SoaringIcarus

There's no honour for a sniper,

They never decorate a spy.

Hell! Someone could at least say thanks.

Just ten minutes of public praise...

Ok so you're introducing a schism (I love that word) in the rhyme scheme from the beginning by leaving the last line of this stanza short a syllable or two, it's mildly jarring.

 

It isn’t that I don't deserve.

Maybe because, they just don't know

Here it's more obvious. "I don't deserve __(enormous lack of a noun)__"

Otherwise you would have said "It's not because I don't deserve it" or "It isn't because I'm not deserving", right? I'm not sure how much of a hair-cut this poem has gotten to fit the rhyme.

 

How much I like my blood and sweat,

How much I hate my work sometimes?

I like this, it's honest, and makes me shrink, not being able to give you an answer.

 

Scratch that,

I almost want this line to have it's own stanza...

 

it’s clear they see somewhat-

I insist on large recompense.

No, it's because they feel ashamed,

An upright citizen wouldn’t ask my help.

 

But, I don't mind it anymore.

If you need me search the shadows.

Last two stanzi-- appologetic? MAN! Makes me angry for you. An appologist, just when you got the guts to say that you deserve more than you're getting.

 

Interesting poem, it's like an itch I can't find.

 

Nice to read you again.

 

-Icarus

*looks around absent-mindedly, sniffs, and emits a quiet nasal noise that sounds like:

 

Eurrrrrrrrrrrrrr.....*

 

Why is "condemned because" blue? You know how many millions of things that could mean, but you don't toss your readers any bones. Why blue instead of bold? Bruise imagery? "condemned because" as a pivot point in the poem? Pointing it out to whomever you're talking, because they need it highlighted?

 

I like the form of this poem, how it's very shopping-list. Like "Oh hey, when you go to the store, use my list", and it's read in the frozen dairy section or something. Really cool.

 

Really like how "want to be wanted freely" breaks away from the last stanza. It looks, literally, like what it means.

 

*dons Peredhil cheerleader outfit*

 

Go Peredhil, Go, go, go peredhil!

 

You are freely and lovingly wanted here. Remember that.

 

-Icarus

 

*dons a pair of needlessly large nerd-glasses*

 

your "so ____" are all one-syllable until the last line!

 

*babies across the western hemisphere begin to cry*

 

*flies to the eastern hemisphere on his PLASMA DRAGON* *Winks to Nyyark*

 

-Icarus

Greetings.

 

I think this poem has potential, but there's a few mixed messages (some good, some bad) that trip me up.

 

With the "Gone to Lunch" image, I think I know what you're going for, but if you take it on a more literal level, it's tough to paint a clear idea of the narrator. Shop owner?

 

"To see if he has gone away" is somewhat void of energy. I know it fits the rhyme, but it slows me, personally, down.

 

Love the corn-feet!

 

I like the "follow/swallow" of the second to last stanza.

 

Last line: "In an In(stant)..." Try saying that ten times fast. No? It's a little garbled to read/think/say. Maybe something that flows a little smoother, like "Seconds later" something to that effect.

 

 

-Icarus

Hi there, nice to meetcha.

 

I like this poem, the title is dead on:

 

First two lines-- my initial impression-- Homoerotic? Then I got to the bobby pins and "sweats" turned into pants and "hose" also became something women wear on their legs. "Closet" also became a literal closet.

 

The rhyme scheme of this too is also enigmatic, but not in a frustrating way. Did you consciously map it out, or was it a result of the content? I really like this poem as a self-contained little riddle, like a gem, especially considering the last line. Nice work, I look forward to reading more of it.

 

-Icarus

*Icarus over-looks the sexually sadistic part of this post and decides to rejoice in the encouragement of helping others improve their writing*

 

Rejoice!

You guys are swell.

 

Glad to see so many familiar faces around here, maybe it's time for me to put down the SNES controller and dust off my pen. I look forward to seeing what everyone's been up to! Lately I've been on a strict diet of Dostoevsky, Earthbound, and clarinet-ing. Plus trying to transfer. Future, what?

 

Must have been my imagination.

Go-go gadget MIGHTY PEN! :wizzie:

 

*Icarus' pocket-protector explodes and ink consumes his shirt*

 

:woot:

 

It's been a while.

 

*-Icarus and his faithful plasma dragon tip-toe out quietly*

Magnets

 

Sometimes I worry that

I miss you too

much, and that is

why you are

not here.

 

why not worry

sometimes that is

you are too you

and I here,

I miss that much.

 

===

 

Revolving Door

 

I dont know when

things end which is why

I am usually the one

who is left and not The person

who leaves

 

Am I the one person

who is why

things dont know when to end

usually the person is left

The why is the end

 

===

 

Know that

 

there are some things

that you just do

not want to

know even if you did

know everything

the chances

that you could

or would try to

help are minimal

 

the things

you could do

are not everything

you would even try

some want to help

minimal

or to know if

there are chances

that you did know

Just that.

 

 

 

-SoaringIcarus

Thank you.

Write in a public place

where they are always looking

over your shoulder and the people

know all the words

 

Sit in the place you're supposed to

write people who are more than glad

to watch you believe now

this place has everything.

You didn't come with the package,

but you might as well have.

 

Wright in a public place

wants them to believe and not see.

 

Approaching a crowd one at a time

so they will never conspire or share

It, exactly.

 

By day behind new lenses

but on their bedside tables

lies

the common ingredient

Finding a way into the dreams of strangers.

Fingers tracing lines across their brain

A stroke, a pinpoint.

Hats and wigs aside,

our minds satellite the same

solid burning nickel

in your pocket.

 

It's so easy to forget

thoughts of the morning

with the view of the sunset

a craving for nostalgia.

You can't reflect in the beginning.

Down with dawn!

 

We watch eclipses to see life

in fast-forward: This is your whole month gone

in a few hours. Spectacular.

 

Down with dawn

Up with the underdog and down

with his gravity.

Build a hero that's easy to conquer

No one single spectator is guilty

Convict popular opinion and make them sad

during happy music, joyless

excitement.

 

It's because of the music

that, they know how to feel.

Life doesn't alway chime

in with anything for you.

No one behind the curtain.

Radio silence, but the picture goes on.

Count the cigarette burns that hold it all together

Increase the speed

which won't change anything

a lunar eclipse

that's just fast-forward

Too fast and the film melts

returned to a can and abandoned

with the building-- maybe some other time.

We'll play it some other time.

 

Leaving the theater at midnight

always feels like a welcome outstayed.

Reflect silence on the walk home

stage left, no lights

poisonous cold gives a background of numb

pushing your thoughts into a tighter corner

trying to remain barefooted...

Emotional gangrene

Not yet, not yet--

 

Don't take human-weaknesses as failure.

Defy your form and it will punish you.

Your life span would be even shorter

as a brain in a jar--

It's from the nerve endings that you cultivate existence

Give and take; ultimately

you only gave or took:

 

Merchant of sensations.

You can't sell what you yourself never possessed.

A heart of fool's gold

only a child would treasure.

Bury it in the backyard

for when you really need it

next to the cats and the chess pieces

and the letter explaining how

to build incredible things.

 

Unearthed by rain or dog paws

got the cat in the end.

Maybe not, maybe my eyes are fooling me

Won't get glasses for another six years--

that's a long time to be seeing things:

 

Smiles, mostly blurry

trees

and beards on the headlights of cars,

their ends rooted in me

ricocheted to my left

Stare straight into me and move on.

Leeches.

I stared straight back,

cat-like

blind to the details

def to the soundtrack

The world was as I imagined it.

 

A silent film

that's not a comedy.

 

I'm sorry, I

can't tell you how to feel.

I'm sorry this is not braille

so your nerve endings have nothing

to grab hold of.

Just black against white

The night v.s. a cat

living in fast-forward

enriches the soil for a tree

leaves of paper falling

upon the heads of children who build

incredible things beyond me

and my world in dreams, writing

in fast-forward, perpetual

twilight a cigarette burn sun.

 

-Icarus

It’s time to write right

In four corners until I fall

into a manhole,

emerge with two kids, and a fish, waiting

until God decides to

Beam me up!

And I’m thinking

“Now I’m finally getting somewhere!”

 

On my way up I saw

Satan in a helicopter

who gave me the finger-wag

And a smile, so I shrugged

and the whole world fell

with my shoulders.

 

When the world went to hell

with me, I thought I could do

no harm by asking

“Are there clouds in hell?”

So Satan called the whole thing off.

In thanks for the borrowed thought

I renamed

My fish, Rufus.

 

When I got back in

town the coffee shops had

spilled, so the streets

Were a slip-n-slide of beige

Sugar water.

Those who were wandering

At the time, got lost trying

to slide home, since for so long

It had been gray.

 

But see, I knew, because,

as Brooke Sorber taught me

In 9th grade,

gray and brown

Do not go together.

 

Having dived off of that faux-pas

It was just Rufus and I,

swimming in the only

clean puddle.

 

Zero gravity was fun until we got

bored and pulled

the flusher.

We thought we’d be sucked into

Jupiter’s rings, but we didn’t have that

kind of money, so what else

could we do, but drink our feet

back to the ground.

Our runoff flows into others’

pools of thought.

 

That is to say,

thought poured in a container

that’s empty.

Not thought leaking

out of a container

that’s broken.

 

“But some of our greatest

Ideas come from broken people!”

 

“Listen, sweethard, you can’t

house a school of fish

in a soup bowl.

Let’s get you that pet

snail you came in for.”

 

You, on the other hand,

parachuted into my back

-yard where I go to run

a way from myself; you

told me you trusted

me, just to see

the look in my eyes as I

hiccoughed dandelions.

 

Your inner child shared secrets

with my inner child,

and as we wished away

my disbelief,

we also planted future

weeds in our bed of roses.

 

But maybe after a while

it would be the roses

that were out

of place, so then we could

take a Polaroid,

mail it to Webster and change

the meaning of life.

 

-Icarus

My English professor is going to help me enter an undergrad writing contest in a few months, and told me about the Hopwood room. It's a place where the winners' writings are kept in books amid literary journals and current books of previous winners (i.e. Arthur Miller). I took an hour to read a few of the winners' poetry from last semester and noticed that between three or four authors, they used the word 'feral' maybe 9 times.

 

The Poets convene

[Arms folded; hygene: foreign.]

"I like these words"

A girl proffered her sheet

And they thought,

Sizing up her literary panties:

Would this shape my figure?

Will these words cover blemishes?

Do they expire? Or only grow stale

With grubby finger prints on the pens

From which they manifest?

 

In each consecutive poem

These communal words

Grow a little bit drier

A new skin thicker

To protect them from the

Wear and tear

of plucking so many heart-strings.

Or so the poets believe.

 

But honestly,

Nobody here

Consciously

Picks up a chisel with the intent

Of later painting their sculpture

In shades

Of hackneyed.

 

That's just what happens when they try

To calculate creativity.

 

Poets--

Armored in undergarments

With similar stains

I decline your hand-me-downs;

I'm just not suited to be an emperor.

 

-Icarus

Would it be okay

If I just stayed here for a while

To clear my psyche

Of all the misdeeds

I carry, like two soggy suitcases

Filled with obsolete documents

In a jargon only my blind fingers and numb eyes

Can taste. And it's like the spice in the spine of a novel

Gone rotten; such bad taste and poor placement.

My placement tests.

The judges have long since died;

Burried within my self-perception.

 

I used to rhapsodize.

I didn't used to be this way.

Would it be okay

If I just stayed here for a while

I don't eat much, take up space or make much sound

I'll sleep on these suitcases, beneath the guest bed

And you won't even know I'm here.

We won't even know I'm here.

Good ol' Western Re-capitulation always hits the spot. Well-written.

 

-Icarus

Nice. :-)

Rhapsody,

 

First of all, this is very well worked. It takes time to digest, and that's good-- there's more for me each time I come back to it. Each stanza is like a vignette. This is very...all-encompasing. I hope you don't have any regrets about spending seven hours on this, because to me, every minute was worth it. Wouldn't it be grand if everyone dedicated so much time to their creations. The poem really comes together in the end, quite nicely. I'm not sure if this was intended or not, which it may very well have been, but the "consume" stanza, tended to be a mouth-full, if read aloud. [Forgive me, father, for I have punned]. But seriously, it seems to halt the flow a little, though I know certain words are absolutely necessary to get the specific meaning across. You might consider reworking that one stanza. As for the rest of it-- spectacular. I look forward to reading more of your work. Really, very nice.

 

-Icarus

You could say that.

 

My room mate tried overdosing, so I would assume he was depressed. What I still can't understand is if it was his personality or the dozens of medications he was on, finally conflicting like too much traffic through an intersection.

 

At any rate, I'm glad you enjoyed it.

 

-Icarus

Once again, Icarus tumbles out of the forrest, atop his PLASMA DRAGON!

 

Hi.

 

It's me. I'm back now. Hi. Only now I know magic. :wizzie:

 

 

-Icarus

What drove you there,

so deeply

Within yourself,

That you never wanted to resurface.

Why here and now?

How long has it been?

How much of it is you

And how much of it is chemical--

 

To consume your consciousness, prescribed by doctors.

Taking smaller doses of waking reality

Each day until cured

Of existence.

 

How couldn't I have known.

Greetings, Autumn_sun.

 

First off, nice name. Secondly, I can't recall reading you before, so I certainly have no say as to whether this is out of character or not, but even so, I like it. I like how whole the first stanza is, and though I want to suggest omitting the last elipse, it really does have an effect of it's own. How mature of the author to be able to recognise how they feel in comparison to how others see them. Fatalistic, indeed. I look forward to reading more of your work.

 

-Icarus

Greetings, Passionsrejected0.

 

Ah, a familiar topic. I really liked the line "Detest you and can't forget you." All of us nostalgia-junkies hear you loud and clear. Perhaps a comma, after "here" in the first line? Interesting acrosstic (sp?) addition at the end. The last line seems kind of like a P.S. Keep writing.

 

-Icarus

Cool!

 

Life from the perspective of a butterfly larva! Nice to read you.

 

-Icarus

Greetings, Chanz.

 

I think this is very funny (even if not intended). It makes me think of marionettes. It's good to read a different style of expression. Great message. Also reminds me of those store clerks who ask "Hi, how are you today?" They don't really want to hear anything that's not luke-warm or hearty. Write on.

 

-Icarus

Greetings, Boaz.

 

The way I'm seeing this poem (imagery-wise) I might switch the lines "heart upon heart" and "lip upon lip". It would keep the passionate things together, and the 'pure' things together. I'm kind of confused by the last two stanzas. I know they want to keep consistent with the form of the poem, but they don't seem to hold as much meaning as the stanzas prior. Also, I'm not a big fan of using numbers in place of words (i.e. 2 instead of two), but that's just personal taste. Sadly to say, I feel this poem kind of putters out in the end. With a bit of reworking, it will be good. :wizzie:

 

-Icarus

Alaeha--

 

Yeah, I wouldn't change the The's and What's either. And the end of the third stanza, you say "I died that day, and yet I live..." I completely get your meaning there, and realize that it refers to the day the author and the reciever of her unrequited love split.... yet "that day" is not refered to very much, before-hand. As a reader, I might ask for a little more set-up. Wooo, yay for enjambment. The end is nice and biting. It really stings.

 

-Icarus