Post your Poems and Get Reviews!

[marymmmm]

I would very much like you to look at my poem. But please go easy on me i'm fairly new at this.

Suicide, watch

There are lots of ways
pills, a gun, poison
to kill ones self
a knife, a rope, the jump

There are many ways
newspaper, word of mouth
you hear about it
news, witness it

There are many reasons
dept, being alone
someone would want to commit
depresion, adultery

There are many ways
a note, an e-mail
that someone could let you know
they were going to do it.

I personaly choose a poem,
why, i feel alone
how, a jump
i can only hope you will hear about me
it's suicide........ watch

[marymmmm]

Gosh!!! I guess some people only want criticisms which will reinforce how good they think their poems might be. Adol. is no longer part of this site; so you'll be waiting a long, long while for a response.

P.S. You can post your poem on the general area for written poems if you want a response from someone other than mine.

I'm not sure if you were refering to me, but i honestly don't know if my peom is any good.

I'm not sure how to post my poem is there any chance you could give me a few pointers.

[crazefest456]

You could post them by starting a new thread in the Personal Poetry section (http://www.online-literature.com/for...splay.php?f=14) and clicking the new thread button on the top. And here's some advice about posting poetry:
http://www.online-literature.com/for...ad.php?t=21394

[marymmmm]

Thank you.

[Pendragon]

Here KTD. This one is from my blog and I'd really be interested in getting your review. Thanks.

This is just a weird one about ghostly places, I've been chatting with someone about ghosts and stuff. Marie Laveau is a favorite song by Bobby Bare as well. The wail from the song goes into the poem. BTW she doesn't haunt this particular cometary, she's in St. Louis Number 1, but it felt good to throw her into the whole mess. Have Fun. I chose Cyprus Grove as the cemetery, because it's on every list of haunted New Orleans Cemeteries. Never near the top, it is still significant, and always in the top ten.

The Significance of Five Years

Full moon rises over the bayou,
Mist hangs in the Spanish moss in the trees.
Saw someone moving in the Cemetery at Cyprus Grove
The hour is Midnight in the garden of good and evil.
She wails away somewhere in the swamps
Voodoo Queen, dead undying Marie Laveau …
Gonna be some trouble come morning…

My cloak always hides me in the darkness of the night,
Seems some old boy acquired a hand of glory.
I could tell him that in these graves Tis best to leave the dead alone.
But he has the spells and the wax and now the hand.
He moves away towards his target, a mansion near the entrance to the Grove,
Laveau screams in the dark somewhere behind him…

Now he’s made his move inside the house and the Hand of Glory flames.
As long as those fingers glow blue none in the house but he can move!
What does he want from them? Their daughter. How pleasant! Lovers.
They are outside now. He draws a water pistol filled with milk and removes the flames.
In a second or two he has recovered the limp hand of the hanged man,
Now something follows as he carries his girl away in the fog

Said I not these graves in Cyprus Grove are best left undisturbed?
It is Laveau again, but this time chanting, as if dancing in a spell.
The Young Man lays his burden down to rest for a moment,
And taking the hand out seeks to throw it as far a he can.
The wind sighs down through the Cyprus tress stirring the beards of moss.

A hand takes the young man by the throat.
Eyes like flames inside of cannon barrels fixate themselves on his face.
“I’ have back my hand, me. You take from Rene, eh? Rene take from you.
“My han’ have five fingers, yes? You use no p’misson. I tink I take 5 years of your life.”
The Horrible eyes turned and spotted me among the stones,
“You tink Rene be fair, Reaper?” I silently raised my scythe in a sign of justice.

Now you know why the haunted graveyards of New Orleans are so popular.
The have a lookout to see things go on, but go on fair.
The couple were married and are doing quite well.
He worries about the little tattoo mark on his chest now and then
And he still hears Marie Laveau cry in the misty nights.
He shouldn’t worry that much. That mark just sped up his date with me.
By exactly 5 years…

Pendragon
© 12/21/07

[ktd222]

The Significance of Five Years

Full moon rises over the bayou,
Mist hangs in the Spanish moss in the trees.
Saw someone moving in the Cemetery at Cyprus Grove
The hour is Midnight garden of good and evil.
She wails away somewhere in the swamps
Voodoo Queen, dead undying Marie Laveau …
Gonna be some trouble come morning…

My cloak always hides me in the darkness of the night,
Seems some old boy acquired a hand of glory.
I could tell him that in theses graves Tis best to leave the dead alone.
But he has the spells and the wax and now the hand.
He moves away towards his target, a mansion near the entrance to the Grove,
Laveau screams in the dark somewhere behind him…

Now he’s made his move inside the house and the Hand of Glory flames.
As long as those fingers glow blue none in the house but he can move!
What does he want from them? Their daughter. How pleasant! Lovers.
They are outside now. He draws a water pistol filled with milk and removes the flames.
In a second or two he has recovered the limp hand of the hanged man,
Now something follows as he carries his girl away in the fog

Said I not these graves in Cyprus Grove are best left undisturbed?
It is Laveau again, but this time chanting, as if dancing in a spell.
The Young Man lays his burden down to rest for a moment,
And taking the hand out seeks to throw it as far a he can.
The wind sighs down through the Cyprus tress stirring the beards of moss.

A hand takes the young man by the throat.
Eyes like flames inside of cannon barrels fixate themselves on his face.
“I’ have back my hand, me. You take from Rene, eh? Rene take from you.
“My han’ have five fingers, yes? You use no p’misson. I tink I take 5 years of your life.”
The Horrible eyes turned and spotted me among the stones,
“You tink Renee be fair, Reaper?” I silently raised my scythe in a sign of justice.

Now you know why the haunted graveyards of New Orleans are so popular.
The have a lookout to see things go on, but go on fair.
The couple were married and are doing quite well.
He worries about the little tattoo mark on his chest now and then
And he still hear Marie Laveau cry in the misty nights.
He shouldn’t worry that much. That mark just sped up his date with me.
By exactly 5 years…

Pendragon
© 12/21/07

Hi Pendragon

Sorry it took so long to respond. I didn’t realize anyone posted on this thread. This is a fun story. I like how the same hand that allows him not to be disturbed by the dead is the hand which takes five years from his life. I think the hand represents many things in this poem, both literally and metaphorically. It is the hand of the hanged man, the hand of justice, the hand of glory which permits him access in the cemetery, the hand that wakes the dead, the hand in marriage and the five fingers of the hand that sped up his meeting with the speaker.

[summermemory]

I wrote this one last year. It is not one of my best works. I was trying new things out with it. I promise, I have written better works! This one kind of stinks. I do want to improve it, however. Any feedback would be welcome.

scars
flashbacks
of a bittersweet past
emblems
little mistakes
one has made

imprints
reminders of defacement,
past regrets.
beautiful
faded with time
becoming whole

taunted
by voices and illusions
horrors and delusions
each one
leading to more
scars

[ktd222]

I wrote this one last year. It is not one of my best works. I was trying new things out with it. I promise, I have written better works! This one kind of stinks. I do want to improve it, however. Any feedback would be welcome.

scars
flashbacks
of a bittersweet past
emblems
little mistakes
one has made

imprints
reminders of defacement,
past regrets.
beautiful
faded with time
becoming whole

taunted
by voices and illusions
horrors and delusions
each one
leading to more
scars

Hi!

Thanks for posting. Aren’t we all trying to learn and improve? When I look at this poem I can’t determine what is “bittersweet” about this past of yours. I understand that the physical scars are emblems of the “little mistakes” which have inscribed themselves on your skin, a reminder of the “bad” part of past experiences, but I am not given an experience (as reader) to connect with. Also, I can not find the “sweet” part of your experience. How are scars beautiful? I think this is where an illustration would be helpful as well. Is the beautiful part of this “bittersweet past” the fact that the scar is no longer raw, fleshy, it is not as painful? That somehow over time the physical pain faded, so that you can look at the scars and not feel this type of pain? I’m not fond of the line breaks either. It makes the whole experience feel incoherent to me. You may be trying to literally create flashbacks of the past, but, to me, the line breaks create nothing more than glimpses of words without images. Keep the idea, but extend the lines. It is interesting to note the contrast between the type of scar that starts off your poem and the type of scar which ends your poem: literal to psychological. I think this idea would be wonderful to explore further.

[andave_ya]

Hello! This is my first structured/somewhat scansioned poem, but I think my meter is a bit off. I'd love your critique.



I heard a melody, note by note,
A tune on which I now will dote.
It swelled before it dipped down low,
And following, I heard it go.

To plumb the leagues of an ocean deep,
Seeing visions that make me weep.
For were it not for that lightsome sound,
To earth and things known I would yet be bound.

So to you, to this music sublime,
Bowing I offer my humble rhyme.
In the distant memory of things not yet seen,
I found the girl I might have been.

[davyp]

There was a young man from Venus
Who was famous for his greeness
He had a venutian cat
Who sat on a mat
Neither were noted for leanness

[davyp]

p.s. yer all bolloxes

[ktd222]

Hello! This is my first structured/somewhat scansioned poem, but I think my meter is a bit off. I'd love your critique.



I heard a melody, note by note,
A tune on which I now will dote.
It swelled before it dipped down low,
And following, I heard it go.

To plumb the leagues of an ocean deep,
Seeing visions that make me weep.
For were it not for that lightsome sound,
To earth and things known I would yet be bound.

So to you, to this music sublime,
Bowing I offer my humble rhyme.
In the distant memory of things not yet seen,
I found the girl I might have been.

Hi andave


I don’t know exactly the type of meter and accent pattern you are using, because in places you have stressed words one after the other, and in other places you have patterns of irregular unstressed and stressed syllables. But I think you know that. So then this is a poem about the appreciation of sound itself, the ability for one to control it instead of being controlled by it (at least I hope this is what you mean). I also like how the end-rhyme pattern moved from perfect rhymes to the half-rhyme at the end of your poem. It’s a playful poem. I like it.

[ktd222]

There was a young man from Venus
Who was famous for his greeness
He had a venutian cat
Who sat on a mat
Neither were noted for leanness

Hey davyp

I’m sorry but I don’t like this. Sounds like rhyming for the sake of rhyming, thought-of substituting what was thought-up. Right now, I do not understand what you have here. If I said my socks are like a box of foxes, what am I saying? I don’t know. I’m merely connecting different things because I want them to connect…there is no underlying creation beyond this fact.

[ktd222]

I haven't had a post on here for the longest time. Does anyone want me to look at their poem? Post it here - you'll definitely get a reply.

[Captain Pike]

T'was just about then, that the Princess walked in.
Her fine garments were ragged and bloody.
Her perception was one,
of ghastly atrocities done;
there was plenty of Scarlet to study.