Edit 1: Banality

[The Four-Eyed Cat]

Edit 1 (Thank you Richard, CRNDLSM, DukeAlien, Vagabond, Tectak, Achebe for feedback and commentary)


On a mundane monday evening
I’m making my way home
through littered streets,
tin-cans and chit-chat.
I add to the mess
light up a cigarette,
my lips kiss the bud;
smoke numbing my throat.
Moments pass like pedestrians
and I finally reach my station -
a faint rumble from the distance;
Pa-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dum
 
That ordinary sound
of going home.
A carriage covered with
tags of graffiti;
zig-zag sentiments overlapping
occasional spots of rust,
grinds to a halt.
A screech and a whir,
gates squeak open,
out steps a guard -
That unmistakable uniform
and oversized hat,
black and blue respectively.
He asks for my destination,
to which I tiredly reply;
“Again, to Nessingway station”
He nods disapprovingly.
My tone that he didn’t like,
I step inside, guard forgotten.
A vacant seat calling me
through a cluttered crowd;
A faux leather couch with
a piece of fabric torn out,
begging for release.
I rest my head against the glass,
staring right through.
the train starts moving,
making that hallmark hum:
Pad-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dum
 
Through stained windows
a vague reflection.
A see-through copy of myself,
seeing off the sunset, side by side -
as if credits roll through,
a clichéd title like:
“Another day", starring myself.
The rails carry me home,
no screen turning black.
I step outside,
saying under my breath:
“Goodbye and until tomorrow.” 
The train slowly drifts off,
a farewell of its own:
Pa-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dum
 

 

 
 

Original

Through streets littered with 
tin cans and chit-chat,
I’m making my way home
on a mellow Tuesday evening.
While I wait for a train
that goes my direction,
I decide to add to the mess
by lighting up a cigarette.
I inhale deeply as
my lips kiss the bud;
stale smoke numbing my throat
a feeling like that of a sore love-story.
Moments pass by like pedestrians
when I spot a faint rumble
coming from a near distance;
Pa-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dum
 
It’s that distinct sound
of going home,
presented by a carriage
that is marked with graffiti
and the occasional spot of rust.
It slowly grinds to a halt
with a loud screech and a whir.
Its gates squeak open
and out steps its guard.
He dons that unmistakable
silly hat and uniform,
colored black and blue respectively.
He asks for my destination,
to which I softly reply;
“Home, Sir, to Nessingway station".
I show him my ticket
to which he approvingly nods. 
I crack an awkward smile
while I step inside.
My eye catches a vacant seat
through the cluttered crowd;
A rugged leather couch with
a piece of fabric tearing out.
I sit down and rest my head
against the glass, staring through.
As the train slowly starts moving,
making that ubiquitous hum:
Pad-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dum
 
Through the stained windows
I spot my vague reflection.
Together we see the sunset
accompanied by an ever-changing décor.
As if the credits from the end
 of a movie roll through
with a clichéd title like:
“Another day", starring myself
while the rails take me
to the end of my destination.
Instead of the screen turning black,
I get up and step outside,
spotting my reflection in the glass
one final time, while saying under my breath:
“Goodbye and until tomorrow”
The train slowly drifts off
yonder towards a setting sun,
bidding me farewell with that distinct sound:
Pa-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dum

[vagabond]

Through streets littered with 
tin cans and chit-chat,
I’m making my way home
on a mellow Tuesday evening.
While I wait for a train
that goes my direction,                nice   metaphor
I decide to add to the mess
by lighting up a cigarette.         See it as a hint to how the surroundings seem connected to the subject in this poem
I inhale deeply as
my lips kiss the bud;
stale smoke numbing my throat
a feeling like that of a sore love-story.      good line. I think you can leave “a feeling” out
Moments pass by like pedestrians   
when I spot a faint rumble    
coming from a near distance;                  
Pa-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dum
 
It’s that distinct sound
of going home,
presented by a carriage
that is marked with graffiti
and the occasional spot of rust.            
It slowly grinds to a halt
with a loud screech and a whir.         
Its gates squeak open
and out steps its guard.            this is somewhat clear, so could be left out, just continue with "the guard dons.."
He dons that unmistakable         if the guard´s outfit should refer to the subject as well I´d leave "unmistakable" out and either give it another adjective or just pull "that silly hat" into this line and then "the uniform, blue and black" in the next line
colored black and blue respectively.     
He asks for my destination,
to which I softly reply;                     would leave out softly 
“Home, Sir, to Nessingway station".     
I show him my ticket             maybe just "his nod approves of my ticket"
to which he approvingly nods.     
I crack an awkward smile             lets me wonder why awkward.. and relate to the subject by thinking maybe approval is missed otherwise.
while I step inside.
My eye catches a vacant seat         eyes
through the cluttered crowd;
A rugged leather couch with
a piece of fabric tearing out.          I like how the subject´s focus always seems to draw to things torn or worn out; makes me think about the subject´s feelings in an unintrusive way.
I sit down and rest my head
against the glass, staring through.
As the train slowly starts moving,
making that ubiquitous hum:
Pad-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dum    
 
Through the stained windows    
I spot my vague reflection             to spot/ stain reflections, I like the associations that come up here
Together we see the sunset
accompanied by an ever-changing décor.
As if the credits from the end          this and the next line could fit better into one: comma after décor, then “the end credits of a movie”
 of a movie roll through
with a clichéd title like:
“Another day", starring myself             
while the rails take me
to the end of my destination.     feeling of being just drawn along well described
Instead of the screen turning black,
I get up and step outside,
spotting my reflection in the glass              
one final time, while saying under my breath:
“Goodbye and until tomorrow”     
The train slowly drifts off    
yonder towards a setting sun,
bidding me farewell with that distinct sound:    
Pa-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dum

i like the  images and the way the subject´s feelings/ considerations show through them.
maybe it could be a little shorter at some points, but overall it´s movement is rolling along well, like the train.

[dukealien]

Through streets littered with 
tin cans and chit-chat,
I’m making my way home  can't help but feel simple present tense would work better here ("I make") since the rest of the poem is not walking through streets as "I'm making" suggests.
on a mellow Tuesday evening.
While I wait for a train
that goes my direction,
I decide to add to the mess  viewpoint character's only decision
by lighting up a cigarette.
I inhale deeply as
my lips kiss the bud;
stale smoke numbing my throat  here, again, present tense might work better and lead to a simpler next line
a feeling like that of a sore love-story.  why not "feeling like a sore love-story?"
Moments pass by like pedestrians nice simile
when I spot a faint rumble
coming from a near distance;
Pa-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dum
 
It’s that distinct sound  "distinct" seems weak - why not "distinctive" or even "banal?"
of going home,
presented by a carriage
that is marked with graffiti  if "that is" were cut, could add telling detail - "gang graffiti" or "tag graffitos"
and the occasional spot of rust.
It slowly grinds to a halt
with a loud screech and a whir.
Its gates squeak open
and out steps its guard.
He dons that unmistakable  really? puts it on just then? isn't it really more like, he wears the uniform and dons the silly hat?
silly hat and uniform,
colored black and blue respectively.
He asks for my destination,
to which I softly reply;
“Home, Sir, to Nessingway station".
I show him my ticket
to which he approvingly nods. "nods approvingly" might be smoother
I crack an awkward smile
while I step inside.
My eye catches a vacant seat  the idiom/cliche would be "vacant seat catches my eye," not sure this is better, though it is different
through the cluttered crowd;
A rugged leather couch with
a piece of fabric tearing out. is this a fabric patch?  or a piece of its [leather] fabric?
I sit down and rest my head
against the glass, staring through.
As the train slowly starts moving,
making that ubiquitous hum:
Pad-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dum
 
Through the stained windows  this is the big stanza, "the" seems to break up this first line unnecessarily
I spot my vague reflection.
Together we see the sunset  this line also needs work:  a better word than "Together," perhaps
accompanied by an ever-changing décor.
As if the credits from the end
 of a movie roll through
with a clichéd title like:
“Another day", starring myself
while the rails take me  better word than "take" - "slide," "thump me along," even "carry" or "pa-dum-dum me"
to the end of my destination.  "in the end to my destination?"
Instead of the screen turning black, "its" for "the?"
I get up and step outside,
spotting my reflection in the glass
one final time, while saying under my breath:
“Goodbye and until tomorrow”
The train slowly drifts off
yonder towards a setting sun,
bidding me farewell with that distinct sound: again, "distinctive" for the rhythm this time
Pa-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dum

Nice slice of life; the concept of sharing the sunset with your reflection makes it memorable.  Although a clutter of words reflects (g) the cluttered street and carriage interior, it seems to me the poem could be improved by editing out quite a few short words, particularly "a" and "the."  Continuity of rhythm is important here, to echo the larrup of wheels over points and rail joints.

The above offered in intensive critique, and doesn't stress the good points as much as in mild.  I can envision, even feel, the greasy glass against the side of my face, rays of orange sunset, bump of window ledge against shoulder.  My *important" reflection is the one on the other side of the aisle:  the one my temple rests against is too close, but the far one is a stranger.

Good ideas - does need workshopping and editing to link and mold them.

[CRNDLSM]

I wrote the whole thing out to try and put myself in the narrator's mind.

Through streets littered with 
tin cans and chit-chat,
I’m making my way home
on a mellow Tuesday evening. This is the setting
While I wait for a train
that goes my direction,
I decide to add to the mess I wouldn't consider any of this a mess, everything's in place, another day
by lighting up a cigarette.
I inhale deeply as
my lips kiss the bud;
stale smoke numbing my throat
a feeling like that of a sore love-story.this line could prolly be replaced by a feeling like that of a sore love-story.
Moments pass by like pedestrians
when I spot a faint rumble spot is repeated in cases of sight, and through your poem you refer to sounds as distinct, how about an equivalent for rumble
coming from a near distance;
Pa-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dum

Writing it out felt like a prose story with basic sentence structuring, a lot more room for elaboration in the same amount of space.

 
It’s that distinct sound
of going home,
presented by a carriage
that is marked with graffiti
and the occasional spot of rust.
It slowly grinds to a halt
with a loud screech and a whir.
Its gates squeak openreally like everything about the train
and out steps its guard.
He dons that unmistakable
silly hat and uniform, the first time read this I wondered, 'why are the police here? I was mistaken
colored black and blue respectively. Black hat, blue uniform, and respectively like respect the position
He asks for my destination,
to which I softly reply;
“Home, Sir, to Nessingway station".
I show him my ticket
to which he approvingly nods. The sentence structure is banal
I crack an awkward smile
while I step inside.
My eye catches a vacant seat
through the cluttered crowd; I guess this is a mess sorry
A rugged leather couch with
a piece of fabric tearing out.
I sit down and rest my head
against the glass, staring through.
As the train slowly starts moving,
making that ubiquitous hum: and I like ubiquitous him and all the paddumdum
Pad-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dum
 
Through the stained windows
I spot my vague reflection.
Together we see the sunset
accompanied by an ever-changing décor.
As if the credits from the end
 of a movie roll through
with a clichéd title like:
“Another day", starring myself
while the rails take me
to the end of my destination. Is the destination the end, or the beginning, if it will end.
Instead of the screen turning black,
I get up and step outside,
spotting my reflection in the glass
one final time, while saying under my breath:
“Goodbye and until tomorrow”
The train slowly drifts off
yonder towards a setting sun,
bidding me farewell with that distinct sound:
Pa-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dum

Nice setting and tone, and use of onomanopeia

[The Four-Eyed Cat]

Thank you, CRN! Regarding the mess in the first stanza, it was more of a perception from the character himself;
"ah the streets are littered with tin cans already, noone'd mind if i throw a cig bum on the street here"
You do make a good point regarding the first stanza, that it could definitely use some more elaboration.

[Richard]

Hey Cat,
There are parts of this poem that I quite like. However, there are some dubious word choices here and there in the poem. I'll go into more detail below:

Through streets littered with 
tin cans and chit-chat, -I can't say I've seen too many tin cans rolling around the streets in the cities I frequent, but may be this is true in other cities I've never visited.
I’m making my way home
on a mellow Tuesday evening. -I understand why you used the word "mellow," but I can't help but wonder if there is a more effective word you could use here. To me, a word like "mundane" might be more consistent with the tone of this poem.
While I wait for a train
that goes my direction, -I like how the wording here makes the train even sound banal.
I decide to add to the mess -I find that this and the next line gave me the impression that the speaker feels a bit defeated.
by lighting up a cigarette.
I inhale deeply as -I don't think this line is necessary. What else are you going to do with a cigarette other then inhale it? I would also suggest adding a line later in the poem describing the speaker throwing the cigarette butt on the ground. I think if it's done right, it could be a potent image.
my lips kiss the bud; -I like this line because it leads nicely up the coming simile.
stale smoke numbing my throat
a feeling like that of a sore love-story. -I would drop "a feeling" from this line. I love this simile. It works well with your tone in this poem.
Moments pass by like pedestrians -Another nice simile. It's consistent with the imagery of the poem so far.
when I spot a faint rumble -Do you mean "hear" instead of "spot", or are you mixing up the sense intentionally to create emphasis?
coming from a near distance;
Pa-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dum -I like the use of onomatopoeia here. The sound of the train is a wonder image for describe the mundane nature of daily life.
 
It’s that distinct sound -Is it really distinct if the speaker takes the train home every day? May be he/she doesn't, but I suggest using a different word here other than "distinct".
of going home,
presented by a carriage
that is marked with graffiti -You have a chance here to deliver a powerful image if you describe the graffiti more.
and the occasional spot of rust.
It slowly grinds to a halt
with a loud screech and a whir. -This image appeals the reader's sense of hearing.
Its gates squeak open -This image also appeals to the reader's sense of hearing. My question is how can you describe these sounds so they seem more banal?
and out steps its guard.
He dons that unmistakable -I'm not a fan of the word "dons" in this line. It just sounds like a really old-fashion word to me. 
silly hat and uniform, -Why is it silly? I feel like you could explore this image more.
colored black and blue respectively.
He asks for my destination,
to which I softly reply; -Why does the speaker reply softly? He/she thinks the person is silly, so I wouldn't expect them to speak softly to him.
“Home, Sir, to Nessingway station".
I show him my ticket
to which he approvingly nods. -This line feels a bit unneeded. This is just a thought, but would it be more interesting if the guard sensed the speaker's disrespect and nodded disapprovingly?
I crack an awkward smile -If you used my suggest from above, then the awkward smile would be warranted.
while I step inside.
My eye catches a vacant seat -I get what you were trying to do here with the wording. However, this line created a pretty surreal image in my mind.
through the cluttered crowd; -This is more food for thought than a critique point. You already compare time to pedestrians earlier in the poem, so how could you compare this crowd to time? 
A rugged leather couch with
a piece of fabric tearing out. -I feel like you need to add a simile or metaphor here.
I sit down and rest my head
against the glass, staring through.
As the train slowly starts moving,
making that ubiquitous hum:
Pad-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dum -I find this whole stanza serves an important purpose to get the speaker on the train and moving. However, this stanza feels more like prose than poetry in spots. This is something I'm often guilty of myself, so I feel your pain here. I would suggest reworking this entire stanza with the focus of trying to add more figurative language to it. 
 
Through the stained windows
I spot my vague reflection. -I love how the speaker views his/her reflection as vague. It works well with the idea of banality.
Together we see the sunset -This is a nice line because it actually emphasizes the speaker's loneliness.
accompanied by an ever-changing décor.
As if the credits from the end
 of a movie roll through
with a clichéd title like:
“Another day", starring myself -I like this metaphor of the ending day being like the end of a movie. I would actually suggest expanding it a bit. May be have the speaker mentally revisit the train station and the guard to include them some how within it.
while the rails take me
to the end of my destination. -I would drop this and previous line because it doesn't go with the movie metaphor.
Instead of the screen turning black,
I get up and step outside, -I wonder if you could change the time in the poem slightly and some how connect the night greeting the speaker outside the train to the black screen in the movie metaphor? Just a thought.
spotting my reflection in the glass
one final time, while saying under my breath:
“Goodbye and until tomorrow” -I would suggest having the speaker wave to his/her reflection because then it could wave back. I just think that would be an interesting image to explore.
The train slowly drifts off
yonder towards a setting sun, -This line would have to change if you take my suggestion above about the night.
bidding me farewell with that distinct sound:
Pa-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dum -I like the repetition of these lines. As I said above, this sound works well with the poem's tone.

I think you have a great first draft here. I would suggest spending most of your editing efforts on the second stanza and expanding the movie metaphor. I look forward to seeing where you go from here.

Cheers,
Richard

[Achebe]

Hi FourEyed - this reads more like a piece of prose with line breaks than a poem. 
Take this line, for instance:

It’s that distinct sound of going home, presented by a carriage that is marked with graffiti and the occasional spot of rust. 

It actually read better when written out as a single line. In your poem, the line breaks introduce meaningless, unnatural pauses in speech. Even free verse has to follow speech patterns.
Nearly every line in the poem has the same problem.

Even a poem about banality can only be banal selectively.

[The Four-Eyed Cat]

Thanks for the myriad of suggestions, Richard! you've certainly given me inspiration!

Achebe - you're right- i'll be doing my best to correct that though!

[Achebe]

Through streets littered with 
tin cans and chit-chat,
I’m making my way home on a mellow Tuesday evening.
While I wait for a train
that goes my direction,
I decide to add to the mess
by lighting up a cigarette.
I inhale deeply as
my lips kiss the bud;
stale smoke numbing my throat
a feeling like that of a sore love-story.
Moments pass by like pedestrians
when I spot a faint rumble
coming from a near distance;
then
Pa-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dum
 
It’s that distinct sound
of going home,
presented by a carriage
that is marked with graffiti
and the occasional spot of rust.
It slowly grinds to a halt
with a loud screech and a whir.

An example of where you might go with this

[tectak]

Hi four,
Intensive crit can be demoralising but you seem to have the right attitude...whatever gets thrown at you, take it as a lifeline. This piece is in need...prose by any other name, not poetry. Once you get that in mind you are off on a lurching foray in to areas unknown and it is not an easy journey for the reader. Some discipline is needed. The enjambments and peculiar familiarity makes me think that you think that I think that you know what you are about. Well, I don't...always best to assume that the reader needs as much help as possible...sudden metaphors (almost spontaneous) and intravenous onomatopoeic refrains, injected for no apparent reason, makes the whole thing a complete hotch-potch. It really does not "go" anywhere whilst making all the right noises...like a child sitting on a chair and going brrrrummm, brruuuummm with a pretended steering-wheel. So, a line by line.




Through streets littered withUtterely pointless and devisive enjambment. You have told the reader that you have no intentions of streamlining this piece in to any shape which could conceivably fly. To begin a piece where the whole opener is an inversion  makes the reader wonder why you the way you did went. If this is an attempt to "sound" poetic, it has not worked BUT in fairness, you are only "setting the scene"...so:
I'm making my way home
on a mellow Monday (better) evening;
chit-chat all around me,
littered tin-cans.

 
Your poem, and I am not saying the suggestion is definitive, BUT it may make you decide not to invert quite so freely...
 
tin cans and chit-chat,
I’m making my way home
on a mellow Tuesday evening.
While I wait for a train Odd thought train. Lacks the veracity of the moment...of course you are waiting for a train (though you haven't said that you have reached the railway station) that goes where you want to go. I mean, anything else would be pretty silly...yes? So do not pad it out with this kind of kapok. Concentrate on the envisioning of reality and write about it. Stream of conciousness would, believably, lead you to imagine that the thought you expressed...decided to add to the litter...was fleeting. The problem really is veracity...so what, if you so decide? Is this what the piece is about? No. It is not....and as of now neither you nor I have any idea what the point is. 
that goes my direction,
I decide to add to the mess
by lighting up a cigarette.
I inhale deeply as
my lips kiss the bud;This is called smoking...but kissing the bud is out-of-context jargon introduced in to a mundane scenario. Why should the reader be interested? You MUST bring a tight thread in to the piece. It is all just loose weft and weave...and arriving on platform one, right on time, here come the multiple metaphors.  
stale smoke numbing my throatWhy stale??? It is a NEW cigarette. You just stuck "stale" in for no real purpose...it could be hot, menthol, tarry, acrid, soothing even...but stale?
a feeling like that of a sore love-story.What is "feeling like that of a sore love-story"? Your character, his throat...and how does a story feel, anyway? This requires a happy hour of reconstruction...and more to follow.
Moments pass by like pedestriansI appreciate what you are saying, here, but the "like" does NOT clarify. Here is the problem...do moments PASS (by like pedestrians) or do moments PASS BY (like pedestrians pass by)? While you are pondering on that one I am puzzled by how you spot a rumble...faint or otherwise...Luckily, source of said faint rumble may be apparent as it is "near". Look, let's get real. You HEAR a faint rumble and you train "spot". 
when I spot a faint rumble
coming from a near distance;
Pa-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dumWe are in Jaipur station, right. This is the Papadum and Naan Express
 
It’s that distinct sound
of going home,
presented by a carriage
that is marked with graffiti
and the occasional spot of rust.No. It is just over-egging a tenuous souffle...a sound "presented" Wha? Huh? "marked" with graffiti...surely not. Daubed, cloaked, camouflaged, bedecked, garlanded...but "marked"? Hell, it makes me wonder if the "occasional spot of rust" was no more than the size of a pin-head....so WHY mention it? Make EVERYTHING you write COUNT....even if there is  banality to be described, make sure the reader knows why.
It slowly grinds to a halt The unassociated "it" word...a pretty poor excuse for a better word.
with a loud screech and a whir.
Its gates squeak open...and it again. There is a better way to write this. Find it.
and out steps its guard....and it again.
He dons that unmistakable
silly hat and uniform, Veracity issues. Why is it silly? I do not think it is silly. Tell me why it is silly. I want to know.
colored black and blue respectively.A missed opportunity for another metaphorical musing...praise be
He asks for my destination,
to which I softly reply;
“Home, Sir, to Nessingway station".
I show him my ticket
to which he approvingly nods. ...or nods approvingly. Also...pedantic prat that I am..."at which he nods approvingly". If you nod TO, you expect a anthropomorphic response. If you nod AT, no such undertaking is expected.
I crack an awkward smile
while I step inside.Why? Is this of any consequence? Is it the very act of stepping inside that causes such a reflex? Tell me...please...I cannot see the connection. Did you release a plaintive and sub-sonic fart?  
My eye catches a vacant seat Eye catches...cliche. Spoils cluttered crowd.
through the cluttered crowd;
A rugged leather couch withWhere did this couch come from? Are we Pullman here...Orient Express...Days of the Raj?
a piece of fabric tearing out.Torn or tearing...tearing sounds wonderfully comedic...in another context.
I sit down and rest my head
against the glass, staring through.Unnecessarily contrived and constructed sentence. It IS banal but not interestingly so.
As the train slowly starts moving, How else could it POSSIBLY start movinmg without causing G-force collateral damage. Again , your imagery lacks veracity. It really sounds as if you are making this story up...oh, you are.
making that ubiquitous hum:Why on earth is it ubiquitous. I cannot hear it. Hang on, I'll ask my wife out in the garden..hey, hun...can you heare that everywhere hum?...No?....funny...neither can I. Word choice suspect.
Pad-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dumWith mixed pickles...this is how the train sounded?
 
Through the stained windows
I spot my vague reflection. This line I believe
Together we see the sunset
accompanied by an ever-changing décor.Hyperbolic language for the sake of sounding poetic...never works...but do not give up on trying. You are now musing and probably about to start writing this poem.
As if the credits from the end
 of a movie roll through
with a clichéd title like:
“Another day", starring myself
while the rails take me
to the end of my destination.
Instead of the screen turning black,
I get up and step outside,
spotting my reflection in the glass
one final time, while saying under my breath:
“Goodbye and until tomorrow”
The train slowly drifts off
yonder towards a setting sun,
bidding me farewell with that distinct sound:
Pa-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dumThis is cringeworthy but I cannot crit you for trying to get meaning in to the piece even unto the end, when yonder final period alights upon the parchment pillow and all will bid a fond and fullsome fare thee well to this banality. Yikes.

Intensive, huh. Remember, all is opinion. Shorten this one by concentation. Make each (banal?) thought a cameo...begin, write, end. I could write one called nothin...here goes:

Nothing really matters,
for how would ten be wrote?

Best,
tectak

[The Four-Eyed Cat]

Hey Tectak, thank you for taking your time lining out the issues with my poem! Thanks for giving me a nudge towards the right direction!

- and thank you Achebe, for giving me a short example on how to do that.

[tectak]

Hey Tectak, thank you for taking your time lining out the issues with my poem! Thanks for giving me a nudge towards the right direction!

- and thank you Achebe, for giving me a short example on how to do that.

Good egg,
Best,
tectak

[The Four-Eyed Cat]

I've updated the post to include my first edit. I hope that i took out alot of the mistakes in this one and that it is a step towards the right direction!

[tectak]

I've updated the post to include my first edit. I hope that i took out alot of the mistakes in this one and that it is a step towards the right direction!

Good start. Now read it out loud and punctuate  it to clarity. Make up you mind  regarding capitalisation of line starts...for me, no....unless punctuation so requires.

Best,
tectak

[The Four-Eyed Cat]

I've updated the post to include my first edit. I hope that i took out alot of the mistakes in this one and that it is a step towards the right direction!

Good start. Now read it out loud and punctuate  it to clarity. Make up you mind  regarding capitalisation of line starts...for me, no....unless punctuation so requires.

Best,
tectak

Whoops! Microsoft Word always has a tendency to capitalize (and i always have a tendency to overlook that)