04-26-2013, 04:18 PM
Thanks a lot for the criticism. This was one of those poems that's sparked by what you think is a great idea, and in time turns out to be a lot harder to write (properly) than you'd thought. Anyway, I've taken what you've said on board and done a little edit, I agree that it was all a little vague and your notations of irritating word use and cliches are pretty justified. Here's the next drought...
Boredom and Nike
How vexing it
must be to frame
the picture of today
(while it ever tears itself apart
and only stitches form the grain).
Surely you’d want
shifting lenses!
Every sun's a virgin sight,
lending light to all those who
are sweeping through the fleeting day.
It seems no cinch
to keep one's feet,
or let alone one's tired eyes;
the nature of our motion synchronizes with Earth's turn,
though the way of stable insight is the aftermath of change.
Yet there are those
who time again
attempt to render vision sharp,
and so they gamble with perception
in hopes - though maybe vain - of sense.
Every present
carries colours
not yet shaded fine by time,
but of today I mark it strange:
both golfers rich and skid row’s junkies
drape themselves in Nike.
Why, ever more
condensed rain hangs
in form of dark commercials blaring.
Truly, to capitulate
ought not be how we drift.
Though drift we must!
For apathy
in time becomes regret.
We've all the world outside our doors
and all else at our fingers’ tips.
Immerse yourself
in pure time
and this young century we'll define.
But keep real sharp for if we don't,
chances are we'll just get bored.
Boredom and Nike
How vexing it
must be to frame
the picture of today
(while it ever tears itself apart
and only stitches form the grain).
Surely you’d want
shifting lenses!
Every sun's a virgin sight,
lending light to all those who
are sweeping through the fleeting day.
It seems no cinch
to keep one's feet,
or let alone one's tired eyes;
the nature of our motion synchronizes with Earth's turn,
though the way of stable insight is the aftermath of change.
Yet there are those
who time again
attempt to render vision sharp,
and so they gamble with perception
in hopes - though maybe vain - of sense.
Every present
carries colours
not yet shaded fine by time,
but of today I mark it strange:
both golfers rich and skid row’s junkies
drape themselves in Nike.
Why, ever more
condensed rain hangs
in form of dark commercials blaring.
Truly, to capitulate
ought not be how we drift.
Though drift we must!
For apathy
in time becomes regret.
We've all the world outside our doors
and all else at our fingers’ tips.
Immerse yourself
in pure time
and this young century we'll define.
But keep real sharp for if we don't,
chances are we'll just get bored.