Seventeen Street.

[StevieFinn]

hi stevie, welcome to the site
i left some comments and some suggestions that are just suggestions, the poem of course is always yours. it's good to see you staying clear of cliche. though we're hated for it, we do try to impress on poets, originality. so great job there. i like some of the images you have in the piece and the way you bring alliteration to the piece though i do think you went just a bit to far with it. mainly with the first grinning.
i get the feel of some tourist trap like thailand or nevada.
would like to see you do an edit or two on it. there's the bones of a decent poem in it

thanks for the read.

The lad who was presumed wasted
faces his reflection in the filth grey floor; a suggestion would be fithy or filth-grey
On a wintry old devil of a decadent street, love this line, because it has the reader thinking, (i think of thailand)
that lusted at night, shining in neon thrall. not sure thrall is the right word, for me the last part of the sentence needs rewording

The grinning gutter greets with a knowing wink, the grinning sort of lifts that bit a bit to much. a suggestion would be laughing,
as an array of garbage filled gaps, [as an array] feels like excess
scream out loud from their concrete teeth, no need for [out] or [their] maybe [through] instead of [from]
while tired exhausts cough, and somehow sneer. no need for somehow

Ant like, he is hunched by his heavy load; no need for [he is]
A long time carried ragbag worth nothing; another good line that works well on two levels. intrinsically and metaphorically
A slap started cancer of cold sharp despair; i think this line needs some clarification.
An iron forged accumulation of self loathing.

Later in his safe but lonely haven, verges on cliche (safe haven) a suggestion would be [secure] instead of safe
he dreams of moon streams and Irish mist,
of balconies with smiling rooftops singing, a suggestion here would be to lose the two ing's with, [of balconies that smile, rooftops that sing,] but i like the thought behind the line.
and an old attic composed of a first furtive kiss. a suggestion here would be to use [where] at the beginning of the sentence, which enables the removal of [of] further on in the line. nice F's

Well folks, thank you for taking the time to very constructively criticise my effort. It has been fascinating seeing it through your eyes & I feel already that I have learnt a lot ( Hopefully ). The poem is auto-biographical, it is supposed to reflect a memory that has stuck in my head from a freezing morning in a busy city centre in Stoke-on-Trent England, when I was 17.
It is an effort to reflect the self loathing that I was prey to at that time. However, I wanted it to speak for others that are out there who suffer from the same or a similar feeling about themselves, as I think that all cities have the same dark heart & broken people. As the above is only my 2nd poem I have probably bitten off more than I can chew, but it has been fun & I feel honoured by your interest.

Here is my 2nd stab at it, I have tried to take all of your words into account, I hope it is an improvement:

A lad who was by some presumed wasted,
faces his reflection in the filth smeared floor;
on a wintry old devil of a decadent street,
that lusted at night in it’s stark neon sprawl.

The gutter greets him with a knowing wink,
as a collection of garbage filled gaps
scream out loud through their concrete teeth,
while exhausts roar and engines screech..

Ant like and hunched by his significant load;
a long time carried ragbag worth nothing;
a slap started cancer of fear and despair,
slow forged on an anvil of self loathing.

Sometime before dawn in his solitary sleep,
He dreams of moon streams and soft Irish mist,
of balconies with elegant rooftops that frame;
an old attic composed of a first furtive kiss.