distilling boredom

Discussion in 'Poetry' started by Blkrubbersoul, May 19, 2008.

  1. Blkrubbersoul

    Blkrubbersoul Member

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    parchment stains and pencil marks:
    the poet's view of his lone, dead art.
    an empty house with me inside;
    alone i write, and keep the time.

    abstract matter i brought to life,
    while cursing surfacing, logical binds.
    an empty canvas brings new rhyme;
    alone i write, and bleach my designs.

    respected walls with Morrison's face;
    i open all doors just to reverence his days.
    inspiring mission to open their eyes;
    alone i write, to hear myself sigh.

    i long for youth in an empty house;
    the clock still ticks to watch me pout.
    a candle burns with odd reprise;
    alone i write to spite the time.
     
  2. little ski

    little ski Member

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    nice writing blkrubbersoul, your peice created a vivid image when i was reading. liked it a lot. :)
     
  3. groovecookie

    groovecookie Member

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    That there's good writinating! :)
     
  4. redyelruc

    redyelruc The Yard Man

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    I hope you don't mind but I edited your poem a little to help the flow and meter. A couple of your lines were a syllable too long. I think that when writing metered poetry(like this), it's important to keep the meter constant, otherwise it sounds disjointed when read aloud.

    I really like the first stanza but in later ones, a couple of the images don't really work forme, like the clock ticking to to watch you pout? Why pout?

    Anyway, just a couple of suggestions. I like the majority of your work on this forum, but I just felt that this could be easily improved with a couple of little tweaks.

    Keep writing.

    *edited version
    parchment stains and pencil marks:
    the poet's view of his lone, dead art.
    an empty house with me inside;
    alone i write, and keep the time.

    abstract matter i brought to life,
    while cursing surfacing, logical binds.
    an empty canvas brings new rhyme;
    alone i write, bleach my designs.

    respected walls with Morrison's face;
    i open all doors, revere his days.
    inspiring mission to open their eyes;
    alone i write, and hear myself sigh.

    i long for youth in an empty house;
    the clock still ticks to watch me pout.
    a candle burns with odd reprise;
    alone i write to spite the time.
     

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