Where is my mind? (The Black Dog Bites)

[CellarDoor]

I am but a shell of a man.
Just a scarecrow watching over the field.
I cannot even move
to tip my hat to my neighbours,
cannot move
to make a gesture of friendship.

And the rivers run deep beside me,
and cut furrows in the land.
They cut right though the fertile topsoil
through to the basalt stones below.
And just for a moment,
I look around and I think I’ve found my footing.
I may only be able to watch the world go by,
but at least this place is peaceful.

Far off in the distance, a storm approaches…

And suddenly
the black dog towers over me,
a monolith in my tiny room.
I beg for mercy,
beg for reason,
but he is ravenous.

The black dog is upon me
and his teeth cut right through my bones.
He leaves no scraps,
no bones,
no blood,
and I have no strength left to protect myself.
Everything I have
and everything I am,
has been taken from me.
Nobody can see me,
because there is nothing left to see.

I am no more,
and I've forgotten
that I ever was.

[CellarDoor]

I think therefore I am...
I desire therefore I want to be
I love therefore I adore to be
I wonder therefore I marvel to be
I fear therefore I dread to be
I rage therefore I resent to be
I hate therefore I loathe to be
I despair therefore I neglect to be
…There is nothing good or bad in this world, but thinking makes it so

[CellarDoor]

The black dog bays beside me.
Ghastly ghoul gone gangly;
Gnawing madly;
On the puss in the six inch gully
in the middle of my soul…

Fed on rot like a maggot,
Gone to hell like a blaggard,
I’m alone in my Manor of Speaking.

Strictly seeking,
Further meeting;
With the lady
in the wallow
down the lane
near the hollow
in the hole
in the middle of my soul gone bad…

The rhythm of this arrhythmic night
plays ways with the
piitter patter,
chitter chatter,
klitter klatter,
kling klang klong
of the coy little claws
in the chasm of my unchained malformed mind.

****.

This truly is the way the world ends:
With a fizzle,
in the sizzle;
Summer’s drawn out discontent.

Out of time;
Out of mind?
Out of mine.

[CellarDoor]

Hi there, first post for these forums. This lot seem to sit nicely together, and I think they compliment each other.

The first is quite old, I wrote it almost as a piece of prose originally but i think it sits well. The other two are much more recent, but they were both inspired by the first so they seem to make sense together. Stopped writing for a while but I was going through some things and found some old pieces which made me want to start again.

Comments and constructive criticism welcome.

[PrinceMyshkin]

I will limit myself to commenting on this one for now. I feel it tp be a strong, affecting poem but rather wish you would end it at:


I am but a shell of a man.
Just a scarecrow watching over the field.
I cannot even move
to tip my hat to my neighbours,
cannot move
to make a gesture of friendship.

And the rivers run deep beside me,
and cut furrows in the land.
They cut right though the fertile topsoil
through to the basalt stones below.
And just for a moment,
I look around and I think I’ve found my footing.
I may only be able to watch the world go by,
but at least this place is peaceful.

Far off in the distance, a storm approaches…

And suddenly
the black dog towers over me,
a monolith in my tiny room.
I beg for mercy,
beg for reason,
but he is ravenous.


because everything after this struck me as just milking the image of the black dog. Either the reader feels the ominousness of it and therefore that you are lost, or no amount of punching in further details will make the point any more strong.

[blank|verse]

I agree with Prince's comments. These are decent poems, Cellardoor, and I'm mindful they're your first posts but as you've asked for constructive criticism, I hope you appreciate the following as an honest appraisal of the poems.

They have some nice moments, but on the whole, the poems are over-written and too heavily dependent on intertextual references and clichés, which becomes distracting and leaves the reader feeling there's not enough originality in them.

There might be more, but I've counted the following: 'Where is my mind?' – Pixies song; 'the black dog' is Churchill's famous metaphor for melancholy and is now somewhat hackneyed; 'I think therefore I am' – Descartes; 'There is nothing good or bad in this world, but thinking makes it so' – Hamlet; 'Out of time, etc' – REM or Dylan.

The content of the poems show you are thinking about things and suggest you could produce something more original in future. You need the confidence to step away from having to rely on the crutches of other people's words and move towards expressing your own. I'm sure you can achieve this if you keep writing and keep thinking about what you're writing.

I hope you accept that as honest, constructive criticism. b|v

[Delta40]

I interpreted the Black Dog as depression and found them to be highly creative.

[Transmodernism]

I am but a shell of a man.
Just a scarecrow watching over the field.
I cannot even move
to tip my hat to my neighbours,
cannot move
to make a gesture of friendship.

And the rivers run deep beside me,
and cut furrows in the land.
They cut right though the fertile topsoil
through to the basalt stones below.
And just for a moment,
I look around and I think I’ve found my footing.
I may only be able to watch the world go by,
but at least this place is peaceful.


I like the way you use free-verse here to create a loose and flowing feel combined with a tone of somber but gentle resignation. There's a subtle beauty to it. I found particularly effective the last line quoted, "But at least this place is peaceful." In other words, great use of free-verse.

The second section (after the one quoted) about the dog was scary. I don't quite understand your choice of the word "monolith," which denotes something unmoving and artificial, whereas a dog is living and, in this case, very active in devouring the speaker. But I'm not sure of a better word...

[firefangled]

Trying too hard to sound poetic is like using a lot of big words to sound educated when you are speaking or writing.

There are so many poetic devices available to make words do some amazing things to your readers, but it's also like cooking—use spices so they blend and almost hide themselves while revealing themselves and you have a subtle dish that is both aromatic and a little mysterious why it tastes so good. If you use too much spice, the food gets buried in it.

Alliteration should be used sparingly like curry or pepper, too much and your poem shouts at the reader and drowns the content in device.

You have a good fundamental understanding of a good set of starting poetic devices. The best way to learn their use is to see how other poets use them, or best yet one poet in great depth, like Stanley Kunitz or Robert Frost.

Your poems are interesting and deserve further attention.

Cellar Door have been said to be the most beautiful combination of words in the English language. This is highly debatable in my opinion, but they are beautiful. What makes them so is, in part, what makes a poem likewise.