Poetry Submission and Critique

[Anonymous No.10251443]

Critique my shit and submit your own.

[Anonymous No.10251519]

short and sweet

[Anonymous No.10251564]

>>10251443
Right, I feel this starts strong, unconventional imagery, I just love the word specters, although I feel with it there 'Deathly' feels a little redundant and you could search for a deeper word to add to the imagery, everyone knows specters are deathly.

I find your phrasing fits the tone but the line "Voices belonging to another time" just feels, like disengaging and bland, especially in lieu of your opening, like I'm imagining a wispy voiced dude sat in a misty cemetery making some shitty documentary. I see however that could work since I believe this is a poem about either WW1 or 2, but I also feel you could be add more flair to that particular melancholy by digging deep into more expressive language - not saying it isn't already, 'Whisper tales of remembrance' does give me an image but its flacid and lacks weight in my opinion. The flowers/life metaphor has been done so heavily when you come to it doesn't strike a strong an emotional chord as the subject matter can warrant. Just my thoughts man, good work.


One of my recent ones for you guys:

If eyes would crack
I’d have them so,
and bore the gel
into a frame
to call my child who
gleams upon the world.

These artless walls
shine their dour
into my pending breath,
I grope for loud moments;
and yet these moments drip.
This limbless clock bawls into me:
“The world is running thin”
whilst noise speckles my mind -
skittering monochrome.

It divorces me
In bulges, growths
Come quick my child!
I hear neighbours
It swells, castrates me
to icy surrender.

I daren't submit
for public souls
shall sort me well,
yet Bile
rivers across my cheeks;
in viscous pigments.

Head Bells
ring,
and mull,
and gong
to diffuse monologues -
for this soliloquy is lies
He tells me lies!
The boldest lies!

But no forestall
you deft tricksters
I hear so well;
I murder you.
My child is born
so see him
brave the world!

Now hear me well
and hear me deep
you bastards of
inner mire:
I am my child
now see me
make my motions!

[Anonymous No.10251567]

A veces (o casi siempre)
tras haber reptado mucho
hasta tres tardes enteras
deponía los motetes
los sonetos cervantinos
y las láminas de arte manierista
entonces prefería
inclinarme estirarme despidiendo
los yambos los trágicos yambos los negros
sobre diamantes de sangre
Luego seguía reptando

[Anonymous No.10251638]

Nice

[Anonymous No.10251724]

>>10251519
Third one a best

>>10251564
Picked up really well on the head bells part

[Anonymous No.10252773]

>>10251443

First verse is good; nice imagery and good pacing.
Second verse isnt great though. It's clichéd, and undoes the sense of mystery and stasis implied in the first

[Anonymous No.10253436]

Does anyone here have much experience with fourteener meter? I've found myself using it, sort of, with my latest forays into narrative poetry. I say "sort of" because when I write it I actually find myself naturally stopping lines at thirteen syllables. Is this normal?

[Anonymous No.10253450]

>>10253436
I'm sorry did you say something I was watching Ryuuko chew

[Anonymous No.10253692]

>>10253436
I used sixteener to write about sucking my own dick. It's nice, because the longer, lazier flow. I write like that in my free verse now too.

>>10251519
Some of these feel too Poindexter-y to me, but there's definitely a market for it. I agree that the third is best, but "feast of your fruit" feels a little silly sonically.

[Anonymous No.10253697]

>>10253692
I still struggle with villanelles, but this is probs my best that I didn't cheat the form with.

[idiot No.10253702]

>>10253697
jesus, I forgot pic twice

[Anonymous No.10254027]

>>10253702
Hey I saw you on Reddit!

[idiot No.10254465]

>>10254027
hey bud. I find it fun to see which ones which site likes

[Anonymous No.10254497]

Breath of sweat air forced between
toes curled - fold beneath.
phantomes haunt flairs even here -
they eclipsed when I could no longer look beyond, to see if you were there.
An accussal would follow,
but they did not care.
The tears in your heart would not be stitched like the torn sheets
left for you to sleep in -
for you to say you did not care.