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

[Dusky]

Please do, Grey. Thanks.


So this isn't really prose OR poetry, but it's all I had the time for this week:

Worldbuilding Religion

Creation


It is not known how the beginning was begun, and it never shall be. There came two Kings who told us that to seek knowledge is never sinful except when seeking this. Our story must begin here: There were two men, brothers, possessed of extraordinary power. The world around them was a shapeless, flat expanse, and they were bored. They decided to build something which pleased them. Working together, they ran their fingers through the world and squeezed the water out, so that they could shape the land. The mass that formed floated in an endless ocean, and so the World was born. The brothers got to work, slowly molding mountain, lakes, ravines, and more, and they painted the sky with the most evocative colors they found.


When it was done, they saw stillness, and were displeased. For this reason they each pulled two teeth from their mouths and crushed them, scattering the dust as seeds of life. The World’s panoply grew.


War


There came a time when the King of Strength and the King of Gentleness could not reconcile or set aside their clashing beliefs. The brothers went to war, and entire nations died for them. In the end, the older brother who was stronger stood as the Victor, while the younger who was kinder prostrated himself as the Bowed. Resolution came at a terrible cost - much of the world they had built together was destroyed.


In the aftermath, the brothers grew close again, the Bowed’s Passion humbled and the Victor’s Rage released. The worked together to rebuild the land and the life that had always served them well.


Death


Those who had fought for The Brothers were so often grievously injured, but Death did not come to them. The Bowed did not wish to see his creations leave him, and The Victor did not wish to see his creations falter. However, they felt the pain of their people. Together, they found a solution. Said the Bowed in his Ruth, “Let our works reach farther than anything conceivable. Let them create their own people, continuously perpetuating the beauty of the life we have bestowed upon them.” Said the Victor in his Mercy, “Let this life not be eternal, for pain and suffering must someday end and man cannot withstand as a god shall. Let our people know the value of our gift to them through its very brevity.”


And it was so.

@Tronethiel @P U R I T Y @Saturnity @NoviceOfRoleplay @Lady Odyssey


Git gud

 

[NoviceOfRoleplay]

@Anomaly I accept your challenge!

 

[P U R I T Y]

I'm terrible. Sorry guys, I keep coming back to this thread, but my juices are drained elsewhere! Perhaps this will be my week. If not, feel free to kick me, I'd understand!

 

[Dusky]

Nobody will ever be kicked!


Anyhoo, no critic of the week, because no criticism.


No poll, because only one entry.


This week's theme: Norm.

 

[Tronethiel]

I really want to see this thread become a huge, successful, and thriving organism. Therefore, it shall.


Of course, if I really mean that I should probably be helpful by making meaningfull posts. I'll get on that.

 

[amybri18]

I shall join this.

 

[Dusky]

Welcome, Amy. All I ask is that you post content! ( )

 

[NoviceOfRoleplay]

Alright I'm posting some short story work. I've just been revising the same episode of the web series, so I didn't think you guys would find the same episode too interesting.

 

[SkyGinge]

Hello friends! I may post this week, though be warned, it may or may not have to be Star Wars fan fiction because the post-film hype is real!

 

[Grey]

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.

 

[amybri18]

Ok then, here goes...

Spoiler

It seems that there is only one thing us humans live for now. Promotion. Promotion gives us new opportunities, new responsibilities, and, of course, new ways to earn more money. Unfortunately, it ain't that easy. To get a promotion, you need to do well in work. To do well in work, you need to actually get a job. To get a job, you have to learn how to do the job. To learn how to do the job, you have to go to university or collage. To go to university or collage, you must finish school. To finished school, you must do all your exams. To do your exams, you have to actually go to school every single say. Life is hard, kiddo. At least 20 years of your life is taken up preparing to get a job. Then all you want is more out of the job. All you want is a promotion.


But it's so difficult.


So very difficult.


But we can dream, right?


Right?


Right...




One of the most common nightmares is a staircase. A simple staircase. You walk up the stairs, each step getting you closer and closer to the top. But soon you realise that will never, ever happen. Because no matter how many steps you take, you never move. Your feel like your moving, but your completely still. With every step you take, the light at the end isn't getting any closer. You begin to run, but this makes it a whole lot worse. Now, with every step you take, the light at the end gets further and further away. You reach out, just as the light begins to dim. It slowly slips out of your grip, leaving you in utter darkness.


That dream doesn't mean anything as a child. But, as an adult, you understand the metaphor. No matter how hard you try, you'll never succeed. I know it sounds kinda depressing, but sometimes I think it's true. I try so, so hard in life, but never get anything good out of it. That's why I always keep something close to me, something I can do if I ever find myself in need of inspiration. Unfortunately, that slowly slips away while at work, giving me nothing but pure failure in life.


Maybe I need to try harder...


No, I try hard enough already.


But maybe...


Just maybe...




My daily routine often goes a bit like this:

• Wake up at 6:30am.
  
• Take a shower, wash my hair, dry my hair, finishing at 7:00am.
  
• Get dressed for 7:15am.
  
• Grab a quick breakfast, finishing at 7:30am.
  
• Get the kids ready for school for 8:00am.
  
• Get the kids at school for 8:30am.
  
• Get to work at 9:00am.
  
• Work hard until 12:00pm.
  
• Half an hour lunch break, finishing at 12:30pm.
  
• Work until 5:00pm.
  
• Go home, spend some time with the kids, then have dinner at 5:30pm.
  
• Dinner ends at 6:30pm, and we spend some quality family time together.
  
• Bed at 10:00pm.
  

As that song from 1980 said, working 9 till 5, what a way to make a living.


That's just my life.


And, seriously, it's annoying as hell.


But that's just the norm for me.


And the norm for many others as well...

 

[Aur0ra]

okzz homicidal it is


The storm that raged that night, matched the one that was raging in side of me.


and every time thunder roared, I felt as if my heart would break out of my chest and run away out of fear.


I lay in my bed confused, thinking about the way he died, how cruel he was. It wasn't murder I thought to myself, it was self defense. ''self defense'' I murmured trying to comfort my terrified soul.


with shaking body I got out of bed, and made my way to the dark room. I had to make sure he was dead, really dead!.


Slowly and after some hesitation I managed to open the door that squeaked loudly as it revealed half the furniture in the room. looking at his wide open eyes as he lay on the ground with a pair of scissors stabbing his neck a shiver ran down my spine, he lay in the middle of the room just below the hanged figure.


One of the walls was stained with blood, and the crimson color covered the white curtains along with one of the sofas. Blood was still gushing poorly from his neck creating some what of a shallow pond around his body. Everything was so still but I could swear I saw his dark black eyes staring at me, watching, mockingly as they always used to when he was still alive.


A flash back suddenly took me back to the moment when it happened, he was shouting, yelling at me with all his might that the veins on his neck were clearly visible.


I didn't mind him yelling at me, but I hated it when he hit my mom, she would plead for mercy for long hours, shout, cry for help, but the more she screamed, the more his urge got stronger, and after every time he beat her up, he would drag her by the hair to that room and lock the door. Every piece of my body used to shiver as my mom screamed, then her voice would fade and my step dad would come out, every time with a sick smile that I hated with all my guts ,then leave the house.


Till one day and after he got back from work, my step father went into my mother's room only to find that she had hanged herself with a rope dangling from the ceiling fan, he was so furious that he threw my door wide open and got inside, he started shouting and I didn't realize what was going on, I was only a twelve years old that saw her mom being abused by a monster. All I knew was that i was so scared that i grabbed a pair of scissors and ran to seek refuge in my mother's room.


I got in shouting for her then stopped in fear looking at the hanged body. for a while I didn't move, I couldn't! and my voice failed me, but then I heard his footsteps, he was coming, shouting and threatening.


I didn't know what to do, but I had to do something, hide somewhere, and the best place a twelve year old girl could think of was under the bed. with all the might that was in me i ran and slid under the bed holding the scissors with both of my trembling hands, staining my floral nightgown with my mother's dripping blood, and a minute later I could hear his footsteps approaching, his breath rising and falling as he came up the stairs, I gathered all the courage I could find with in my soul and launched at him.


A police car whistled from a far snatching me from my thoughts, and I just stood there, looking at the two figures feeling so numb that within moments, everything around me turned black.


I woke up screaming and held on to my blankets, my mom rushed into the room and hugged me tight, i could see the tears in her eyes building up. It was all a dream, he didn't come home yet. I only stared at the pair of scissors that lay quietly on my bed, as my mom kept kissing my forehead and telling me how everything was going to be ok..... yes, yes mom, just you wait.

 

[Aur0ra]

oh man i just realized there is a page two and that the theme has changed (:'() from homicidal to norm, ok then i posted it nevertheless, so i guess i'll be posting something else for the ''norm'' theme later xD

 

[Aur0ra]

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?​

 

[Tronethiel]

The theme inspired this one. A modified pantoum.

I like how the reverberating lines of the pantoum and your word choices reinforce the the theme of memory. This is well done. I'd be more constructive, but I find poetry to be more difficult to criticize then prose. It doesn't help that my initial reading yielded no complaints.

 

[Tronethiel]

I like how the reverberating lines of the pantoum and your word choices reinforce the the theme of memory. This is well done. I'd be more constructive, but I find poetry to be more difficult to criticize then prose. It doesn't help that my initial reading yielded no complaints.

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

 

[Aur0ra]

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 really think that this is a great way to describe the theme, the piece had an easy to follow flow, it wasn't forced and it just had that nostalgic sad after effect that other pieces thrive to accomplish, i really like it.


my favorite part was:

''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''​

The sentences which were repeated like: ''

I don't think it is.


I don't think it is.

What did we miss?


What did we miss?


''It's taking a step.


It's taking a step.


''
​

gave some sort of and echo feeling to the piece. To me the first one *i don't think it is* was as if someone trying to convince themselves with a thought thus repeating it, The second however *what did we miss* was a question of someone lost and trying to find some peace in clarification, and the third one *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 )

 

[Aur0ra]

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 really love how creative this is, especially how the last paragraph comes to form.


The whole poem makes you feel as if you are floating between dreams and reality, like that last moment before you start drifting into sleep, or like a hypnotic optical illusion elegant enough to make you continue watching without making you feel dizzy. It has that kind of flow to me xD


this is my most favorite part:

''The memory of a whisper

A prayer or a curse

Spoken into the empty air,

Lingering like a dream

Or the smell of rain''​

 

[Grey]

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 a really good start. I love what you're doing thematically - the only negative thing I could say is I'm lukewarm on the structure and rhyme, and I feel like your words could be better chosen. It's good; with polish it can be great. Keep it up!

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

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.

 

[Sunbather]

Pretent We're Right Again


The bitter elder, too old to hope:


If you'd catch a glimpse of the inside, where hunters rest along their knifes, would you wonder what they are for?


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.


There they cut, 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


The home where everyone makes friends with the idea of being whole.


Upon return, scramblin' on the marketplace. 's overrun with children who all seek complimentary belief - A bit incomplete, much like their parents' was before them.


Somewhere near the end, yet confident:


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 breathing next to us until the nightsky around the world is drenched in our hearts and we make friends with the sun the next morning.


When you think about it, really, love is a strange thing, making us stare at ourselves for not taking part, for holding onto each other until we become the stranger on our own pillow, with all the doubt and regret and with all the dispair.


Everything we've ever felt is creeping up our spines now that the cold sweat sets and whispers thoughts we know are no truth, endlessly singing until we believe. Until we make friends with the decay.


As it crumbles, as it fell:


Every evening when she rests her head, not caring if she cares or not, trapped inside a wooden box, kept from closing by a spark, a drowned out wish someone comes to grab her by the hand and make it good.


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 has caught me, too tempting to know better, too good not to dive in, and I felt like I could be friends with the whole world.


"I am not your patient!" she proudly assures, instead becoming a project whenever words are exchanged. A project with a deadline long missed. Praying for nobody to come and pick up the parts. I can't learn to deal with voids as long as you hide your spark behind gritted teeth and delicate lies.


Backtracking:


Now I see passersby crossing the bridge, all alone and not alone, while our wounds don't even match those of our reflections. It's 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.

 

[Scattered Ambitions]

Here's my go:

Spoiler

Each day as the evening starts to set


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


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

 

[Dusky]

@Tronethiel, I'm very intensely reminded of the below song.


[media]



[/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!

 

[Jays]

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

 

[SkyGinge]

Christmas business and sluggishness has meant I haven't had the time, energy or brain cells to work on anything this week, sorry guys. I have a poem I wrote at the start of the month which doesn't have too much to do with the theme, but given it's like my second proper poem ever I'm interested to see if it's actually any good - I'll see to uploading it later when I have access to it. For now though, here's my brain-dead, Christmas-pudding-saturated attempt at some critique, with annotations within each quote.

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. Ambiguous syntax is used to great affect here - creates the dream-like sense I think Aur0ra was getting at. The second line here is my favourite, it has a very melodic quality to it, and you express a stronf, creative image in very few words. Less affective, I think, is 'All things borne to water', which strikes me as a little cliche, but otherwise you stay on the right side of being poetic


Cobbles wind-worn, long-walked;


Jamais vu tickles my neck.


I have been here before


Under a black umbrella


Looking into the future. Again, good sense of the mysterious here, good imagery.


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. I love the last two lines here, nice job!


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.

There's a fantastically strong sense of the mysterious throughout; you use a lot of subtler ambiguating techniques throughout, manipulating syntax in a way which shows clear understanding of affect instead of just mixing words around 'cuz it's poetic like'. I love the way certain lines echo across the piece too. I regret not having more to pick out - overall, this is a very strong poem (to my poetically untrained eye) and the only things I dislike would be that single line I pointed out, and the fact that aside from the powerful imagery and atmosphere, I struggle to pick out a true meaning from the text. Obviously not every poem needs something like that but as a reader of poetry it is something I'm always on the lookout for. Nice stuff

Ok then, here goes...

Spoiler

It seems that there is only one thing us humans live for now. Unless you're writing in a world where aliens exist alongside us, there's no need to distinguish 'us humans'. A simple 'we' would be more affective in creating a unifying affect.


Promotion. Promotion gives us new opportunities, new responsibilities, and, of course, new ways to earn more money. Unfortunately, it ain't that easy. To get a promotion, you need to do well in at work. To do well in at work, you need to actually get a job. To get a job, you have to learn how to do the job. To learn how to do the job, you have to go to university or collage college. To go to university or collage college you must finish school. To finished school, you must do all your exams. To do your exams, you have to actually go to school every single say. Life is hard, kiddo. At least 20 years of your life is taken up preparing to get a job. Then all you want is more out of the job. All you want is a promotion. This is a good start; structurally it's sound and written in a way which presents and emphasises the argument, and I like how it links the start to the end - good job! You're also starting to show a character here, and I like the colloquialisms that emphasise it. I would like that developed further - whilst the list stuff is good, every point is somewhat generic, if you get where I'm coming from, the kind of stuff you might here in an advert or something, and there's opportunity to put in some more unconventional points in there to show a little more character. Good start!


But it's so difficult.


So very difficult.


But we can dream, right? There's two 'buts' in quick succession here; a different synonym ought to replace one of them. I also feel like this passage is a bit heavy on the isolated sentences - it gets a bit heavy to read by the time we reach the final right.


Right?


Right...




One of the most common nightmares is a staircase. Strange phrasing here.


A simple staircase. You walk up the stairs, each step getting you closer and closer to the top. But soon you realise that will never, ever happen. Because no matter how many steps you take, you never move. Your feel like your moving, but your you're completely still. With every step you take, the light at the end isn't getting any closer. This line is redundant, doesn't add anything to what you're trying to say.


You begin to run, but this makes it a whole lot worse. Now, with every step you take, the light at the end gets further and further away. You reach out, just as the light begins to dim. It slowly slips out of your grip, leaving you in utter darkness.


That dream doesn't mean anything as a child. But, as an adult, you understand the metaphor. No matter how hard you try, you'll never succeed. I know it sounds kinda depressing, but sometimes I think it's true. I try so, so hard in life, but never get anything good out of it. That's why I always keep something close to me, something I can do if I ever find myself in need of inspiration. Unfortunately, that slowly slips away while at work, giving me nothing but pure failure in life. Again, you've repeated 'slowly slipped' here, and therefore it needs rephrasing. Statements ending 'in life' like this are normally cliche and overblown unless purposely used ironically.


Maybe I need to try harder...


No, I try hard enough already.


But maybe...


Just maybe...




My daily routine often goes a bit like this: Too many adverbs here, either get rid of 'a bit' or 'often' as they both are intended to mean the same thing here.

• Wake up at 6:30am.
  
• Take a shower, wash my hair, dry my hair, finishing at 7:00am.
  
• Get dressed for 7:15am.
  
• Grab a quick breakfast, finishing at 7:30am.
  
• Get the kids ready for school for 8:00am.
  
• Get the kids at school for 8:30am.
  
• Get to work at 9:00am.
  
• Work hard until 12:00pm.
  
• Half an hour lunch break, finishing at 12:30pm.
  
• Work until 5:00pm.
  
• Go home, spend some time with the kids, then have dinner at 5:30pm.
  
• Dinner ends at 6:30pm, and we spend some quality family time together.
  
• Bed at 10:00pm. Again, this list is fine, but there's nothing particularly unique or standout about the list, making your character seem somewhat flat. I guess in a way that's the point, given you're trying to present 'the norm', but I still think it would benefit from a little bit of abnormality. Your character, for example, clearly dislikes being caught in such a repetitive machine of work and rest; therefore, I can imagine them thinking especially highly of every non-bog-standard thing they do in their schedule, as opposed to just lifelessly conforming to a lifestyle they detest.
  

As that song from 1980 said, working 9 till 5, what a way to make a living.


That's just my life.


And, seriously, it's annoying as hell.


But that's just the norm for me.


And the norm for many others as well... Isolated sentences are powerful when used in moderation, but you oversaturate the closing of every passage with multiples of them, which makes it rather sluggish to read and lessens the overall impact.


Aside from the odd spelling mistake, you make a good start here. Overall it would benefit from being injected with a bit more character, and extra precision and creativity when it comes to expression, but it's certainly not bad in its current state.

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 'creepy' doesn't seem like the most accurate term here; maybe 'fearful', or something similar.

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 I'm torn on this line. 'Insanity asylum' is a somewhat disjointed lay phrased, but similarly it presents your character as innocent in their mistake, creating a nice affect.

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 Again, could do with a little tightening but I really like what you're doing in this stanza!

my madness lies,

within its ink

and my soul thrives, 'thrives' is one of those cliche 'poetic words', and 'my soul thrives' is almost painfully cliche and meaningless.

in madness it sinks

i lost my pen

my little pen of blue

i lost my pen

Oh, what should i do?

​

Grey hit the nail on the head on his comments for this one; thematically this is hitting all the right spots, but overall it could do with a little more tightening. It's got quite a good sing-song feel to it which would be emphasised further through adopting a regular rhythmic pattern, being more regular with your rhyming, and making more precise word choices. However, there's plenty of lovely stuff in there and the flow is fantastic.

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? Repetition is used for clear effect here and works well both times - nice job! The double negative of 'no more' and then 'don't' confuses exactly what you're trying to say in the first two lines, but similarly it creates an effect of denial which works well enough not to require sitting. The fourth line is clunky and I'm not sure what it's trying to say.


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 Again, can't quite put a finger on it but it reads rather clunkily to me. You're telling, not showing (more on that below). I just don't get a sense of rhythm or flow here; it just reads as rather overwrought statements addressed to a general 'we'.


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 on the street then and settle the score.


Dreams more than kept


Dreams more than kept

For me, poetry is always about the individual. I can't quite remember the exact quote, but there's some famous quote about poetry taking a lot of emotion/meaning and planting it within a single scene or event. Hence, making big statements on things so explicitly, especially seen in the second line here, is the poetic equivalent of telling>showing. There's some nice stuff in there - and the repetition is nice, but the aforementioned sweeping statements bring the disconcerting sense of familiarity that Grey picked up on, and over all the syntax and flow could use some brushing up on.

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 misperceptions 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 This is clever; if these statements were more generic then they'd risk being overwrought (and indeed I thought that was what I was in for when you began), but there's enough eloquence, originality and cynical truth-telling to make this interesting. Just mind your grammar in places, it could do with brushing up generally.


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 you understand your loved ones the most


and so have more control in your hands The last line here is clunky, and not a single one of those apostrophes is grammatically correct, but again the message is strong.


But even when I tell myself such words 'words' is an incredibly cold and ineffective way of expressing the messages you've just expressed. I would suggest either restructuring the line or replacing 'words' with something like 'things'.


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 am 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

Whilst it's generally a bit clunky and could do with another look through to tighten up wording and syntax, the message is strong, and though it risks being too preachy, I think it works well.


More to come later!

 

[Grey]

Pretent We're Right Again
-snip-.

There are some lovely lines in here, but I can tell you wrote it before you went to sleep. A little bit tighter and it could be really, really good (for what that's worth to you ). I think the first part jars with the second - is it intentional? I quite like the second part.

@SkyGinge[/URL]


For my part, I actually thought Jaysun's poem was more resigned than preachy - the first couple of stanzas read more like denial when you get to the end, you know? There's a trope, I believe - the Straw Cynic?


Also, thanks for the feedback!


All I have to say about Dusk's is that I want to see the rest.

[/SPOILER]