serenaly123
02-17-2017, 05:55 AM
Hello, I apologise if this is the wrong place to post but I am after a little advice I have written two poems and would like to have any advice on meter, it does'nt matter how much I try I cannot seem to fathom the syllabules, pattern and deciphering and would like to know what people think, thank you so much.
Poem 1
The piquant man proudly displaying a phalanx of medals,
Straight green line of death.
The tipsy gent with obscure stovepipe hat, conceited, demanding
“I pay my taxes!”
The young cadaverous cadet, leg contorted like an old oak tree.
The accident, a car wrecked and smashed, the victim a chauffeur.
There lays the cap, surrounded by glinting shards
Sparkling splinters
Splinters from the same glass mould of humanity
Splinters that must hold together, repair mend and fix
Fourteen-hour day, the longest shift.
My carriage, their carriage, siren screeching like a banshee
Speeding through night, to fix another splinter
Save another life.
Poem 2
On the corner of the busy London street
sits a dishevelled man
cap by his feet.
The sign
all tattered, reads
"Help me I'm poor"
propped up by a bundle of paper on the floor.
A sleeping bag rolled up
keeps out the cold
but, the elements have him
he is tired and old.
Does he feel resentment?
Anger?
and rage?
In his life,
what happened?
What was written on the page?
He sits in silence,
watches the world go by
his lack of emotion,
no fight,
makes you want to cry.
Has he no drive?
Clean up
Man up
live, not survive!
We all walk past
lower our heads
is it not better to acknowledge instead?
This city,
the Capital,
let this happen today.
What if I told you he was a soldier yesterday?
Fought for this country,
Mine and yours too
Fought for what was right
Fought for what was true
Now left desolate
Washed up and used
begging for a life, from me and you too.
Poem 1
The piquant man proudly displaying a phalanx of medals,
Straight green line of death.
The tipsy gent with obscure stovepipe hat, conceited, demanding
“I pay my taxes!”
The young cadaverous cadet, leg contorted like an old oak tree.
The accident, a car wrecked and smashed, the victim a chauffeur.
There lays the cap, surrounded by glinting shards
Sparkling splinters
Splinters from the same glass mould of humanity
Splinters that must hold together, repair mend and fix
Fourteen-hour day, the longest shift.
My carriage, their carriage, siren screeching like a banshee
Speeding through night, to fix another splinter
Save another life.
Poem 2
On the corner of the busy London street
sits a dishevelled man
cap by his feet.
The sign
all tattered, reads
"Help me I'm poor"
propped up by a bundle of paper on the floor.
A sleeping bag rolled up
keeps out the cold
but, the elements have him
he is tired and old.
Does he feel resentment?
Anger?
and rage?
In his life,
what happened?
What was written on the page?
He sits in silence,
watches the world go by
his lack of emotion,
no fight,
makes you want to cry.
Has he no drive?
Clean up
Man up
live, not survive!
We all walk past
lower our heads
is it not better to acknowledge instead?
This city,
the Capital,
let this happen today.
What if I told you he was a soldier yesterday?
Fought for this country,
Mine and yours too
Fought for what was right
Fought for what was true
Now left desolate
Washed up and used
begging for a life, from me and you too.