My Poems, Redux (criticism wanted)

[Mutatis-Mutandis]

I decided to compile my favorite poems I've posted here and make a thread for them, especially since, pointedly for the early ones, a lot of current active members in the poetry sections weren't around.

Like I said, criticism is wanted, positive and negative. Trust me when I say I've matured since some of the first postings; there were a couple times where I lashed out at a critic, and I'm not proud of that. It won't happen here.

Also, this blog entry (http://www.online-literature.com/forums/blog.php?b=11322) may help provide context for some of these poems.

Anyways, here they are:




“Death and Oreos”

No good can I see in the world
Death and despair
Rape and murder
Sickness and famine
(Oreos on sale this week)
Three soldiers killed in a car bomb
Oreos sound good, come to think of it

__________

“Red”

I've come too far
to let the stream of blood
running down my chest
bother me.
I'll let it run,
and continue living,
hoping no one notices
the red spot expanding
on the front of my shirt.
At least the shirt is black,
though it has faded
over time.

___________

“Scab”

It clatters across the floor,
the small victim
of my poking and prodding.
It is gone now,
what was once a part of me,
yet another piece
disconnected, removed,
Dead. It is good that it is gone,
though, I remind myself.
It was dead before it hit the floor.
I move easier now that
the weight, however small,
is lifted. Beneath is clean, healed,
New; this time my former
black companion failing to
take anything good with it.
Still, it was a part of me.
I pick it up,
and throw it in the trash.

__________

“The Sound of Dogs”

There is nothing here anymore.
I see the sun set, and the light fade,
and the stars are cold.
My body shakes, but fails
to warm. Dogs are barking in the distance,
and I can understand their language.

__________

"Reflections on the Orange, Translucent Bottle on the Kitchen Counter"

Just a sip
as I pass through
the kitchen.
Half a little cup.
Harmless.
Just a little
because it still hurts.
It falls,
it lowers,
just another drink.
I don't need to
measure.
I know how much
to take.
Half the bottle gone now,
and it still hurts.
Maybe just a few
more drinks,
and it won't
hurt.

__________

“A Walk in the Mist”

Within a hidden room in a hidden castle
lies the sword that is meant for me.
But I can not find the castle, much less the room
among these mists that shroud the moor.

I await a wizard or genie, some being
to alight my path to the castle.
But I hear nothing, see nothing, and meet no one
as I wander through the fog.

And then, seeming to materialize from the
mist, a man stands before me, dressed in white,
and shimmering. He reaches out, and I take his
hand, only to realize his eyes are black,
and his hand is cold.

[MorpheusSandman]

There are a lot of poems here, Mutatis. I'll try to read them all tomorrow, but the sheer volume will prohibit the length of my critiques. I'll let you tell me: are there any you'd particularly like commented on? If so, I'll focus on those.

[Mutatis-Mutandis]

I edited the list by taking out the poems I'm not too crazy about. The above are my faves. I'll add the others in time--it'll give me a good excuse to bump the thread. :)

[ShadowsCool]

Well I thought "A Walk in the Mist" was pretty good. I haven't read the other's yet. I will in time. As far as criticism goes, I usually don't have any unless I see something glaring.

[MystyrMystyry]

It's actually hard work to critique - at least properly. When posters ask to be criticised I tend to be even less inclined to say anything than usual, because it's not the same as saying 'Do you like my new shoes?'

Some poems you can be extremely happy with, some you want to tear up and start again, some you just want to tear up, some you regret.

The only trick is to just keep writing them. If there's one every ten you're proud of, cool, one every hundred that makes people stop and think, good, one every thousand that everyone associates with you, better, one every ten thousand that has a life after your own - bingo!


I like the castle one the best, but it could be streamlined to be made more poignant. Or fleshed out further (but then it will probably take on a different tone), up to you really. As it is it's like the seed of a classic, still raw - but with potential that makes me think of other ways it could be written.

[miyako73]

“The Sound of Dogs”

There is nothing here anymore.
I see the sun set, and the light fade,
and the stars are cold.
My body shakes, but fails
to warm. Dogs are barking in the distance,
and I can understand their language.


Oh, my darling, Mutatis, is this an ecstasy poem? I experienced this one with an elephant figurine. This is the best in the list.

[Twota]

I like poem no.1, 2, 4 and the last lines of no.5 :D, as for criticism, like shadows, I don't have any. :D

[Mutatis-Mutandis]

No criticism? I don't believe it! I know there's potential; hell, when I first posted "Red," no one even knew what it was supposed to be about.





I like the castle one the best, but it could be streamlined to be made more poignant. Or fleshed out further (but then it will probably take on a different tone), up to you really. As it is it's like the seed of a classic, still raw - but with potential that makes me think of other ways it could be written.
I've been considering it. Unfortunately, I write poetry in a very hit-and-run manner--something comes to mind, I write it down, quickly, and that's it. I have a very lazy summer though, so maybe it's time to actually put some more effort into it, as it also is my favorite.

“The Sound of Dogs”

There is nothing here anymore.
I see the sun set, and the light fade,
and the stars are cold.
My body shakes, but fails
to warm. Dogs are barking in the distance,
and I can understand their language.


Oh, my darling, Mutatis, is this an ecstasy poem? I experienced this one with an elephant figurine. This is the best in the list.
Thanks for the kind words, miyako. Unlike most of what I write, I'm not really sure what "The Sound of Dogs" is about. I was sitting at my desk, I heard some dogs barking, and I wrote it; that's literally how the poem came to be . . . I didn't even think about it. That being said, that explanation is as good as any. I almost think any emotion could be applied to it if one wants to put that certain spin on it. I like it most for the imagery, though.

And, hey, don't call me "darling"; you're just trying to get me in trouble, now. :D

[paradoxical]

I think it's brave they way you are opening yourself up to criticism for your older work, for the newer members who may not have not seen it. I usually cringe when I think of things I've written in the past and often wish I could delete some of the stuff I've written from the forum.

I'm not good at criticism, but I will try my best...



“The Sound of Dogs”

There is nothing here anymore.
I see the sun set, and the light fade,
and the stars are cold.
My body shakes, but fails
to warm. Dogs are barking in the distance,
and I can understand their language.

I think this poem is great, and it's exactly the kind of poem that I like. It has a kind of transcendent nature to it and a sense of stillness. It's what I would call universal.

There's something about dogs barking at night that really gets to me, and I especially love the sound of coyotes. I actually tried to write a poem about dogs barking at night after being inspired by a Chinese poem on the same subject. Needless to say, my poem didn't turn out that well. This seems inspired. You mentioned that you don't always understand what your poem is about, and I have experienced that myself. Sometimes it just comes to you and you're not sure about the meaning but you know that you have something. Those seem to be my better poems.



"Reflections on the Orange, Translucent Bottle on the Kitchen Counter"

Just a sip
as I pass through
the kitchen.
Half a little cup.
Harmless.
Just a little
because it still hurts.
It falls,
it lowers,
just another drink.
I don't need to
measure.
I know how much
to take.
Half the bottle gone now,
and it still hurts.
Maybe just a few
more drinks,
and it won't
hurt.

He he, well I know what this poem is about and I can certainly relate. However, even though I like the subject matter this poem didn't quite work for me and I think it was mainly due to the ending. The rest of the poem was quite strong, but I think you need to expand the ending. It doesn't seem like enough, with the ending that you have. Maybe go a little further into what that pain is all about.



“A Walk in the Mist”

Within a hidden room in a hidden castle
lies the sword that is meant for me.
But I can not find the castle, much less the room
among these mists that shroud the moor.

I await a wizard or genie, some being
to alight my path to the castle.
But I hear nothing, see nothing, and meet no one
as I wander through the fog.

And then, seeming to materialize from the
mist, a man stands before me, dressed in white,
and shimmering. He reaches out, and I take his
hand, only to realize his eyes are black,
and his hand is cold.

I normally don't like this kind of poetry (just a personal thing when it comes to fantasy and that kind of imagery) but I really enjoyed this one. You made these metaphors work and it takes on a new meaning at the end.

Also, since you asked for criticism, I will say that the juxtaposition of the bad things that happen in this world and Oreos in “Death and Oreos” didn't seem to work, but that's just my opinion. I think others would find that it works well. I couldn't understand "Red" and didn't care too much for "Scab". See? I told you I was a poor critic.

[Mutatis-Mutandis]

He he, well I know what this poem is about and I can certainly relate. However, even though I like the subject matter this poem didn't quite work for me and I think it was mainly due to the ending. The rest of the poem was quite strong, but I think you need to expand the ending. It doesn't seem like enough, with the ending that you have. Maybe go a little further into what that pain is all about.

I liked that you mentioned the abruptness of the end, because, with a few exceptions, I think that's my weakest point when it comes to writing poetry: I end too abruptly, or don't expand enough. It's like I just have this need to get it out, get it written, and get it done, and that if I over-think it, it will be detrimental. I almost never go back and change lines (except for grammar) or spend hours, or even 10 minutes, pondering over what word to use--when I start writing, I just go. I need to learn to slow down.

I normally don't like this kind of poetry (just a personal thing when it comes to fantasy and that kind of imagery) but I really enjoyed this one. You made these metaphors work and it takes on a new meaning at the end.


Also, since you asked for criticism, I will say that the juxtaposition of the bad things that happen in this world and Oreos in “Death and Oreos” didn't seem to work, but that's just my opinion. I think others would find that it works well. I couldn't understand "Red" and didn't care too much for "Scab". See? I told you I was a poor critic.
"Death and Oreos" is an interesting poem to me, as it has been said several times that it is a person's favorite. I've always been ambivalent as to its quality.

As for "Red" and "Scab" (and even "Reflections . . ."), this blog entry (http://www.online-literature.com/forums/blog.php?b=11322) may enlighten you as to the context. "A Walk in the Mist" is my favorite of the poems listed, but "Red" comes in a close second. I used to shy away from directly addressing my disability in my poetry; these poems were attempts to counteract that hesitation.

Thanks for your comments, paradoxical. They were appreciated. :nod:

[MorpheusSandman]

To simplify things as much as possible and to avoid writing a novel, I'll break every critique up into "Pros" and "Cons"

“Death and Oreos”

No good can I see in the world
Death and despair
Rape and murder
Sickness and famine
(Oreos on sale this week)
Three soldiers killed in a car bomb
Oreos sound good, come to think of itPros: A good use of cliches leading to an ironic surprise.

Cons: Perhaps a bit too easy and neat conceptually. It all hinges on that one trick, not much to think about after that.


“Red”

I've come too far
to let the stream of blood
running down my chest
bother me.
I'll let it run,
and continue living,
hoping no one notices
the red spot expanding
on the front of my shirt.
At least the shirt is black,
though it has faded
over time.Pros: I like how the sense falls down the lines through enjambment that seems to mimic the blood running down the chest.

Cons: The switch from the blood running to it expanding on the black shirt seems to be a bit too abrupt.


“Scab”

It clatters across the floor,
the small victim
of my poking and prodding.
It is gone now,
what was once a part of me,
yet another piece
disconnected, removed,
Dead. It is good that it is gone,
though, I remind myself.
It was dead before it hit the floor.
I move easier now that
the weight, however small,
is lifted. Beneath is clean, healed,
New; this time my former
black companion failing to
take anything good with it.
Still, it was a part of me.
I pick it up,
and throw it in the trash.Pros: I like the allegorical nature that leaves readers to guess precisely what the "part of you" was. I also really like several of the line breaks, that seem to echo the hesitant and ambiguous mind of the speaker, like the "though" that seems not quite as sure as the previous statement would have us believe, or how "Dead" becomes "New" just a few lines later.

Cons: Not many, really. The last line seems a bit underwhelming, "yet another piece / disconnected, removed" seems to reiterate what's already suggested.


“The Sound of Dogs”

There is nothing here anymore.
I see the sun set, and the light fade,
and the stars are cold.
My body shakes, but fails
to warm. Dogs are barking in the distance,
and I can understand their language.Pros: "but fails / to warn" is a good use of double syntax. Interesting last line 1/2

Cons: Not enough context or imagery to really pull us in; sun setting and light fading and cold stars are too much cliches.


"Reflections on the Orange, Translucent Bottle on the Kitchen Counter"

Just a sip
as I pass through
the kitchen.
Half a little cup.
Harmless.
Just a little
because it still hurts.
It falls,
it lowers,
just another drink.
I don't need to
measure.
I know how much
to take.
Half the bottle gone now,
and it still hurts.
Maybe just a few
more drinks,
and it won't
hurt.Pros: A subject that hits home for me. Good understatement. The short lines seem to echo how addicts kill themselves by accumulated little bits.

Cons: Maybe a slightly too simplistic rendering. I'd remove "Harmless," since that thought is already implicit.


“A Walk in the Mist”

Within a hidden room in a hidden castle
lies the sword that is meant for me.
But I can not find the castle, much less the room
among these mists that shroud the moor.

I await a wizard or genie, some being
to alight my path to the castle.
But I hear nothing, see nothing, and meet no one
as I wander through the fog.

And then, seeming to materialize from the
mist, a man stands before me, dressed in white,
and shimmering. He reaches out, and I take his
hand, only to realize his eyes are black,
and his hand is cold.Pros: A nice miniature narrative that's intriguingly allegorical. Excellent last line.

Cons: I feel like a piece that uses antiquity as its allegorical medium probably deserves rhymes and meter.

[Mutatis-Mutandis]

I've tried writing in rhyme and meter, and it usually turns out pretty bad. I'll post them, sometime.

Thanks for the comments, Morpheus. They'll be considered, for sure. :)

[Delta40]

I like the Sound of Dogs Barking the best. It seems to encompass alot with so few words and I'm always drawn to poetry like that. I thought Scab was interesting too, first from its immediate meaning and then in a metaphorical sense.