Cirrus' poetry thread

[Minish]

Isn't that just the most imaginative thread title I could come up with.

I don't pretend to know much of the technical aspects of poetry writing, nor do I have much experience. Really, I just use it as a way of concentrating random thoughts and bits of muse. Gentle constructive criticism would be marvellous, if anyone would be so kind. :) Will be updated whenever I write something new.

(Be aware that nearly everything I write is very, very personal. If anyone wants to ask where the idea for something came from, feel free to ask!)

Written recently:

LUGHNASADH MORNING

Bring me a warrior's tongue,
So that I might learn to speak.
Two fingers tied with a wolf's hair, coarse
Not a sword arm, broad; I sent them back.

Ears of heaven talk of gunshot dreams,
And of sharp footfalls by dun-soul strangers.
Tumbling, saffron flames, bright, bold
Stories sold of old haunts and dog days past.

Eyes of earth plucked in a sooty birth,
Live to see rolling landscapes of rainbow worlds.
Soily skin of fellows, burnt
The plastic sheen of soft-hide foes.

Not even feet or hands carved by a sun's mastery,
Nor moon's sea-stuff orchestra or a fruit farmer's harvest.
Bring me a warrior's tongue,
So that I might learn to speak.

STARRY

lay down
give me your sweet smile, be isolated
it comes out best then
pale arms, spinning
the colours i wear are that
of your night-sky eyes

i want to revise you
no, i want to revise the rules
you said i never could
one day i'll lay them out for you, and
and, and you'll realise, how far i'll f-fall
just to find your heart.

 

[Teh Ebil Snorlax]

I know that it's technically correct, but the fact that you use that particular Old Irish spelling of Lúghnasa irks me. It's always annoyed me because in Irish phonetics, it would change the pronunciation from LOO-na-sa to LOO-na-suck. Also, the absence of the fada (the slanted line over the u) is first degree murder of the Irish language. In my book, there are only two things worse than leaving out fadas that one can do to Irish; pronounce words as they are spelt (LUG-na-sa in particular makes my blood boil) and pronounce Bealtaine (BYOWL-ta-na) as bel-TAIN (because that's not even pronouncing it as it's spelt).

I'm far too exhausted to do a proper critique of the poems right now but you can expect one in the next couple of days.

 

[Minish]

I know that it's technically correct, but the fact that you use that particular Old Irish spelling of Lúghnasa irks me. It's always annoyed me because in Irish phonetics, it would change the pronunciation from LOO-na-sa to LOO-na-sig. Also, the absence of the fada (the slanted line over the u) is first degree murder of the Irish language. In my book, there are only two things worse than leaving out fadas that one can do to Irish; pronounce words as they are spelt (LUG-na-sa in particular makes my blood boil) and pronounce Bealtaine (BYOWL-ta-na) as bel-TAIN (because that's not even pronouncing it as it's spelt).

I'm far too exhausted to do a proper critique of the poems right now but you can expect one in the next couple of days.

Really? I've heard that the Old Irish is either Lughnasa, Lughnasadh, Lughnasad or Lughnassadh, with no fada. I thought the fada was a feature only in the modern Irish word? And don't worry, I've always pronounced them right, at least. :P

Thank you, I'll look forward to it!

 

[Teh Ebil Snorlax]

Well, strictly speaking, the fada was created in order to write Irish using the Latin alphabet, in the original Irish alphabet, Ogham, the letter was dotted. But since Ogham was an alphabet made up entirely of lines inclined at different angles and bunched together, it's much simpler to write Irish in the Latin alphabet.

 

[Minish]

BLUE SKIES

caught between a glance, and he steps out
a little to grace the curb-
it shows on his face, blank and empty reception.
virga on their shoulders, because it falls always
to reach a lower oblivion.

raise a hand, with frozen muscles
surging to a snapping finish-
but it curls around the umbrella's stem.
-draw!- and they do, because how can they not
keep from falling too far?

a glance upwards is all, it would take
just a glance. but a glance they can't spare.
under blue skies, clear, clear
they walk with their umbrellas.

 

[Minish]

CORNFLOWER

patter.
a loud glimpse
a shadowing eclipse of the sharpest, pointed cornflower, with-
with-
stop. pull.
a frame; darkest border. ink stains. space.

crushed dust, shallow water
reflect
to make a single line

space.
a quiet hum
a carved expanse, pale and pointed branches to hold my earth, to-
to-
fall. fall?
turn; but followed. burnt. soothed.
and with the bittersweet promise of more.

Probably not going to make any sense to anyone but the person it was written for/about, who is not here.

 

[Minish]

TO YOU OF THE WATER

you of the water,
more nameless than you'd like, vaster than you'd hope
and with your divisions
not sweet or rosy; saline,

incendiary sun lighting on your many, glittering bays, or,
as you would prefer,
a social coast choosing when to curl around ankles,
you of the water,
with your divisions,
allow them to see your breathing horizon,

i will be good enough

because i see each ocean's depth

and i see yours

their faces shine on your water,
and they send boats to conquer your roads,
i may fall as your rain,
each gentle droplet as my ambassador,

and i wait for the moment,
single snatch of time,
when i break the surface,
and i become your rhyme.

One of my most disjointed yet... I know.

Any thoughts? :')

 

[Minish]

NEEDLES

cut your heart out and make you cry
stick a needle through your eye;
yes, needles, with their familiar blunt-blunt-blunt beat
i know them
i know them well
i know them, well.

never doubt i've fallen too
but solitude will not go lonely again, oh not again!
shatter it up like an empty-empty-empty-empty train...
one too far
one too far again
again and again and again

but if you make me die

make me die

i'll cut your heart out and make you cry.
i have the means and i have the ways and i-
i'll stick a needle through your eye,
if you cut my heart out and make me die.

A little Emilie Autumn-inspired.

 

[Chief Zackrai]

That's really good, but I would cut off the repeated words by one each, in the first and second stanzas. The last ones sound... out of place.

So my recommendation is to have those lines say

"yes, needles, with their familiar blunt-blunt beat"

and

"shatter it up like an empty-empty-empty train..."

but, what would I know...

Anyway, I would read this poetry book.

 

[Minish]

Thank you! Now that I look at it, you're probably right, it does look better that way. I don't like changing poems after finishing them (is it just me who feels weird doing that?) but I'll keep it in mind.

Thank you very much for your feedback by the way! :D

Another one, a short one- tried for a more defined style this time rather than my usual vague structure.

TRAVELLER

scattered flowers, pink and stone soft green
and the darkest, lightest, brightest, white-
they pass from one
garden to the next
like the turning of a leaf, of a quiet dusky sleeper.

an unexplored paradise, left behind to sit
and the hardest, kindest, peaceful, smile-
and the winds shift
slowly to the east
only to greet the new dawn, the shortest time, and ever.

 

[Chief Zackrai]

I LOVE YOUR POETRY!

But really, it's nice. The only thing I could find is that "garden" I think should be the last word on the line above it. Rhythmic nonsense, and all. Oh! and reading it again, do the same thing with "slowly".

It's weird, I can edit poetry really easy, but I suck at actually writing it.

(so yes, if you're wondering, I am now basically going to "troll" this thread because of your epic poetry.)

 

[Sandstone-Shadow]

I don't like changing poems after finishing them (is it just me who feels weird doing that?) but I'll keep it in mind.

I feel the same for some reason. It's like editing an old feeling or something; any time I revise a poem, I need to keep the original copy somewhere or it feels wrong. But of course I do that anyway.

I like the sound effects used in Needles, especially the repetition of "I know them well" with the additional words and additional comma. I don't have time to read everything right now, but I like your poetry so far. =)

 

[opaltiger]

I was going to say Needles bothers me because of the feel of stereotypical teenage poetry it has to it, but on second reading it's got something of an ironical touch on that going on, which is quite good. Not capitalising, I admit, does bother me a little.

i know them
i know them well
i know them, well.

I really like this bit; it reminds me of Eliot's "that is not what I meant, at all/that is not it, at all" in the way you repeat the same thing in subtly different ways.

scattered flowers, pink and stone soft green
and the darkest, lightest, brightest, white-
they pass from one
garden to the next
like the turning of a leaf, of a quiet dusky sleeper.

... and this bit reminds me of Burnt Norton. You said you don't like changing poems after the fact, and I understand that, but I have a suggestion anyway. It might be a bit idiosyncratic of me, but I think the last line would be better as "like the turning of a leaf, or of a quiet dusky sleeper".

I'm not that good at critiquing poetry, but I suspect being reminded of Eliot is very much a good sign. :P

 

[Minish]

@Chief Zackrai: Thank you again! You might be right, "to the next" and "to the east" have much better rhythmic flow... not sure on that one, I like my original way as well.

And ahah, I don't mind at all, any feedback or any readers at all make me feel positively overjoyed. :D

@Sandstone-Shadow: Thank you! I enjoyed writing Needles, I liked how the repetition turned out. I don't tend to pay that much attention to what I write, so it's almost like I just wait to see how something turns out. That's probably a sign that I should learn how to make myself edit them... but really, unless I wanted to publish poetry or something in the future I don't much see the point in editing ones I've already made.

@opaltiger: Ahah, thank you; don't worry, I cringed when I first read Needles over. I can see how not capitalising would bother you; for most poems I do it, but for some it just feels better to not capitalise.

That is indeed very much a good sign, and I'm very, very flattered that you should have been reminded of Eliot. o-o You might be right about the "quiet dusky sleeper" line; while I might not change it I'll still keep it in mind for when writing similar lines in the future. Although, when I wrote it, it was like I was trying to imply the leaf and the quiet dusky sleeper were both turning, and were one and the same there, so I'm not sure if adding "or" would work. If that makes sense.

Thank you for all your feedback, guys, you have no idea how much it means. :) Thank you!

Some more that I've written recently; I'm not sure how I feel about them, they're definitely not my favourites of what I've written (my favourites being "Blue Skies" and "Cornflower" which I feel are my best), but it takes all kinds. They're both based very specifically on things that don't relate to me, so that might be why I feel odd about them.

...this was a massive post, I feel slightly ashamed.

YOUR FORGOTTEN STREETS

The door chimes in unison, with a sordid beat
Not there, but could have been, or imagined.
Jams, momentarily, until peace is recollected by a step
Evanescent in its pace, a soft scuff on the tilted stone.
The huddled figure is one of many, with rat's tails
And gleaming skin, a ghost amongst a dying choir.

Walks, steadily, turns, readily, giving a gaze
To each who asks for one, though they would have more.
A cure for a forgotten ailment, if only temporarily...
The dancers beautiful, with their raised and clasped hands.
Blank faces betray a torment, irretrievable, lost-
An irretrievable and lost torment; lament, lament...

Lament, lament, oh, can you spare a sad, uncertain song?
Lament...

MISS MACKENZIE

step, and bearing a hard-bitten smile
flickering, unsure like a spring-sent flower
creeping under a cloud's shadow, giddiest—

step, and the boots tame the walk
curtailed, shown like a firm lesson
gripping as a gentle hand, fondest—

cut to rain,
and an umbrella, those same boots
letting the walk quiver under brittle legs.
weather-streaked leaves, stop to lean,
fence holding weight, telling of choices
and a decision to make, to find and take.

breathe, step, and blinking back unsteady tears
quivering, speak of a fading half-hearted promise
turning to find that unforgotten one, breathe—
breathe—

 

[Minish]

Not sure if I like these ones. Done using single word prompts (the first was "branded", the second "mockingbird") which might explain why they have a different... feel?

BRANDED

Sanctity drips off me like a hot day sheen
Tell me, is your borrowed gaze a gift?
There is a willow where I can sometimes sit
Curled like a flower, a revelrous bitch.

I have been branded a liar
To be true, to be fair, I took it with soft doe's eyes,
But a dagger is poised, always,
As my truth has been folded and put away for better times.

I have been branded a fool
To be witty, to be fair, I took it with soft doe's eyes,
A silver-silver-silver sharp snap
My mind has been twisted, my heart, a prologue to knives.

Knives, knives, knives
A prologue
Brand me again,

Again;

I have been branded
Brand me again?

FIELD

Spinning, a circlet of marigolds, placed
to ground a brow needing no adornment.
And, a silken, sweet hold for her, tumbles and falls,
hidden by handfuls and reams of her pride,
golden and tawny, as a veil or some artless waterfall.

Glances, a shy curl in her mouth, daring
to see always what is evasive.
What is hidden and worthy of her imitation,
perhaps that she can escape her world of wheat,
which snaps to the touch, or bends in graceful compliance.

Fluttering, a certain chatter, underlying,
to her sentimental work and laughter.
That which feeds her adverse amusement,
meaning so little to whoever who underappreciates,
sees not the love in her eyes, the hospitable knowing.

For, she sees. When she speaks—
She knows.
And there is not a single desperate soul who can touch her.


She is forever safe.

 

[Minish]

There are a few lines I don't like in this one, but I had to get all the imagery down.
In fact, I'm not that fond of it. Not much like my usual style.

PERSISTENCE

harrowing whispers, they betray me.
they betray your intent
they stick to me.

rain, once friendly, a piece of trouble.
soil, once adored, a cur
jagged.

your lies are ignoble
they smash against my fragile shoulders
you know all my weak points.

i run but you push, you
you push against me, break through,
and it feels,
hm.

what am i to feel emotions?
who am i to have bought this dread?
i give it back, i give it back,
take it.

i burst free
like a lemon-heart butterfly,
back to an ugly, beautiful, world,
my world.

 

[Minish]

Now, I like this one. Rather personal.

Wisteria/Temporary
(having to link because it has odd spacing that doesn't seem to work in quotes)

 

[Minish]

DUAL

a silky, gentle, lumbering prosody
to curl around the world.
shines—
shines as a star-encrusted curtain
close with night, and opens with truth,
to hide the eyes of the earth.
drips with ozone blood, worlds beyond,
to hide the eyes of the earth,
which blink and swell, pulse,

pulse, and its hands rise and spread
ominous branches, rich and stiff, seeking,
snapping, pulse, and its hands grow twigs
which walk and talk. can breathe.
pulse,

cross-breed, to form new buds in new places
perfect combination,
perfect combination, and
lean back to stare at the sky, finding holes
where holes should not be. problem.

across fallen skies, rainfall games,
impatience allows footprints across
that heart of the world, the earth,

two minds working to a most mechanical point.
pulse, pulse, a chance creation,
split into dual souls to dance in time, apart,
a glassy pavane

holes above stretch, rip, earth grows tired
overthrow the world.
a chance, chance creation—

two beating hearts, living as one,
two— two bodies—
two to one, a glance, a rush,

beat, beat
pulse.

snap.
snap—


head falls, brain, alike in strength, crush,
c-crushed and a voice falls, unheard, steam,

blood, blood on dry ground,
earth pulses to snatch it, desperate to reclaim
sew the holes, greedy,
fixed

dark hearts, two, to one— one—
swallowed, twisted, eaten,

pulse.

pulse.


balance, restored.

This is actually based on a very personal concept of a friend of mine; the basics are that everyone in the world has someone else who is basically the same as them, has all the same thoughts, feelings, and is really just part of the same entity.

I decided to run with the idea of them meeting by chance. Believe me, her idea was a lot more violent and horrible than mine...

(it's on my dA and actually has the original linespacing there!)

 

[Minish]

TO BE ASHES

A certain kind of sweetest entropy
Bitter, bitter to my half-empty tongue
Holy hand, draw it down, I writhe
Do you not see me squirm?

Like a clattering snake, and I burn
Inside myself, with acid, curling eagerly over me, like a coat.
Wear a coat – you'll catch your death
Thrill me with the beating, the glorious–

I peer out into unbroken night, and I long
To be a part of that fierce falling, a choir of souls, smashing.
I want–

Do you remember? How I could never light a candle
I could not bear to see a flame held captive
If I see a flame again
I fear I might set it free.
If only to dance with it. And out of my ashes,
Light me a candle. Catch me.

It looks totally, totally wrong without the proper linespacing, which I assume doesn't work with BBCode. Anyone know how to fix it? :C
Pleeeease go see it at my dA, in its original form.

 

[Minish]

THIS CITY

in a crowded city, with crude lines, with squares
to stand in, and gossip.
where a pigeon creeps, with idle dowry, with airs
and graces more; do they not remember the dove in their mothers?
you sit and sway, and bat your eyes
and hope they see, but all walk past
and you stay forgotten—
alone,
but loved.

shapes and praises swing above you, around you
like a curtain, or perhaps a cradle.
all who see you want to know you, grey eyes
an offence to your hazy own.

in your nook you write your stories,
and in the soft shine of new worlds, casting shadows,
when shadows are friends,
and in the harsh birth of scratched words, casting shadows,
when shadows are enemies, who betray
with sickening
glowering
intent.

you sing to ears turned in- and don't fear,
and in the sordid curl of hushed whirls, casting shadows
when shadows are...
and latent pearls, hidden, veiled, casting shadows
when s-shadows are


around your neck beats a lynx, lofty, perfectly in time
to your own feline nature,
grace and pretention to make your name.
a willow smiles in a show of humility,
and you,
desperate for an oasis,
follow its path, and through it all, i see
with my own eyes...
the soft fawn, the soft fawn,
your eyes suddenly wine-purple,
round like berries, for you to tumble away into the briar,

to freedom.

Again, linespacing isn't theeeeeeeere this makes me sad ;~;
Original form!