Reply Tue 1 Jun, 2010 06:04 am
Rather than make a new thread everytime I want to share a piece of writing, I thought I should just make a thread that everything can go in.

So, following the natural theme I have written in previously, I have a new poem.


As always, feedback is very welcome. Thanks Smile

-----------------------------------------------

Plenty more...

This cool, damp wood is my deathbed:
'Too young these, throw 'em back,' he said.
I fought the inevitable, fruitless fight;
I flapped my tail with all my might:
What a silly, pitiful sight.

Now, I resist slipping into a dream,
No matter how enticing it may seem.
The men's shouts keep me awake;
I refuse to die for their sake:
My own future is what I'll make.

They'll throw me back when they're done
Reaping the rewards of grandpa and his son.
They don't care a thought for me
Because there's plenty more fish in the sea.

-
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Fido
 
  1  
Reply Tue 1 Jun, 2010 08:19 am
@Transcend,
I hate rhymes... it is inevitable that words some times rhyme...If poetry will be philosophy it must tell truth and there is little true that rhymes... If poetry would be fate, and that is sort of its original meaning, of a curse; then let it rhyme... and trust me, that rhymes are a curse to cultured ears if for no other reason than that the thought of the mind is bent into a lie for the sake of a sound...
Transcend
 
  1  
Reply Tue 1 Jun, 2010 08:37 am
@Fido,
Fido;171719 wrote:
I hate rhymes... it is inevitable that words some times rhyme...If poetry will be philosophy it must tell truth and there is little true that rhymes... If poetry would be fate, and that is sort of its original meaning, of a curse; then let it rhyme... and trust me, that rhymes are a curse to cultured ears if for no other reason than that the thought of the mind is bent into a lie for the sake of a sound...


I'm not entirely sure what you're getting at. 'There is little true that rhymes' - it's odd that you would say that it's the rhyme that doesn't make this believeable rather than the anthropomorphic fish. Maybe you could expand?
Transcend
 
  1  
Reply Fri 4 Jun, 2010 09:33 am
@Transcend,
I've written the beginnings of what may become a short story. I've had the idea for a while, after a particularly peculiar dream. Criticism is good!! Smile

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

So there I was: slowly getting backed into a corner by a bull the size of a small family car. The bull was black, though 'black' doesn't nearly tell the story. As black as a starless, moonless, lightless night, with only immense oceans of sky to stare into. A coat as black as the devil's soul, with eyes to match. Oh, those eyes! In the split second our eyes met, his seemed to pounce on mine and suffocate them like some hideous murderer. Creating a stark contrast to this titanic amount of blackness were the ivory-white horns protruding from its enormous skull. Its nose shimmered as the dim light bounced off it - it was then I realised that the bull was without a ring. 'What could this possibly mean?' was the question that flashed through my mind. A ring, a thick piece of metal the owner crudely pierces a bull's nose with in order to contain its tyrannical potential, was nowhere to be seen. This bull was wild.
I shuffled backwards with my hands open and my palms facing the bull, as though I had been ordered to by a police officer, as he slowly advanced huffing and puffing and swinging his head like a pendulum.
'Okay, okay, think, Berg', I murmured internally.
'Think fast. Fast...I can be fast. No! I have to be fast.'
'There's a good boy' I said thickly before darting to the right of the bull towards the nearest place of refuge: the door to the exit; something I could get trough, but not the bull.
With a quick, almost effortless flick of his head (which I thought un-flick-able), an ivory-white horn caught one of my lagging hands. Caught it with a tear of the skin, relieving my body of, what seemed like, copious amounts of thick crimson-coloured blood and creating a burning sensation that charged ahead of any pain I had ever experienced and left it looking like a dot on the horizon. It also created an adrenaline boost, on top of the already sky-high levels, which put the proverbial pedal to the metal.

Urban-fresh-air hit my face...
mark noble
 
  1  
Reply Fri 4 Jun, 2010 10:22 am
@Transcend,
Hi Transcend,

I'm a poetic author myself, so I hope my critique will be gracefully taken. I like the "Plenty more" poem - It doesn't drone-on needlessly, sum's up well, and leaves a trace of the inevitable in the mind. Well done!
The short story seems to get a little over-descriptive, not a lot, but just enough for a reader to begin to lose interest - if it were to continue for too long into a chapter, that is.

Again - Well done, and keep it up.

Have a great day.

Mark...
Transcend
 
  1  
Reply Fri 4 Jun, 2010 10:32 am
@mark noble,
I agree. I was trying my hand at detailed description as I thought my work was often lacking description. I realised I overdid it in parts. Thanks for the kind words. Smile
0 Replies
 
Fido
 
  1  
Reply Fri 4 Jun, 2010 11:19 am
@Transcend,
Transcend;171724 wrote:
I'm not entirely sure what you're getting at. 'There is little true that rhymes' - it's odd that you would say that it's the rhyme that doesn't make this believeable rather than the anthropomorphic fish. Maybe you could expand?

People bend the truth to fit a certain pattern, the rhyme that is external to the story, when, since rhymes are a thing of childhood's stories, nursury rhymes, they cannot but be seen as childish... If you want to rhyme, sing songs, and there it is expected, and accepted, and mercifully short... Other wise, it is the rythem, or better yet, the true to life flow of emotions that make a good poem... Look at parts of Moby Dick for example... Even Faulkener... Even Hemingway or Joice of an earlier age... Good writing is always poetry... As art is subject it is in great themes that poetry is written, and there it nearly writes itself... Could any of the Illiad or the Bible not be Poetry??? Look at the book of Job, man crushed nearly to death daring to invoke the God who allowed it for some crust of Justice... And what was it to God but some cruel wager??? Do you see; When Faulkener wrote the shortest Chapter I have ever read, saying: My mother is a fish, he said with few words what you said with many, and tied it to the human condition.
Transcend
 
  1  
Reply Fri 4 Jun, 2010 02:15 pm
@Fido,
Fido;172988 wrote:
People bend the truth to fit a certain pattern, the rhyme that is external to the story, when, since rhymes are a thing of childhood's stories, nursury rhymes, they cannot but be seen as childish... If you want to rhyme, sing songs, and there it is expected, and accepted, and mercifully short... Other wise, it is the rythem, or better yet, the true to life flow of emotions that make a good poem... Look at parts of Moby Dick for example... Even Faulkener... Even Hemingway or Joice of an earlier age... Good writing is always poetry... As art is subject it is in great themes that poetry is written, and there it nearly writes itself... Could any of the Illiad or the Bible not be Poetry??? Look at the book of Job, man crushed nearly to death daring to invoke the God who allowed it for some crust of Justice... And what was it to God but some cruel wager??? Do you see; When Faulkener wrote the shortest Chapter I have ever read, saying: My mother is a fish, he said with few words what you said with many, and tied it to the human condition.


I don't think there is any difference between poetry and song. Poetry doesn't have to be rhythmic, doesn't have to rhyme, doesn't have to follow convention. It just is what it is. I just happen to be playing around with rhyme. Also, you defeated your own argument by mentioning people who used rhyme. Thanks, though. Smile
Deckard
 
  1  
Reply Fri 4 Jun, 2010 03:59 pm
@Transcend,
I like rhymes. I think it's best to avoid cliches like "plenty more fish in the sea". The poet might hope that some of her lines might become cliches in the future (e.g. "the road less traveled" or "a rose by any other name") but I find it disappointing when a poet uses an existing cliche. I suppose using a cliche in a poem may have a kind of resonance and can give the cliche a new twist but as a rule I think cliches should be avoided.
Transcend
 
  1  
Reply Fri 4 Jun, 2010 04:09 pm
@Deckard,
Deckard;173089 wrote:
I like rhymes. I think it's best to avoid cliches like "plenty more fish in the sea". The poet might hope that some of her lines might become cliches in the future (e.g. "the road less traveled" or "a rose by any other name") but I find it disappointing when a poet uses an existing cliche. I suppose using a cliche in a poem may have a kind of resonance and can give the cliche a new twist but as a rule I think cliches should be avoided.


The cliche serves a purpose. It was the use of a satirical metaphor on my part.Smile
Deckard
 
  1  
Reply Fri 4 Jun, 2010 04:35 pm
@Transcend,
Transcend;173096 wrote:
The cliche serves a purpose. It was the use of a satirical metaphor on my part.Smile

Well if you think the use of the cliche was warranted that's fine. It is your poem.

Actually, "avoid cliches" was advice that someone gave me a while back. I think it is good advice. Make every line as original and new as you can. Say something that has never been said before.
0 Replies
 
Reconstructo
 
  1  
Reply Fri 4 Jun, 2010 07:38 pm
@Transcend,
Transcend;172974 wrote:
I've written the beginnings of what may become a short story. I've had the idea for a while, after a particularly peculiar dream. Criticism is good!! Smile

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

So there I was: slowly getting backed into a corner by a bull the size of a small family car. The bull was black, though 'black' doesn't nearly tell the story. As black as a starless, moonless, lightless night, with only immense oceans of sky to stare into. A coat as black as the devil's soul, with eyes to match. Oh, those eyes! In the split second our eyes met, his seemed to pounce on mine and suffocate them like some hideous murderer. Creating a stark contrast to this titanic amount of blackness were the ivory-white horns protruding from its enormous skull. Its nose shimmered as the dim light bounced off it - it was then I realised that the bull was without a ring. 'What could this possibly mean?' was the question that flashed through my mind. A ring, a thick piece of metal the owner crudely pierces a bull's nose with in order to contain its tyrannical potential, was nowhere to be seen. This bull was wild.
I shuffled backwards with my hands open and my palms facing the bull, as though I had been ordered to by a police officer, as he slowly advanced huffing and puffing and swinging his head like a pendulum.
'Okay, okay, think, Berg', I murmured internally.
'Think fast. Fast...I can be fast. No! I have to be fast.'
'There's a good boy' I said thickly before darting to the right of the bull towards the nearest place of refuge: the door to the exit; something I could get trough, but not the bull.
With a quick, almost effortless flick of his head (which I thought un-flick-able), an ivory-white horn caught one of my lagging hands. Caught it with a tear of the skin, relieving my body of, what seemed like, copious amounts of thick crimson-coloured blood and creating a burning sensation that charged ahead of any pain I had ever experienced and left it looking like a dot on the horizon. It also created an adrenaline boost, on top of the already sky-high levels, which put the proverbial pedal to the metal.

Urban-fresh-air hit my face...


The subject matter is good. If you could condense it, it would be better. "Omit needless words." Of course I may be biased. Ever read The Sun Also Rises? Great economy of words...
Fido
 
  1  
Reply Fri 4 Jun, 2010 11:14 pm
@Transcend,
Transcend;173037 wrote:
I don't think there is any difference between poetry and song. Poetry doesn't have to be rhythmic, doesn't have to rhyme, doesn't have to follow convention. It just is what it is. I just happen to be playing around with rhyme. Also, you defeated your own argument by mentioning people who used rhyme. Thanks, though. Smile

I do it myself, but if it is possible to bury a rhyme I would prefer to if only because so many end rhyming lines designed to please the author please no other...
0 Replies
 
Transcend
 
  1  
Reply Sat 5 Jun, 2010 10:53 am
@Reconstructo,
Reconstructo;173177 wrote:
The subject matter is good. If you could condense it, it would be better. "Omit needless words." Of course I may be biased. Ever read The Sun Also Rises? Great economy of words...

I'll bear that in mind, thanks Smile
Transcend
 
  1  
Reply Sun 6 Jun, 2010 07:45 am
@Transcend,
This story is based on true events that occured on 6h June 2010. Laughing

---------------------------------------------------------------

We're all out of milk.
I opened the door
with a tingle in my throat.
I could taste it already.
I had already drank the milk.
Drank and tasted and smelt.
I was onwards already.

But when the door opened,
And I saw no milk,
I was smacked in the face!
'There's no milk, you dunce!'
mark noble
 
  1  
Reply Sun 6 Jun, 2010 08:27 am
@Transcend,
Hi Transcend,

We're all out of milk, I open the door
Expecting to drink, what is not on the floor
My thirst is my foe, my urgency's roar
Why did I think, I'd be first to the door?

That sparrow in tree, is smiling at me
What's on his beak
Is that cream, I there see?
I must get my cat, he'll set that bird free
Or maybe I'll just let it be.

Sorry for this, I couldn't resist
I've been thirsty, and hungry as well
Expectant of quenching, too often to mention.
I rose in my yearnings
Then...Fell.

Thank you transcend - Liked your little poem - It inspired mine - Not my usual format - But I enjoyed, anyway.

Have a fantastic day.

Mark...
Transcend
 
  1  
Reply Sun 6 Jun, 2010 08:33 am
@mark noble,
You put me to shame, Mark! I love the natural references, the kind of man and nature colliding is what a lot of my stuff is built upon. Thanks Smile
mark noble
 
  1  
Reply Sun 6 Jun, 2010 09:00 am
@Transcend,
Transcend;173798 wrote:
You put me to shame, Mark! I love the natural references, the kind of man and nature colliding is what a lot of my stuff is built upon. Thanks Smile


Hi Transcend,

Only the proud can be shamed. The poems I've read of yours are worth reading - I intend to read more - Which I NEVER usually do, in case I become influenced by other's styles. I make an exception here on this forum, because of the fantastic people herein.
Don't you DARE ever stop writing!!! And that's a THREAT.

Have a fantastic journey, my friend... And thank you.

Mark...
Transcend
 
  1  
Reply Sun 6 Jun, 2010 09:16 am
@mark noble,
mark noble;173805 wrote:
Hi Transcend,

Only the proud can be shamed. The poems I've read of yours are worth reading - I intend to read more - Which I NEVER usually do, in case I become influenced by other's styles. I make an exception here on this forum, because of the fantastic people herein.
Don't you DARE ever stop writing!!! And that's a THREAT.

Have a fantastic journey, my friend... And thank you.

Mark...


You know Mark, it's rare that you meet people in life (let alone the internet) that are so personable and have the talent that you embody.

I think you're right, only the proud can be shamed; I suppose I was taken aback by your reply. As a writer, being proud can have benfits and drawbacks alike. For example, the striving to be proud of a piece of work can serve to make it that bit better, whereas if you're caught up in perfection, well, disaster can ensue! So, like a lot of things, don't be excessive.

I love writing. I won't stop, you can count on that. Smile

Thanks so much for the kind words.

Have a great day, yourself!
Transcend
 
  1  
Reply Sun 6 Jun, 2010 01:14 pm
@Transcend,
This is about a spider that lives in our bathroom. In a recess near the window-frame, it's lived for around a month. I like him. Smile

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Spider
What am I? I ask.
I look down at hairs,
Glinting in the light I bask.
A protrusion that scares,
If I catch them unawares.

In eight battalions,
They surround my form.
Confronted by stallions?
Trapped by a storm?
...oh, I retire to my dorm.

They scream 'not in my house!'
'Not in my bathroom!'
As quiet as a mouse,
I've been, I fume,
Since spring was in bloom!

You just follow the flock
And greet me with shock.
But you fail to realise
Irony in blissful disguise...
Wretched people, I despise!

_________________________

0 Replies
 
 

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