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Last edited by yuka; 01-19-2011 at 03:34 AM.
Hi there, Ive been writting poetry for quite a while now but have never had the chance to have it critiqued:
The Mountain Range
Before this range of catalytic mountains
Where the sky is for once in the right proportion
The sun becomes nothing more than a fountain
Of light that serve up their beauty as its mission
The rock is anchored in the hidden ground
Traversing it with roots of time unfound
Trees dot and streams stroke, the stone is settled
To always remain the same, with or without the rain
Calm and devouring strength sits static, unheckled
Raised to compound the land with an imperious hand
Poised before it, Man can only wonder what he deserves
Confronted with the beauty of triumphant simplicity, he purrs
Intimidated, his nebulous mind is mated by the unmoved stroke
There is a standstill in thoughts to emulate its passivity and to soak
Into the questioning of the gap of size and his permanent demise
The breeze rustles his hair while the rock stays so placidly wise
The dormant power crushes him without even noticing
Blind and deaf, it molds the earth and all its surroundings
While the spec of human stays content that he is standing
But then comes a deep bolt, from the entrails of within
Inside that darkness, something is moved and it is red
It brews buoyantly, shackled until it reaches the head
The teeth become tight, and the eyes suddenly lock and narrow
Upon those blocks of limestone, no longer in wonder but as a foe
These mounts are so old and dominant, says the rage of the unnatural instinct
The land they share has been submitted but not him, unlike it he will not sink
But rise up and fight against this arrogant might, or at least he must try
The winds and the water has slowly made them weaker, stones cannot lie
These geological masters finally have a threat they can’t begin to interpret
The breath of the man is heavy and deep as he readies to become vicious
Rummaged and auto destructive, blessed and cursed with this genius
He will become the best, whatever the number, the pain, the time
And so he onrushes like anybody else, getting ready to start to climb
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There you go, any thoughts and advice on this would really really appreciated! Thanks!
Look at her thinking of a way to make her smile,Originally Posted by ktd222
To bring back some happy memory, take her to another time,
Cant see her this way , she wont speak, she wont grieve,
Wanna break the walls around make her reach out to me..
I’d scarcely understood his thoughts when he took my hand,
Some music played by, wonder when he put it on,
Pulled me close to him, and then again far,
Moving me in rounds, trying to make me laugh,
Played with me like I was a toy,moving me here to there,
No touch could be gentler, it felt soothing to have someone care,
Smile I did but it ended with a sigh,
Stopped moving, waiting for me to decide,
Could rest on his arms, break down every wall,
Could push him away, like I didn’t care,
What if he knew, how weak, how alone I was?
Would he still be there or leave like the others....
Wonder what conflicts went through her mind,
What stopped her from accepting the love I gave,
A thousand questions ran through my mind,
The next moment would decide my life..
Held him closer and placed my head on his chest,
Cried like a child, clutching as if never to move away,
The walls broke down and all he did was held me close,
Like a promise to be there, take me away from the world,
If forever was a moment, this one it’d be,
gave away myself, and yet felt so free.....
The last flower stands quiet and still,
shedding petals of tears without a will.
Unheard sobs and unseen sorrow,
she cries as there is no tomorrow.
That is the best poem I have written lately. Both positive AND negative comments are welcome, as long as they are objective. Thanks!
Infinity of Human Power
Don’t you see that the nature despises you when you degrade yourself.
Look at your clay like fingers which when clasp together form a rugged projection, which molds the clay childishly from which it's created.
Look at your piercing eyes under the dark shadowy shelter. which unveils the many veils that are unseen.
Look at your radiant face that is a scripture of scattered pearls, glued with brown of desert and white of snow.
Your body is an amazing wonder of this generation.
Carved out of mud , artistically bent on corners. When you raise your eye lids up.
You don’t look at the sky. But the sky looks at you ; dumbfound at art of your Creator.
Believe in infinite power of imagination, that rests behind your sharp sight.
This world was born barren with ugliness in its lap.
But your power turned it into the beautiful mirage you see today.
Oh human ! A piece of universal sphere !
Seek yourself to find the infinity woven into your body.
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Last edited by baeuty; 07-27-2014 at 10:08 PM.
I love this poem. It takes me on a adventure into your imagination. Great job!
This mind is frozen on topics at night
who are we? Do we follow the light?
What is my goal? What do I say?
Where is my church? To who am I preaching?
A choir of voices are calling me, leeching
Why is this tourniquet desperately screeching?
To get my attention?
To stop me from bleeding?
I cant help but wonder if silence is greedy.
But who am I telling?
Am I yelling? Or pleading?
The answer is both but who knows what im thinking
Time is alive and its keeping me drinking
Its hands pour the wine, and im taking in, teeming
With words, and souls, and lies for the keeping
Again do I know, today what im speaking?
I like the sound of the poem, but I don't know what it is about. Generally, I view poetry as sound and meaning but meaning is the dominant of the two.
Alternative
I see fear in a world
Not heeding the plight
Of past and the blood
Long faded from sight
Once more have we fallen
For the new face of evil
Now masses are seeking
Through words of upheaval
We seek what we’ve lost
We deserve what we had
No matter the cost
No matter how bad
Deliver deliver
We incessantly plead him
Finding solace
Oblivious surrender of freedom
Dispensing of justice
At hands of new tyrants
Restoring our glory
At the price of our silence
And our brothers and sisters
Cold and despairing
They reach for our shores
They greet the uncaring
Repeal the malevolent
Threat of our time
No brother of yours
No sister of mine
We march to the future
In solidified union
We turn a blind eye
To unholy communion
Nice meter and rhyme.
I assume this is about politics, but I don't know which side you are on or what the cause is. I sense it has something to do with immigration. The "unholy communion" suggests to me that you are anti-immigration. However, the "They greet the uncaring" suggests to me that you are pro-immigration. There is a lot of talk about "freedom" and "justice" and "glory". Every political group sees themselves as the good and the beautiful and the future. They are all the good guys and their enemies are always the bad guys.
Thank you for your thoughts!
Its always interesting to see what sticks to the reader's mind. You correctly picked up on the political theme. Which side this advocates, however, is of less importance. The ambiguity allows for the reader to extrapolate what they need according to their own conviction. I do however hold a strongly subjective opinion that resonates in the piece.
Hello. I posted this as a thread in the Personal Poetry section. I hope it's OK to post it here too. It hasn't received replies yet.
I didn't ask for them to invade my prison-kingdom,
Of zirconium, old oak and iron.
Of wilting lavender on the windowsills.
For years I heard them but didn't see -
The humming of the horse fly, boring
Into the orifice of my brain.
The chord of Lacewings, a storm in membranes.
Insecurities throbbed in waves.
The house fly, especially, nags at you.
Snagging at the fabric of your conscious.
The torturous locust.
Worse still the jab of the bot fly.
The stab of its tongue. A tiny intruder.
Together, they pulled back the calm I constructed,
Baring a flea-bitten body, gasping for air.
They were more urgent then, at summer's end;
When my isolation heightens.
Folding dutifully to the darkening light.
A tireless buzzing under the pillows.
A faint tapping against glass.
Like thoughts continually deferred.
Like lives adjourned.
Drops in a putrid broth.
I simply swatted them away.
And flies flail and twitch terribly when they die,
And they always die by the windows,
Where the air is freshest.
Under the murky glow of the new moon,
All their lives trying,
Unable to get through.
'Anger's my meat; I sup upon myself,
And so shall starve with feeding.'
Volumnia in Coriolanus
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