monday mornings we showed up with utopias
burning in rosy embers within us, burning through the winters
while bouquets wilted and sirens whined for lost women.
in adolescence, i fashioned this sense of sadness
off all the actresses, but also off Rebecca from my classes.
i couldn't be there to wipe away the mascara off her cheek,
and the feeling felt blissfully eternal.

tonight the sky is filled with pinks and purples
and the window is open to the shrill of birds on the quay.
these drives here and there don't clear my head anymore,
these waves wash over and the past is duller than before,
and the faster i grow older, the louder the sirens screech --

i look out to sea, though only a glance.
whoever you are, i'm sure you're a lot like me, in fact
i'm positive of that. so i'm sorry --
i was always taught to never give up on the dream,
but now it's as if i can't even hear
myself think.
here, My Dear, here it is
Last edited by SubwayToVenus at Oct 10, 2013,
A difficult piece. A mass and mash of ideas, some strong but this lacked a lot in terms of execution, especially of the first stanza. "rosier worlds" is probably one of the most mouthful expressions that you can start a piece with and it's uncomfortable. "but granted" lacks logicality. I liked the alliteration on the second line, but would have appreciated more if you managed to use adolescence rather than adolescent, which kinda leaves it stuck. wilt, runs and feels are all present tense, I'll give you that, but the lack of "s" on wilt detracts a bit from the propelling motion of the words (really getting into the little details, forgive me). not really sure with the question what exactly you did not know. Also, back when?

The end of the first stanza and then the following are much stronger, but then the Doppler effect part (which is great!) just feels like you are explaining an idea to me, rather than letting it rest in the poem.

After saying all that, on a second read I did get more out of this, and with the title standing out like that, it really reminded me of this poem of mine, and if you can take me to my own writing like this, then there's a lot in this poem. Just a little work on the things that do not flow out of us, as writers, but are important to the readers that don't have full access to our mind and thoughts.
This is not a pipe
Thank you, Carmel. You are so right in each of your criticisms. I've been struggling putting thoughts on paper so I hastily threw it out there without any real structure to my ideas. I was just a little desperate to write again, I guess. I made a lot of edits to this, as you can see, now that I had time to organize my thoughts.

I'm really glad you were able to get something out of it, though. And that poem of yours you linked was beautiful.
here, My Dear, here it is
To be honest, I really really enjoyed this! I love the second stanza the most. I just feel like reading this out loud and I can feel the emotion coming from my speech.

It seems you made some edits since Carmel's critique and I quite like this so I am going to ignorantly say Much Improved