#1
Untitled


In my room, my sheets
caress naked legs as I lie
in languid fashion atop the
bed.

My gaze is lost, lacking
distance or direction, it’s
simply another feature of a
face debauched by boredom…

yet my gaze turns to vision
and my face regains interest
as my eyes cut across the ceiling.

I try to count the insects that litter
the monotonous white coloured
plaster, but I’m hindered by a blinding
light that obscures my sight. I’m impeded
by the fact that those God forsaken flies seem
to be constantly still whilst moving, as if they
were a half-step between a joy-ride and an odyssey

My dad is making noises similar
to a chainsaw connecting with wood
in the room upstairs. I can’t hear what
my mum is doing over all that racket.
My dog is whining,
he must have woken from a nightmare.

So my vision turns back
into a lost gaze, my face
stricken
with angst rather than boredom,
becomes still and inactive…
Again.

I haven't had bad dreams for many years,
now they are a plague of lust and sexual
contempt.
It’s not such a sad thought when I manage to bring
my mind around it. It even seems jolly because I know
that it’s me listening to my parents…
Not them, to me.
#2
Well if it's a poem, it's okay. I personally think it's a little odd, but whatever floats your boat.
I'm not exactly sure of the purpose, but many poems are about digging deep to find it. If you're going for that, great job. If not, try explaining it why or how things are going on.
Your head slowly caves in from the compression
#4
Untitled


In my room, my sheets
caress naked legs as I lie
in languid fashion atop the
bed.

My gaze is lost, lacking
distance or direction, it’s
simply another feature of a
face debauched by boredom…

yet my gaze turns to vision
and my face regains interest
as my eyes cut across the ceiling.

Very original wording, clever in a way. It's a good intro, kind of a curious feel.

I try to count the insects that litter
the monotonous white coloured
plaster, but I’m hindered by a blinding
light that obscures my sight. I’m impeded
by the fact that those God forsaken flies seem
to be constantly still whilst moving, as if they
were a half-step between a joy-ride and an odyssey

The flow is nice with the previous verses, it maintains that clever wording. I enjoyed the first and last 2 lines most.

My dad is making noises similar
to a chainsaw connecting with wood
in the room upstairs. I can’t hear what
my mum is doing over all that racket.
My dog is whining,
he must have woken from a nightmare.

So my vision turns back
into a lost gaze, my face
stricken
with angst rather than boredom,
becomes still and inactive…
Again.

I haven't had bad dreams for many years,
now they are a plague of lust and sexual
contempt.
It’s not such a sad thought when I manage to bring
my mind around it. It even seems jolly because I know
that it’s me listening to my parents…
Not them, to me.

Pretty good, though I would have liked to see the clever wording continuous throughout the whole poem, after the 4th verse it seems to get much simpler, almost forced.


I enjoyed this read, and with the exception of the last 3 verses it was a pretty deep poem.

Check mine out when you get a chance.
https://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showthread.php?t=685820
#6
Untitled


In my room, my sheets
caress naked legs as I lie
in languid fashion atop the
bed.

nice way to set the scene, but i didnt really like it. you're describing yourself lying on your bed, which isn't all that special. and that clashes with the words you used IMO. 'caress naked legs' 'languid fashion' made it.. i dont know, almost too poetic for what you're describing. It's not bad writing, but i didn't really like it, yknow?

My gaze is lost, lacking
distance or direction, it’s
simply another feature of a
face debauched by boredom…

wtf at debauched. i thought this wasn't too good. i don't know kyrl, but.. i feel like i've read stuff like this before. the flow was good and all, but i didn't really like how you're using 4 lines just to describe how you're bored.

yet my gaze turns to vision
and my face regains interest
as my eyes cut across the ceiling.

^

I try to count the insects that litter
the monotonous white coloured
plaster, but I’m hindered by a blinding
light that obscures my sight. I’m impeded
by the fact that those God forsaken flies seem
to be constantly still whilst moving, as if they
were a half-step between a joy-ride and an odyssey

this was better. i liked the internal rhyming and the flow. this really stands out compared to the previous stanzas. yeah, nice work here.

My dad is making noises similar
to a chainsaw connecting with wood
in the room upstairs. I can’t hear what
my mum is doing over all that racket.
My dog is whining,
he must have woken from a nightmare.

didn't like 'all that racket' here. neither did i like the descriptions of the dog. i thought it was out of place. as far as the writing goes, nothing special, but it's not bad writing at all, of course.

So my vision turns back
into a lost gaze, my face
stricken
with angst rather than boredom,
becomes still and inactive…
Again.

here you go back to the first two stanzas, and i didn't really like it. it's the same.. uninspired writing. i think, no, i KNOW that you can do better than this.

I haven't had bad dreams for many years,
now they are a plague of lust and sexual
contempt.
It’s not such a sad thought when I manage to bring
my mind around it. It even seems jolly because I know
that it’s me listening to my parents…
Not them, to me.

nice ending of the poem, but i have to say, i didn't really feel this. i think you can do better.





dds
#7
Untitled


In my room, my sheets
caress naked legs as I lie
in languid fashion atop the
bed.

Didn't liked the tone of the whole thing . felt like that u were trying too hard to protray such a simple image. Image which is not that appealing in first place..


My gaze is lost, lacking
distance or direction, it’s
simply another feature of a
face debauched by boredom…


this is better as compared to the opener but still could have been made much better . the whole debauched thing worked here and the feeling was conveyed in a god way but cut down on details for future pieces. If you're dfescribinng boredom you are also causing it..
i hope you got the message

yet my gaze turns to vision
and my face regains interest
as my eyes cut across the ceiling.


I try to count the insects that litter
the monotonous white coloured
plaster, but I’m hindered by a blinding
light that obscures my sight. I’m impeded
by the fact that those God forsaken flies seem
to be constantly still whilst moving, as if they
were a half-step between a joy-ride and an odyssey


The description was nice like it flowed well but it's not that indulging for me.But i guess pieces related to personal life are boring in some way other then that it flowed good
and it was better than everything so far now.

My dad is making noises similar
to a chainsaw connecting with wood
in the room upstairs. I can’t hear what
my mum is doing over all that racket.
My dog is whining,
he must have woken from a nightmare.

"all that racket" is a weak metaphor . things are moving fast now and attention towards detail is less which is good now


So my vision turns back
into a lost gaze, my face
stricken
with angst rather than boredom,
becomes still and inactive…
Again.

I haven't had bad dreams for many years,
now they are a plague of lust and sexual
contempt.
It’s not such a sad thought when I manage to bring
my mind around it. It even seems jolly because I know
that it’s me listening to my parents…
Not them, to me.


Ending is good has a calm vibe to it but the second last stanza is again writtern in such a boring tone .

What i feel is that the tone in which this piece is wriiteren is really lacking energy but it's not ur fault the whole piece is about that............and overall i didn't liked it . You can do better than this.i gnore anything stupid I've said . I am just in a bad mood
Hi
Last edited by abhishek21 at Oct 6, 2007,
#8
I'll probably get to this here, if not catch me on MSN.

Filth, pure filth... That's what you are.
#9
Drivel. I've found more profound messages in the folds of a pile of dog crap. Seriously. The mind-numbing inanity of your incessant, babbling nonsense makes my eyes scream for mercy. They're bleeding. I swear it.
Hi, I'm Peter
Last edited by Dirk Gently at Oct 16, 2007,
#11
I'm kinda sharing feelings with others who've already commented here. I'm not feeling like I can explore this and look for a deep meaning, unless it's one long metaphor throughout the piece, there really isn't much to think about, yknow? The writing style is good, I pretty much always like the style in your pieces, but the message... is nonexistent as far as I can see. However, the last stanza has the most potential. I know you wrote this quite a while back (well, I think?), but now, I think if you want to take your writing to the next step you need to find a subject or a strong feeling you care about. Anything, at all, that you really give a **** about. Because the talent's already there.

There's my two cents.