"Collections of things I feel portrayed in a literary format..."

That Sunday night feeling on Thursday morning,
that things were wasted before they got going,
somewhere else right now it's not snowing,
but it is here, just for me.

Growing scar tissue on my finger tips,
growing violets on my breathful whisps,
fade to fungus when my mouthfuls slip,
sunday gardeing on thursday morning.

Monday's politics in the Sunday edition.
Speculation on arrising conditions.
A misquote to direct their ambitions,
and only a dollar and a dime.

Some welfare psychology of a friend,
a request and blame in the hand they lend,
telling me how my loves will end,
Monday's politics in the Sunday edition.

When I sleep I set my glasses across the room,
above the sill they refract sunrises and loom,
a morning beacon that something arrives soon,
but bears not it's intentions.

I stumble blindly aross my floor,
trace my hands along the walls and my door,
I'm sometimes asked what I do this for.
I reply,
"because sometimes it's nice to know
that the things you seek can actually
be found."
While this does have a certain charm to it and plenty of good lines, it seems a bit disorganized and lackluster compared to other pieces of yours that I've read. I really enjoyed the fourth and last stanzas though.
Last edited by Winter Sky at Nov 30, 2011,
Like Winter said, this isn't as strong as other pieces I've read from you. You usually have a very distinct voice, but in this piece its been lost to your rhyme scheme.

You do have a few good lines, but its quite plain and substandard by your standards. From others, it would be a alright effort, but perhaps I'm (already?) too used to the way you write.

So in that respect, I look forward to your next piece sir.

If you can find the time man:

Just a comment of whether you like it or not would suffice, not asking for a thesis or whatever.
You take my place in the showdown, I observe with a pitiful eye. I'll humbly ask you forgiveness, a request well beyond you and I.
Last edited by Bag'ed at Nov 30, 2011,