A Poem of Mine for You to Tear Apart

[Sunstone]

Yes. There are poetry writing classes I can take and I plan on taking at least one (hopefully more) sometime in the future. I do plan on having my English major being concentrated on writing and not so much on literature, so I am confident that I will have some classes that are very strict on writing. My writing needs alot of work and needs much improvement. My current poetry is so terribly amateurish that I'm ashamed of it - which is good, since that further motivates me to go about improving. Thanks for your reply!

Have you read Robert Bly's American Poetry: Wildness and Domesticity?

 

[standing_alone]

Have you read Robert Bly's American Poetry: Wildness and Domesticity?

No I haven't.

 

[Freedomelf]

No tearing-away from me.....I loved it! You should post it on more poetry forums.

 

[Sunstone]

No I haven't.

You can probably find it in the library. If I told you it was a good book, that would be an understatement. So, I'll just stick to telling you it's an easy read. Bly has a great prose style, so you get to pick up on both his sensitivity to poems and on his prose.

 

[standing_alone]

No tearing-away from me.....I loved it! You should post it on more poetry forums.

I'm glad you liked it and thanks for telling me so.

You can probably find it in the library. If I told you it was a good book, that would be an understatement. So, I'll just stick to telling you it's an easy read. Bly has a great prose style, so you get to pick up on both his sensitivity to poems and on his prose.

Maybe some time when I have a few days off (like a weekend), I'll go check the library. I really should start focusing myself on writing again. I've been way too lazy with it lately.

 

[d.]

i'll get back to you with further comments...

yeah, surrrrrrrrre you will.

sorry, al, but i have had this in the back of my mind for a long time...

The Ranger Hall Revelation

Sitting on a lonely bench outside Ranger Hall,
Humid, hot October 5, 2005,
I light a cigarette, sick of it all,
Wishing for death, not totally alive;

I watch the paper burn back,
Revealing the cancer within,
I look down at my cigarette pack,
“Lucky Strike,” what truth, what wisdom;

I too want to burn back my paper,
Let loose the pain of my cancer,
Watch the smoke curl like vapor,
Searching for truth, for an answer.

I let the smoke go to my head,
Numb away the turmoil and pain.
Earlier I felt like a phantom,
Knowing only that no one knows my name;

Earlier I knew I was only a shape,
Nothing solid, just some steam.
Now I have this desire to escape,
To make myself come clean.

Now I don’t feel anything,
The smoke icing the heat,
And I watch all the mistakes I’ve made
Suddenly repeat.

I light another cigarette,
So it’s come to this,
I use a substance to forget
The angst that writhes in me.

I’m a coward, I’m afraid,
Too scared to hope for love,
Now I just want to trade
This for the sky above.

I light another, this makes three,
How the third is supposed to be the charm,
But deep down I know I’ll never be free,
Because all I know is self-harm.

I only know how to sabotage
Anything that brings healing,
I live life merely as a mirage,
I’ll never feel my paper peeling;

And so I cower back to my dorm,
A cell amongst everyone else’s paradise.
I hug myself to stay warm,
And crack open another vice.

with work, i feel your writing could really go places. sunstone said your work 'transcends the usual teenage angst poem' - a statement i must agree with; it's evident you have a special quality in there. it'll need developing, sure. there's still a certain roughness and perhaps a certain un-subtleness (forgive my lacking english) - but when i read poetry, i always feel that some people 'got it' and some don't - and you definitely got something to work with. so keep writing - and i hope to see more of your work!

 

[Smoke]

I like it. Somebody who knows more about poetry than I do could probably offer you some constructive criticism, but I thought it was very vivid, and very evocative of a whole complex of thoughts and emotions.

 

[standing_alone]

there's still a certain roughness and perhaps a certain un-subtleness

Yes! That is definately something I want to work on. It's something that bugged me about my writing because I always felt that my poems were too "in your face" and lacked "subtleness." It left nothing for the reader to "figure out" or really think about. It's good to know my "fear" was not unfounded. It is one of the things I want to work on the most with my writing.

- and you definitely got something to work with. so keep writing - and i hope to see more of your work!

I'm glad to hear that I have potential. I certainly hope this is an honest statement (I'm not trying to call anyone dishonest ) and not one made to protect my feelings. I enjoy writing and want to improve and continue to build my writing skills. It's good to know that it appears that I at least have somewhat of a foundation to build on.


Thanks to everyone that replied and took the time to read my poem.

 

[d.]

I certainly hope this is an honest statement

of course.

 

[michel]

I love poetry for the very fact that there really are no rules. It's one of the purest forms of written expression available.

So, my brain has been warped into feeling this way and I can't find any flaws within your poem.

If you've expressed what you wanted to express...than it's complete.

I enjoyed it; I wanted to pick on a point you made though, Dawny (about 'there being no rules'). There always are you know.

I once posted a poem of mine here:-

On Poetry

What is the poet's work, if not a song unsung?
How else to give a life to one's deep thoughts,
to dream one's dreams,
With a memory of each occasion not yet passed?
A metered set of words,
-each one a tale in itself,
that tells of where the writer's mind is leading,
-and sometime lead him back to within himself
And yet, with ev'ry thought that ends on bonded reed
each painfully writ with the author's mental blood
-It lacks within itself the thought that was it's own,
and looses with each tell that which it tried to say,
and do
Broken phrases, concocted words,
- each one of which is doomed to cry,
-to shed a tear for the lack of what it's meant to mean;
An accent thrown upon a vowel-
to spice the mean therein;
A dot or two, to give a breath that must be there,
-an unseen tear or two, that must be read
-that it may live the life that's due to it.........
And, when it is done, it lacks........
It always lacks
​

That I think described the 'opportunities' to mess with words in poetry. I then posted another, and someone (a member who hasn't posted in a while) suggested that I send some of mine in to a particular site, where there are regular competitions.

I did (on an online form), but it was rejected because of the length of some of the phrases. As far as I am concerned, that is not "Flexible", which is how I see poetry as well.​

 

[Buttercup]

Very nice Michel!!....and it's just flat silly for a poetry site to have a limit on the length of phrases! Do you have more you'd like to share? How about you Alyssa? I used to write poetry all the time...it's a very meditative and calming exercise for the most part.