#1
Some old swain of yesterday called,
regressing to desire of me.
How can I? How am I?
"My mother is Muslim", to his dismay.
But he lay, somewhere.
A broken door that broke doors
and etched himself in my conscious
like a viral candy
or more, like an indolent horse.

This land is a machine that eats our spines.

Is nothing close? It's something snide,
it's only mine for a dose of him inside.
A dose of her is a wholly mind
with a pillow for our hearts,
a mattress for our eyes
or death in its helpful derive.
A dose of him is an overflow,
a nail to the coronary of love,
the beating from savage drugs:
It'll have me if I sing a dove,
if I scream a poem dried above.

But with my spine gnawed,
our moans are called:
"im-more-al"?
and I'm scared of death so

I say goodbye
to a valentine
more imaginary
than asinine.
Last edited by ali.guitarkid7 at Mar 22, 2012,
#2
I'm gonna come back to this later. Gotta study. Has potential.

Edit: Damn, very pulling. It almost is like you're speaking of yourself, man. Doesn't matter if you are or not; don't need to know. It just feels so...personal. For example, if I were in a different circumstance, I could see myself as the swain.
Last edited by crazysam23_Atax at Mar 21, 2012,
#3
I like the spine eating machine line.
First verse doesn't really flow to me, other than that its good and kind of makes sense after reading it about 10 times :P
#4
Some old swain of yesterday called,
regressing to desire of me.
How can I? How am I?
"My mother is Muslim", to his dismay.
But he lay, somewhere.
A broken door that broke doors
and etched himself in my conscious
like a viral candy
or more, like an indolent horse.
>> I like the sort of poetry-prose feel, it's like like half a story and half a poem. It's a great opening, with a nice balance of intriguing ideas and readability.

This land is a machine that eats our spines.

Is nothing close? It's something snide,
it's mine only for a dose of him inside. >> I'm not loving this bit, to be honest. For my liking there's too big of a difference between the flows of these two lines and stanza 1.
A dose of her is a wholly mind
with a pillow for our hearts,
a mattress for our eyes
or death in its helpful derive. >> Much better, back on track.
A dose of him is an overdose, >> Eh, not too keen on this line - I think you could easily improve it by finding a synonym for overdose.
a nail to the coronary of love,
the beating from savage drugs:
It'll have me if I sing a dove,
if I scream a poem dried above.

But with my spine gnawed,
our moans are called:
"im-more-al"?
and I'm scared of death so

I say goodbye
to a valentine
more imaginary
than asinine. >> I see no problems with these last sections, and overall it's a pretty great read and I enjoyed it. Some of what I've said you can ignore if this is a song rather than a poem. I look forward to reading more from you!

If you have the time, a quick comment on my 'Monochrome' piece would be much appreciated, it should be on the first page. Cheers.
#5
Howdy there, Ali.
I like it for what it is but I can't say I'm that big a fan of what it is. It seems like more an exercise in internal rhyme than a poem tethered to that place where poems come from.

"This land is a machine that eats our spines."
This however is great. I hope that wasn't too forward or mean or anything. I'm only trying to give you my honest take.
#6
Thank you guys for the kind words and suggestions. Samoo, I'll definitely look at your piece in a second. I've made a couple edits to the piece accordingly.

LuckAndDust, I disagree on that this is just an exercise in internal rhyme. I can't say I didn't giggle to myself when I was dashing through the second stanza (every piece seemed to fit right, without having to look at the picture on the box too much. I didn't have to reread and edit at all), but this wasn't entirely fashioned just to be rhymed. At least, I hope the flow wasn't too loud for the words.

And it's fine of course, I really do appreciate your honesty.