Poems and Poetry

[EloquentRune]

So In my spare time I write sonnets I dont know why but I do. I noticed that there really wasn't a thread for poetry and I thought it would be nice to have a place to post poems and the like for feedback and other general comments from other posters so here is the first sonnet that I would like to share


Open the eye that sees more than the truth
For it is the one that can truly see
Visions from the future it can bring forth
Yet dark mysteries are what it shows me

A past where spirits entertained mortals
An island that has been forever lost
Only the eye can open the portals
But to enter them you must pay the cost

The spirits now guard what was left behind
Yet my vision shows me there is much more
Something that the spirits will never find
A path that leads all the way to the shore

The soul can enter but then must remain
The truth only brings agony and pain

[Vaynor]

I'd analyze yours, but I really suck at that, so I'll post one of my own instead. :smallsmile:

--------------

Dam(n)

The water washes in,
The water washes out.
In, out. In, out.
A crab from its hole,
He scurries out.
In, out. In, out.
A man at his door,
Then he comes out,
In, out. In, out.
A dam is made,
Workers come out,
In, out. In, out.
A salmon from water,
He jumps out,
In, out.

[danielf]

hehhehe nice one

[Mattaeu]

Open the eye that sees more than the truth
For it is the one that can truly see
Visions from the future it can bring forth
Yet dark mysteries are what it shows me

A past where spirits entertained mortals
An island that has been forever lost
Only the eye can open the portals
But to enter them you must pay the cost

The spirits now guard what was left behind
Yet my vision shows me there is much more
Something that the spirits will never find
A path that leads all the way to the shore

The soul can enter but then must remain
The truth only brings agony and pain


I usually try to keep up with critiquing poems on this board, but this one slipped by when my login was off-auto(factory restore discs :)).

So, I shall try to be fair :smallwink:.

Okay:


I enjoy the mystery you create in the beginning. As the poem progresses, however, I really don't get that much more. I do not understand what 'eye' sees these 'portals' to the past; as such, I really don't think I'm getting/feeling what you are writing about.

As technical recommendations, my prof. had some good advice for sonnets/end rhyme schemes: Try ending stopping less frequently. Enjambment works well to keep the pace going without reading like a collection of sentences. Poetry tends to work well when it is comprised of simple coherent sentences, with complete grammar and everything(!), but broken up with thoughtful line breaks.

My suggestions are very light, because anyone that writes and shares without wanting anything in return is beautiful, but I would advise you to work on sentences that convey the entire surface meaning(say what you mean when you mean it) and then find the most interesting facet you can behind the denotations. Find that, and use everything to emphasize the undercurrent.

Poems that say two things at the same time are exquisite.

And I think everyone has at least two good poems inside themselves. :smallsmile:

[Bears With Lasers]

Here's one of mine--I posted it some time ago on the boards without response.

Convalescence

I am glad for the stone walls
that keep, barely,
the wind at bay; outside, there is snow
on the withered apple trees.
We shall have a white Christmas, which,
once, you remembered to me,
and tossed a single long apple peel
over your shoulder, although
you never did look at it
once it landed.
One branch still bears
a winter apple, small and bitter like
the memory of an empty fall,
all of its golden brethren
gone, and my youth with them.
I have seen colder winters than this,
but, too, have had
warmer fires; yet,
the coals still glow, and yes,
I am cold, but
I have been colder in the winter.
I drink tea that cannot be called hot
anymore, and, for the first time,
I remember your mouth
without bitterness;
sipping a meager warmth,
I begin the long wait
for spring.

[Brickwall]

Truth does not rhyme with Forth, no matter how much you try.

Anyway, I am personally a big fan of the Sonnet form, so power to you. Although I wish I knew proper iambic pentameter so I could write and critique them the right way.

[Nevrmore]

I wrote these all awhile ago, so have at the.


Who Am I?
I fill your lands with smoke so black
From my firey, skyward attack
Kill your children and mar your sod
But I am not your spiteful God
So who am I?

I eat away your fearful soul
While mine remains black as charcoal
In firey lair, my lion's den
Yet I am not the feared Satan
So who am I?

I strike down all whom I oppose
With great contempt and thunderbolt
When angered so, escape's no use
And I am not Chrono's son, Zeus
So who am I?

With mighty hammer, I rain down
Legend's warrior of thund'rous sound
I will face you without remorse
Only I'm not Thor, god of Norse
So who am I?

So who am I?
Who fills your lands with fire and smoke?
Blackens your soul from wishes smote?
Crush with contempt and thunderbolt?
He with which a weapon he totes?

Who am I?
Crushes the church, burns the steeple
Laughs at opponents attempts so feeble
Throws away those of a weak will?
The answer's simple, I am people.

I am people.


Perfection
The voice echoes in my ear,
"For your country you must fight!"
I take up arms with no fear
Ready to shed blood tonight.
Through the streets I charge with grace
Chasing down this battle's foe
He can't hope to win this race
So why make his death slow?

Breaking down the wooden door,
Seeking out the hostile threat.
With two shots he hits the floor,
Like all those before him, yet
I hear cries of shock above
His wife, child, mortified
Their screaming, I've had enough
Two more shots and both have died.

Pondering, wondering why
They looked so very aghast?
One day we all have to die
It should be like peace at last.
I've noticed that this queer race,
They've been showing something strange.
Circumstances change their face,
They look sad, angered, and pained

And just then, a thought occurs,
A small, biting memory
Of these feelings start to stir
This is how I used to be.
I realize what I've become
And repentence, I must seek.
This life might be right for some,
Who kill child with tongue-in-cheek.

I feel peace, the sun has shown
As my binds have been undone
Suddenly, I feel the blow
From the end of a strong gun.
And as I lay, slow to death
In a bloody and heaped pile,
I use my last and final breath
To twist my face into a smile.


My Perfect creation
Tirelessly, I work day in and day out,
On experiments unfitting
To be seen by any, man, woman, or lout
My horrid devices, unwitting.

I'm like a modern day Doctor Frankenstein,
Or maybe even Doc Munroe,
Oh, how the people say that I've lost my mind!
A story from Kofka, or Poe.

But in my endeavor my will is unbent
I'll make the creation I need.
Then I'll make all the nonbelievers repent,
Flabbergasted to see my deed.

The night is quite stormy, an omen from God,
I will soon be finished tonight.
Some finishing touches, I open the pod
Staring in to see the sight.

Finally, finished! The perfect creation!
Perfectly molded to shape.
It's small, perfect form is quite a sensation
It's perfect little mouth agape.

In a three-button suit of white and light grey,
He sits quietly in the pan.
Inside my small shop, quietly on display
Sits the perfect Gingerbread Man.


Two of Spades
I look inside the eyes of a killer looking back,
An eery silence round him, his form concealed in black.
Blood stains his white shirt, his jeans are ripped and torn,
His forehead wrinkled thusly, his body old and worn.

I look inside the eyes of a coward looking back,
A frightened whimper round him, his form concealed in black.
Blood stains his white shirt, his jeans are ripped and torn,
His eyes show scared lucidity, his body old and worn.

I look inside the eyes of a killer looking back,
A grimace on his face at the scene of an attack.
The weapon in his grip is menacing indeed,
The malice of his eyes show no mercy, only greed.

I look inside the eyes of a coward looking back,
A gaped mouth on his face at the scene of the attack.
The weapon in his grip showed no fatal harm,
The emotion in his eyes show his long forgotten charm.

We look inside the eyes of what we see inside,
We both have none to gain, we both have none to hide,
The killer and the coward stare at themselves in shame,
Realizing now that they are both one and the same.


Final Thoughts
Hiss, scream, fall, battle
Break, snap, die, rattle
Carrying us up in arms like their nameless, mindless cattle
Locked and loaded
Set for fire
Strength eroded
So very tired
As the day goes on I feel my heart growing ever colder

Aim, check, sight, ready
Move, wrap, check, steady
Why should I go down for their squabbles of which are so petty?
Confirmed and fired,
Through the air,
Quite a rush
Quite a scare
Makes me feel as if I were growing decades older

Crash, crack, break, shatter
Bend, fall, die, tatter
Feeling as though I fell from atop St. Jacob's Ladder
My heart smothers
As I spy
One of my brother's
Split through the sky
Another of my kin left as a soulless molder

Another of my kin left as a soulless molder
Another of my kin left there to die a tragic soldier
Another of my kin whose remains they'll smolder
Another of my kin, fated a catapult holder
Another of my kin, fated to be a boulder.

I don't particularly like any of them over another, but you know, whatever.

[Ashildr_the_Bard]

Here's one I wrote recently for a bardic circle.

Hedeby's Quarter

Down from Bjarkoy we ride on the slow turning tide
With our skins and our beasts all for trading.
In Skaringashil port, we will trade as we ought.
No more need now for reaving and raiding.
And she's not one to wait by the harborside
As we sail for the cold open sea.
But I hope while I'm gone that her smile will shine on.
and I hope that she'll shed some tears for me.

We are Uthara's men on the oceans again
Selling deer to the southlands for treasure.
All their brightest and best we will win south and west,
All their jewels and their wines in full measure.
And she's not one to vow she'll be ever true,
Though I always will be so to she.
And I hope wil I'm gone that her smile will shine on,
But I hope that she'll shed some tears for me.

In a month and a week we will win what we seek
When our ship comes to Hedeby's Quarter.
All our fortunes are made from the treasure we'll trade
From the life of the winds and the water.
And my shipmates may dream of adventuring,
But the only dream I know will be
That I hope while I'm gone that her smile will shine on,
But I hope that she'll shed some tears for me.

[Mattaeu]

Convalescence

I am glad for the stone walls
that keep, barely,
the wind at bay; outside, there is snow
on the withered apple trees.
We shall have a white Christmas, which,
once, you remembered to me,
and tossed a single long apple peel
over your shoulder, although
you never did look at it
once it landed. *
One branch still bears
a winter apple, small and bitter like
the memory of an empty fall,
all of its golden brethren
gone, and my youth with them.
I have seen colder winters than this,
but, too, have had
warmer fires; yet,
the coals still glow, and yes,
I am cold, but
I have been colder in the winter.
I drink tea that cannot be called hot
anymore, and, for the first time,
I remember your mouth
without bitterness;
sipping a meager warmth,
I begin the long wait
for spring.


Well, to be blunt, there's not much I don't enjoy about this. :)

But, to fulfill my duty as a dude that writes:
There are a whole lot of contradictions in this piece. The winter and spring contrast giving a nice sense of completion with plenty of optimism at the end. Before then, it almost slows me enough to worry about flow for readers(I only discourage taking this comment because I have slight dyslexia).
The red asterisk shows my biggest concern: Right here(there), you have just introduced 'you'. The following line, while not required to develop the personage/object, could very lightly keep them in 'frame', so to speak. When you end with finally not remembering the bitterness associated, I want to know more. This adds stuff that this poem doesn't necessarily need, but I feel would benefit it greatly.

In summary, I'm a stickler for knowing what you are seeing when you read this over. I just want to know! :P

Still, a very good poem.


Next!
(And I vote for no more hiding!) :smallwink:






Who Am I?
I fill your lands with smoke so black
From my firey, skyward attack
Kill your children and mar your sod
But I am not your spiteful God
So who am I?

I eat away your fearful soul
While mine remains black as charcoal
In firey lair, my lion's den
Yet I am not the feared Satan
So who am I?

I strike down all whom I oppose
With great contempt and thunderbolt
When angered so, escape's no use
And I am not Chrono's son, Zeus
So who am I?

With mighty hammer, I rain down
Legend's warrior of thund'rous sound
I will face you without remorse
Only I'm not Thor, god of Norse
So who am I?

So who am I?
Who fills your lands with fire and smoke?
Blackens your soul from wishes smote?
Crush with contempt and thunderbolt?
He with which a weapon he totes?

Who am I?
Crushes the church, burns the steeple
Laughs at opponents attempts so feeble
Throws away those of a weak will?
The answer's simple, I am people.

I am people.



Hmph. It has a very resonate message, but really, I tend to stray from doing question and answer: it always feels too preachy. But, I will give it due, the author has a very direct route to grab the reader's ears and box them. In this poem, I feel like you might be overusing 'Who am I?', only because I feel that innovating and changing the repeated phrase gives it more impact. I would suggest toying with those repetitions, and revising the title.






Perfection

The voice echoes in my ear,
"For your country you must fight!"
I take up arms with no fear
Ready to shed blood tonight.
Through the streets I charge with grace
Chasing down this battle's foe
He can't hope to win this race
So why make his death slow?

Breaking down the wooden door,
Seeking out the hostile threat.
With two shots he hits the floor,
Like all those before him, yet
I hear cries of shock above
His wife, child, mortified
Their screaming, I've had enough
Two more shots and both have died.

Pondering, wondering why
They looked so very aghast?
One day we all have to die
It should be like peace at last.
I've noticed that this queer race,
They've been showing something strange.
Circumstances change their face,
They look sad, angered, and pained

And just then, a thought occurs,
A small, biting memory
Of these feelings start to stir
This is how I used to be.
I realize what I've become
And repentence, I must seek.
This life might be right for some,
Who kill child with tongue-in-cheek.

I feel peace, the sun has shown
As my binds have been undone
Suddenly, I feel the blow
From the end of a strong gun.
And as I lay, slow to death
In a bloody and heaped pile,
I use my last and final breath
To twist my face into a smile.

This poem has an excellent rhythm in the final stanzas. I love the turn, but really, all he says is he used to be in this condition. That may be enough for you, but I desire more, and you could write a whole lot more! You don't even have to put it after he informs the reader, placing it before would give more feeling into the moments when he kills. Plus, poetry favors the attentive and I would love to reread a poem to realize that he recognizes things from his upbringing/earlier age. It makes the poem feel that much more meaningful, and generally richer.





My Perfect Creation
Tirelessly, I work day in and day out,
On experiments unfitting
To be seen by any, man, woman, or lout
My horrid devices, unwitting.

I'm like a modern day Doctor Frankenstein,
Or maybe even Doctor Moreau,
Oh, how the people say that I've lost my mind!
A story from Kafka, or Poe.

But in my endeavor my will is unbent
I'll make the creation I need.
Then I'll make all the nonbelievers repent,
Flabbergasted to see my deed.

The night is quite stormy, an omen from God,
I will soon be finished tonight.
Some finishing touches, I open the pod
Staring in to see the sight.

Finally, finished! The perfect creation!
Perfectly molded to shape.
It's small, perfect form is quite a sensation
It's perfect little mouth agape.

In a three-button suit of white and light grey,
He sits quietly in the pan.
Inside my small shop, quietly on display
Sits the perfect Gingerbread Man.

This one is playful enough that I do not mind the exaggeration. I fixed a few spelling errors for posterity's sake, but beyond that, I think you have here an excellent poem for a quick surprise, or an honest narration. Call it an 'ode' of sorts. In my regards, though, there's really not much for me to delve into. This is not a downfall, unless you have some deeply hidden commentary that I am not picking up on. :smalltongue:







Two of Spades
I look inside the eyes of a killer looking back,
An eery silence round him, his form concealed in black.
Blood stains his white shirt, his jeans are ripped and torn,
His forehead wrinkled thusly, his body old and worn.

I look inside the eyes of a coward looking back,
A frightened whimper round him, his form concealed in black.
Blood stains his white shirt, his jeans are ripped and torn,
His eyes show scared lucidity, his body old and worn.

I look inside the eyes of a killer looking back,
A grimace on his face at the scene of an attack.
The weapon in his grip is menacing indeed,
The malice of his eyes show no mercy, only greed.

I look inside the eyes of a coward looking back,
A gaped mouth on his face at the scene of the attack.
The weapon in his grip showed no fatal harm,
The emotion in his eyes show his long forgotten charm.

We look inside the eyes of what we see inside,
We both have none to gain, we both have none to hide,
The killer and the coward stare at themselves in shame,
Realizing now that they are both one and the same.



A second Hmph. You title it Two of Spades. Okay. So we are looking at the spades on the card itself? Most likely. You paint them very well as opposites, but then say they are the same. Hmph. They are the same, but the phrase 'one and the same' usually makes both objects the exact same. Maybe this is a failing on my part, in interpretation of a idiom, but it makes for an awkward "...but, you're wrong." moment in my mind. Reading it over, and saying that they are both themselves and the other makes it flow perfectly, and maybe it's just the fact that one brings them too close together to make them in opposition.




Final Thoughts
Hiss, scream, fall, battle
Break, snap, die, rattle
Carrying us up in arms like their nameless, mindless cattle
Locked and loaded
Set for fire
Strength eroded
So very tired
As the day goes on I feel my heart growing ever colder

Aim, check, sight, ready
Move, wrap, check, steady
Why should I go down for their squabbles of which are so petty?
Confirmed and fired,
Through the air,
Quite a rush
Quite a scare
Makes me feel as if I were growing decades older

Crash, crack, break, shatter
Bend, fall, die, tatter
Feeling as though I fell from atop St. Jacob's Ladder
My heart smothers
As I spy
One of my brother's
Split through the sky
Another of my kin left as a soulless molder

Another of my kin left as a soulless molder
Another of my kin left there to die a tragic soldier
Another of my kin whose remains they'll smolder
Another of my kin, fated a catapult holder
Another of my kin, fated to be a boulder.



Not one of my favs of yours. Honestly, I do not think it quite lives up to anything better than your first end-turn poem. It's neat, and surprising, but only at the end. However, I think you should incorporate more of the onomatopoeia from this one into your others. I love saying the words that are sounds.

Next!




Hedeby's Quarter

Down from Bjarkoy we ride on the slow turning tide
With our skins and our beasts all for trading.
In Skaringashil port, we will trade as we ought.
No more need now for reaving and raiding.
And she's not one to wait by the harborside
As we sail for the cold open sea.
But I hope while I'm gone that her smile will shine on.
and I hope that she'll shed some tears for me.

We are Uthara's men on the oceans again
Selling deer to the southlands for treasure.
All their brightest and best we will win south and west,
All their jewels and their wines in full measure.
And she's not one to vow she'll be ever true,
Though I always will be so to she.
And I hope while I'm gone that her smile will shine on,
But I hope that she'll shed some tears for me.

In a month and a week we will win what we seek
When our ship comes to Hedeby's Quarter.
All our fortunes are made from the treasure we'll trade
From the life of the winds and the water.
And my shipmates may dream of adventuring,
But the only dream I know will be
That I hope while I'm gone that her smile will shine on,
But I hope that she'll shed some tears for me.

I enjoy the story, but I would really rather be less distracted by your rhymes. The internal rhymes are sweet to hear and read, but the end rhymes are somewhat flat. It's hard to find a good balance, and while it feels like you try, I would rather see a complete product of one or the other. If you can sit and revise and accomplish both areas of possibility, excellent. But, for a song and narrative poem, I think you should work out some more internal rhymes, and heck, even rhyme them further down the insides of other lines. Nothing keeps me interested in a poem than the noises. Imagery helps, but audio is key. It's almost like trying to write a somersault well enough to be felt. :P


Dear heavens, this looks to be incredilong. Hope my comments were helpful! And don't be shy about helping me (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?t=29424) out. (and heck, we might as well just more this thread along: post any comments for me here. {or quote})

Write more!


edit: Take in mind that these are all relatively shallow readings. Most readers don't reread poems if they aren't able to connect with anything. If you feel this is less than fair, I will gladly ask for any specific innovations you have incorporated, and then reread accordingly.