CRITIQUE REQUEST The Workshop

Discussion in 'SHOWCASING' started by RiverNotch, Mar 21, 2014.

  1. ANOTHER SUPER-AWESOME INTRODUCTORY POST:
    Unless you're up for hilarity (usually of the cringeworthy sort), embarrassment (on my part), or actual advice-giving, YOU DON'T HAVE TO READ THE SPOILERED BITS. All the good stuff is unspoilered, and yes, my definition of good stuff does change, so that eventually a lot of what's unspoilered now will be locked up too. This thread's essentially just an open archive for most of my pieces -- but, of course, by open I don't mean you can sell any of this shit (without my permission), or take credit for any of my work -- and if you want to treat this as a proper showcase, again, YOU DON'T HAVE TO READ THE SPOILERED BITS.

    Show Spoiler
    BRAND NEW SUPER-AWESOME INTRODUCTORY POST:
    Since this was a thread that also asked for critiques, I've decided to change this to a critique request (well, not really decided, so much as just learned about how, hehe), because improving this stuff is more important to me than simply showing off (well, at this point, really, archiving) this stuff. If you're gonna post a crit, try to keep up: that is, focus on the latter stuff, and, of course, on the stuff un-spoilered, which I've generally left behind. I only have thick skin when it comes to aesthetic judgements of stuff I made myself (especially on the internet), and hey presto! so I shouldn't mind any negative comments, as long as they're reasoned (not even well-reasoned; if they're not well-reasoned, I can retort, or ignore) and, of course, impersonal (this is poetry, not polemics). And please try to keep your stuff as comprehensive as possible -- again, the goal is to improve, not merely to know whether I should give up or not (which I won't).


    Show Spoiler
    SUPER AWESOME INTRODUCTORY POST:
    This is less of a Showcase and more of a General Dumping Ground for most of my poetry. Some of these are pretty good, though, so keep on reading, visitor! And I guarantee you that I'm improving, albeit slowly.

    Spoilering all my for now disowned oldies (open)
    She is My Muse [Ancient stylings: a little play on iambic pentameter and Elizabethan style]

    She is my muse, and also sweet submission:
    I see her both in beauty and in fire.
    I love her when I meet her like a dear,
    But when away I love her like a doll!


    I enter her, then ravage and enjoy.
    But when with her, I delicately act.
    When far away, I burn her at my stake!
    But when beside her, cool her with my grace.
    I want her, need her, love her in both ways:
    The battle rages in me, lust and care.


    And sometimes, blurred these lines when both times meet:
    My stinger hard when softness it requires,
    Or thoughts of sweetness sicken in desires
    A mess: confusing, honor-breaking mires!


    Oh, but in sooth, how do I really love?
    Love I with body only or in God?
    Dear destiny, when shall you clarify
    My soul's true stance on verdant fields' romance?
    Frustration wracks my cold, Janusian mind,
    While guilt consumes my heart like brilliant night!


    But soft! What spark is this that my mind thinks?
    Two ways thought I to solve this riddle hot!
    "To catch her, then in love's chains consummate;
    Or win her, then in lust's law fuck and wait"


    But fear pervades within my tender heart:
    The confidence for artful love I've naught.
    And youth constrains still the hot-blood within:
    Chaste wisdom holds me back from heated doom.
    I cannot go perform these fateful tasks,
    I cannot yet discern my love's true course!


    And so, what dreams do come are once again
    Kept lost and meaningless in joy and pain.
    I must just wait til' age or fear don't hold
    Me far and fast from my muse (or submission)!


    Like the spoiley-above says, everything in spoilers is officially archived! They're still useful, so I can't really delete them, but they're not really the bits being, you know, showcased. So if you're just here to look through goodies that are all already presentable, and were written at the point when I started to really learn the nature of poetry and such, just skip the spoilers and read all the exposed stuff (unless they're obviously notes to myself or whatever.
     
    #1 RiverNotch, Mar 21, 2014
    Last edited: Jun 16, 2016
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  2. wooooo (open)

    Before the above, I really didn't know how I felt about her, so I produced this as some sort of vent fer my frustration:

    [Commentary: This is a real hardcore rant, so there!]

    Queen green, golden-eyed with greed
    Heart red, Miss Ted, she pays a whore
    She's dancing in the moonlight, like a queen
    Queen green, pink-eyed with lust
    Heart red, just like what I said
    Misses is a whore
    She's swimming in the moonlight, like a queen
    Queen green, purple-eyed with pride (hey,
    it rhymed)
    All high, all high and hue and you
    Mighty you
    Ruling over all (including
    My heart, your heart)-Heart-
    Heart red, notice that thing flowing down her cheek, making her frown
    She's drowning in the moonlight, like a queen
    Queen green, green-eyed jealousy
    Oh, I can't put in words how you've infected
    Me, my mind, my words, my thoughts and works
    Made me, in this day of love and warmth, a beast
    Heart red, don't you enjoy it? The feast
    Of lust and empty hate you cook within
    Within myself, or you, or him who sympathized
    With me, when I told him my plight.
    See her, she's there (and not the subject of this poem),
    She's beauty, kindness, hope, peace and love
    Wisdom tried and true: nigh angel make be she
    Perfection true, the apple of my eye
    My green eye, Miss Ted's green eye, the whore's green eye
    (She's being in the moonlight, like a
     
    #2 RiverNotch, Mar 21, 2014
    Last edited: Jan 18, 2016
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  3. real woo (open)

    (Tentative title: Her History. The poem, long and, like most of what's gonna be posted by moi here, fecal, is hopefully gonna be in, like, four or five parts)

    Prologue:
    The first thing that I saw
    Was Galileo's daughter
    Kissing the sun
    And producing me
    The first thing that I heard
    Was the crackle of the fire
    On the hearth where next she lay
    The moon
    Enthroned on a Roman bench
    Ensconced on the candelabrum
    Of knowledge in books and scorn
    The first thing that I smelled
    Was lust
    In the form of the release
    From the heat of the sun
    Of the Jovial moon's volcanos
    Of your penises and idols
    Of life's ever burdening hopes
    Of God himself
    Of book thieves and readers
    Of pollen itching for a buzz
    Of my itching equus
    My ever itching equus
    The white foam of hot madness
    Pours out of its mouth
    The first thing that I felt
    Was your love
    Which was thin air to you
    Which I didn't know
    Was the world to me
     
    #3 RiverNotch, Mar 21, 2014
    Last edited: Jan 18, 2016
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  4. Real Long Wooo (open)

    Part One:
    I first met you
    On a train
    There, you smiled at me
    And told me your name
    I tried to act excited
    To look like a diamond
    For you to pluck out
    But I didn't know
    What I was doing
    Neither did you
    You didn't figure out the gambit
    I didn't figure out the cause
    We were both lost
    Then the train stopped

    I next met you
    On the tower
    You looked lovely, in your silver dress
    I looked like shit
    But still, you smiled
    I didn't mind
    Then, again, I acted strange
    Like I was deranged
    And now, you asked your silly questions
    You revealed the hollow case
    The empty cavity
    That is the depths
    Of your soul's uterus
    I was filled with fire
    The phallus in me lunged
    And you were covered in its slick
    You, appalled, left
    I, stunned, died

    The third day
    Was in a conference room
    Nothing happened
    Nothing I remember

    Next, it was a ruined tree
    You were scared
    So I fucked you
    But you didn't know
    Neither did I

    Then it was a stone bench
    You had a pain in your loins
    And a louse in your hair
    I offered to give you
    Something to cool you down
    Something to set you free
    From all your pain
    And all his misery
    You say yes
    And you sit down
    But instead of stealing
    What you do not own
    I steal
    A kiss
    And the louse explodes
    Turning your white dress
    Whose Russian aesthete
    Is locked in nymphetuous sense
    Into the crimson gown
    Of adulthood
    But you do not know it was a kiss
    Instead, you see
    Locked on the bark of the tree
    Where you did not know
    That I touched your puss
    And made you smile
    A hair ball
    Which came from your nose
    And you want to take back
    I pull it out
    And stuff it in your mouth
    You eat it
    And leave me behind
    Disgusted, not with me
    But with that little something started

    The key of C major
    Heralds me to my home
    Where, exhausted
    From our days' loving
    I lie on our couch,
    Close my eyes,
    And see the stars of my subconscious
    There, I happened to notice
    In Cassiopeia's place
    Sat the lady Andromeda
    With a now scornful eye
    Looking at Virgo
    Or, rather, the lack of her
    For she hies away
    With dear old Orion
    Who sets off
    And leaves his long but far away lover
    The moon
    For you

    You destroyed my childhood
    My innocence,
    You Salome, with your dance
    Of the seven veils
    Or maybe
    I did it to me
    Finding not you
    But the veils
    As worthy of my sensual designs

    But it was all only a dream
    Like
    The moon
     
    #4 RiverNotch, Mar 21, 2014
    Last edited: Jan 18, 2016
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  5. What lovely words, and dark images I have in my head. Vivid vocabulary of yours is rather intoxicating, I love the poetry. Keep this up, I can't wait to read more.
     
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  6. Hide all yo' love! (open)
    [Commentary: A dream! The images are generally literal, so don't think this is as symbolic as my later work.]


    In a dark corner
    Of Blueland lane
    Was a yellow
    McDonald's
    Filled with brown fat
    And green dough

    Little men and women
    Worked its mines
    Showing how insignificant
    Their lives are
    Yet, oh, how kin
    To oceans deep
    The stories of their souls

    There worked the girl
    With raven hair
    And locks for eyes
    And cratered face
    She stood there
    No troubles in her world
    Yet her world was trouble's end

    She had gotten a degree
    In something called
    "Art History"
    Which was, in reality,
    The story of
    The vagina
    And she found no use
    For knowing how to kiss a man
    Like a pederast
    So now she lived
    In that dream of
    The unlivened poor

    No troubles in her world
    She said, when she saw
    My still-young face
    Filled with youth's fat
    And stuffed with disgrace
    She was content
    With exercising her fingers
    In the delicate art
    Of masturbating fries

    She flecked a kiss of salt
    And asked me of I me mine
    But I found not my answer
    Only the ubermensch
    Crushing my heart
    And opening up
    The depths
    Of my mosquito
    As I reached for her hand
    And she reached for mine

    But words still flowed
    Like honey to wine
    Only she was spoilt
    And I me mine was thine
    Into mead and weed and reed
    So that she undertood
    Only that I was locked
    In that eternal embrace
    Between two moons
    Or two lungs

    And she held my hand so briefly
    And then she was gone
    Swept away by
    A political joy
    "My husband", she mentioned
    Giving me a charming
    Flirtatious smile
    Before leaving me
    To my mess

    Then, finding her joy
    I took it
    And dressed up
    In her iron mantle
    And chains

    I stuck myself
    Into that McDonald's
    Becoming wholesome dough
    In hopes of finding
    Mutual release
    With the oils
     
    #7 RiverNotch, Mar 27, 2014
    Last edited: Jan 18, 2016
  7. Show Spoiler

    Emmanuelle
    Emmanuelle, Emmanuelle, how your name rolls off my tongue
    Like the boulder off the cliff to the hikers down below:
    A long word, hard to utter, yet sweet in its release
    And deadly in its approach.

    Emmanuelle, Emmanuelle, how many young lads
    Have fallen for your charms?
    How many men have you enticed
    To lock you in honey
    And lick you repeatedly like candy?
    How have you used
    Your massive, towering breasts
    To capture men's hearts
    And cause them to argue
    About things as trivial as psychotic science?

    Emmanuelle, Emmanuelle, only madness
    And nonsense
    Is locked in you.
    Loving you is like loving a river,
    For if one tries to hug and kiss and fuck a river,
    One drowns, or gets taken by the current,
    But, once again, ultimately drowns.

    Emmanuelle, Emmanuelle, my words are nothing
    Compared to your tent.
    They are like a pair of wings;
    They ARE a pair of wings.

    Emmanuelle, Emmanuelle, please
    Give me the sleep that I desire,
    Which is in your arms
    And between your breasts,
    Within your chest
    Where lies no harm.
    Your love.

    Emmanuelle, Emmanuelle,
    I love you,
    But I do not know where you are.
    In the madness of loving nothing,
    Of celebrating the darkness of fate's wheel,
    I have lost myself.
    I write this ode to you,
    This mess of meaningless words,
    In the hopes that I may find you,
    Unite with you,
    And suck the love from your tender
    Like a boy and his clementine,
    Exchanging, in return,
    More words
    And seeds.

    Emmanuelle, Emmanuelle, dear goddess
    I do not worship you
    Yet I equate you to the gods.
    I do not know
    What fate made you known to me
    Why God would let me see you
    Know you are truth, perfection incarnate,
    Yet not have you.
    Perhaps it is punishment
    For this adoration
    For wrongs made in the present
    And the future.
    Or perhaps I am simply impatient.

    Emmanuelle, Emmanuelle,
    Who are you?
    Where have you gone?
    I have lost you
    And you have lost me.
    I am becoming mad because of you
    But I do not care,
    As I was mad before,
    Now I am only madder,
    Mad enough to taste of madness's mercy.

    Emmanuelle, Emmanuelle,
    You are here
    But I am too mad to see you,
    To unite with you,
    To fulfill.
    Would you like a grapefruit?
     
    #8 RiverNotch, Apr 17, 2014
    Last edited: Jan 18, 2016
  8. alas (open)

    "Uterus"

    There lies in front of me
    An egg of despair.
    It has no air.
    It cannot breathe.

    There lies in front of me
    An egg of despair.
    It has no air.
    It cannot breathe.

    I must release it soon
    Or it will suffocate.
    I must go find a way
    To help it respirate.
    I have to see to it
    That life is brought to it.
    This egg, it can't just rot.
    This egg is all I've got.

    There lies in front of me
    An egg of despair
    It has no air
    It cannot breathe

    There lies in front of me
    An egg of despair
    It has no air
    It cannot breathe

    (There is nothing but emptiness in my mind
    Towering spires of thoughts and people,
    But voices I do not wish to hear or climb.
    Their towers are too tall and scary:
    They do not feel like they're alive,
    Only there to fill my world with stone,
    The prism to my wisdom's ray of light,
    Making rainbows that make me close my eyes.

    I would rather stay, for ever and ever,
    In this little glass box, trapped like an office-worker.
    There are no words for me to say
    All of my being and the beings in me.
    I would rather be in this universe of mine,
    Each crevasse in the matter of my brain is like
    A rolling field, easy to run through and play in
    In them my eyes are open, but are blind)

    There lies in front of me
    An egg of despair.
    It has no air.
    It cannot breathe.

    There lies in front of me
    An egg of despair.
    It has no air.
    It cannot breathe.

    Oh, these nukes and aeroplanes,
    Shelters for imagination;
    This dazzling darkness,
    Love's reciprocation.
    I have to see to it
    That life is brought to it.
    This egg, it can't just rot.
    This egg is all I've got.

    There lies in front of me
    An egg of despair.
    It has no air.
    It cannot breathe.

    There lies in front of me
    An egg of despair.
    It has no air.
    It cannot breathe.​
     
    #9 RiverNotch, Apr 17, 2014
    Last edited: Jan 18, 2016
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  9. sleep (open)

    I actually want Uterus to be set to music. May someone do that for me? Please do something that's Bjorkist in nature. I suggest listening to The Comet Song or Virus for inspiration. [Commentary: or Vulnicura, Bjork's new album!

    Anyway, yes, this is a song, and, with its redundancies and, well, lack of music, not as good a one as I'd originally thought. Suggestions welcome!]
     
    #10 RiverNotch, Apr 18, 2014
    Last edited: Jan 18, 2016
  10. crazy fool (open)

    I was thinking of Joni Mitchell's "Twisted" (from her album Court and Spark) when I was writing this in Math class just this afternoon:

    There is something about the wiring of the brain to the eyes
    Where (they say) one nerve is longer than the one that is right
    So a man's never got his sight at twenty-twenty
    We're all half-blind even before we're sixty

    So when I say that you're pretty, that's only half-true
    The you that I see is not the real you!

    And of course, like the eyes, our ears are also broken
    We can't hear them screaming at their fullest noise
    So when you are a-nagging, I should think myself lucky
    Only half of the annoyance is getting to MEEEEEEEE

    So when I say I can't hear you, try screaming some more
    Until your voice box is shattered to its very core!

    But even though we can't communicate as should be desired
    I don't think our relationship is in badness too mired
    Coz' our friends say for a couple, we're both quite typical
    It seems our standards should be lower than we think

    So when I say that I hate you, that we shouldn't be together
    It's just me being proud again, thinking the world's really better
    Than it is.

    Yes, yes, it is quite terrible. But I had fun writing it!
     
    #11 RiverNotch, Apr 25, 2014
    Last edited: Jan 18, 2016
  11. I wonder what I'll think of these when I'm, like, twenty-six or something (that is, when I'm no longer a hormonal adolescent)...

    I'll probably be disgusted. xD

    [I've only aged a year or so since this comment, and, well, LOL]
     
    #12 RiverNotch, Apr 25, 2014
    Last edited: Feb 11, 2015
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  12. sleeeeep (open)

    A "mash-up" of "Love or Confusion" from The Jimi Hendrix Experience's Are You Experienced? and "Trip Through Your Wires" from U2's The Joshua Tree. I'll make it clearer and less reference-dependent later.

    I am a bull in a chinese shop
    The shop is a restaurant
    They desire my testicles for a nice soup
    So I run around and breath tables

    Only the two round things in my head
    Are blind and hollow with chaos and malice
    How could one find paranoia delicious?
    Why would one desire my point-of-view?

    And yet, here is Plato studying Socrates
    While also gently pleasuring him
    Is this love you give to me?
    Or Jimi's sweet confusion?

    I am a gangly teenager in a government office
    The office is filled with computers
    There are many wires on the floor
    Connecting the hemispheres of the machine

    I walk around, looking for an answer
    Yet instead of a Trip Through Your Wires
    I trip over your cables
    And kiss the bony, empty floor

    The student thus becomes the master
    The answers to you I question and question
    Is this love I give to you?
    Or Jimi's sweet confusion?

    We seem to have lost each other in each other
    My emptiness is yours to fill
    Your enigma, my own puzzle box
    We have switched sides, minds, genders

    You are the ugly thing drooling on the floor
    I am the red-haired girl masturbating
    I am a phantom in the dark
    You are the ever-blinding light

    And yet, you do not find me gross
    And I feel you are all the more real
    Are we in love, in true romance?
    Or Jimi's sweet confusion?
     
    #13 RiverNotch, Apr 26, 2014
    Last edited: Jan 18, 2016
  13. sleeeeep (open)

    "A Trip In Your Library"


    I am under a quilt of skin.
    In darkness, it begins.

    Flashes
    Of colors
    All alike
    All unlike
    The world we know.
    Oh.
    I feel like I'm going to vomit.
    Is this what they call a "bad trip"?
    The world is spinning round and round,
    yet there's nothing here I haven't found
    outside the waking songs of mother nature, my dear guide
    Flashes
    Of colors
    All alike,
    All unlike
    The world we know.
    Oh.

    I am under a wooden roof.
    My mind is all aloof.

    Flashes
    Of colors
    All alike,
    All unlike
    The world I've seen.
    Oh.
    I'm looking for a novel.
    Is this how a rich man grovels?
    This place seems like a library,
    yet there's no light to read
    the detailed prints and dialogues of our gods' designs.
    Flashes
    Of colors
    All alike,
    All unlike
    The world I've seen.
    Oh.

    I am under a golden queen.
    I wish I had not been.

    Flashes
    Of colors
    All alike,
    All unlike
    The world that's gone.
    Oh.
    I see the warmest fire-light.
    Is this the end, the final sight?
    This house is like a film I've loved,
    yet nothing here is worthy of
    appreciation in the cities of man's sanity.
    Flashes
    Of colors
    All alike,
    All unlike
    The world that's gone.
    Oh.

    I am under a raging storm.
    My love is taking form.

    Flashes
    Of colors
    All alike,
    All unlike
    The world of time.
    Oh.
    I find you.

    Your hair is refuge from the cold.
    Your eyes are vital jewel bugs.
    Your skin is silk from Xanadu.
    Your breasts are supple temple domes.
    Your neck is heaven's heavy trunk.
    Your arms are perfect birch-tree stems.
    Your vulva is a holy dove.
    Your legs are ever-solid stakes.

    Your heart is graceful foolishness.

    And all we do is talk to stop our lights from breaking out.
    FLASHES
    OF COLORS
    ALL ALIKE,
    ALL UNLIKE
    THE WORLD OF TIME.
    Oh.

    I am under a waking day.
    There is nothing more to say.


     
    #14 RiverNotch, Apr 27, 2014
    Last edited: Jan 18, 2016
  14. Good stuff! I've been meaning to put some of my works on here.
     
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  15. I have a compilation of the versions of this somewhere (open)
    I... do not know what to make of this. It's probably just my brain pooping.

    The light you gladly call your home,
    young one,
    does not come from heaven's hosts.
    This light, the canvas of my world,
    young one,
    flows out of my mouth
    like a song.
    Now, wake up, and be blinded!
    The blind see more than they who see.
    Pull yourself out of your heaven,
    young one,
    for your work is not yet done.

    I fall down from my bed.
    A spirit lifts me up
    and cheers me on and on and on
    with one more cup.
    A dizzy shot
    that breaks my head in two
    and makes me want to not believe
    that living in sleep is still living.

    I am the darkness,
    and my bosom is your world:
    it rises when I breathe in,
    it falls when I breathe out.

    I fall down from a ledge.
    A devil lifts me up
    and beats and rapes and swallows me
    like a wife.
    An evil act
    that cracks my ever-aching heart
    and makes me want to discover
    what the inside of a woman feels like.

    The world you gladly call your own,
    young one,
    was not made by God for you.
    The cosmos is His canvas,
    young one,
    flowing out of His mouth
    like a song.
    Now wake up, and be fooled!
    Fools know more than they who know.
    Flee your silly house,
    young one,
    for your home was never here.

    I fall down from the sky.
    An angel catches me
    and draws his sacrificial blade
    in one fell swoop.
    The gorgeous blade,
    he plunges into my enflamed spirit,
    filling me with ecstacy,
    making my penis erupt with pain.

    I am the darkness,
    and my bosom is where fairies play:
    they rise when I breathe in,
    they rise when I breathe out.
    And I will never stop breathing
    for I can never die
    so the world will forever spin
    in a ring.
     
    #16 RiverNotch, Apr 29, 2014
    Last edited: Jan 18, 2016
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  16. Show Spoiler
    A Trip In Your Library, Edit 1:

    My eyes are under their skins.
    In darkness, it begins.

    I see them!
    Flashes
    of colors
    all alike,
    all unlike
    the world I know!
    Oh.

    Reality's earnest embrace
    Now chokes me breathless, out of place.
    This world is spinning round and round.
    I'm lost now, in these malformed sounds.
    But then they form sweet harmonies of mother nature's plan.

    Now I'm under a wooden roof.
    This world seems all aloof.

    I am looking for a novel
    (I am looking for the devil):
    A dream-born tome of heaven's cost,
    a mirror to the Lethe-lost,
    a detailed print and dialogue of the Lord God's designs.

    I find it!
    Flashes
    of colors
    all alike,
    all unlike
    the world that's gone!
    Oh.

    Now I've seen the threads of fate.
    I have felt all love and hate.

    In front of me is fire-light
    This is the end, the final sight:
    A paradise, a house of love,
    a place of nothing worthy of
    appreciation in the cities of man's sanity.

    But heaven is for the dead.
    I'm here all too ahead.

    I'm cast out!
    Flashes
    of colors
    all alike,
    all unlike
    the world of death!
    Oh.

    I'm still looking for a novel.
    (But no longer for the devil)
    For though I've seen the afterlife,
    burns still my heart with awful strife:
    a passion base with freedom's price unmade into a thread.

    Now I'm under a raging storm.
    My love is taking form.

    In front of me is fire-light.
    Is this the end, the final sight?
    I push and pull to your embrace;
    I am choked breathless, out of place!
    You're somewhere close, yet oh so far behind my memories.

    But then I find you.

    Your hair is refuge from the cold.
    Your eyes are vital jewel bugs.
    Your skin is silk from Xanadu.
    Your breasts are supple temple domes.
    Your neck is heaven's heavy trunk.
    Your arms are perfect birch-tree stems.
    Your vulva is a holy dove.
    Your legs are ever-solid stakes.
    Your heart is graceful foolishness.
    Your words are solace from these rains.
    And all we do is talk to stop our suns from breaking in.

    But we lose!
    Flashes
    of colors
    none alike,
    all alike
    the sky at dawn.
    No!

    I am under a waking day.
    I have nothing more to say.
     
    #17 RiverNotch, May 3, 2014
    Last edited: Jan 18, 2016
    • Love Love x 1
  17. "Your Hearth"

    Cold winds do blow o'er these golden hills,
    through the trees so verdant yet dull.
    The flames of my heart are quenched by the breeze,
    by this shiver of loneliness.

    Still I feel
    the warmth of your hearth.

    Thick mists of sleet blind the wide-eyed soul
    from the roads unsullied by doubt.
    The honeyed skies turn grey and black
    as the sun is eclipsed by the clouds.

    Still I see
    the light of your hearth.

    The birds cease singing their songs of joy
    and the rustlings of leaves depart.
    Ravenous death tempts the sullen mind
    with a song of restful charm.

    Still I follow
    the calls of your hearth.

    And I know that one day
    I will find you,
    I'll find rest by the flames of your hearth.
    By love's diligence
    or by fortune alone,
    I shall stumble upon your hearth.

    Til' then, I'll walk this lonely road
    like an old dog to his end.
    This winter spell shall batter my soul
    and freeze my heart into glass.

    Still I'll come
    to the home of your heart.
     
    • Love Love x 1
  18. I'll clean you up someday (open)

    "Your Hearth" (Cleaned a bit)

    Cold winds do blow o'er these golden hills,
    through the trees so verdant yet dull.
    The flames of my heart are quenched by the breeze,
    by this shiver of loneliness.

    Still I feel
    the warmth of your hearth.

    Thick mists of sleet blind the wide-eyed soul
    from the roads unsullied by doubt.
    The honeyed skies turn grey and black
    as the sun is eclipsed by the clouds.

    Still I see
    the light of your hearth.

    The birds cease singing their songs of joy
    and the rustlings of leaves depart.
    Ravenous death tempts the sullen mind
    with a song of restful charm.

    Still I follow
    the calls of your hearth.

    And I know that one day I'll discover you,
    I'll find rest by the flames of your hearth.
    By love's industry or by fortune alone,
    I shall stumble upon your hearth.

    Til' then, I'll walk this lonely road
    like an old dog to his end.
    This winter spell shall batter my soul
    and freeze my heart into glass.

    Still I'll reach for
    the home of your heart.
     
    #19 RiverNotch, May 26, 2014
    Last edited: Jan 18, 2016
    • Thank Thank x 1
  19. By the pony (what?), if you think any of these poems are actually fecal, whether in tiny, tiny, tiny parts (and hopefully only in tiny, tiny, tiny parts, as I am a stupidly vain person (so shut up, m'kay? I'm still talking (if it's not too obvious, this is a joke (this series of parenthetics, that is, not this whole post)))) or in stupidly massive wholes (as in criticisms extending not just to the poetry but also to the things that inspired them, nay, the universe which hosted them (not necessarily meanness, though)), feel free to post 'em here. I am very much open to criticisms, as however impossibly fantastic I can be at writing masterpieces (see? I am a stupidly vain person! :P), I know that sometimes (in all seriousness, more-than-some times, actually) I need correction.

    Short, humorless form:
    By the way, if you think any of these poems are deserving of due criticism (that is, criticism not extending to the character of the author (remember, the author is not always the poem's speaker)), then please, feel free to comment them in this thread, as this is a "seeking feedback" thread.

    Back to the humor:
    If you do think, however, that these poems are not only brilliant, but brilliant to absolute perfection, then please, feel free to stoke my ever-incandescent pride by liking (nay, loving) every single one of my posts, following my profile, posting multiple compliments on my wall, posting how perfect said poetry is in this thread (or in a new thread, which'd be somewhat better for my poetry), and most importantly allowing me to do whatever I want with you. And yes, that does include any sadistic fantasies of mine (or yous ;)).
     
    • Thank Thank x 1