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Somthing I came up with...is it good?
| Critical Analysis #1 |
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Somthing I came up with...is it good? |
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Nikkisweet Member
since 2000-02-14
Posts 183Tx, Dallas |
It all started June 15th, 1985 The day I came alive Lying in my mother's arms now Wondering when its time to chow The first 2 years were rough Soon I became tough My first step..... The picture my mom kept Keeping close to mom Ever so calm Insects were cool They didn't ever drool Into elementry school I thought it was cool Recess and playtimes I loved the nursrey rymes Whew, how that went by Now it's time for Jr. High Crushes and grades I'd had it made Now I'm a freshman It's harder now than then I gotta make the grade Mabye now I don't have it made There are new friends I meet My boyfriend, he's sweet Christianity is really big Its somthing I really dig Now looking at collage You know, I gotta have the knowledge My life is getting brighter Lets look at being a writer [This message has been edited by Nikkisweet (edited 03-20-2000).] |
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haze Senior Member
since 1999-11-03
Posts 528Bethlehem, PA USA |
Hi Nikki Is it good: poetry? or thoughts? This is less like poetry than it is a listing of major events made minor by the ones that follow. What I am about to say may seem harsh. Please do not read any sharpness in it at all. I am offering my humble opinions to you with respect. "It all started June 15th, 1985 The day I came alive Lying in my mother's arms now Wondering when its time to chow" Do you remember being born? I don't. I know only one person who does and he is a shaman. Perhaps there is a better way to start, to draw the carefree softness...unless your aim here is purely humor and then-well-humor is simply not a haze-thing. I could pick at the entire poem this way-I'll spare you the questioning. Do you want to be a writer? Really? Start reading Read then Write Read Then Write READ THEN WRITE There are as many styles to poetry as there are poets. The variables are almost infinite. There are some who will trip through with humor and aplomb, who will draw the depths from the simplest lyrical phrases...There are others who will weight you with words and higher meanings...and life goes on-poetry goes on-emotions curl in the smoke and ashe only to be reborn again and again... The possibilties and folds are equally infinite. If I Left You See all of the edges Tear-stained rhetoric of what I would Let to no other If I left you Then what Would I show you Tomorrow Narcissus in a withered handful Tulmultuous spasms of bearing Vidas Red & Black Pills vanished under wash and waterfall of blood Drunk To Please Please Please Drink me If I left you what would you remember Rags? I'll leave nothing before matchsticks Nothing before I am celluloid Torn I'll leave you This hand Pink Open 5 Aces Spades I'll keep in my sleeve. Copyright Haze McElhenny 2000 READ THE WRITE ******************************************* My thoughts on meter and rhyme are best quoted from Kenneth Koch (one of my favorites): Taken from "My Olivetti Speaks" The Paris Review #144 Fall 1997 "On the island of rhymsters anyone who is any good is king. It's a rare talent. Statues of Byron, Ariosto, Petrarch, and Herrick on the coast are misleading. In the interior, there are no statues at all." -Your rhyme scheme and patterns donot fall into meter...They trip. Read then write. ****************************************** On Imagery: Imagery speaks to me-I am an image poet. I draw you out into a swirling picture of color and light. I make you feel by bringing you into pictures painted with words. These words will (if I am good this day) dizzy-you falling on your face-in scarves as silk or... They will pound you into the twilight zone with force-they will drip and breed Rhetoric- Anger-Incense the flames and taunt. It depends on what I decide to SHOW you today. Imagery shows-it does not tell. It brings you to the place where the poet lived (for that moment) with a visual display-a visage of words. Jasmine We swirl in the amber scented jasmine, sheer gentle waves lapping against the edge, in a delicate pot of red clay. Steeping time and memories, we dream. We cling to the bowl, seep into the earthen soul, and remain elemental. Oxygen of two; Pastel light, haze on drifting steam, we are the silk of mystery, reflections simmering as potted tea. Copyright Haze McElhenny 1999 READ THEN WRITE ***************************************** Alleghory- I love alleghory. What is seemingly something is "actually" something else. The Haunting In The House On The Hill This house, with the slate roof bleeding ferrous inconsequential against the brick, is home. Home, where the pictures in the panes are tattered reflections of lace edged by too much humidity, suffrage movement in hellacial heat of July. Home, to a wife, a portrait painted in shadow play on plaster, the canvas pastel (underpaint). She, is as mirrored spirit, a sprite with flowing hair like golden honey champagne hilit in sunbeam. Through the windows lighted she is, blushed in hues of 4 o'clock, enhanced. Presented as a breath, diaphanous and veiled of mimosa scented rain. Fresh, yes like spring, an echo frolicking in August afternoon. This house is home to haunting songs tolling on the midnight hour. Swirling wife-sprite-spirit, sleepless dream strolling; held in audience to an orchestral muse. A shadow she is against the darkened pain, calling the muse out as daemon, by name. As lyrical as laughter and tears she cries, without reservation, in language born of rolling tongue. Her bleating sobs, unfettered, for in this house she is captive wife, a spirit sprite longing to fly home. ~haze 08/03/99 As Published OnLine At Rogue Scholars http://www.roguescholars.com 09/04/99 READ THEN WRITE ******************************************* Still- There is the powerful venue of contemporary poetry where images and emotions carry sharp honed blades. One of the best contemporary poets (in my opinion) is Jim Chandler. He captures the hard-edged life (there is nothing flowery here) and then shows you the possibility of hope and the meaning in the close. Life on steel and cutting edges, winds to an almost prophetic hope. 12-14-86 Each month A new perspective brushed canvas hazed in amniotic blush and hope In the third month Hands hot Larger than the strawberry patch they covered Spoke words a decent father- husband dare not Will you be One Of Those Women who let themselves go Speechless Eyes filled with no I shook my head Rattled the sleeping stereotype of Morning Sickness to 24/7 Awake Pounding to be let Out He was always out Until the end of the second trimester Water Father's gin vagrant perfume spoiled beige Karastan Shrilled threads You look like a man Yeah A Man with 44 D's Flamingo profile and a heart to choke his throat (If I could get my hands around my belly) I waded through visits Sugar Toxic streams flaming about my ankles Orange Bruised and sleepless nights Each hour striking the clock with chimes of green vomit I couldn't see the end as I couldn't feel my feet Blue Stalking time Pinching floorboards until the ninth hand folded Two weeks late A gush watery yellow blood flowed into 24 hours under pale floresants I had no lamaze Partnered only by blood ringed eyes of father Time's husband counting the pants deep breaths and holds I was past humor Post humous Breathing sick air in rhythm to doctor's orders Cutting thin pink flesh around my son's fair head Retribution offered early In payment of circumcision Decisions Father made for a comatose wife- Mother Baby laid wet and pink Wide eyes Still Blue Andrew Drew PoohBear Coverlet over tiny fingers Father's husband voice counting toes the first and last I Love You falling like drizzling snow. ~haze Published At The Ho!d http://www.the-hold.com March, 2000 READ THEN WRITE Then Read Some More ************************************** I do not claim to be a master at my craft. I only make suggestions to you based on 25 years of writing with varying levels of success. I am a practicing poet-we are all (after all) simply- practicing. Until Again-I am, as always-simply ~haze Oolong I have taken my place among barren shadows counting the chill factored by the clacking of ripe chestnuts. I have drawn crimson circles among gold leaves and buried the bulbs of fifty narcissus. Now as the evening colors fade to dusk I drain the tea and read tomorrow, floating in amber dust. Copyright Haze McElhenny 1999 As Published In MoonDance Spring 2000 [This message has been edited by haze (edited 03-21-2000).] |
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HotRice4u New Member
since 2000-03-20
Posts 1 |
Hello, I'm new here also but I think that I can help you with your poetry: Get better w/ your rhyme scheme(aabb aabb aabb) man, you went on forever with that. Have some more structure, it seems like your mind drifted every which way and your simple doggerel (I might've spelled this wrong) doesn't really flow, just because something rhymes doesn't mean that it sounds right. Keeping close to mom Ever so calm Insects were cool \ They didn't ever drool\(Try not to repeat the \same rhyme in the Into elementry school /next stanzas.) I thought it was cool / Recess and playtimes I loved the nursrey rymes That's about it for me! Keep submitting your poetry! |
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Craig Member
since 1999-06-10
Posts 444 |
Nikkisweet Your title asks a harder question than you may at first think, the answer could be both yes and no. If you’ve been reading and writing poetry for 20 years most people would say no, this isn’t that good. If however you started writing in the last twelve months then I say yes it most certainly is good. Confused? It’s pretty simple really, a lot of people who have been writing poetry for a while lose a part of their memory, it’s that bit that contains all the stuff they wrote within the first twelve months of writing. It’s easy to forget that everyone has to start somewhere With that in mind you can see why a question like yours is hard to answer, people who have been writing for a while expect everyone to be at the same standard, and the standards around here are pretty high ( See the post from Haze above ). Unfortunately this forum has one idiot who can’t write to save his life ( even after over 20 years ) that idiot is me, fortunately the rest of the people here have learned some things along the way and are happy to pass on that knowledge. My advice, if you have just started out, is to stick around you’ll learn a lot, if on the other hand you’ve been writing for 20 years stick around anyway, you can keep me company!  Thanks for the chance to read and reply. Craig Yes, I admit your general rule. That every poet is a fool: But I myself may serve to show it. That every fool is not a poet. |
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warmhrt Senior Member
since 1999-12-18
Posts 1563 |
Nikki, Craig answered your question perfectly. If you continue writing, but read anything and everything about poetry, you will undoubtedly improve. Getting substance into your poems, and CHECKING YOUR SPELLING are two things I think need to be addressed first. You can add substance to your words through meaning, a message, feeling, and/or sensory/descriptive words and phrases. Your poem speaks of events, but there is no real communicated feelings about those events. A good exercise for you would be to take one of the events, and attempt to write a poem of substance about that one thing. Perhaps going to college...thinking about that would raise different feelings in you. Write them down, all of them, no matter how silly they might seem...examine them, and then use those feelings in your poem, as they exist, metaphorically (something else representing them), or by comparison (simile, using as or like). This forum has helped me learn a great deal, and if you keep posting, you will learn here also. We have excellent poets here who can help anytime...just ask. Your reading will also help build your vocabulary, and help with your spelling (a pet peeve, sorry). If you'd like to try the one about college, and need any assistance, e-mail me. I'll do my best to help. In the following poem, which was my first post here, I will try to explain what I meant in the paragraph about the exercise. the filmy, white gauze of her dress reveals the swell of her breast, behind which lies a hollow, birthplace of relentless aching, an unseen force, pushing her onward. each new step leaves a bit of sand behind her, as she seeks the flawless stone, polished so very smooth by great rolling waves, and exchanges with lesser stones, then tossed forward by the tides. its unrivaled hues relect the afternoon's rays, so dazzling, inviting... she knows it lies in wait for her, and she is nearly within sight of its unrivaled glory. A seabird dives, swooping from above, takes the stone into it's beak, and rises in flight across the sea, away, and beyond the horizon, where the stone falls into the deepest of the deep blue. her searching will persist, unceasing, but will now forever yield only masquerades of what she seeks. I have a type of perfectionism, and what I've achieved is never good enough for me. In the poem I used the stone as a symbol of what I want to achieve, what I'm searching for, though realistically I know it is not there (the bird taking it and dropping it into the sea), subconsciously I am driven to keep searching. Do you see how I put those feelings and personal realizations into the poem? Also...I hope this painted a picture...I used sensory and descriptive words and phrases throughout the poem. I don't know if this is the best example, but I think it can show you what I meant when I spoke of feeling or substance. Hope I was of some help...and don't give up, Nikki, Kristine < !signature--> the poet's pen...gives to airy nothing A local habitation and a name ~ Shakespeare [This message has been edited by warmhrt (edited 03-22-2000).] |
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jbouder Member Elite
since 1999-09-18
Posts 2534Whole Sort Of Genl Mish Mash |
Nikki: I don't know what I can add that hasn't already been said. I can only reiterate the great advice that has already been given: 1. Read voraciously. This is the best way to learn how to be a better writer. 2. Never consider yourself to be a good writer. This way, I think, you will always be striving to become a better writer. Just don't let yourself be discouraged. 3. Be patient. Take time with your poetry. Be your own toughest critic and constantly look for ways to improve your writing. I think you have good thoughts here and I think, if you try to apply the advice given in expressing your thoughts, you could significantly improve the quality of your poem. We are all here to help and are very willing to do so. Feel free to email me if you have any specific questions. Jim |
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