lid. But still
No spell is formed by this wand
I stand here waiting to spill my ink
I look at you waiting too.
You're like a siren stealing the view.
One look at you and the words sink
He presses me hard with his finger and thumb
Waiting.
Hoping.
Waiting
For it to come.
Untitled
Wailing wind drifts through the high trees.
Shadowy crows silently sit watching from a baying branch
As raucous rain crashes the felled leaves.
A cigarette is tossed into the overgrowth by a figure soundlessly trampling through the flood.
The smoke rises from its dying embers into the night sky
As that hot familiar vanquished ash is lost to the mud.
The full moon gives light to the mirror of broken glass,
Alighting in the figures face, revealing her in all her darkness;
Her pale face belied by a pinkish hue and lurid lips of either red or blue.
As her green empty eyes stare into the wilderness,
Thoughts focused in her lowered head
Of that morning. Of that night. What she could have differently.
Moments come and moments pass. She trudges on through the grass
Muttering to herself all the words that were left unsaid.
She walks on through the gravelled pathway, amongst the gravestones,
Grey stone statues standing stoicly observing for reasons unknown.
She slumps on a park bench overlooking the water, clutching her white rose.
Feathers float fresh from a sleeping swan. The winds descends and the moon glows.
Any thoughts or advice? Thanks in advance.
As the Lid Ash is Scattered on the Table
I succomb to a freshly sueezed grip of his veined hand,
I feel his grip get tighter as the night grows lighter.
His teeth gnash at my lid. But still
No spell is formed by this wand
I stand here waiting to spill my ink
I look at you waiting too.
You're like a siren stealing the view.
One look at you and the words sink
He presses me hard with his finger and thumb
Waiting.
Hoping.
Waiting
For it to come.
Untitled
Wailing wind drifts through the high trees.
Shadowy crows silently sit watching from a baying branch
As raucous rain crashes the felled leaves.
A cigarette is tossed into the overgrowth by a figure soundlessly trampling through the flood.
The smoke rises from its dying embers into the night sky
As that hot familiar vanquished ash is lost to the mud.
The full moon gives light to the mirror of broken glass,
Alighting in the figures face, revealing her in all her darkness;
Her pale face belied by a pinkish hue and lurid lips of either red or blue.
As her green empty eyes stare into the wilderness,
Thoughts focused in her lowered head
Of that morning. Of that night. What she could have differently.
Moments come and moments pass. She trudges on through the grass
Muttering to herself all the words that were left unsaid.
She walks on through the gravelled pathway, amongst the gravestones,
Grey stone statues standing stoicly observing for reasons unknown.
She slumps on a park bench overlooking the water, clutching her white rose.
Feathers float fresh from a sleeping swan. The winds descends and the moon glows.
Any thoughts or advice? Thanks in advance.