#1
I dont know if any of this makes sense but I like it. It probably isnt well written but I will fully return any comments on this one. Thanks to all who read. Oh, and do people think I should split up the sections?/get rid of the linebreaks?

How easy it all is.

Lightning,
The bend of his back heaving and lurching,
Head reeling up and down, like a madman dancing
For his life, against the whitewashed bricks,
A sign flashes. Precinct 273.
He’s the clown, he’s the killer, the cloud laughing up a storm,
Before the flint strikes and the black holes
Rain down streams of sinister red. The cool, hard,
Surreal concrete cracks with a snap and
I jump up, from down under the blanket
Of sweat and drool I’ve covered my bed in.
It feels like melting, back into mind, back into soul,
Straight back to whatever beautiful place we came from.

“Back to hell boys, back to dirt boys,
Out of your cell boys, break another boulder boys,
Just like your fathers would want.”
It’s raining; under his breath; “you son of a bitch,
My father was more of a man than you’ll ever be.”
“Then why’d he leave you, why’d he die,
Better yet, you don’t even know if he’s dead do you,
Just gone, just MIA, just reaching down from
The edge of your memories with those
Strong skeletal fingers of his. Just remember,
I am your master here. I am your chains.
I am your whiplash. I am your master,
Just remember that… you son of a bitch.”
Back in the cell. Water splatters hard off the
World. “What you in for?” “Murder.”
“Why’d you kill him?” “His eyes were too bright”
He holds an imaginary throat with his thumbs.
“Eyes so young-” “how many seconds till…”
He trailed off like an echoe. “two,
“all it takes, one till they’re unconscious
and two till they’re gone.” Flickers open,
I hold them closed again and see
A long slit across my throat, heart ripped
Through a hole in my bones, the knife
I keep in my condom drawer deep in my head, crying for God.
I awake laughing, driving my voice up hard
To the sky. Telling all of em up there how easy it is
To die as if it was a universal secret.
“You…
You ever think you was insane?” “Every time I picked
My voice up above a whisper I knew. My son was a real
Talker though, gift of gab, asked me why I loved him,
As if he didn’t know. Mechanical, like sex in your own room.
Thrust in, thrust out.” Higher, like a waltz. Higher, like a cry.
Like a smile that will be smeared across his face on his
Armageddon, May 22nd 2008. Higher, like a ringing, a constant
And pounding ringing. Then back to a whisper. Before
I go to bed every night I look around for anything off,
Any picture tilted, any door open more than it should be,
Waiting to see my death come out of the corner of
My eye to take me away, waiting to see if it feels
Exactly how it looks like it feels. The same throbbing through
Like seeing yourself in a mirror for the first time. I
Wake up with a jump, six am. Surprise,
Continual surprise at being a creation, at creating
Something, rocking, swaying in my own cold sweat in the
Small of my body.
“Are you going to cry when
They kill me tomorrow?” “How they doin it?” “Ropes
And guns.” “Dieing the same way you were brought up,
Fitting.” "You'll be the last one left." Same dream, the one with the prison.
And same feeling during the day, that
The world is rationalizing, me back to a beginning,
Back to my creation’s inception, back to
The ease of the hands on the throat.
His face
Is bleeding. “I’ll hit you again boy, now tell me,
Who am I?” “You’re death sir.” “Who am I boy?”
“My master sir.” In the back the boulders
crack with skull-like whines. “And,
what are we for?” “Killing, sir” “And what are you for?”
“Killing, sir.” Master likes the blood on his knuckles.
Master likes to lick them clean after a hard day
Of living. In my dreams Master practices on himself,
Closer to the bathroom light and belt loop each night.
Master loves me. Lightning outside. Early morning
Fear.
Lightning. “Where is your father?” “Gone,
Master.” “Where is your father boy?” “Gone master”
The words were meant to be put down like this
In my head and the red was meant to fall. “Where is
Your father, boy?” “Right here, sir.” And they hugged like
That was who they lived for. And Master got right into his
Young blue eyes, threw him to wall outside in the rain,
Cocked, locked, and replayed the death every night
For three years in my head.
The laugh grew to be my own, one of a killer dying.
I wake with a start
And kiss my body. And I laughed up a storm
And wrote a poem about a master, two cellmates,
And my life. They died in the dream, every night,
And I wake up.

And it still terrifies me,
How easy it all is.
Last edited by #1 synth at Mar 13, 2008,
#2
yea u should definately break up the sections because i could half way tell how it was supposed to flow but i got a little lost.

for some reason every time u say clown or laughing i think of twisted metal

my song:Baseball But Ten Times Better
Just because I play the drums doesn't mean I suck at guitar, or ams that I's iz stoopidz.


Space that ain't yours
#3
I think the opening could set this up a little better.

Other than that, this is the best piece I've read all week. An amazing flow, natural language...just good. I don't have much to say.


I have something up if you're interested. Just a few words would suffice.
Poor advice.
#5
I do think you should break it up Dylan but only for aesthetical reasons. One big block of text like that just doesn't look nice. Also, having italicised parts inside this block just doesn't separate those ideas from the others very well.

It'd be much more approachable, I think.

But yeah. Flow was great, mate.

Dug.
#6
This is a mine.
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

#8
Hi Dylan.

You know the feeling just before you go out to run of just not being bothered? You know, it's raining outside slightly and your muscles are feeling a little sore. But when you force yourself to get out there it all pays off, because it turns out that when you start running your muscles no longer feel sore and that the rain is actually quite pleasant. Well, to stop this analogy being too long-winded, that's what this poem felt like. The reason for this i think is something that you've already mentioned, that being the solid block of writing.

Basically, it's too dawnting to face all at once with a relaxed feel, and personally i feel that it's really important to feel completely relaxed when reading anything.

Anyway, that's my only quarm because i loved the content.

I've got a poem of mine up for "old times" sake i suppose, so it'd be good to see your face pop up there. Thanks.

https://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showthread.php?t=810306
Last edited by caz_guitar_dude at Mar 15, 2008,
#10
Quote by #1 synth
I dont know if any of this makes sense but I like it. It probably isnt well written but I will fully return any comments on this one. Thanks to all who read. Oh, and do people think I should split up the sections?/get rid of the linebreaks?

How easy it all is.

Lightning,
The bend of his back heaving and lurching,
Head reeling up and down, like a madman dancing
For his life, against the whitewashed bricks,
A sign flashes. Precinct 273.
He’s the clown, he’s the killer, the cloud laughing up a storm,
Before the flint strikes and the black holes
Rain down streams of sinister red. The cool, hard,
Surreal concrete cracks with a snap and
I jump up, from down under the blanket
Of sweat and drool I’ve covered my bed in.
It feels like melting, back into mind, back into soul,
Straight back to whatever beautiful place we came from.


“Back to hell boys, back to dirt boys,
Out of your cell boys, break another boulder boys,
Just like your fathers would want.”
It’s raining; under his breath; “you son of a bitch,
My father was more of a man than you’ll ever be.”
“Then why’d he leave you, why’d he die,
Better yet, you don’t even know if he’s dead do you,
Just gone, just MIA, just reaching down from
The edge of your memories with those
Strong skeletal fingers of his. Just remember,
I am your master here. I am your chains.
I am your whiplash. I am your master,
Just remember that… you son of a bitch.”

Back in the cell. Water splatters hard off the
World. “What you in for?” “Murder.”
“Why’d you kill him?” “His eyes were too bright”
He holds an imaginary throat with his thumbs.
“Eyes so young-” “how many seconds till…”
He trailed off like an echoe. “two,
“all it takes, one till they’re unconscious
and two till they’re gone.” Flickers open,
I hold them closed again and see
A long slit across my throat, heart ripped
Through a hole in my bones, the knife
I keep in my condom drawer deep in my head, crying for God.
I awake laughing, driving my voice up hard
To the sky. Telling all of em up there how easy it is
To die as if it was a universal secret.


“You…
You ever think you was insane?” “Every time I picked
My voice up above a whisper I knew. My son was a real
Talker though, gift of gab, asked me why I loved him,
As if he didn’t know. Mechanical, like sex in your own room.
Thrust in, thrust out.” Higher, like a waltz. Higher, like a cry.
Like a smile that will be smeared across his face on his
Armageddon, May 22nd 2008. Higher, like a ringing, a constant
And pounding ringing. Then back to a whisper. Before
I go to bed every night I look around for anything off,
Any picture tilted, any door open more than it should be,
Waiting to see my death come out of the corner of
My eye to take me away, waiting to see if it feels
Exactly how it looks like it feels. The same throbbing through
Like seeing yourself in a mirror for the first time. I
Wake up with a jump, six am. Surprise,
Continual surprise at being a creation, at creating
Something, rocking, swaying in my own cold sweat in the
Small of my body.


“Are you going to cry when
They kill me tomorrow?” “How they doin it?” “Ropes
And guns.” “Dieing the same way you were brought up,
Fitting.” "You'll be the last one left." Same dream, the one with the prison.
And same feeling during the day, that
The world is rationalizing, me back to a beginning,
Back to my creation’s inception, back to
The ease of the hands on the throat.
His face
Is bleeding. “I’ll hit you again boy, now tell me,
Who am I?” “You’re death sir.” “Who am I boy?”
“My master sir.” In the back the boulders
crack with skull-like whines. “And,
what are we for?” “Killing, sir” “And what are you for?”
“Killing, sir.”

Master likes the blood on his knuckles.
Master likes to lick them clean after a hard day
Of living. In my dreams Master practices on himself,
Closer to the bathroom light and belt loop each night.
Master loves me. Lightning outside. Early morning
Fear.
Lightning. “Where is your father?” “Gone,
Master.” “Where is your father boy?” “Gone master”
The words were meant to be put down like this
In my head and the red was meant to fall. “Where is
Your father, boy?” “Right here, sir.” And they hugged like
That was who they lived for.

And Master got right into his
Young blue eyes, threw him to wall outside in the rain,
Cocked, locked, and replayed the death every night
For three years in my head.
The laugh grew to be my own, one of a killer dying.
I wake with a start
And kiss my body. And I laughed up a storm
And wrote a poem about a master, two cellmates,
And my life. They died in the dream, every night,
And I wake up.

And it still terrifies me,
How easy it all is.

That's how i'd do it personally. I don't know how you feel about that, but i reckon it doesn't take away from the effect, but it makes it a whole lot easier to read. Of course, it's just a very simple structure that i've done with it and there's nothing to stop you finding a more complex one to use, maybe one that reflects the plot more.

Also, i just remembered one other thing: your ending is a little weak in comparison to the rest of the poem. I know it's supposed to be in a different tone because of the waking up line, but i just think it seems a little weak for such a strong poem.

Good to see your poems again Dylan. Mine's up for grabs if you wouldn't mind.
#11
Nice job, lovin' the nonsensical phrasing. Really hammers the point home. My only real problem (if you could call it that) is that some of it's a bit too chaotic. Some of the lines appear to come out of nowhere to me, but maybe that was the plan?
#12
Hand on heart lad i can honestly say that i loved it... best thing i've read all week and i've read sum pretty gud stuff
#14


Though I'm pretty sure I've been back for a solid two month's now, thanks for finally noticing mate
#15
Quote by #1 synth
a gold mine?

Ding.
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