BYOC (Bring Your Own Coffee) - Now With More Coffee!

[SkyGinge]

Part two:

Pretentd We're Right Again
When your eyes catch a glimpse of the inside of the hunter's club, resting on their knifes, do you ever wonder what they are for? Immediately a bit wordy here - the first phrase is particularly lengthy, muddying the image somewhat; 'ever' also suggests this is a frequent occurrence, which it is not.


I ask because I did.


They leave the next morning, off into the world until Solemn Island is in sight, scorching sand and jitterin' trees full of cages, where they cut, they scrape and they reach and they peel, mercilessly reveal, the pulse inside their loot, the beat next to the roots, until the storage room is filled with souls for their sweet home, where everyone makes friends with the idea of being whole. There's a structural nightmare with the commas in the middle of this. Are the rhymes in the middle intentional? It adopts quite a mesmeric rhythm from about the middle, but honestly I've got very little clue what's going on here.


Scramble on the marketplace, overrun with children who all seek complimentary beliefs, still a little incomplete, sometimes just a contrast, much like their parent's was before them. No apostrophe on 'parents', and the only reason I haven't corrected 'was' to 'were' is because I think it was intentional as part of some kind of a dialect. If that is the case, you need to integrate this accent in a little bit stronger as I wasn't at all sure here.


We are not the same, you and I, we are a common disillusion, but we could light up together, be ablaze, again and again, soaked in gasoline with not a single soul able to breathe next to our flames, until the nightsky around the world is drenched with our heartbeats and we make friends with the sun the next morning.


When you think about it, really, it's a strange thing, love, making us stare at ourselves for not taking part, for being until we become the stranger on our own pillow, with all the doubt and regret, with all the dispair. The malice.


Everything we've ever felt is creeping up our spines now that the cold sweat sets and whispers ideas we know not to be truth, endlessly singing the same song over and over until we believe them, until we make friends with the decay.


But every evening when she rests her head, she knows how little she cares whether she cares or not, trapped inside a wooden box, kept from closing by a spark of hope, a drowned out wish someone will come and grab her by the hand and make it good. Who is this 'she'? Otherwise this is the clearest passage so far, though I worry you're oversaturating the piece with metaphors. Metaphors are good, and I like them, but with all things, they are best used in moderation. There's so many metaphors here that it becomes very hard to read, very sluggish to work through.


And why?


Because she's desperate for purpose and direction, falling freely through the rooftops of a skyline she can't yet comprehend - maybe never will.


We all are.


Now she's falling, and I'm longing - but at least I'm moving. Though only along the edge of knowledge that my heart is wrong. Am I responsible for the fog of the twilight I'm flickerig through? Piece by piece, finally seeing that once again, a beautiful lie, too tempting to know better and act upon it, too good not to dive in, and I felt like I could be friends with the whole world


"I am not your patient!"


Proudly assured, instead becoming a project whenever words are exchanged. A project with a deadline I've long missed, praying that nobody would come to pick up the parts from the floor. I can't show the world as long as you hide your spark behind gritted teeth, hide your distance in sugary words and remove the essence every time we share each other.


And now... Now I see the passersby cross the bridge, all alone and not alone, while our wounds don't even match those of our reflections, making me question what we are masking our own truth for. Whether or not we should hold someone else's hand just for the sake of it. Now I see the passersby cross the bridge, all alone in their company...


And I make friends with the longing.

I'm afraid to me this is rather a mess at the moment. It lacks a clear flow throughout, and I must admit I really struggle to understand what's going on pretty much across the entire text in its current form, with a lot of comma minefields, tons of confusing metaphors and a lot of needlessly lengthy sentences without clear meaning. Having read your stuff before I know you can do better and I know you can probably realise a lot of what you need to do by just editing through it yourself, hence there's a lot of stuff I haven't pointed out; I don't think it's fair to judge it on this draft. There's definitely potential in there, and certainly it's ambitious to attempt something so abstract, but at the moment I just can't connect to it at all.

[QUOTE="Scattered Ambitions]Here's my go:

Spoiler

Each day as the evening starts to set As Grey said, it's the sun that sets, not the evening itself.


The ache builds in her chest


She knows that she must go to bed


And try to get some rest


She hugs her tearstained pillow close


When no one is around


And cries for the one she loved and lost


And screams without a sound This has a lovely flow to it; I like the repetition of 'and' here


Others see her in the day


And thinks she's doing well


But everyday as the evening sets


She enters her own hell


Time hasn't healed her pain at all


Or quieted her fears


So every night, alone in bed


She sheds those silent tears


Quite pleasant, and a promising grasp of things. You're touching upon a common ballad form here (8/6/8/6 syllable stanzas with ABAB rhyme), though the odd line flounts it; it's rather a good form for narrative poems and also for encouraging reader thought, and I think it's used to good affect here. You'll have noticed I have very little else to say about it - as Grey has said, it's good, and there's not much wrong with it, but there is very little extra to say. So the next step would be to perhaps experiment with some more adventurous forms and more complex metaphors and techniques. You clearly have a strong grasp of this kind of poetry, and I look forward to seeing more of your poetry!

[/QUOTE]

 

[Sunbather]

Uhm... Sky? xD The "parent's" is because it's possessive. "complimentary beliefs"= "just a contrast" = the parent's beliefs / the parent's contrast.

 

[SkyGinge]

@Sunbather : Then it's parents', as parent's only indicates the possession of a single parent


Anyhow, my piece:

~Supposition~


What if


The steam of winter exhalation


Is smoke


Kindled in the fire of our hearts?


I would


Keep you warm, my love,


Sustain you


Like your own personal star.


What if


When summer's sun has long since sunk,


The sea


Sighs, laments its loneliness, calls


For company;


What if even forgotten deckchairs cry


And lost spades


Long for their buckets?


What if


When the playful wind presses the pines


And they shudder,


They are excited, not afraid?


What if


The trees are dancing, waltzing with the wind,


Their leaves


Cast aside like disregarded clothes?


What if


Daily, hourly, by the minute,


Death


Is taking solemn strides towards you;


Tick, tock,


His heavy, rhythmic footsteps


Tick, tock,


The countdown of your heart.


If what


I've said sounds like a long, infantile dream,


Dreams


Are all you've given me;


And what if


Birds can't take flight


Until


The wind has consented to hold them?



​

 

[Tronethiel]

*it's taking a step* was the final reveal, an actual confidence i felt in the last part that someone was lost in the beginning and found their way at the end (that is just my personal opinion though and what i gathered from the piece, sorry if i read too much into it xD )

Well, Aurora, I certainly appreciated your feedback. I think in many ways you were on the money with what was going on. Though I'll say, I actually wrote this on the verge of sleep so many of the sentiments were internalized. I didn't really dig into my thought process on this one too much. As far as the last stanza goes, I'd say it's less of an arrival and more of a resolution to embrace a dream in action instead of doing so only in word.


That said, reading it after the fact, I think its probably too abrupt and needs a slower gradient into the finale.

This is maddeningly familiar. It begs for music - it's not quite shallow, but simple in a way that lessens the impact in text. Can't really say a bad word - the first line sets off my 'edgy adolescent' alarms - but it's really quite elegant.

Well as far as familiarity is concerned, originality was not on my mind when I cranked this out. So, I understand that. When I wrote it, I definitely heard music, but maybe spoken with a melodic backdrop rather than sung. I really appreciate that you think it retains some elegance despite its flaws.


Concerning the 'edgy adolescence' of which you speak, I definitely see that. Honestly though, I'm a bit of an idealist at times so I don't know if that will ever go away entirely, haha. I do thing some lingual adjustments could be made to soften the blow though. Furthermore, this piece was birthed from a raw sentiment in the moment so, yes. I appreciate the feedback though, you balance encouragement and critique quite well.

Pretent We're Right Again

There are some beautiful lines in here and it definitely resonates emotion well. I just want to reaffirm that I'm impressed with how much you, a non-native speaker, are able to communicate through complex sentences, even if the grammar and syntax are rough at some points. Honestly though, mine's not perfect either. I can agree with with Sky's thought that the metaphors could use some work, as it becomes confusing at points. However, I don't think that clarity is always the highest good in writing, so I understand why it might not be your primary concern. I also agree with Grey (big surprise there). Some tightening and restructuring could make this awesome. It's got potential, and I enjoyed the foundation you presented in this piece.

Perception

Jaysun, I quite liked this one. The contrast of mind vs emotion was apt and is relatable. The most important thing here, I think, is word choice. Some of those lines would benefit from rewording. Adjusting where you decide to break the lines might also benefit the flow. Good job, though. This was enjoyable to read.


@Anomaly - we need see the rest of this poem later! My interest is piqued.

 

[Sunbather]

The theme inspired this one. A modified pantoum.
Year Walk


Rain hard on streets again.


Cobbles wind-worn, long-walked


Swept clean of the year;


All things borne to water.


Vista changed by the storm.


Cobbles wind-worn, long-walked;


Jamais vu tickles my neck.


I have been here before


Under a black umbrella


Looking into the future.


Jamais vu tickles my neck;


The memory of a whisper


In the chill January gloaming


And a long walk onward


Sure of every single step.


The memory of a whisper


A prayer or a curse


Spoken into the empty air,


Lingering like a dream


Or the smell of rain.


Rain hard on streets again.


Jamais vu tickles my neck


In the chill January gloaming.


The memory of a whisper;


A curse, or a prayer.

I thoroughly enjoyed this, which is a real big compliment because I am not a big fan of traditional, true-to form poetry (or ratatat verses, as I like to call them) However, the atmsophere was so wonderfully and consistently gloomy and it had such a clever ending that I can't help but like it. Well done!

ok, so what is more usual or normal than losing your pen?
I wrote this a while ago, and now modified it a little, I wrote this poem for the people who can't write freely because of the political pressure of their countries, yet it's so simple, there you go

I LOST MY PEN

I lost my pen

my little pen of blue

i lost my pen

maybe this is nothing to you

creepy thoughts

roam in my head

about what they'll do

if they find my friend

my little gadget

of mental crimes

my little partner

in felonies of mind

Oh boy i wonder

what they will do

when they find my pen

and capture me too.

they'll send me to

an insanity asylum

they'll lock me up

in a silent room

for the souls I've killed

on a piece of paper

for the blood stained spots

as a signature I made them

my madness lies,

within its ink

and my soul thrives,

in madness it sinks

i lost my pen

my little pen of blue

i lost my pen

Oh, what should i do?​

This is very up and down to me, as it swings from the mundane to the thoughtful. I'm unsure if it was intentional, but it is hard to... consume, I suppose. To me anyways. It's very melodic, which works for the simple and short form. I'm not a huge fan of it for personal reasons, I think, but I can't really say anything objectively wrong. I do like the repetition towards the end a lot though.

Here's a little verse that came to me. I know it's rough. Feel free to offer feedback, I won't bite. Also, I'll try to get some prose posted tomorrow if I'm feeling up to it. Hope everyone had a Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays!

Dreams More Than Kept


Sometimes, I wish Normal was no more than a state of mind.


I don't think it is.


I don't think it is.


Such that simple dreams could leave the mundane behind


What did we miss?


What did we miss?


But we are trapped by these thoughts


Figments that don't understand cause and effect


It'd be better if we could either burst this mental box


Or cast these dreams aside and just forget


Sometimes, I wish happiness was just wanting to be more.


It's taking a step.


It's taking a step.


Let's set our feet to the street then and settle the score.


Dreams more than kept


Dreams more than kept

I don't necessarily share the opinion that this is seems very teenager emo-ish. To me, it comes across as more of a sad thought that crosses one's mind just before accepting that you yourself aren't an exception to the complaints it describes. And for that, I like it. However, just reading-wise, I found it a bit rocky. I don't think the content necessarily fits the form it's presented in, but I'm a technicality murderer as it is, so maybe I'm saying BS.

@Tronethiel[/URL], I'm very intensely reminded of the below song.
[media]

[/SPOILER][/media]
In any case, I'd agree with Grey that it sounds lyrical. If that weren't the case the repetition would be trite and bore me, but as is it all flows together really nicely.


As for work of mine, I don't even have anything whole. I have a single stanza to a poem.

Untitled

You matched my humor, when


we did manage to speak. I could not keep up with


how closely each Romantic language recalls Latin, so


I let my quiet place beside you as you strummed


be our conversation.

I'll try and post more reviews tomorrow.


I want to say how VERY pleased I am to see people participating in this! Good on you all!

I would love to read this when it is finished, I think that says it all. C:

I don't have a clue about the proper way to write things
Never took a writing course


I just read a lot and write for fun


Feedbacks are welcomed


So here goes


Perception


I walk through my life an outsider in mind


but a participant at heart


I philosophize my every thoughts


trying to reason the lies


and the misperception I was taught


There is no good in this world


only self-serving needs


Scamming, lying, killing


When one starves so another can eat


It is not selflessness


but satisfaction of mind


outvaluing physical demands


Love does not exist


be it families', couples', or friends'


merely glorified emotional attachment


social constructs circumstantially dependent


made to serve people's ends


Because we understand our loved ones the best


and so have more control in our hands


But even when I tell myself such words


I am still a victim of life


still what my world made me


My mind sees the truth, but my heart is blind


I doubt myself, every waking moments


If my love is pure, or it is a lie


I want to appear deep, but I am shallow


I want to break free of life's chains, but unsure if these weights are only my own shadows


So I write these verses, only to say


I don't believe in love, but I love anyway

Mhhh... I am a little torn on this. It's not badly written at all, but it's a little too straight forward in my opinion for the very easily trite theme. I do appreciate the self-awareness, but I find the way it is worded gives the impression that your thought process was"I know I'm lame and pretentious, but I can't help it" and that quickly goes into an infinite loop of good and bad, and as such I don't personally enjoy it a lot. Still, it's decently written. I think this would massively profit from a more flowery, metaphorical approach.

@Sunbather : Then it's parents', as parent's only indicates the possession of a single parent
Anyhow, my piece:

~Supposition~


What if


The steam of winter exhalation


Is smoke


Kindled in the fire of our hearts?


I would


Keep you warm, my love,


Sustain you


Like your own personal star.


What if


When summer's sun has long since sunk,


The sea


Sighs, laments its loneliness, calls


For company;


What if even forgotten deckchairs cry


And lost spades


Long for their buckets?


What if


When the playful wind presses the pines


And they shudder,


They are excited, not afraid?


What if


The trees are dancing, waltzing with the wind,


Their leaves


Cast aside like disregarded clothes?


What if


Daily, hourly, by the minute,


Death


Is taking solemn strides towards you;


Tick, tock,


His heavy, rhythmic footsteps


Tick, tock,


The countdown of your heart.


If what


I've said sounds like a long, infantile dream,


Dreams


Are all you've given me;


And what if


Birds can't take flight


Until


The wind has consented to hold them?




​

It's at this point just comical to me that you disliked the way I shrouded my content in metaphors when I have, for the better part, no 100% certainty of what you're intention is behind this piece of writing, hehe. Not that I'm critizicing that. I quite like it and I can construct it from tone and certain passages. But I do believe we write a lot closer to each other than you think, given your feedback. I like it. C:


-----


Also, for all who were so kind to offer feedback, I've actually edited my draft a bit and I personally believe it is considerably better and easier to read now without compromising my artistic asthetic. For those kind enough to give it another shot, I'd be very happy. c:



[/QUOTE]

 

[Scattered Ambitions]

I'll be honest, it's not poorly written but it's just very blunt and rushed to me. It doesn't make me feel deeply connected because there's no context given nor is it very enticing in its wording. I feel if one writes very literal there needs to be more content to contextualize what is happening, which, at least IMO, is lacking here.

I must explain myself. I wrote this for a class project, and only had half an hour to do so, but I don't usually write poetry, so I thought I would post it. But thank you for the critiquing! And, also, thank you @Grey and @SkyGinge!

 

[Dusky]

My apologies, but I'm gonna delay the usual turnover of the week to tomorrow evening. It's been a full day of plane rides and long drives for me and I need rest for work tomorrow. I do want to say that I am totally shocked with the participation we got this week and very impressed with all of you. The thread sorta just exploded, but I'm glad it did!


Anyway, Noms out. You'll be hearing from me tomorrow.

 

[Tronethiel]

My apologies, but I'm gonna delay the usual turnover of the week to tomorrow evening. It's been a full day of plane rides and long drives for me and I need rest for work tomorrow. I do want to say that I am totally shocked with the participation we got this week and very impressed with all of you. The thread sorta just exploded, but I'm glad it did!
Anyway, Noms out. You'll be hearing from me tomorrow.

Haha, Noms. I approve.

 

[Grey]

~Supposition~

What if

The steam of winter exhalation

Is smoke

Kindled in the fire of our hearts?

I would

Keep you warm, my love,

Sustain you

Like your own personal star.



What if

When summer's sun has long since sunk,

The sea

Sighs, laments its loneliness, calls

For company;

What if even forgotten deckchairs cry

And lost spades

Long for their buckets?



What if

When the playful wind presses the pines

And they shudder,

They are excited, not afraid?

What if

The trees are dancing, waltzing with the wind,

Their leaves

Cast aside like disregarded clothes?



What if

Daily, hourly, by the minute,

Death

Is taking solemn strides towards you;

Tick, tock,

His heavy, rhythmic footsteps

Tick, tock,

The countdown of your heart.



If what

I've said sounds like a long, infantile dream,

Dreams

Are all you've given me;

And what if

Birds can't take flight

Until

The wind has consented to hold them?

​

There's a lot to like here. Nice metre, elegant in its expression of the theme. The stanza wherein death appears feels a bit at odds with the rest, but there's some lovely similes in there. I especially like the second stanza, but I miss England and it makes me nostalgic for the seaside.

 

[Dusky]

no slide

 

[Tronethiel]

So, I was thinking, and this occurred to me as I was alone, that I might need to make the punctuation in my poem consistent. What does everyone think?

 

[Dusky]

So, I was thinking, and this occurred to me as I was alone, that I might need to make the punctuation in my poem consistent. What does everyone think?

Omg Tron go away. xD

 

[Dusky]

I managed to actually write the poem.

What Once Was Mine

You matched my humor, when


we did manage to speak. I could not keep up with


how closely each Romantic language recalls Latin, so


I let my quiet place beside you as you strummed


suffice.


I had filled a role once: the writer,


all pen elitism and 4.2 GPA, but then I dropped out of college.


I still had my ink stains until you


fired the gun for a race I didn’t know I was in


and at a place I didn’t know was in danger. But rights are funny;


if our generation of beatniks is the meritocracy it appears,


you deserve to be the poet aunts and uncles coo over on Facebook,


but I am so tired of family reunions.


I fill a role now: the fuck up.


I hid in your glow - I had only wanted some small share.


Of course you left early, taking your acoustic guitar


and your intelligent conversation


and your publishings


and your grace


with you.

 

[Dusky]

Critic of the Week: @Jaysun[/td]@SkyGinge@Anomaly[/tr]


Year WalkUntitledI Lost My PenDreams More Than KeptPretend We're Right AgainUntitledPerceptionSuppositionWhat Once Was Mine[/table][/center]


Poll here.


This week's theme: Featherweight.

 

[Jays]

Thanks for the criticism, that was the first time I've ever written a "poem"


I'm leaving and never coming back xD


The Criticism has broken me


#BrokenDreams


#JustDooskThings

 

[SkyGinge]

Ooh, what does critique of the week mean? Does that mean I have to critique things this week? Or are you commending me? Cause your critique was several times better than mine, doosky!


Anyhow, as said, thank you very much for the critique - as always, it's amazing. It wasn't just you who mentioned an overall disconnectedness of imagery, so I'd like to describe what I was going for. The idea is that the poem is a wistful persuasion of the speaker's lover, and the images are all images either of coexistence or of loneliness, with the death one then a kind of 'come on love, we haven't got all day' like in Andrew Marvell's 'To His Coy Mistress'. That said, the images are all trying to achieve different things within this spectrum of romancing someone; and obviously the general vagueness and focus on images creates a distanced affect which is supposed to emphasise the fact the speaker can only really dream about these kind of things (or at least that he feels that way) and hence it is a very indirect representation of the romantic connection he wants to have. Obviously, however, any poet who has to explain his own images has clearly got something wrong, so I will work on explicating some of those images. I'm very happy you guys like it though!

 

[Jays]

I have to be honest, it actually took me quite a while to understand most of what was being said, anywhere.


I am only vaguely familiar with some of these writing concepts you guys were mentioning, and am entirely clueless on some others. What I ultimately lack is the polishing afterward, cuz I just write whenever I feel like it and when the mood stops, I stop as well xD


What I often produce is "fun writing" for me, not "good writing".


It seems I need to change my writing attitude, especially for this thread


Never wrote a poem before in my life, but I did anyway


I'm so goddamn pretentious xD

 

[Sunbather]

It's so lovely to get such wonderful feedback, I already totally love this thread. (Also relatable poem, Dusky, all the likes)


I feel like clarifying my piece, 'cause I think that'd generate more help. Basically, it's a fairytale + an old, grieving lover. The narrative is from the shunned lover's perspective. The first part is when she's much too old to show her yearning but remembers the process of looking for that special someone. It's basically like an alternative world, where people by their hearts in cages in hopes it's the right one. And those cages are, of course, brought by the hunter.


The second, relatively short part, is as the title implies, towards the end of the relationship, as doubt creeps in, but our narrator holds onto her lover as much as she can, blinded by her feelings and intentionally blinding herself.


The third verse revolves around the same theme, but adds the ultimately inevitable breakup and explains that it had become something other than real love. That's what the patient and project line refers to.


The last part is another timeskip, the narrator is now inbetween the first period and the third, so still after the breakup, but depressed, cycical and actively hurting.


I absolutely take the cohesive criticism, and I'll work on that, though I like to think I can excuse obscurity and narrative clarity as a style choice? However, I'd definitely love to hear how you, Dusky, would say I can prevent the line from losing impact. I do like repitition, but maybe you have an education advice for that? c:


Also yeah, it's definitely alongside, hah.


----


I totally just finished my piece for the next theme 'cause that came really easy to me, heh. Time for some editing.

 

[Dusky]

@Jaysun - I wouldn't have put as much effort into your critique if I didn't think you could do something with it~. If there's anything you want me to explain further, lemme know.


@SkyGinge - 'Tis a commendation. (^.^)

 

[Ozmic]

So I figured it was about time I toss something up here. It's not really anything that fits with a certain theme, but I wrote it just for this. A side-tale to the main story of my magnificent magus, Michael Kinnane.

Hope you enjoy.




Holy shit posting this is nerve-wracking.

​

Spoiler

JUDGEMENT


[An 'Otherworldly Outcast' Short]

​

The letter arrived at 4:00 pm on December 27th.

The snow showed no sign of stopping and I smiled grimly, staring out into it for a few moments. It had been a white Christmas afterall, a nice memory.

I quickly handed the envelop to my father and scurried away, horrified to see the look on his face and worried that someone might see me sobbing like a child.

I was sixteen, afterall.

The letter did terrify me, though. I couldn't be certain, but from the way The Collective usually handled these cases, there wasn't much hope for a happy ending. Best case, I'd be locked up. Worse case? Execution.

Maybe tears weren't such a bad idea after-all.

~

A light rapping against the door woke me with a start and I reached for my glasses and rings in a panic before I remembered I was home.

"Can I come in, peanut?" asked my father softly, his voice wavering at the nickname.

I set down the rings - the power slowly fizzling out of them - and stood to drag myself to the door, opening it.

My father stood there, the great magus Michael Kinnane, looking older and more worn out than I'd ever seen him. He was a handsome man with a strong jaw, a permanent bit of stubble, and a fierce gaze (most of the time). And, despite being well over a hundred years old, he still managed to look in his thirties.

Right now though, he looked more like the man in the stories he'd told me. The one that had been through so much hell and back. The man that had saved the world.

And it was my fault.

A sob escaped me and I ran to him, clinging with everything I had as if I'd never let go.


​

 

[Tronethiel]

I have to be honest, it actually took me quite a while to understand most of what was being said, anywhere.
I am only vaguely familiar with some of these writing concepts you guys were mentioning, and am entirely clueless on some others. What I ultimately lack is the polishing afterward, cuz I just write whenever I feel like it and when the mood stops, I stop as well xD


What I often produce is "fun writing" for me, not "good writing".


It seems I need to change my writing attitude, especially for this thread


Never wrote a poem before in my life, but I did anyway


I'm so goddamn pretentious xD

As a rather amateurish poet myself, I sympathize with you. I'd like to offer some encouragement though. It's a big step that you even posted something for others to read, especially if you've never done this sort of thing before. So keep at it sir!

Omg Tron go away. xD

All the love, Dusk, all the love.

[QUOTE="Mr. Grin]

So I figured it was about time I toss something up here. It's not really anything that fits with a certain theme, but I wrote it just for this. A side-tale to the main story of my magnificent magus, Michael Kinnane.

​

[/QUOTE]

*high five*​

 

[SkyGinge]

Many people do think of obscurity as a stylistic choice. I personally disagree, as we write for the purpose of people to read and if we're the only ones who can understand it, how can we justify wanting others to read it? Still, that's a debate that could go on for ages.

@Sunbather : To weigh in on this, the me of three years ago would have been to agree wholeheartedly with Dusky. However, I believe as long as it's a noticeable stylistic choice made for a good reason, it's fine. As a writer and narrator you can always manipulate the amount of information you provide for effect, and often it works great. But there's a very fine line between obscurity done well and not providing enough for people to really appreciate what's going on. And if you're writing something where the meaning is intentionally unclear, then ensure there is enough there for people to come up with a meaning for it, otherwise it will just seem unclear.

 

[Aur0ra]

Ok, first of all i want to thank you guys for all the feedback, my poem sounded almost like child play in front of your works, and i think I'm in over my head here xD though that will not stop me to write, or read the brilliantly amazing pieces you are writing


for this theme I'm going with this, you need to listen while you read though, my piece (not a poem because i honestly don't know what this is, the music inspired it, Mozart's Lacrimosa inspired it)


I played on the feeling the music gives you the high notes and the low notes coming together


[media]



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The tone rises slowly,


with it gently rises his soul.


Then, along with melancholy,


the wretched painfully falls...


Forever stuck in the middle,


it spends eternity whole.


Between the dead and the living,


A soul ascends.....


only to descend once more.

 

[Dusky]

Ok, first of all i want to thank you guys for all the feedback, my poem sounded almost like child play in front of your works, and i think I'm in over my head here xD though that will not stop me to write, or read the brilliantly amazing pieces you are writing.

This is hella nice to read. Anyone who can accept criticism without flipping their shit or giving up is alright in my book.

 

[Grey]

no slide