#1
This is the first thing since the cancer stuff that means anything to me. So, unlike my last few pieces, I'd love some crits on this, full crits, just anything, I'll pay 'em back, leave me a link.

But yeah, it's a good one I think.

Enjoy

The Chronicles Of Jimmy Jack Jericho And His Iron Lung: The Tale of Three Ghosts

These vermillion latterns are burning oil and kerosene
That smell like mildew, and those filigree clouds look like
Phantasms that spiral into spine staircases.
Exiting; Entering; Exiting; Entering.
They become the doorways,
And I break apart.
I am now three ghosts,
One for you,
One for me,
And one for us.

The first one is rejected, she goes away, to a dark place, where she lies down each night. This is where she weeps quietly into a pillow and wishes that she could fix everything she's ruined. She blinks and lies her head on the damp flannel that is piled up beneath her pillows. The cold air surrouding her makes her breath spill forward like hot oil into water. Flowers of words ink forward and create textures and sounds that only she can hear. She covers her head with a wet blanket and she falls asleep from all the dangers of the world.

The second ghost is forgotten, he walks away from a busy room. Everyone is laughing and dancing around coffins that look like glass but feel like tree bark. He holds cups of wine and offers them to several people, they ignore the empty gestures and continue. The air between him and everyone else is filled with carbon monoxide and rumbles, every word is a tremor in the air that echoes millions of times until he is broken from the noise. He sits on the steps as the people flood inside and out, exiting and entering. They are dressed for a wedding, or a funeral. He can't tell anymore.

The third ghost is hopeless. It is the unity of love between two people that have given up. It sits in a room full of books, journals and diaries. It scribbles notes, letters, and lists every minute, of every day that it exists. The books are torn and frayed and the pages are filled with rants, speeches, and confessions. Each word is reused and it becomes, trite, boring, and meaningless. It writes that we are beautiful, cute, and endearing millions of times, until the words mean nothing. It has run out of space, and an old brick oven burns in the corner of the room. The fire is full of browns and blues, and unnatural colors from the various lead and inks it uses. It must burn the love letters, the notes that were never sent but written hundreds of times. These are the woven flames that tell the stories of three ghosts.

One for me.
One for you.
One for us.
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#2
It felt quite like I was reading some sort of preamble to a longer story. That may or may not have been your goal.

Nevertheless it left me wanting to read more.

Excellent job here sir.
マリ「しあわっせはーあるいってこないだーからあるいってゆっくんだねーん 
いっちにっちいっぽみーかでさんぽ
 さーんぽすすんでにっほさっがるー 
じーんせいはっわんつー!ぱんち・・・


"Success is as dangerous as failure. Hope is as hollow as fear." - from Tao Te Ching

#3
Hey,
This was really awesome. Maybe it's possible to crit prose, but I don't know how to do it and also feel that it's not really my place to critique it when I don't have things like rhyme, rhythm, etc... to discuss. Though I do have imagery still...

As such, the best I can give you is some positive feedback that I really liked the imagery that you created with the ghosts swirling around the people and coffins and whatnot.

In my opinion, it was the first and third paragraphs were the best. It felt like you took the most time solidifying the image and, it was really effective.

If you have a chance, I'd really like your thoughts on my song, Rich & Alone. I'd appreciate anything you have to say about it.
Cheers, this was good.
- PunkFish.
#4
The Chronicles Of Jimmy Jack Jericho And His Iron Lung: The Tale of Three Ghosts
Since the beginning is the most logical of places to start, I will say that the title caught my attention immediately. It is one of those titles that just draws the reader in...but thats enough said about that, there is much deeper stuff here to be commented upon.

These vermillion latterns are burning oil and kerosene
That smell like mildew, and those filigree clouds look like
Phantasms that spiral into spine staircases.
Exiting; Entering; Exiting; Entering.
They become the doorways,
And I break apart.
I am now three ghosts,
One for you,
One for me,
And one for us.
I quite liked the scene you painted with your diction in the first five or more lines of this stanza. The lines..."and those filigree clouds look like Phantasms that spiral into spine staircases. Exiting; Entering; Exiting; Entering" are extremely well written. I see great use of imagery here, as well as a perfect example of how repetition should be used (the entering; exiting portion...). The last part of this stanza is quite creative as well, and it acts as the perfect segue into the next THREE stanzas of the piece.

The first one is rejected, she goes away, to a dark place, where she lies down each night. This is where she weeps quietly into a pillow and wishes that she could fix everything she's ruined. She blinks and lies her head on the damp flannel that is piled up beneath her pillows. The cold air surrouding her makes her breath spill forward like hot oil into water. Flowers of words ink forward and create textures and sounds that only she can hear. She covers her head with a wet blanket and she falls asleep from all the dangers of the world.
Great choice to start out the three ghosts with the rejected one, I thought that was a very thoughtful beginning. Since I really enjoy this piece, I'm going to be uber critical here and complain about the fact that I read the word pillow twice in a short span within this stanza. I know thats a quite trivial complaint however, and don't take it to heart because the creativity and imagery found in this stanza far outshadows any negative complaint I could have about it.

The second ghost is forgotten, he walks away from a busy room. Everyone is laughing and dancing around coffins that look like glass but feel like tree bark. He holds cups of wine and offers them to several people, they ignore the empty gestures and continue. The air between him and everyone else is filled with carbon monoxide and rumbles, every word is a tremor in the air that echoes millions of times until he is broken from the noise. He sits on the steps as the people flood inside and out, exiting and entering. They are dressed for a wedding, or a funeral. He can't tell anymore.
Honestly, I think this is the strongest stanza, period. You've done a fine job building the stanza around the central idea of the second ghost being forgotten. I just noticed that you echoed the "exiting and entering" idea here again. That is the mark of a good writer when he can revisit a theme or idea later in a piece without beating it to death. Good work. The last line is the clincher.

The third ghost is hopeless. It is the unity of love between two people that have given up. It sits in a room full of books, journals and diaries. It scribbles notes, letters, and lists every minute, of every day that it exists. The books are torn and frayed and the pages are filled with rants, speeches, and confessions. Each word is reused and it becomes, trite, boring, and meaningless. It writes that we are beautiful, cute, and endearing millions of times, until the words mean nothing. It has run out of space, and an old brick oven burns in the corner of the room. The fire is full of browns and blues, and unnatural colors from the various lead and inks it uses. It must burn the love letters, the notes that were never sent but written hundreds of times. These are the woven flames that tell the stories of three ghosts.
"The third ghost is hopeless. It is the unity of love between two people that have given up." - Again, I like how you used this line to set up the rest of the stanza. The imagery here is definately up to par with the rest of the piece, but I especially enjoyed your description of the "fire." The last line sums up this piece perfectly, and thats about all I can say.

One for me.
One for you.
One for us.


But yeah, it's a good one I think.
Enjoy

You are quite right, it was a good one, and yes, thank you, I did enjoy it. If you would, take a look at "If This Is The End, Then Where Are The Credits?" Link is in my sig. Thanks again. Peace.
#5
Quote by Something_Vague
This is the first thing since the cancer stuff that means anything to me. So, unlike my last few pieces, I'd love some crits on this, full crits, just anything, I'll pay 'em back, leave me a link.

But yeah, it's a good one I think.

Enjoy

The Chronicles Of Jimmy Jack Jericho And His Iron Lung: The Tale of Three Ghosts

These vermillion latterns are burning oil and kerosene
That smell like mildew, and those filigree clouds look like
Phantasms that spiral into spine staircases.
Exiting; Entering; Exiting; Entering.
They become the doorways,
And I break apart.
I am now three ghosts,
One for you,
One for me,
And one for us.
Good here, for the most part, the only thing is maybe change the exiting, entering line, i think it kind of interupts the flow. Also, maybe the first two lines are a little too elaborate. I understand the simile and imagery, but in these kind of songs/poems i prefer a s=traight and simple approach.

The first one is rejected, she goes away, to a dark place, where she lies down each night. This is where she weeps quietly into a pillow and wishes that she could fix everything she's ruined. She blinks and lies her head on the damp flannel that is piled up beneath her pillows. The cold air surrouding her makes her breath spill forward like hot oil into water. Flowers of words ink forward and create textures and sounds that only she can hear. She covers her head with a wet blanket and she falls asleep from all the dangers of the world.
Good verse here, im assuming you are now describing the 3 ghosts, great imagery here, and i take back what i said about elaborateness, it fits well with what you are trying to do here. Only this, how would the BLANKET be wet? I always figured you'd cry into a pillow not a blanket.

The second ghost is forgotten, he walks away from a busy room. Everyone is laughing and dancing around coffins that look like glass but feel like tree bark. He holds cups of wine and offers them to several people, they ignore the empty gestures and continue. The air between him and everyone else is filled with carbon monoxide and rumbles, every word is a tremor in the air that echoes millions of times until he is broken from the noise. He sits on the steps as the people flood inside and out, exiting and entering. They are dressed for a wedding, or a funeral. He can't tell anymore.
Good again, now i know you are desribing the ghosts. I like how it seems the metophor is that everyone ignores him, like he doesnt matter. Also, the ending about the wedding and the funeral clothes is good, dont know why, but it kind of resonates inside me.

The third ghost is hopeless. It is the unity of love between two people that have given up. It sits in a room full of books, journals and diaries. It scribbles notes, letters, and lists every minute, of every day that it exists. The books are torn and frayed and the pages are filled with rants, speeches, and confessions. Each word is reused and it becomes, trite, boring, and meaningless. It writes that we are beautiful, cute, and endearing millions of times, until the words mean nothing. It has run out of space, and an old brick oven burns in the corner of the room. The fire is full of browns and blues, and unnatural colors from the various lead and inks it uses. It must burn the love letters, the notes that were never sent but written hundreds of times. These are the woven flames that tell the stories of three ghosts.
Good ending here, like how you decribe how the love faded away. How it just got boring and bland, which unfortunately, is what it is like alot now in these days.

One for me.
One for you.
One for us.


Good, at first i didn't like how elaborate you made it, but now i really like it.

If you have time, the link for mines the first in my sig.
thx
#6
ill just start out and say its awesome. the thing i like the most is just the storytelling aspect of it. a lot of songs lack that. i know vermillions a color but i forgot which one. im goin to have to go read a dictionary. and i like how the title and the lyrics seem to all fit in unison with eachother. i like it.
#8
All I can say is wow. This was really a fantastic piece. It was so complex and beautiful and i loved it. It does seem pretentious, but I'm a fan of progressive, so I'm used to pretentious writing. Anyways, keep up the good work.

Crit mine please

Wisdom of the Lamb
#9
Since a lot of people did full crits on this, I think I'll just skip that.

But yeah, this was sofa king good. I read the first part and thought the imagery was sort of delicate and engaging in a narrative sort of way, then the rest just blew me away.

I love love love how you tie things together at the end. It's really brilliant. Everything seems to have a subtle second meaning, even the color of the text.

Besides the odd typo, I can honestly find no fault in it.

bravissimo
#10
Hey everything thanks again, I'd love some more, critiques are coming ready, sorry for the delay, I've been getting ready for school.

So Yeah, more would rock balls.
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