Post your Poems and Get Reviews!

Quote:

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Originally Posted by ahsiam

well i wrote 6 poems and among them i liked it most.so i am giving it here,if there are any flaws.............

EMBLEM OF PASSION

come at dark depth
when water drops tune a lyre
and call it a rain.


come as my thoughts
when i think about you
and call it a dream.


come as my voice
when words make a harmony
and call it a song.


come as my sorrow
when a pearl arise from the sea
and call it a tear.


be my vision
when thousand colours dance together
and call it a rainbow.


be my shelter
when i live in you
and call it a home.


be with me
when i hide you behind everyone
and call it a shadow.


let your hand touch me
when moonlight touches the earth
and call it a heaven.


let your soul meet me
when true souls give birth to a story
and call it a history.


born as a sire of streams
and flow in my heart
then i will call it love

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Hi ashiam,

Thanks for feeling I could be of some help. So I think what you’re doing is identifying experiences of passion you’ve had through symbols. Some of your stanzas are set up in a very peculiar way. I would usually expect the symbol causes the passionate experience to manifest itself. But you don’t always do that. In stanza four the symbol is “when a pearl arise from the sea.” The symbol is in the middle line of that stanza; from which the symbol changes into another symbol in the third line; then the symbol stirs a type of feeling from you in the first line. This is like have the feeling, then seeing the symbol that represents it. Really backwards, I think.

And in some cases I can’t identify the emotion. I mean in stanza three…where is the emotion? I can’t identify it. But maybe it’s not supposed to be there? I am reading the poem as if there was to be an emotion revealed in each stanza. Maybe all the stanzas together were supposed to be representative as an “emblem of passion?” Sorry, sometimes I like to talk myself through my own confusion.

I really can’t pinpoint what you are doing. But in reading through your poem, and looking at the repetitions and progressions of first lines in each stanza, you are moving towards creating an experience you had with this other person. Which I think is happening…I’m just having trouble following the story, per say. I would prefer something more straightforward to tell about this “emblem of passion,” say, a walk in the park where things begin to become more and more recognizable to you. I think that would parallel well with the first lines you’ve got in culminating to an “actual” experience.

Forget It

forget you
forget him
i love you
i hate him

you hate me
he loves me
how complicated
can life be

you notice me
he sees me
why cant this be
a fairytale

you cause the tears
that he wipes away
why does
it have to be this way?

what a brave, brave girl
she holds her head up o' so high
she doesnt fear it,
she knows shes about to die
what a brave, brave girl.

her daddys yelling
her momma hits the floor
she doesnt take off running
she doesnt head to the door
she just stands there,
accepting whats to come
what a brave, brave girl

the county sent some poeple out
and every single time
she holds her head up high and says
im fine
daddy loves me,
mommy loves him
everything is as it should be,
no, he didnt hit me,
i fell down the stairs
no, momma got that black eye in a bar.
what a brave, brave girl

she goes to church that sunday,
ask god to forgive her lies,
im only trying to protect him
even if he does make momma cry
what a bave, brave girl

the preacher knows whats in her heart
everyone in the church seems to know
that the brave, brave girl standing in front of them,
didnt get those bruises from the stairs
they all know, as they look at her,
she's just an innocent girl right now
but as soon as she goes home
daddys yelling
momma hits the floor
she just stands there waiting for her turn
what a brave, brave girl

that night as she goes to bed
she talks to god and this is what she said....
i know that mommy loves me
i know that daddy realy cares
but lord they both hurt me
please take away my fears
im just a small child,
im not that brave of a girl
please watch over daddy
and take care of mommy
i want to join you up there
i wanna be out of his reach,
his fist and words cut so deep
lord, please take me home with you
Daddy says im bad, but i promise ill be better
Mommy says its not my fault, but i promise i wont fallter
lord, i can cook and clean, i mind real well.
please just take me away from here.
shes a brave, brave girl

the very next morning, shes found dead
under all the bruises and shame
was a small innocent child
her daddy went to jail
her momma went insane
and that brave little girl went home.
what a brave, brave girl.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by stephofthenight

Forget It

forget you
forget him
i love you
i hate him

you hate me
he loves me
how complicated
can life be

you notice me
he sees me
why cant this be
a fairytale

you cause the tears
that he wipes away
why does
it have to be this way?

---

Hi stephofthenight,

It seems like you’re utilizing syllable counting in your poem. In this way each line can work as a statement…which I think works well in this poem…but you broke the count part way through. Although I must agree with you that that last stanza works well as a flow to “connect” all three individuals.

As for the idea expressed in the poem, looks like a love/hate triangle without any direct relationship or mutual feelings. Nice turn in the end with an indirect connection between all three of the people in the poem. It almost made up for the cliché love/hate thing.

The words “fairytale” and “complicated” seem oddly out of place. I like the cyclic thing happening in your poem…so when you inserted a word like “fairytale” I got confused. I would say try and keep your words within the framework of what you are creating.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by stephofthenight

what a brave, brave girl
she holds her head up o' so high
she doesnt fear it,
she knows shes about to die
what a brave, brave girl.

her daddys yelling
her momma hits the floor
she doesnt take off running
she doesnt head to the door
she just stands there,
accepting whats to come
what a brave, brave girl

the county sent some poeple out
and every single time
she holds her head up high and says
im fine
daddy loves me,
mommy loves him
everything is as it should be,
no, he didnt hit me,
i fell down the stairs
no, momma got that black eye in a bar.
what a brave, brave girl

she goes to church that sunday,
ask god to forgive her lies,
im only trying to protect him
even if he does make momma cry
what a bave, brave girl

the preacher knows whats in her heart
everyone in the church seems to know
that the brave, brave girl standing in front of them,
didnt get those bruises from the stairs
they all know, as they look at her,
she's just an innocent girl right now
but as soon as she goes home
daddys yelling
momma hits the floor
she just stands there waiting for her turn
what a brave, brave girl

that night as she goes to bed
she talks to god and this is what she said....
i know that mommy loves me
i know that daddy realy cares
but lord they both hurt me
please take away my fears
im just a small child,
im not that brave of a girl
please watch over daddy
and take care of mommy
i want to join you up there
i wanna be out of his reach,
his fist and words cut so deep
lord, please take me home with you
Daddy says im bad, but i promise ill be better
Mommy says its not my fault, but i promise i wont fallter
lord, i can cook and clean, i mind real well.
please just take me away from here.
shes a brave, brave girl

the very next morning, shes found dead
under all the bruises and shame
was a small innocent child
her daddy went to jail
her momma went insane
and that brave little girl went home.
what a brave, brave girl.

---

Hi stepofthenight,

I don’t know why but when I read this I thought about William Blake’s The Little Boy Lost. Here it is:

'Father, father, where are you going?
O do not walk so fast!
Speak, father, speak to your little boy,
Or else I shall be lost.'
The night was dark, no father was there,
The child was wet with dew;
The mire was deep, and the child did weep,
And away the vapour flew.


I think it is the loss of innocence toward the end of your work that struck a parallel for me with this Blake poem. I wonder whose voice this is telling the story. The voice sounds like the recounting of a story told by a social worker or someone of that nature, which is fine, except the recounting sounds child-like. This voice can’t be her referring to herself in third person, can it? I think this needs work, depending on who is telling the story.

Welcome to the human condition
where you hate me and I hate you.
Where pure rage fuels the world
and the raindrop whispers melt the truths.
Look through ice cold window panes,
stare at the people sleeping on the streets –
and the men and women who wrinkle their
noses at those poor unfortunate souls.

Welcome to the human condition
where peace means more war
and war means so-called peace.
Where glass in your feet hurts less
than the glare of the man who made you.
That imaginary smile on your face
will only help you walk along the street,
while the face of reality is the one
who pushes you in front of the cars.

Welcome to the human condition,
where no one cares at all.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by cracking muse

Welcome to the human condition
where you hate me and I hate you.
Where pure rage fuels the world
and the raindrop whispers melt the truths.
Look through ice cold window panes,
stare at the people sleeping on the streets –
and the men and women who wrinkle their
noses at those poor unfortunate souls.

Welcome to the human condition
where peace means more war
and war means so-called peace.
Where glass in your feet hurts less
than the glare of the man who made you.
That imaginary smile on your face
will only help you walk along the street,
while the face of reality is the one
who pushes you in front of the cars.

Welcome to the human condition,
where no one cares at all.

---

Hi cracking muse,

Sorry for the late response. I’d been ill for the past week.

I’m guessing what you are getting at is that this infliction of hatred by humans on humans has no logic to it. There are no sensible reasons for hatred being present, yet it is present, presenting itself to the detriment of its host.

You set up such strict terms as to what afflicts humans. With such strict terms comes the responsibility of producing exact imagery, and at times I think your departures left me bewildered. I don’t know what “raindrop whispers” nor who the “unfortunate souls” are; nor can I even guess at “the glare of the man who made you” has anything to do with war; or even how/why hate turned into peace which meant more war, then changes to a scene with streets and cars. I think your transitions need work.

flightless fool
Delusional storms of hail decay the sky
In this sleep, we shall fly
When awake, have but voiceless wings
We had the feathers, now the tears
Why would anyone provide the fear-oh dear!

Unlock beliefs which measure despair
Why cry? For the hornbull once flied

Disavowing wings in these cold cellophane nights
True dreaming now dead!
Forced keys to reality
A destined death, a future life

Purists in bliss, pure woolen glee
Fallen through clouds of peril
Light shunned through damp decree
Those demeaning souls standing high in the hills,
Fall down laughing, yet I cried

Leaving sins forevermore asleep
Breathes, though frowned upon
To love all hope, die anew

Those soulless dreamers, consume all life
True existence is dead!

Sunken hopes appease the herd
Sacrifice freedom and die twice our featherman friend
This was a drowning here!

Swallows life, only to serve the captain of the sin ship
Hold my regards! Come ashore, we sail no more.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by mikeymo

flightless fool
Delusional storms of hail decay the sky
In this sleep, we shall fly
When awake, have but voiceless wings
We had the feathers, now the tears
Why would anyone provide the fear-oh dear!

Unlock beliefs which measure despair
Why cry? For the hornbull once flied

Disavowing wings in these cold cellophane nights
True dreaming now dead!
Forced keys to reality
A destined death, a future life

Purists in bliss, pure woolen glee
Fallen through clouds of peril
Light shunned through damp decree
Those demeaning souls standing high in the hills,
Fall down laughing, yet I cried

Leaving sins forevermore asleep
Breathes, though frowned upon
To love all hope, die anew

Those soulless dreamers, consume all life
True existence is dead!

Sunken hopes appease the herd
Sacrifice freedom and die twice our featherman friend
This was a drowning here!

Swallows life, only to serve the captain of the sin ship
Hold my regards! Come ashore, we sail no more.

---

Someone of my ilk attempts to determine the conveyance of any written piece. Sadly this poem is impenetrable to my reasoning. I have no idea what this is, or what this stands for. Does it have something to do with sleep, wings, voiceless wings, plastics, the featherman and a ship of sin? Ah! I don’t know. At times I know inspiration can hit and there you go writing down whatever is in your head. And this step may be all that’s required to create an interesting, maybe even amazing poem. But most of the time I think it is worth investigating what one wrote in moments of inspiration, and outline the idea behind it; then take that idea as the basis in building a poem around it.

Or you can just tell me what you were communicating and I’ll have a basis for reading what you wrote.

The clock is endlessly tick tick ticking...:(
inside my head echoing oing ing n

Time is standing oh so very very still
Yet things often race past at break neck speed

Folks always seem to be talking, squawking
Focusing and yet still disconnected
Scurrying about like ants on the ground
Steeped in worries of the current moment

There's no cosmic collective consciousness
Is there one who can see the whole picture?
Where's this all leading, or will it ever
be revealed to our primitive closed minds?

So in the meantime, we keep scurrying
Hurrying on our way to our little affairs
Blind to or in denial of our end fate
...and always the clock keeps tick tick ticking

Quote:

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Originally Posted by QuietMurmurings

The clock is endlessly tick tick ticking...:(
inside my head echoing oing ing n

Time is standing oh so very very still
Yet things often race past at break neck speed

Folks always seem to be talking, squawking
Focusing and yet still disconnected
Scurrying about like ants on the ground
Steeped in worries of the current moment

There's no cosmic collective consciousness
Is there one who can see the whole picture?
Where's this all leading, or will it ever
be revealed to our primitive closed minds?

So in the meantime, we keep scurrying
Hurrying on our way to our little affairs
Blind to or in denial of our end fate
...and always the clock keeps tick tick ticking

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Hi Quietmurmuring,

Thanks for posting. This is in response to your smilie.:eek: If you don’t recognize it, it is a look of consternation. I had never seen symbols used in poetry until now, and frankly I don’t know what to do with it.

Your idea about the importance of what we do in our lives have in the whole scheme of the universe intrigues me. Too bad I didn’t gain any insight from what you’ve said. The whole poem seems to trace around the edges of the subject, instead of punching a hole in it.

The manner which you chose to explore the subject seems inconsistent and cliché. Should it not just be the “ticking” that is evaporating in your mind as well? And why at times is time “standing still,” and at other times seems to be stretching out? Why, when you spoke about the “folks”, you have them wasting time, have an adjacent rhyme, and another time have them moving speedily, have the same type of adjacent rhyme? I think the consistency thing need be worked out.

Post a poem and get a review! I guarantee you might not like what I have to say.

Does anyone have a poem they feel needs critquing? Post it here. I promise you feedback.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Adolescent09

This might sound a bit strange and this thread might die very quickly as most of my threads do but I am currently in the mood to rate/judge/review poems submitted in this category by all the poets of litnet. Although my reviews might be too self biased to be considered beneficial it can help me to become a better writer/reviewer. And it wouldn't hurt anybody else to get your poetry some attention right!? More than half the poems in this category are recieved with zero replies and I would like to see if I can make just a small difference in this even if it isn't significant and this topic falls onto page 10 in a few days after recieving 400 hits and not one reply.

That's perfectly fine with me! If you post a poem in this thread... it will be reviewed whether you like it or not :D! Heck, if you post anything in this thread I'll reply.

So come post your poetry and get some reviews!

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I would very much like you to look at my poem. But please go easy on me i'm fairly new at this.

Suicide, watch

There are lots of ways
pills, a gun, poison
to kill ones self
a knife, a rope, the jump

There are many ways
newspaper, word of mouth
you hear about it
news, witness it

There are many reasons
dept, being alone
someone would want to commit
depresion, adultery

There are many ways
a note, an e-mail
that someone could let you know
they were going to do it.

I personaly choose a poem,
why, i feel alone
how, a jump
i can only hope you will hear about me
it's suicide........ watch

Gosh!!! I guess some people only want criticisms which will reinforce how good they think their poems might be. Adol. is no longer part of this site; so you'll be waiting a long, long while for a response.

P.S. You can post your poem on the general area for written poems if you want a response from someone other than mine.