Rate these poems...

[idNut]

I don't know about these, they're just scribbles really, nothing worthy of a name so I just numbered them. You guys offer some great constructive criticism so that's why I post these.

1
Dabble in my ardor
Sadness and pity
Discover in my body
Anger and wrath
Swim in my spirit
Love and good-will
Walk in my life
To find it all null.

2
No one understands
This is the pain
It does not leave
It lives on
Dormant for a little
Active all the time
There?s nothing that will help
Except the death
To cure.

3
At times like this
Nothing holds me from abyss
I will sadly succumb
To live forever numb
No one offers an ear
So all I have is fear
So God, if you?re there
Please suspend my air
Life isn?t as You told
Who is there left to hold?
God let me be the last
To die so incredibly fast.

4
It?s not the nothing
That rips at me
It?s the superficial
And how I can?t elude it
Just a priority that I neglect
Only to be snatched by it
And thrown back down
Never to escape.

5
I try and escape
But it?s too bright
Locked behind a barrier
Only to be released
After
You don?t want to leave
But I?m here screaming
Confusion for you
Pain and agony for---
Me.

6
Too deep for light
You can?t see a thing
But I see it all
So don?t try and understand
Here is where I am lost
And found.

7
Do you see it too?
Beyond the center
And behind the lies
You?ll find the essence
Forget the majority
And the pain
Venture on
To find the extremes
And how we?ve accomplished
Nothing.

8
Every word a route
Every movement a hint
Of what you?re so about
Your tale and stint
I scowl at your bad behavior
To see the beauty so desecrated
Your gift from our savior
Is being so easily molested.

9
Caught in the breeze,
With the tang of the leaves
I?ve found my merit,
Reaching for your spirit
While speeding through the green,
I?ve become part of the scene
I have now found the splendor,
Because of your pleasant tender.

 

[Monel Funkawitz]

Constructive criticism #1 - Not every poem has to be so dark and dismal.

 

[Lonyo]

I've seen better

Something longer that tells something, like a short story, is what I find quite good.

Yours almost seem trying to hard, like you're fitting words to make the poem rhyme, not letting it take a natural course (specifically #9 seems a little laboured)

#7 is good though, seems more natural, like it was written, not laboured over.

And yeah, happy happy happy

 

[idNut]

Originally posted by: Lonyo
I've seen better

Something longer that tells something, like a short story, is what I find quite good.

Yours almost seem trying to hard, like you're fitting words to make the poem rhyme, not letting it take a natural course (specifically #9 seems a little laboured)

#7 is good though, seems more natural, like it was written, not laboured over.

And yeah, happy happy happy

I've been told that a lot, that it sounds like my poem is just trying to rhyme. I don't see that at all.

 

[Lonyo]

Somewhere over the rainbow lies my future,
Somewhere in my heart lies my love,
Somewhere in my eyes lies the vision,
Of what I can become.

Somehow I believe this,
Somehow I?ll become,
Somehow I feel I need this,
What I can become

Out there is a warrior,
Fearless of his foe,
The courage of a man possessed,
His vision leads him on

Among the ruins of the mind,
Live the stories told,
Written on our minds forever,
Their mysteries unfold

 

[idNut]

Originally posted by: Monel Funkawitz
Constructive criticism #1 - Not every poem has to be so dark and dismal.

My stories are also like this. Here's something from one short story:

John was an ordinary looking fellow. Walking past him in an ill-lit corridor, no suspicious would arise. Spare his shredded clothes and dirtied face he was as plain and undiscerning as any common folk; his nose straight and defined, cheekbones the same and the mouth composed with no visible comprehensive diligence. But it was his eyes that received the attention and thorough construction. The unfathomable depths that lied within were unspeakable. It was those eyes that educated himself to the pit of his existence now. He had found too much knowledge because in that knowledge he found the vanity everyone had overlooked; the vanity of work, of love, of pain and most of all, the vanity of life.

Staring at the moonlit sky through those grave eyes in a backwater alley, John pondered the vanity. Amongst the garbage, rain-sodden cardboard, rats and the unwanted, John remained; with the filth and discarded. It was where he desired, where he belonged. He had purposely taken himself out of society; it had not thrown him to the garbage. He no longer cared what his body needed; he had given up his manhood and appetite when the tenants of misery had moved in. He had always been amidst the depression, never feeling the levity of life or the peace of mind because he didn?t, he couldn?t see the light that everyone but him danced within. He found there was nothing to be happy about. Living a life of routine to satisfy the body and mind to eventually die so-called ?fulfilled??

John craved more, a true meaning that did not concern the survival of man but instead something more significant. But what was imperative in the universe? Nothing was imperative, not even saving the world from tyranny or plague. What loss would the planet receive in exchange for his race? The planet was prosperous until his kind beset its face; polluting the atmosphere, poisoning the water and wiping out entire species of domestic animals. But nature had its revenge with viral diseases that killed thousands upon thousands of humans. This brought nothing but a sheer smile to John?s aging lips. It was the only joy he had felt in what seemed to be ages: the demise of man. He laughed at the thought while watching his breath float away on the cold December night.

Laying in the garbage and all his misery, laughing at life, his stomach turned to a feeling of security that brought on more humor with even more laughter. Soon he noticed the citizens hearing his cackle looking down the dark alley in search for the source of hysteria. He didn?t care and just went along laughing. Laughing how those same citizens were just as meaningless as him despite their denial, how even the most courageous and successful men of the world were as meaningless as him. So they were courageous, those who saved lives from what, just the inevitable death which lies at the end of every life? So they succeeded on the surface but what about inside? Inside didn?t matter in his world where people sold their bodies, their souls, and lives for a comfortable tentative stay in life?s realm.

John still lay in the alley having not gained anything from the laughter. Sanity was still deteriorating with every spent breath. The world that he saw believable when he was a child was now a myth. What lay before his eyes now was his own private hell. Why did it go on when nothing inside him desired it to?

 

[hellfreeze]

personally, i'd rather read one long poem than 9 short poems. but that's just me

 

[idNut]

Originally posted by: hellfreeze
personally, i'd rather read one long poem than 9 short poems. but that's just me

I hate long poems because it's almost crossing into prose IMO.

I don't know, this forum makes me think everything I write sucks. I don't know if it's pissed off geeks taking their anger out on me or what but this is where I get the most negative comments on everything. Nevertheless I do take some knowledge with the replies.

 

[thirtythree]

Originally posted by: idNut

Originally posted by: hellfreeze
personally, i'd rather read one long poem than 9 short poems. but that's just me

I hate long poems because it's almost crossing into prose IMO.

I don't know, this forum makes me think everything I write sucks. I don't know if it's pissed off geeks taking their anger out on me or what but this is where I get the most negative comments on everything. Nevertheless I do take some knowledge with the replies.

find a poetry forum somewhere. they'll probably rip your poems to shreds but I'm sure you'll get more constructive criticism.

 

[idNut]

Originally posted by: Deslocke

Originally posted by: idNut

Originally posted by: hellfreeze
personally, i'd rather read one long poem than 9 short poems. but that's just me

I hate long poems because it's almost crossing into prose IMO.

I don't know, this forum makes me think everything I write sucks. I don't know if it's pissed off geeks taking their anger out on me or what but this is where I get the most negative comments on everything. Nevertheless I do take some knowledge with the replies.

find a poetry forum somewhere. they'll probably rip your poems to shreds but I'm sure you'll get more constructive criticism.

Well, I guess I'm done with poetry. I'm such a fvckin' loser, I govern myself through other people's opinions.

 

[OverVolt]

how about

There once was a man in nantucket
He slapped his head on a bucket
He went to bed
And woke up dead...


Bah i forgot the rest!

 

[thirtythree]

heh. oh well. I'm getting good at killing your threads.