Because we don't want these to get lost, this thread is dedicated to the comments made by members about our poems from various contests! Enjoy!
Critiques of Poems from our Contests!
Because we don't want these to get lost, this thread is dedicated to the comments made by members about our poems from various contests! Enjoy!
Buddy, you think you look strong? You’re wearing a cape.
Picture...
Aaron
Celebration of the Majestic Murdering Circus
Dance beneath the wheel again,
the lights are burning bright;
Come celebrate with us on this,
our night of death’s delight.
The sweaty hooples shuffled in
like cattle to the slaughter,
confused, yet laughing, to the song
of pleading sons and daughters.
The souls of these unwitting dupes
snuffed out to please the soulless.
Come one, come all—admission’s free—
At the Majestic Murderering Circus!
And look! There’s Sam the Shotgun Man
at cartwheels with the witchers,
his top hat smeared with a preacher’s bile,
while blood-soaked monsters smile for pictures.
The Lincoln Twins are juggling
two arms, one foot, three heads!
Come quick and play amongst the meat,
else grind the bones for Sunday’s bread.
The moon drops low as dawn draws near.
They’re on their way before first light.
For Hayward waits to see those tents;
another night of death’s delight
CRITIQUES
BROWNING'S CHILDE
Very nice poem,
It feels like something that should be on the back of "Something Wicked This Way Comes."
"Majestic Murdering Circus" or "Cooger and Dark's Pandemonium Shadow Show"
I think Ciruses make much better fodder for Horror than joy.
When you think about it, they can be scary.
I especially like the line "His top hat smeared with a Preachers' bile"
fantastic....
My only gripe is the length. It its such a good topic and so well written, I wanted to hear what else might lurk in the shadows.
Jean
Aaron’s Celebration of the Majestic Murdering Circus seems to me personally the best here, and that’s what I would vote for if we ever came to voting; it doesn’t give the theme any happier overtones, though. However, while the two previous authors were mostly melancholic, (one morbidly, the other despondently so) Celebration brings in a more sanguine motif of the bizarre and grotesque; the contradicion between usual clamor, jingles and come-ons expected at a fair, and what actually happens there, if not exactly new (rather, a time-honored tradition in poetry), still requires a lot of skill and what I would, for lack of a better word,call stamina – not so really often encountered among poets, especially amateurs, - and the fierce joy of contemplating The Lincoln Twins, who are “juggling two arms, one foot, three heads” feels somehow invigorating. Among technical devices, I liked it how both the first and the last stanza end with “night of death’s delight.”
Dance beneath the wheel again,
the lights are burning bright;
Come celebrate with us on this,
our night of death’s delight.
The sweaty hooples shuffled in
like cattle to the slaughter,
confused, yet laughing, to the song
of pleading sons and daughters.
The souls of these unwitting dupes
snuffed out to please the soulless.
Come one, come all—admission’s free—
At the Majestic Murderering Circus!
And look! There’s Sam the Shotgun Man
at cartwheels with the witchers,
his top hat smeared with a preacher’s bile,
while blood-soaked monsters smile for pictures.
The Lincoln Twins are juggling
two arms, one foot, three heads!
Come quick and play amongst the meat,
else grind the bones for Sunday’s bread.
The moon drops low as dawn draws near.
They’re on their way before first light.
For Hayward waits to see those tents;
another night of death’s delight.
AlishaRiley
Bloody hell, this is good.
Definitely NOT a critique to be submitted into the contest, but I thought I'd have a glance 'round at the poetry of others, and this is my favourite from the thread.
It's beautifully written, imaginative, and morbid! I really got lost in it.
Chooch
Very nice Aaron....If I had my way that would win hands down. Yes please do get into writting again would love to see more of your "Morbid" side
flaggwalkstheline
thats a badass poem
BROWNING'S CHILDE
It would seem we have a winner.
Murdering Circus gets my vote!!!
Needless to say, I enjoyed it profusely.
The night was full of promise
Yet alone here I do stand.
What makes us think that
life is good, a joy ride by the sand?
My heart is ever hopeful that they are
having fun.Still I stand and watch them,
I'm not the only one.
There's many a wounded warrior
that wishes they were here
and still I stand alone in fear.
The water mocks my reflective mood.
CRITIQUES
Jon
I love the third stanza! The last line is great. I wish I could freeform like Linda.
Solitude
Away from all the others,
I can scarcely hear them scream.
I watch them from a distance.
Surreal as if a dream.
Popcorn and corndogs,
I taste in wisps of air.
Flashing lights and ringing bells,
The world without a care.
A fleeting thought of joining,
But no, I do not dare.
Cause I am always over here,
And they are over there.
CRITIQUES
Jon
I see...the author is seperated from the fair?
BROWNING'S CHILDE
That was my perception of the picture, that the author was not at the fair, but across the way, looking in.
Jean
BROWNING'S CHILDE”s Solitude is another example of how carnival stuff, or anything else supposed to be merry, evokes just opposite feelings in poets; there's no solitude like what you feel when people are laughing around; the feeling of loneliness is aggravated by separation, which must be existential since there’s no apparent reason for it otherwise; I got to say, however, that it is well articulated by the using of the same rhyme in the last two thirds – look at the structure below; I broke it into stanzas to make it more graphical
Away from all the others,
I can scarcely hear their screams.
I watch them from a distance.
Surreal as if a dream.
Popcorn and corndogs,
I taste in wisps of air.
Flashing lights and ringing bells,
The world without a care.
A fleeting thought of joining,
But no, I do not dare.
Cause I am always over here,
And they are over there.
BROWNING'S CHILDE
I have slightly edited my poem, as Jean's comment about it allowed me to see my mistake with the rhyming pattern. I only changed the second line from ...."their screams" to ...."them scream" in order for the poem to have a consistent rhyming pattern. Thanks Jean, for your revealing comment.
Bright white light...
In the dark of night...
I've seen you there...
on the ferris wheel...
with rainbow's of color in your hair....
Do you know I'm here....
wishing to be there....
CRITIQUES
Jon
I must say I like it. But it took 3 reads to get it. It flows ,but maybe too fast. Or maybe it's just me. I'll read it a few more times. I think you have a possession error in the 4th line with "rainbows" or you have a to remove "of."
I kinda like it without the word "of" in that line and keep "rainbow's" possessive. It's your baby though. Thank you Chooch!
Final Illumination
I shine, blazing atop my column
My lone light illuminates my friend bridge who appears so stone, silent, and solemn
Across the pool at the end of my quiet partners span
I see my family dancing, beckoning to visitors come to that isle of man
I watch my cousin Red, Aunt Blue, and Uncle Yellow weave their dance of color
The visitors mill about, mouths agape, excitedly staring in wonder
I am not sad that I do not dance, sitting motionless atop my tower
I am confident, and quite happy, here with my friend at this late hour
I know soon, when my kin end their revelry and finally go dark, the visitors will trudge again home
I will once again be the last light to have shone.
CRITIQUES
Jon
I find this poem...soothing and relaxed.
Jean
CPU’s Final Illumination is so beautiful I don’t want to analyze it lest I break something, it sounds fragile, I loved it a lot - I might have loved it better than Aaron’s, even, if it wasn’t somehow ruined for me by the lack of rhyme in the third couplet – if the author did it on purpose, I fail to see what the purpose was, and if it was just sloppy, so much the worse, - but the last line is unforgettable, and the bear keeps repeating it to himself:
I will once again be the last light to have shone
Coney Island shines in the night
Neon heaven glowing across the bay
The Circus's reflection marches across the water
CRITIQUES
Jon
The Circus's reflection marches across the water
This line makes you poem come alive. (and no, not New York...New Castle Indiana.)
obscurejude
Coney Island shines in the night
Neon heaven glowing across the bay
I've seen some of your other writing and I know you can do better. These lines are a bit generic and come across very weak.
The Circus's reflection marches across the water
I agree with Jon about this giving the poem life... but I think you can give it more. Also, "Circus" doesn't need an additional "s" to be plural. The whole poem has the feeling that it was written in 15 seconds, but maybe you were just trying to fragment the images that stood out most to you?
I'd love to see you take some time and re write all three lines to give it some more depth and deliberation, which I know you are capable of.
flaggwalkstheline... *note, this was an update to the poem*
The midway shines, gaudy and loud, across the bay
He stalks the boardwalk slowly back and forth from railing to railing
Watching the lights spinning and the giddy sound of children screaming
Tinny brass music floats across the water pretending to be stately and unaware of the overflated sillyness of it's tooting
A piece of cotton candy lies trampled on the rotting planks
All the sweetness gone out of it and dripping away
No ferryman will be coming to take him there, no orbitting charon after midnight
Yet still he waits for a boat to carry him across the pitch black lake
To an neon deep fried paradise which smells of puke and sugar
He waits
Even if it takes till the morning
Pores
Rotundas filled with phosphorescence showed the pores.
And as they turned anticlockwise we saw the sores form on the throats.
Cool wind rush, cool wind rush, entering lungs.
Scattered into thousands of shards, a bell is rung.
And as they reformed in solitude we saw the throats covered in feathers.
Slender necks protected from the cold weather,
Inclemency oncoming inclemency here.
Turning left to avoid the oncoming fear.
And the rotating lights changed colour.
RED GREEN BLUE YELLOW RED GREEN BLUE YELLOW
We looked at each other.
RED GREEN BLUE YELLOW RED GREEN BLUE YELLOW
Is this hit real?
RED GREEN BLUE YELLOW
Is this shit real?
RED GREEN BLUE
Just let me feel.
YELLOW
And I see what happened.
RED GREEN
All the rotundas and sores,
All the illuminated pores,
BLUE YELLOW
Were an illusion from panic.
RED GREEN BLUE
Sedated now with calm and your warmth, we ride the circus wheel.
YELLOW RED
Embraces. Wrap in white.
GREEN BLUE
Amaranthine haze show my face.
RED GREEN
Stay.
CRITIQUES
Frunobulax
Oh, a brief note on the more outre things.
Red/green and blue/yellow are the two major types of colour blindness caused by deficiencies of cones/rods. As a confirmed Daltonism sufferer, the picture lacked some hues to me which inspired me to write about obfuscation. And music fans may note riding circus wheels and wrapping in white as being References to Holland, 1945 by Neutral Milk Hotel. Leitmotifs abound in this poem.
Jon
I love the ...broken flow. Like a ride from the pic. Delightfuly unpredictable.
Ways to Be Remembered
To throw a big party, inviting all friends
all family, close or remote,
and swallow some poison, and happily end
one’s life, leaving a note,
which would be remembered forever by those
who shared that memorable night.
Alas, he clearly, distinctly knows
he has no-one to invite.
To come to a school with a machine-gun,
or to subway with handmade bombs;
to see all them people fall down or run,
and pretend it’s a part of Islam’s
war on those with westernized mind,
against the crusaders’ grandsons. -
But he can’t use weapons of any kind,
he has no access to guns.
What’s left to him, then? What is his last chance?
To patiently stand in the line,
then, on top of the wheel, to cast one last glance;
for a moment, to feel divine
freedom of flight, as he will jump down
from that Wheel that glows in the dark,
to make – forever - the whole damn town
say, “It’s Mr.Smith’s gravemark”!
CRITIQUES
obscurejude
Really reminds me of Kafka's The Judgment.
flaggwalkstheline
quite a poem jean
Jean
The bear's poem, Ways to Be Remembered, as all others by this author, shows that he read a lot of poetry and possesses some writing culture, that he can think and articulate his thoughts, as well as the simple fact that he is not a poet: the poem has no poetic quality whatsoever, and its only redeeming feature is that it clearly states everything the bear wanted to say; no more than that. The enjambement happening in every other stanza (see below - boldened) might be of some interest, if it wasn’t so obvious that it happened on its own, to the author’s surprise. The overall morbidity, somewhat caustic, is, however, consistently carried out, which does the bear some credit.
To throw a big party, inviting all friends
all family, close or remote,
and swallow some poison, and happily end
one’s life, leaving a note,
which would be remembered forever by those
who shared that memorable night.
Alas, he clearly, distinctly knows
he has no-one to invite.
To come to a school with a machine-gun,
or to subway with handmade bombs;
to see all them people fall down or run,
and pretend it’s a part of Islam’s
war on those with westernized mind,
against the crusaders’ grandsons. -
But he can’t use weapons of any kind,
he has no access to guns.
What’s left to him, then? What is his last chance?
To patiently stand in the line,
then, on top of the wheel, to cast one last glance;
for a moment, to feel divine
freedom of flight, as he will jump down
from that Wheel that glows in the dark,
to make – forever - the whole damn town
say, “It’s Mr.Smith’s gravemark”!
Buddy, you think you look strong? You’re wearing a cape.
Thanks for putting this all together Odetta.I think its really important so all the writers can grow in their craft by learning from each other.
Look forward to the future entries and critiques.
no problem, I aim to please.
(I still have another contest and some critiques to put in, but I don't have time today...I'll get to it later)
Buddy, you think you look strong? You’re wearing a cape.
What a great set-up! Excellent idea.
Heng Dai
Nice work Ms. O!
All that's left of what we were is what we have become.
Flashfried
Welling up within me,
Unseen vibrations coalesce.
Friction produces vibrant waves of electric blue,
Alive with hair raising potential.
Inaudible, Intangible humming,
Searching for an outlet.
Energy brimming over,
Barely contained.
Finally,
An unsuspecting victem,
I drag my feet as I approach.
My hand extends an innocent greeting.
SNAP.....the discharge is serene
CRITIQUES
Jon
Kinda like the Horror genre. That is not as easy as it looks. I love the cliff hanger ending!
Closeup of an eyeball
Electric water taking in all the information it can consume
Greedy blue muscle swaying like a tide
Floating through a salty ocean
Ominous black dot silent and yawning
Pulsing every so often inside the circle
Staring close and curiously
At itself in a mirror
CRITIQUES
Jon
" Electric water taking in all the information it can consume"
A good description of the eye. Not so clinical and not so clichéd such as "the eyes are the window to the soul" or her eyes made me melt." This is why I am a fan of your works. You can grab me with one single line.
blue
blue dances down me
nerves taut with pleasure colors
electrifying
CRITIQUES
ladysai
Very nice!
Kinda haiku-ish, and quite sexy.
Colours
Black and white
gray and blue
these colours make me
remember you
The black of your hair
is like the midnight sky
stars fall on it
and they never cry
The white of face
is the home of my hands
It's like a snowy field
or snowdrop lands
The gray of your smile
shows fears you try to hide
Your body is trembling
when you try to lie
The blue of your eyes
is my infinite well
How could I help?
Why don't you tell?
Black and white
gray and blue
help me to help her
help me to be true
CRITIQUES
Jon
I like the flow. It didn't seem force at all. That is a trap I fall into and it is an easy one to fall into.
"The white of face
is the home of my hands"
Very romantic line, but not syrupy sweet. Yet another trap avoided by the author.
BROWNING'S CHILDE
I like the structure of the poem.
"Black and white
gray and blue"
At the beginning is nice and abstract, open to interpretation.
Then each color is elaborated upon, very eloquently I might add.
Then return to the Black and white gray and blue with a better understanding.
Kudos
Soul, searching
Entrance, subdued
Inside, compounding
Exasperation, orgasmic
Escape, exotic
CRITIQUES
Jon
Nice free verse Aaron. It allows the reader to choose the picture rather than paint a picture.
ladysai
Whoa.
That's awesome, Spaceman.
The form is ideal for the photo, as is the description the words paint.
Awesome.
Buddy, you think you look strong? You’re wearing a cape.
COLOR
Bend of Oblivion
Venomous orb
Murderous, pulsating eye
Oily, dark bile within
Maerlyn's black thirteen
Odious, gaping abyss
Down the rabbits hole
We go.......
War and pestilence
Plague of human existence
Rotting, putrid souls
Revolting secrets
Unspeakable sins are told
Deadly lies unfold
Mothers drown their own
Sinister, murky waters
Depth of which, unknown
Hateful dream of death
Walk with Walter O' the Dim
Come and stay awhile
Sanity undone
Unraveling and threadbare
Laughing and screaming
Forever
CRITIQUES
Jon
Deep emotion BC!!!!
Calling Out Loudly On Rooftops
Look down to the neon street
tubes glow with anger there
others flicker come-hither come-ons like, Girls! Girls! Girls!
in their electron-excited glowing lust
Blazing auto eyes cut through the darkness
The traffic lamps choreograph the dance
...it's cool, pass on through
...little warmer now best slow it down
....HOT! you best come to a stop
At night the sin shines
the barely clothed girls stand beneath the bulbs
the hot illumination bathes them in constant blush
by morning they'll regain a virginal glow
A monochromatic priest wastes his time handing out tracts
his stark contrast disrupts the flow
he is an eddy in the current of the brightly and dangerously clad
Look down until the dark runs away
and the sin no longer shines
the tubes calm
the lust dissapates
CRITIQUES
BROWNING'S CHILDE
Wow CPU, I really like how the priest comes in and ruins the party so to speak, It totally takes the poem in a different direction. I thought the description of the priest as monochromatic was genious and was going to use the words "stark contrast" in this critique until I read the next line.
I particularly like the images of come-hither comeons, electron-excited glowing lust, and blazing auto eyes.
very nice
CPU
I was trying for images of color instead of descriptions, not sure how successful I was
Stella's Breasts
Wondrous things were Stella's breasts to me,
Great swelling enigmas, coffee-
colored and swinging
In nakedness.
They were full enough to nurse me
When Mother fell ill--
still full from Bobo,
The baby that they buried
on a Thursday morning.
I remember him sometimes, just barely;
Like recalling a story
told long ago.
Cold dead newborn eyes;
irises so black.
He stared into forever
From his pretty white crib,
and the baby blue
walls
Reflected in his eyes.
Stella cried while she fed me,
Stroking my head with her nipple
in my mouth.
"Six days," she would whisper,
"Six goddamn days..."
Babies should probably live longer,
their bones would surely be stronger.
But 'tis good that his days were not seven,
for the milk is far sweeter in heaven.
CRITIQUES
flaggwalkstheline
whoa thats intense
White
Or gray
A thread-bare, sun-bleached flag
Flips lazily in a painfully blue sky
And I close my eyes
But the voracious sun
Soaks through my eyelids
And through my blood’s
Meager protection
To create roiling amber clouds
That only I can see
Till my arm comes up
To block the insatiable sun
And I plunge into deeper grays
Where colorless images arise
Unbidden
And your face
With all of its expressions
Of love and happiness, anger and pain
Forms and floats
Inside my internal visions
And as I listen to the quiet sonic booms
Of the restless flag
And register the sun’s burning kiss
On the crows-feet around my sealed eyes
I am frozen by the now of the moment
Till consciousness
Evaporates.
CRITIQUES
BROWNING'S CHILDE
Nice Gabe,
I didnt think you knew there were other threads outside of Fairday.....
When I read this, I get an image of a soldier dying on the battlefield.
I can almost feel the sun on my face and the blinding brightness. Am I totally wrong on my interpretation? Is the flag one of surrender? Anyway, nice poem.
Jon
see Gabe...I KNEW you'd rock at poetry!
Your work hooks the reader by the third line. I found myself stranded on a desert island with a solider, presumed dead and left alone with only a flag of his land. He made a pole. I can hear him cutting the stick for the flagpole right now! A lot of KILLER imagery and very creative lines. I find it difficult to pick a favorite line but I'll share a couple.
"And register the sun’s burning kiss
On the crows-feet around my sealed eyes" - This young solider has been on the island for sometime. His skin has leathered and wrinkled from the tropical sun. I can see him now.
"Flips lazily in a painfully blue sky" - A comment on the intense sun without even mentioning the sun...that is know as talent, Gabe!
"Soaks through my eyelids
And through my blood’s
Meager protection" - Yet another image of the intense sun. We all have seen the blood in our eyelids...but you painted the picture for us.
Buddy, you think you look strong? You’re wearing a cape.
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