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[billy]

i hate poetry that isn't owned. we talk about cliche in poetry and i can't see anything as cliche as a title called untitled.you say sorry about the untitled but the irony is you gave it a title. albeit a cliche one. you could have just typed in .......... and at least have us thinking about it.

when a person reads a poem, they never know what's coming, it's why we read them unless we're going back to the ones we love and know.

i see you tried a bit of formatting...
[ind] allows you to indent
[ind][ind] allows you to indent more and so on
just click reply to see how it's done

Hey there. Sorry about the lack of title, but I don't usually title poems, so I figure I'll just adopt a number-based titling scheme for most of what I post here.

Interested in comment on this, specifically:

• how it reads/sounds to someone who doesn't know what's coming
  
• thoughts on tone (something I find horrifyingly difficult to get right)
  
• the effectiveness of the repetitive elements
  

Cheers!

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there is a certain voice and words
an easy touch that makes me think
of a day on secrets
of a laugh that spills light

in supermarkets while
the longest walk of shame, some words
chlamydia trachomatis, thrush
pictures that batter only, and bring their words the repetition., it feels to much, if the fell in the enjambment allowed them to fall in the middle of a line it might work better. L1 to 4 of this stanza also has a disjointed feel.
the stare and hold that worries only
the strange face one day seen in
polished furniture and the long dark
shine of the hallway light that one day
brings a yellow tiger colour only (his last) and asks
if this is really a chat? or some
easy words said one day only. i'm not sure but i think it's enjambment that's affecting the tone, in a negative way for most of the stanza

it is hard being apart from you. this one single line for me is the crux of the poem, the lucid moment if you will. because of it i can decipher a lot of what's been written.

but a cave you know a pile of things
and thinglike stuff, today, one day, the weekend. the dusty
slip of a life that will
not look back upon itself
another day on secrets
one day words
without light, laughter

i staggered through it for want of a better word. mainly due to the enjambment. i won't lie and say i understood the aim but i think i got something from one line which gave it up. i get a feeling of trust issues predominantly but also of loneliness; again mostly from my lucid line.
some of the repetitions worked but words didn't (not for me anyway)
all that said. there's a strength in the poem that's forcing its way out....

it just needs a little help

thanks for the read