04-22-2013, 03:34 AM
It's been a while guys. I've been pretty busy and the whole Boston thing is weighing in heavily (I live in the immediate vicinity of the bombings and the shootings).
Anyways, I'd like to share a quick poem for critique. I'm trying to diversify by style (I usually write very terse, postmodernish poems), so it might not be very good. I'm looking for some serious critique though, because I find that my style isn't quite enough to flesh out my thoughts.
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A lighthouse on the western cliff.
There it stood. Unmoving.
And still stands. Unmoving.
Breaking the crest of each wave.
Hallowed by sailors,
Hollowed by times.
Its windows darkened,
Echoing the crash of each wave.
Every direction, ships warmed
By reflections of their own lamps.
Emptied panes cobwebbed in cracks,
Swallowing the colors of each wave.
New waves lick old stones
Encrusted in salt and sand.
Stifled cries, extinguished flames.
Waiting for another keeper.
Anyways, I'd like to share a quick poem for critique. I'm trying to diversify by style (I usually write very terse, postmodernish poems), so it might not be very good. I'm looking for some serious critique though, because I find that my style isn't quite enough to flesh out my thoughts.
------------------------------
A lighthouse on the western cliff.
There it stood. Unmoving.
And still stands. Unmoving.
Breaking the crest of each wave.
Hallowed by sailors,
Hollowed by times.
Its windows darkened,
Echoing the crash of each wave.
Every direction, ships warmed
By reflections of their own lamps.
Emptied panes cobwebbed in cracks,
Swallowing the colors of each wave.
New waves lick old stones
Encrusted in salt and sand.
Stifled cries, extinguished flames.
Waiting for another keeper.