Just a lil' bit.

[Clockwork Star]

Decided to post a bit here and get used to the forum before really dipping my toes into the site's namesake.


Sleep


Sleep always finds me


No matter how long I'm lost.


One day I'll stay found.


On Happiness


Happiness is an


interesting way to see


who you think you are.


The Nature of Serenity


A Storm's eye is calm


Because it knows true chaos


We are all weathered


An Old Memory


The sun splintered off like a spider-web


A sweet sunset for two sets of prints left


Behind them a divine sent wonder


Their hands intertwined, this pair of lovers


Their heads to turn each other as the sea sprays


A gentle mist from waves accenting the sun rays


Bright smiles and sea drowned laughs


No thoughts to the future, or the past


As a single silhouette, their image does greet


A pair of sparrow mates who candidly tweet


And slowly they separate, arms connected


Shadows dancing on newly erected


Castles whose kings had long gone


Preparing for bed, awaiting kisses from mom


Just as sweetly the waves greet the shore


A playful peck and nothing more


An eternity of love eroding, as most things might


The couple may fight, but it doesn't cross their mind


No, not this time. Just each other, the sea and the sun


Salty air made sweet as they make use of their tongues


Not explicitly, just affectionate simplicity


A memory so wonderful is oft worth revisiting


My Home


I've been living in a secluded home


It's at the top of a hill where none dare roam.


The grass is well kept, the windows all washed.


The paint is slightly chipped, from wind's unmitigated slosh.


The yard is empty, save for one tree;


on which, hangs an unused tire swing.


The door is made of steel, lined with many locks.


The foyer is dim, littered with broken clocks.


Unfinished paintings of various landscapes,


await their final touch, leaning against dusty walls; the wood scraped


in angry patterns graffiti'd without pause.


Cob webs collect in most of the rooms.


The sink stacked, waiting a scrub sometime soon.


The dining table set, as if expecting company.


Small spiders dance underneath the chairs, a crawly cacophony.


There is no television set, just piles of unfinished books.


Literature hiding, broken sighing in their nooks.


Upstairs one light remains on, inside the room I stand.


Here, but far gone. The walls are covered in words most won't understand.


Written by me, though I hold naught but memories in my hand.


The other rooms are empty, the basement cold and bleak.


I retire there most often, when I finally grow too weak.


In the attic rests my addictions, ambitions and my pride.


Perhaps one day I'll take a peek inside.


Perhaps one day, too, I might finally have a guest.


Until then I'll sit inside my room, thoughts oozing from my chest.


Flowers


I've been pickin' flowers for a friend's funeral


It's sorta a foreign feeling, but morbidly beautiful


Still, it's no use to know the noose that holds


the flowers close and truly hopes to please the soul


That passed away by killing beauty just to lay it so


upon the grave of one that can't be saved


So they might die like what's inside. I wonder often


is the coffin to protect death from life?


All irony aside, thoughts like these breeze through my mind at the worst of times


Like a laugh escapes at a wake


And people judge like the loved one lost wouldn't want.


With late lilies laid out, and plucked poppies too. My love I will always remember you


I thought to myself as I stared at the silk, arms folded just a flower made to wilt.


I return to the earth to find solace in the silent and the still.

 

[Clockwork Star]

Any feedback is appreciated.


chicken wire cuts


sovereign freedom held in solemn credence


plague dogs on all pause 'cuz what feeds them


ain't hands, but metal claws; flesh fleeting


labored breathing as best those bolts know how,


so proud of union paid strangulated sounds,


on the grounds of soured prowess loudest laughs drown,


the phoenix birth of diluted self worth,


the grey skies try to wring out ash, futile-y,


brutally the gas mask man made tracks foolishly,


root bookish truths cuz winners make the rules,


fruitfully destruction breeds a caution unknown,


global togetherness brought home in a paper bag,


contents thrown in the road when the throne is betrothed,


and the former king of peace is disrobed,


this alien probed sense of dystrophy cold like,


desensitized nurses hands in a mental ward,


nail the bored to a wall and scrawl arrows claiming fault


assault in the insulted wounds like miscarried wombs,


glass people shouldn't stand between a rock and a hard place,


talk with an odd face, but say things loudly, founding,


enough cynical roosts to coop the pigeons up,


only old ones have chicken wire cuts,


they don't even fight the clipped wings,


nothing volatile left to erupt.


Let It Go


A simple illustration placed in between the vagrant satyrs, hunger sated in a semi-similar stasis. Traces of soul left on their thin, dark lips, kisses of death, their breath slowly slipped. The juxtaposed artwork garnered neither gaze nor pause, it was lost among the statues, not an iota accrued of loss. Gentle little leafs brushing sweetly at the ground, unfounded judgments cast upon the environ all around. Crows gathered in murders, herds of heedless caws embossed among the stone work, shawls of crisp snow gathering on the shoulders, unanswered prayers of devil creatures, orbs of onyx gazing the landscape's lonely features. A single tree, dead limbs in all the ether, either frozen olden reaper free to be in seizure.


Coffee and Nicotine


Listen to the birds chirp a coarse staccato chorus


Against wind chimes and exhalations of the forest


The sordid seafaring fathers of fishermen


Plucking dense chords of contemplation and reflection


Under the clouded sky's sun insurrection.


Like cloudy-eyed introspection meant to lessen


The weight of the world, but only serving


To give a more lucid selection of unanswered questions


Left in sections of ideas meant to prevent the capsize


Prophesied by Aaliya. May all souls rest in peace;


heroes and enemies in tandem to say the least.


And not an ounce of love when shared has gone to waste


To see the sweet smile upon her face. To kiss the stress away.

Spoiler

Scott Free


An awful lot of lawful scotch has knocked a notch off an otherwise scot free tot


A spot of croc drops locked in not-needed memories splotch a whiskey bot-


Um , please stop. This is not the room you're lookin' for, caught like rot


In a severed idle hand, God's plan is strange at best for man. We're not big fans.


The big man stands at what has to be hyperbolic, or whatever you call it.


Tails up, lucks out, don't yell now or bite down. The slightest sound will bring down


a wire for the jaw, but bruises heal. This won't. A sacred trust broke


The yoke of this joke spoke as the only thing over sobs with such a bitter taste.


A whisper-scream forced promise to take this to his wake. Can that be honored with honesty?


Honestly it seems to be followed with demonic things, like little kids that grow up with no trust.


Rust-colored paintings, making themselves available play-things, fear and self-hating,


beer and lack of peace making, hands quaking, chest caving, and scab saving.


Pulled off too early though enough to restart the blood flow, stunted growth, some needle-nose


action. Marks of traction lost between footsteps caught in old snares.


A rope around the elephant's foot. Too scared to sever the lies,


She had nothing left she severed her thighs, and a neck line - carotid sight, broken hope


life was a noose and poppa tied the rope. He had one, but his mom didn't tie tight enough to choke.

 

[Grey]

It'll take me a while to work through these, but I liked The Nature of Serenity. There's not much criticism to give there - it's fine little piece.


Scott Free is potent stuff. A subject worth facing, and I find your choice of structure interesting - it's reminiscent of slam poetry or even rap. Was that pointed, or comfortable? Some really elegant wording and metaphors in here.


An Old Memory feels really confused until the last stanza (insofar as it has such delineations).


My Home has some odd word choices and the rhyme is muddled. You could use that, with some tweaks, or remove it entirely.


Flowers is... odd. It's very bald in content and intention, but the language is more flowery (pardon me) than feels right. I don't often refer to something as pretentious, but....


chicken wire cuts is great. Damn fine piece of slam poetry. Immediate, evocative, lyrical.


Let It Go is impenetrable to me. I feel like I'm missing some required context.


Coffee and Nicotine I like, but it feels rather clumsy in places - overwrought, even. Still pleasing to read.


I may change my mind or have more to say in some hours, after thinking on them and re-reading a bit.

 

[Clockwork Star]

Thanks so much for the feedback, honestly. I posted it expecting no one to really even glance at it. Hah.


It was entirely comfortable in that slam/rap style, that's how I write best - I think, anyway. I am much less of a traditional poet. I wrote that one relatively quickly compared to say, My Home or An Old Memory. And, honestly, besides a supply of haikus (I do those when I get bored like, some people scribble in margins, I write haikus), probably the only poems I have in my catalog that I've tried to do in a more reserved fashion. Well, I consider it to be reserved, my sister would call it disciplined.


While writing stuff like that I have a tendency to imagine it spoken so the words flow much differently in my head and on my lips than I think they do for other people.


I'm not offended (pinky promise), but why do you think Flowers is pretentious?


Let it Go is, honestly, just a fractal of something else entirely. It's an unfinished piece of work, but there's no real...meaning or anything to it, it was something I wrote in a waiting room on my phone and I just wanted to paint a scene with it. I think it is, likely, the most face value of the bunch and it's - as are most of these - something I consider practice. Haha. I'm not sure what possessed me to post it, I do like pieces of it.


I am really, really glad you liked chicken wire cuts - I think that's the piece I'm most proud of out of the bunch.


Again, thank you so much for the feedback I have gotten very over the course of years and I do sincerely appreciate your honest opinions.

 

[Grey]

No worries, I know that feeling - I've got a stack of poetry on here somewhere and useful feedback is painfully rare.


Do you reckon you over-thought the others, as opposed to the very natural rhythm and wording of chicken wire cuts? I personally think that more traditional poetry require genuine study (so I only consider myself a dabbler, not a poet), and that's not for everyone - especially when you've got work with that much impact through near-instinct.


Flowers struck me that way because... Hm, it's worded like something with depth, but the content is sophomore philosophy. I feel like you're detracting from the poignancy of the scene by complicating the language, but not employing much metaphor.


I understand what you mean about Let It Go - I've got some similar, stream-of-consciousness vignettes like that.


I hope I've been helpful - I seem to come across as the dread Minotaur of this subforum because some people respond poorly to criticism.

 

[Clockwork Star]

I don't think you're the "dread Minotaur" one little bit, I was really excited to see anyone respond. I've posted some of these pieces on similar forums (even asking for criticism) and got nothing but crickets.


I agree. I mean, the pieces I could annotate with odd references are, actually, the ones that I had to try the least on. So, yeah, I think I completely over-thought the pieces I was trying to sell as "traditional poetry". I grew up listening to hip-hop and my avatar is actually one of my favorite rappers/essayists/poets (she does all three in their own capacities).


My love for poetry is kind of shallow and almost just a stepping point because, really, I write words meant for music accompaniment. And I don't fancy myself a poet either, that's just the easiest to explain? Haha.


And as for Flowers that does make a lot of sense. I remember writing it and having no real direction, I just tacked on the end like "Yeah, I was dead the whole time. Deal with it."


A lot of this writing, for me, is just...if I can get one little line or even one rhyme that I like a lot out of it then I'm really happy, but I don't want them to waste away either. Here's another I wasn't really sure if I should post or not, but it's another rap/poetry bastardization and I'm curious to see if you think it's somewhere in the middle.


Craving


My attention span is waning.


I'm regressing, I am straining.


Good things happen, not complaining.


Just saying, what am I saving?


In fields of paradise, razing.


Plaguing, I am a play thing.


Broken glass mirror, still shaving.


Choking back fear or just scathing


self-hatred, fated; mind is caving.


Elated is vagrant, claustrophobic baying


In and out of craving, raving.


Lunacy soon-to-be turned craven.


Caught on a beach, life isn't waving


astral introspection, meta-planing.


Constraining, aching, fading, shaking


blaming, aging training, splaying


jading thoughts, I'm lost and angry.


Crazy is a cliché, insanity gracing


little bracing spaces pacing


on intricate finger paintings.


My outline is traced or tracing,


no inkling of inking or acing.


Spacing in and out of safety.


Heart doesn't know slow, only racing.

 

[Grey]

Oh, who are they? I follow Button Poetry so they look a bit familiar.


Hmm, that's interesting - starts out strong, becomes like free-association, then you seem to really hit your stride at 'Crazy is a cliché', That middle section is kind of a muddle but I see that as intentional, so it just gains an impressive energy on stage.

Spoiler

Also I threw up this lot and would be grateful for your thoughts.

 

[Clockwork Star]

Dessa Darling is her stage name, she started out doing spoken word before she rapped, but she has a couple books of written poetry out as well and I read them probably the same way a stalker uses binoculars. But hopefully less...creepy. At any rate.


Yeah, it's definitely meant to be muddied or grunge-y, for lack of a better term. I'm pretty grunge and punk-inspired, too. At least, that's how I feel - I never know how I actually sound. Haha.


Thanks so much for the back and forth. Again, I hardly get feedback outside of friends that just, y'know, CAN'T provide this kind of criticism. And if you wouldn't mind posting a link to yours, I'd like to give your stuff a read, too - though, I don't know how much help I can be critic-wise.

 

[Grey]

There's a link in the spoiler there, in fact. It's fun to discuss this stuff.


http://www.rpnation.com/threads/a-modest-collection.47575/

 

[Clockwork Star]

Oh, hah. I am not used to the aesthetics of this site just yet. Thank you for the link. 
Here's a poem I couldn't just copy and paste, it's another in the vein of traditional poetry, but it's a concrete poem:

 

[Clockwork Star]

Cardiac Confessions


My cardiac was arrested with some cardiac depression


There's a mess inside my chest just begging to be lessened


I invested in broken coping mechanisms and ego despotism


Salt-rusted arteries start to leave coalesced impressions


Reacting to a message burned in my flesh unhesitant


The confidence of matches matched only with my evanescence


Ghost-like trying hard just to hold tight inside effervescence


Unimpressed face death breathless less effort just...


Hectic mind's eye pries open poisoned trust and hope eloping.


I find blindness soothing against deep-rooted repose groping.


Eyes closed, knees froze back open to shadow-self garroting.


Two choices: Hide or fight back, find light or die choking.


Chose to riposte and go for the goat's throat, warm up a cold soul


Fuck giving up the ghost, though, hope in the thousands


Pull my head out of ass-shaped clouds, feet grounded.


Erase self-pity with some spotty confidence; confounding.


Make a safe place on dry land, sun-baked, no more tear-drowning.


Regulate self-talk, eliminate hatred of self taught with shellshock


Caught in a place unfamiliar where old triggers lead to new spots


True freedom without a filter, like feeling one's blood un-clot.


Erase zealot-fed parts, replace with art-filled life and love lots.


My Disease


Through sanguine flavored looking glass the view's askew, obtuse and muddied fact


tracked through the house and infectious like a game of cat and mouse


confections line the crooked brick work, trails of ant-fed Antwerp, jewel of the liger's eye


something so corrupt was born to die, died to live, a cage ain't cohesive with exist


a savored sweet fang masks a shark toothed grin, lobo in the sheep-shaped blanket


begging Bo to guide them in. Tragedy of nature is that it balances. Delicate.


Cycles of a burning bridge, destroy rebuild we have forests fuck emulsion bids.


Sunken eyes and sewn up lids, there's not much of it to get. You got it? Good.


The train will leave this neighborhood, city bound. Like it or not.


Graveyard meet hole of fox. Trot on by, sewing needles in his eyes.


Sees what he did when he learned not to question kin, dead a kid. Dedicated masochist, self-destruct


this empty box of cigs. What's in this for me? Fuck salvation I think I'll watch TV


Don't unplug my oxygen please and leave the medication on the table,


opiates never hurt anyone before. Dying is obviously better than being bored, nailed it.


Mail proof of purchases receive my death and still be unsure of what I did to deserve this.


Guilty, wordy and lurid. I'm unsolved. Thought through worry so I'd see it all evolve,


now I can't wipe the crimson off my paws, the putrid stench I sought under all my claws


focus on the past, never find the cause, die a blemish wrapped up in gauze


a century later they unwrap and they spot the fault. Worry lines replace the laugh and the last feet


attached were the crow's on the mask. Smell like death, far past primitive, when survival isn't objective


we find our own predators to hunt us, swift. Become what you fear, it's like a gift,


shift from perception of Plato's cave, the light outside is far too blinding to be saved.


Modern paradox of life like dolls all in a row, matching clichés and pill bottles


Who bothers to solve problems with the promise of distraction is better than the action


it would take to embrace steps to satisfaction? Traction marks glow in the darkest hearts,


woven abodes with darkest arts, placate a farce and snarf the pre-marked tarts


like "Eat me please help me spread my disease." Rebuild, Destroy, like land and sea Pangaea seizures


lead to these lives apart. 39 thieves like all my sleeves are made of tricks, this burning wick


is all my hopes and fever dreams. No need to sweat it out I'll cool off with some self-doubt


and surround self with all exemplary archetype of instant gratification, temp elation.


Sins for sentience, better not behave 'cuz someone else will save the Census.

 

[Grey]

Hurm. Having a think about these ones.

 

[Clockwork Star]

Your imagined furrowed brow is worrisome, though I think I'll remove Headlights because it's really, really not ready for anyone to look at it. I need to quit posting things when I'm exhausted.

 

[Clockwork Star]

The little pin pricks


That line your heart are left from


When you felt alive


In my dreams she leaves


Relief mixes with the pain


"I get to see her"


What is left of me?


A little bit of spilled milk


Can't wait to dry up


Your blood rolled in such


Beautiful ways I could not


Keep myself from this 
I know this stuff is probably pretty boring for other people to pour through, but here's one hot off the presses. Lacking of title and full of embellishments.


I've been the worst person I've known and maybe I've grown


But I'm still alone at home and when I zone out I'm torn by how


When I speak out loud of my mistakes they flake away as if to say


This is all I'll be today, tomorrow is another ray a mote of dust


A bit of rust to erode the trust I lust after, screeching raptor


In my head seems to mean I dream of death when she leaves me


For the thousandth time inside my mind trying to lie to myself


Becomes an outlet for my health an expression of my wealth


Is a zero wrapped in warped wire with wit withheld, in hell


The flames take the shape of lovers past and love that didn't last


and the light bleeds from the ceiling with a deadened grasp


A dead end laugh for those that wrap their limbs around me


like I'm less than a barbed wire graft on the skin when I dig in


And the warmth they feel is the blood they've lost and endorphins


caught in the rush of the brush with false starts and stops


Of the heart I caught in the snare I wrought


And I reap to the beat of the scare I brought


To the brink of relief to think I'm not


Lost in a Hoth or a hearth of rot


A plot of earth so soft, forsook by God


A dog her brittle jaw broke half-off


I'm just a bitch that's rich on loss


Lived off less, my head's a mess


And in my chest there is no rest


Death of pride. I have lied, I'm the fire


The needles clean themselves inside