(My first real attempt at some poetry, be gentle) Black and white conflict with the light, The brightness of its wisdom is no more, The sickness of its nature has no hope, It no longer has a soul. The knowledge that it once was, Protects the bruised and withering mind, Belatedly it continues to burn bright, And extinguishes the hatred and fear inside. The fading images of its glorious beauty, Watch as its trees bend over and die, The few who continue to water the roots, Helplessly watch it slip farther into dormancy. Look at it wander its way off the map, It keeps a soft and tender trail of flowers, Ready to accept those who aren't aware, And those that are aware of too much. The rain has fallen upon the coals, It pours upon the fire within the hopeful mind, Not enough to put out the flames, But enough to dim its inspirational light.
I had trouble following it. In the end, I know it's about the almighty truth (I think), but I'm confused about what you're saying about it. I mean, the first stanza and second seem to contradict each other. The third stanza seems to be about how people get more out of touch with reality (or truth) as they age? And then the last two I can't make out at all. And I don't get how the title fits in with the poem overall, either. (Though it made sense with the first stanza .. so maybe after the first stanza is where I got lost?) Don't get disheartened, as it may just be we're running on different wavelengths, or that you need to learn to connect more with the audience; and there were many things that you got right, even though I didn't get your message. The poem had a consummate mood, which can be really hard for some, and I think that is most important. I liked the wording and imagery used throughout. The imagery of the third stanza especially, and I seem to have a favorite line in just about every stanza. "The sickness of its nature has no hope" "Protects the bruised and withering mind," "It keeps a soft and tender trail of flowers," Lines like these were beautiful.
I'm proud of it actually. I'm grateful for your feedback for sure. I don't know what a lot of it means to be honest, I just kind of...went. Though thinking it through, your right about most of it. Id suppose the second to last stanza is about how the general goals of the hippie movement are being skewed by the distance in time between now and then. Despite the fact that it doesn't matter, it accepts anyone for who they are, no matter how politically aware they are. Last one is about how the unfolding events of war and violence act as water, dousing the hot passion that comes with the anti-establishment mind set of a modern day hippie. Not enough to kill the passion, but enough to dumb it down some.
Also keep in mind this wasn't planned out. I just sat down and cranked it out in about 10 minutes. If this were the time of typewriters, and I actually took the time to think about it carefully the trash bin would be full of crumpled up paper.
Then it went well ... and you've already showed the will to improve. I dunno, it seems kinda like you could work this into multiple poems (or use these ideas for multiple poems), or you could edit it to show more clear transitions of topics, etc. But it definitely seems like you have a lot to say and the rest comes with practice. What made you decide to try this?
Yes, practice for sure. I feel like a spammer posting a new thread every time I make a new one. I might just continue to use this thread, until i feel like I'm making things worth a spankin' new thread. I appreciate the constructive criticism. I'm definitely going to try to connect the dots a bit better and make the picture a little easier to make out.
"Acoustic Emptiness" The hollow piece of wood and twine, Purges the emptiness from the depths of my mind, Its acoustic rage vents like a dying man, It sends signals down my wrinkled hands, Then out through your acoustic emptiness. You are my weapon of destruction, The voice of my mental suction, You keep me warm when no woman pays mind, To the desperation and lust within my eyes, You cancel out what silence lets in so clear
Her face ignites a brutal fire, Within my heart and in my desire, Does this bring her satisfaction, Does it make her eyes burn brighter? The brutal fire causes pain, It steams from the depths of my tainted brain, And from my heart the death of what kept me so close to sane. Is she aware of the tainted death, That awaits every single baited breath, It contracts and expands and causes the hurt, The pain that before was inflamed at worst, Now feasts upon what happens to remain, What was once so warm and comfortably plain, Is gone and is now covered in cold, defenseless rain. The time has come to move along, To sing happier tune and happier song, But the tainted fuel of the fire. Has been burning for much too long.
Untitled as of late. You the hero of mine, One of many but one of few who still walks. You do not know me, To you I am one of a mysterious many, But I still feel connected. Where will you be in ten years hero of mine? Where will I be in ten? I will be ten years older then, but so will you. You are already older than I, But what will this mean for you then? Will we still walk?
