This is not my Landscape

[SirBrendan]

This is not my Landscape (Edit 2.5)

They say, write from only river born truths
drenched in deluge, crest sunk, felted motions.
Write in ghost-ribboned speak, purple-flowered prose,
pink hearts bled red, watered-skies and of starry oceans.
This is not my landscape;
I am made of lead pipe.

Caravans of tears emerge in feigned hurt,
draped in refuge, carting scavenge balmed hearts.
Must they, weeping gardens, clap with singled arm;
satisfied now, wrapped in gold lilt, paint farts?
This is not my landscape;
I am made of lead pipe.

Mack truck poetry, fist-fucked love holes, that's mine.
Dressed in refuse: nuclear me singing
carbon pressed joys, seismic measured hate speech.
Runaway dandy I, oiled up, clinging.
This is now my landscape;
I am made of lead pipe.

This is not my Landscape (Edit 2) Thanks to everyone for their time and improvements

They say, write from only river born truths
drenched in deluge, crest sunk, felted motions.
Write in ghost-ribboned speak, purple-flowered prose,
pink hearts bled red, watered-skies and of starry oceans.
This is not my landscape
I am made of lead pipe

Caravans of tears emerge in feigned hurt,
draped in refuge, carting scavenge balmed hearts.
Must they, weeping gardens, clap with singled arm;
satisfied now, wrapped in gold lilt, paint farts?
This is not my landscape
I am made of lead pipe

Mack truck poetry, fist-fucked love holes, that's mine.
Dressed in refuse: nuclear me singing
carbon pressed joys, seismic measured hate speech.
Runaway dandy I, oiled up, clinging.
This is now my landscape
I am made of lead pipe

This is not my Landscape (Edit 1)

They say, write from only river born truths
drenched in deluge, crest sunk, felted motions.
Write in ghost ribboned speak, purple flowered prose,
pink hearts bled red, watered skies and of starry oceans.
This is not my landscape
I am made of lead pipe

Caravans of tears emerge in feigned hurt
draped in refuse, scavenged feeling balmed hearts.
Shall we, weeping gardens, clap with singled arm;
satisfied now, wrapped in gold lilt, paint farts.
This is not my landscape
I am made of lead pipe

Mack truck poetry, fist fucked love holes, that's mine.
Dressed in refuge: nuclear me singing
carbon pressed joys, seismic measured hate speech.
Runaway dandy I, oiled up, clinging.
This is now my landscape
I am made of lead pipe


This is not my Landscape (Original post)

They say, write from all of deep chest born truths
drenched in deluge, crest sunk, felted motions
Write in ghost ribboned speak, purple flowered prose
pink hearts bled red, watered skies and of starry oceans
This is not my landscape
I am made of lead pipe

Caravans of tears emerge in feigned hurt
draped in refuse, scavenged feeling balmed hearts
Shall we, weeping gardens, clap with singled arm
satisfied now, wrapped in gold lilt, paint farts
This is not my landscape
I am made of lead pipe

Mack truck poetry, fist fucked love holes, that's mine
dressed in refuge, nuclear me singing
Carbon pressed joys, seismic measured hate speech
runaway dandy I, oil rig clinging
This is now my landscape
I am made of lead pipe

[ChristopherSea]

The repeats of landscape and lead pipe struck a poignant cord with me! Will this poem will get criticized for lack of proper punctuation, over-modification of nouns (and everything else), to much abstraction, nonsense speak and probably some other major offences? YES, but I loved it. Why? Well, your piece is a grand combination of metapoetry, metaphor and rant! This is not my beautiful landscape, nor is it one that can ever be repainted unfortunately. This is a wonderful emotive spoken word piece on the destruction of our planet. Mother Gaia has goose-bumps! Nonetheless, some poetic critics are having seizures and you know that you could give this vehicle a tune-up.

[Charlesjoseph]

This is not my Landscape

They say, write from all of deep chest born truths
drenched in deluge, crest sunk, felted motions
Write in ghost ribboned speak, purple flowered prose
pink hearts bled red, watered skies and of starry oceans
This is not my landscape
I am made of lead pipe

Caravans of tears emerge in feigned hurt
draped in refuse, scavenged feeling balmed hearts
Shall we, weeping gardens, clap with singled arm
satisfied now, wrapped in gold lilt, paint farts
This is not my landscape
I am made of lead pipe

Mack truck poetry, fist fucked love holes, that's mine
dressed in refuge, nuclear me singing
Carbon pressed joys, seismic measured hate speech
runaway dandy I, oil rig clinging
This is now my landscape
I am made of lead pipe

Ok man,
This one is in my wheelhouse......
Here's my suggestion.
Start this over with the third part first.
Tell us what your landscape is and then piss on what you don't like.

Example

This is my landscape[/u]

runaway dandy I, oil rig clinging (runaway dandy I)----love this
dressed in refuge, me singing
nuclear seismic hate speech.
Like a lead pipe to your head
This is mack truck poetry MOTHERFUCKER

Ok so i embellished a bit with the motherfucker but you get the point. This is your thing fly on.
Cheers
Chazz

[ellajam]

Wow, Brendan, this one really comes across, nice job.

Here are some notes.

This is not my Landscape

They say, write from all of deep chest born truths I think you can do better than "deep chest"
drenched in deluge, crest sunk, felted motions Strong 3 lines, I'm not sold on "speak", period after motions?
Write in ghost ribboned speak, purple flowered prose
pink hearts bled red, watered skies and of starry oceans
This is not my landscape
I am made of lead pipe

Caravans of tears emerge in feigned hurt ; after hurt or drop the in after draped?
draped in refuse, scavenged feeling balmed hearts
Shall we, weeping gardens, clap with singled arm
satisfied now, wrapped in gold lilt, paint farts "clap with singled arm satisfied now," confuses me, love the rest of the line, period after "farts"?
This is not my landscape
I am made of lead pipe

Mack truck poetry, fist fucked love holes, that's mine strong
dressed in refuge, nuclear me singing
Carbon pressed joys, seismic measured hate speech
runaway dandy I, oil rig clinging I'm not getting why you omit the periods before "This is now my landscape"
This is now my landscape
I am made of lead pipe

I really enjoyed this, thanks for the read.

[SirBrendan]

Thanks for the critiques. Since I came to sight I've been studying metre and structure pretty heavily using all of your (pigpen) works as a template, so this was my attempt to merge that learning with the poetry I obviously want to do. Point being, it really helps me since I want to get better.

I just skipped punctuation altogether(with the exception of commas); I think that was a mistake so that's hitting the edit.

The 'clap with singled arm' is intended to be a tongue-in-cheek way of saying 'clapping with one hand'. I like the line because it's meant to be fancy way of saying something mean. If it's confusing the poem though, I definitely have to consider a revision.

I agree with you, Chazz, that the third stanza would be better flipped. The fourth line of the third stanza feels like it's the middle of an image rather than the end and I noticed that. The only problem is that there was an interior slant rhyme for the second line to try and give it more structure, so the line is unfortunately locking me out (as far as I know).

I think however, since I feel hesitant, considering the importance of the closing line, I'm going to try to hit it in the edit. Maybe that'll help spin the wheel.

Thanks again guys/ladies

[ellajam]

I like the change in the first line, it works well with deluge.

This is not my Landscape (Edit 1)

They say, write from only river born truths
drenched in deluge, crest sunk, felted motions.
Write in ghost ribboned speak, purple flowered prose,
pink hearts bled red, watered skies and of starry oceans.
This is not my landscape
I am made of lead pipe

Caravans of tears emerge in feigned hurt
draped in refuse, scavenged feeling balmed hearts.
Shall we, weeping gardens, clap with singled arm;
satisfied now, wrapped in gold lilt, paint farts.
This is not my landscape
I am made of lead pipe

Mack truck poetry, fist fucked love holes, that's mine.
Dressed in refuge: nuclear me singing
carbon pressed joys, seismic measured hate speech.
Runaway dandy I, oiled up, clinging.
This is now my landscape
I am made of lead pipe


This is not my Landscape (Original post)

They say, write from all of deep chest born truths
drenched in deluge, crest sunk, felted motions
Write in ghost ribboned speak, purple flowered prose
pink hearts bled red, watered skies and of starry oceans
This is not my landscape
I am made of lead pipe

Caravans of tears emerge in feigned hurt
draped in refuse, scavenged feeling balmed hearts
Shall we, weeping gardens, clap with singled arm
satisfied now, wrapped in gold lilt, paint farts
This is not my landscape
I am made of lead pipe

Mack truck poetry, fist fucked love holes, that's mine
dressed in refuge, nuclear me singing
Carbon pressed joys, seismic measured hate speech
runaway dandy I, oil rig clinging
This is now my landscape
I am made of lead pipe

[Todd]

Hi Brendan,

I really like this. Let me give you some comments on the edit.

This is not my Landscape (Edit 1)

They say, write from only river born truths--You could possibly cut from.
drenched in deluge, crest sunk, felted motions.--felted motions is really cool. I feel like I'm looking at a felt board river diorama.
Write in ghost ribboned speak, purple flowered prose,--Maybe a hyphen after ghost.
pink hearts bled red, watered skies and of starry oceans.--Maybe cut the of. Love the sounds in this and the content. Pink hearts bled red is very nice
This is not my landscape
I am made of lead pipe--I may prefer from instead of of, but it's close.

--Your first strophe is really fun to read. I think you need to keep your They say's going into S2 or we'll feel we're in the lead pipe poem.

Caravans of tears emerge in feigned hurt--Maybe, "They say, and put a "must" before emerge. It allows you to play with abstraction and cliche without it touching you
draped in refuse, scavenged feeling balmed hearts.--Maybe, scavenged feelings for balmed hearts.
Shall we, weeping gardens, clap with singled arm;
satisfied now, wrapped in gold lilt, paint farts.--Enjoyed these last two lines
This is not my landscape
I am made of lead pipe

Mack truck poetry, fist fucked love holes, that's mine.
Dressed in refuge: nuclear me singing
carbon pressed joys, seismic measured hate speech.
Runaway dandy I, oiled up, clinging.
This is now my landscape
I am made of lead pipe

--loved the mad rush to the end.

It's my favorite thing you've written so far. I hope the comments help.

Best,

Todd

[jdeirmend]

Brendan, I thought that there was a good deal to admire in this. My major criticism, on a conceptual level, is that although it evokes a lot, it is hard to give credulity to any number of potentially unifying themes. What emerges, consequently, seems to me a dilettantish sort of transgression that bites its own tongue off.

After all, if you're going to go to such lengths to say "fuck pretense," it doesn't serve your purpose to articulate it incoherently, i.e., by saying "pretense-fuck." Because then, you end up participating in the very thing you're decrying, and you fuck the reader with pretense. I realize this is very forward, but take it for what it's worth.

Part of the problem, I think, stems from the fact that there is quite a bit of "nonsense speak" as Chris already mentioned. Colloquialisms aside, there are some straight up violations of the norms of English grammar, and it's hard for me to tell if it's deliberate or not. If it's not deliberate, you might consider revising each of these. If it is, what can I say? You're having fun, and who I am to rain on your parade. Let's take a closer look.

They say, write from only river born truths
drenched in deluge, crest sunk, felted motions.
Write in ghost ribboned speak, purple flowered prose,
pink hearts bled red, watered skies and of starry oceans.
This is not my landscape
I am made of lead pipe

[/b]
L2: You're using 'deluge' as an adjective. Noun or verb. If you want to keep the word in there, consider revising the sentence around it.



Caravans of tears emerge in feigned hurt
draped in refuse, scavenged feeling balmed hearts.
Shall we, weeping gardens, clap with singled arm;
satisfied now, wrapped in gold lilt, paint farts.
This is not my landscape
I am made of lead pipe

[b]
L2: 'scavenged feeling balm hearts' is, of course, nonsensical. Nevertheless, what it evokes can be turned into a coherent trope or even an image, the latter being preferable IMO. I would suggest trying for that.


Mack truck poetry, fist fucked love holes, that's mine.
Dressed in refuge: nuclear me singing
carbon pressed joys, seismic measured hate speech.
Runaway dandy I, oiled up, clinging.
This is now my landscape
I am made of lead pipe

[b]
L2: Not clear if you meant to use refuse again? 'Dressed in refuge' doesn't seem to accord with the ideal of unpretentious, down-and-dirty poetry. It has a redemptive, edifying, pretentious connotation.
L3: 'seismic' is not an adverb. 'Seismically' would read better.
L4: This doesn't do much for me, not in terms of what it connotes or could possibly denote.

Again, I don't mean to be too harsh. I would reckon to say, even, that my criticism is as much an expression of artistic differences as anything. Of course, there are substantive reasons for such differences, but I've already offered those above. That's my two cents. I hope it is helpful.

[heslopian]

This is not my Landscape (Edit 1)

They say, write from only river born truths
drenched in deluge, crest sunk, felted motions. I didn't know what "felted motions" meant at first, but looking back on it after having read the poem, I really like it. It's like that phrase "an iron fist in a velvet glove".
Write in ghost ribboned speak, purple flowered prose, Should be a dash between "ghost" and "ribboned" and "purple" and "flowered", I think.
pink hearts bled red, watered skies and of starry oceans.
This is not my landscape
I am made of lead pipe This is a brilliant refrain, not just in and of itself but because of its positioning after such phrases as "purple-flowered" and "starry oceans".

Caravans of tears emerge in feigned hurt
draped in refuse, scavenged feeling balmed hearts. The second clause of this line feels a bit disjointed, as though it's just random words.
Shall we, weeping gardens, clap with singled arm;
satisfied now, wrapped in gold lilt, paint farts. This is amusing; like "lead pipe", "farts" wonderfully deflates the purple stuff beforehand.
This is not my landscape
I am made of lead pipe

Mack truck poetry, fist fucked love holes, that's mine. Should be a dash between "fist" and "fucked" (I sound like I'm critiquing toilet wall graffiti)
Dressed in refuge: Should this be "refuse"? nuclear me singing
carbon pressed joys, seismic measured hate speech. Excellent. There's an appropriate hardness to the technospeak.
Runaway dandy I, oiled up, clinging. This made me giggle
This is now my landscape
I am made of lead pipe

A really good poem. It's kind of anti-Victorian, reminding me of how lean 20th-century prose, like Hammett and Hemingway, followed long, flowery, dense stuff by writers like James and Eliot. Critique is JMHO. Thank you for the read

[SirBrendan]

Todd: I took your suggestion and added 'they' to the second stanza to clarify it is still in the mock world. Thanks a lot by the way; it means a lot comin' from you. This was definitely the hardest piece to write so it's great to know it paid off and I'm improving.

Ellajam: I revised the opening line and as many punctuation errors as I could find; it made it better--thank you.

Jdeirmend: Thanks a lot for such a thorough critique. You were definitely right to call out my ravaging of English grammar. Some of them were just artistic license (I actually enjoy abandoning/distorting some grammar in my poems), but I realised you were right in that certain lines weren't made better for the abandonment. I hope I made enough change now that it doesn't feel quite so rough.

I would have made more revisions likely, but I locked myself into a strict 10 syllable trochaic metre. I spent a good thirty minutes considering your revisions, so this is about as good as I can do about it:p

Heslopian: So my poem is now dash-crazy. I like it better that way. I feel I've improved greatly since joining this site, but I'm not certain I can be compared even lightly to Hemingway yet Thank you

[lucentwavering]

I find the imagery and the sound to be pleasantly extravagant. 'truth/ drenched in deluge' is particularly lovely. However, it doesn't make sense to me that the refrain has no punctuation.

[SirBrendan]

Thank you Lucent, the lack of punctuation on the refrain was purely oversight; thanks for the heads-up

[RSaba]

[quote='SirBrendan' pid='146262' dateline='1383690874']
This is not my Landscape (Edit 2.5)

They say, write from only river born truths
drenched in deluge, crest sunk, felted motions.
Write in ghost-ribboned speak, purple-flowered prose, fantastic imagery here!
pink hearts bled red, watered-skies and of starry oceans. I'm thinking no dash between "watered" and "skies." I love these descriptions, though, swapping the water and the stars. It paints a great picture.[b]
This is not my landscape;
I am made of lead pipe.

Caravans of tears emerge in feigned hurt,
draped in refuge, carting scavenge balmed hearts. [b]"scavenge-balmed"
Must they, weeping gardens, clap with singled arm;
satisfied now, wrapped in gold lilt, paint farts?
This is not my landscape;
I am made of lead pipe.

Mack truck poetry, fist-fucked love holes, that's mine.
Dressed in refuse: nuclear me singing
carbon pressed joys, seismic measured hate speech.
Runaway dandy I, oiled up, clinging.
This is now my landscape;
I am made of lead pipe.

Love the three-stanza organization, with the same sentence at the end of each. It ties it all up nicely, especially since the rest of the writing is flowery and descriptive, so that simple sentence completes it. This is a great piece. Not much more I can suggest, really!