News:

If you need instructions on how to get through the hotels, check out the enclosed instruction book.

Main Menu

new poems

Farted by yinyangclock, March 04, 2011, 04:49:24 AM

Previous topic - Next topic

0 Members and 1 Guest are viewing this topic.

yinyangclock

?

buttplug

well I'm no poet but I though they were mostly good

the first one doesn't flow at all though, it felt choppy and disconnected with those short lines.

CrustClock

Very brave of you. This is what I thought:

Quote from: yinyangclock;1810001UNTITLED
i mean just the other
day i heard
a story, guy
had a heart attack
and they could
have saved his
life but there were
some kids near
by and they came
in like hyenas
and threw bricks and
fists and took all
the things
in the
ambulance
and left
the paramedics
and the dead man
in the road
and this was on the
small island where i
live,
and you are
seriously asking me
why iââ,¬â,,¢m so
negative?

I don't personally feel that this benefits from being put into a verse rather than prose. As much as I try I can't see any added texture from splitting lines like

fists and took all
the things
in the
ambulance

I think if the lines were longer then the prosaic effect would come across more. The effect of it currently is a bit like a speech impediment. I like how you've put ordinary speech into verse, but there's maybe too much - or rather it's sometimes included where the flow is broken. The opening should be strong, and I think starting with "I mean..." undercuts the seriousness of the story. It also misses a chance to use the line breaks effectively, e.g.:

I mean
Just the other
Day I heard
A story, guy



QuoteALONE IN MY COLD KITCHEN
they cut off the gas eight days ago.
this evening i thought, screw it,
iââ,¬â,,¢ll spend my last pound
and twenty four pence
on something iââ,¬â,,¢ll enjoy.

once frozen,
now warm and soggy,
fresh out the microwave,
steam rising into my face.

i look at the pizza.

the pizza looks back at me.

i cut it up into three slices,
using the same scissors
i use to cut
my hair.

it tastes like manna from heaven.

A bit too descriptive in the first half. You could be bold and set up the preamble in unambiguous prose, before the start of the poem proper, but with both styles together it seems muddled. I don't really like this one too much. It seems a bit like you're being on surface self-deprecating while underneath it quite proud of yourself for the grossness.


QuoteTHAT MORNING
i was so hungover that your voice
was a percussion instrument, but
it was okay - you went silent, anyway,
as memories of the night before
filled your pretty head like too much wine
overflowing
in a glass.
i apologised, shameless like a veteran liar.
although i might not have meant to
raise my hand at him, and
although i didnââ,¬â,,¢t mean to speak those
awful, spiteful words that had fallen
from my mouth like
lumps of wet earthââ,¬Å¾,

i felt no remorse, and my apology
was hollow, and you knew it,
and i knew that you knew it,
and we were doomed
from that day forward.

I like the opening image. It puts across well the sensation of rising from a slumber - and the initial bluntness of sound. "My cup runneth over" is a bit of a cliche, and doesn't really work symbollically as wine makes you talkative, and this bed-partner is "silent". "Shameless like a veteran liar" is a wrong similie, I think. Did you mean "A shameless veteran liar"? The second stanza is prosaic compared with the first and so comes across as unrefined/rushed.



QuoteCHEMS ARE LESS FUN
old friend of mine returns from space. he
tells me stories about the Golden Teacher:
psilocybe cubensis, those magical alien
spores of the universe. ââ,¬Å"To speak with the Sun God,ââ,¬Â
he tells me, ââ,¬Å"one must be mentally prepared.
itââ,¬â,,¢s not for everyoneââ,¬Â. now i donââ,¬â,,¢t
know about that and i have
no interest in becoming One
with the cosmos

but it certainly sounds a lot
better than eating a bunch of

1 - ( 4 -
metoksyfenylo) - 2
- metylo
amino)
butan - 1 - on                                          (sic)

and turning into a robot
and spending the rest of your days shaking
in a cold room
with poison in your guts
and a horrible blackness in your head
and a sharp, stabbing pain in
your chest

and your jaw wonââ,¬â,,¢t stop clenching
and your eyes wonââ,¬â,,¢t stop twitching
and there is nothing left
and you are left with nothing
wondering if you are dead
and if you have
been sent to hell

doesnââ,¬â,,¢t it?

Pussy. Chemicals are great.