04-19-2014, 07:23 AM
[quote='SirBrendan' pid='146262' dateline='1383690874']
This is not my Landscape (Edit 2.5)
They say, write from only river born truths
drenched in deluge, crest sunk, felted motions.
Write in ghost-ribboned speak, purple-flowered prose, fantastic imagery here!
pink hearts bled red, watered-skies and of starry oceans. I'm thinking no dash between "watered" and "skies." I love these descriptions, though, swapping the water and the stars. It paints a great picture.[b]
This is not my landscape;
I am made of lead pipe.
Caravans of tears emerge in feigned hurt,
draped in refuge, carting scavenge balmed hearts. [b]"scavenge-balmed"
Must they, weeping gardens, clap with singled arm;
satisfied now, wrapped in gold lilt, paint farts?
This is not my landscape;
I am made of lead pipe.
Mack truck poetry, fist-fucked love holes, that's mine.
Dressed in refuse: nuclear me singing
carbon pressed joys, seismic measured hate speech.
Runaway dandy I, oiled up, clinging.
This is now my landscape;
I am made of lead pipe.
Love the three-stanza organization, with the same sentence at the end of each. It ties it all up nicely, especially since the rest of the writing is flowery and descriptive, so that simple sentence completes it. This is a great piece. Not much more I can suggest, really!
This is not my Landscape (Edit 2.5)
They say, write from only river born truths
drenched in deluge, crest sunk, felted motions.
Write in ghost-ribboned speak, purple-flowered prose, fantastic imagery here!
pink hearts bled red, watered-skies and of starry oceans. I'm thinking no dash between "watered" and "skies." I love these descriptions, though, swapping the water and the stars. It paints a great picture.[b]
This is not my landscape;
I am made of lead pipe.
Caravans of tears emerge in feigned hurt,
draped in refuge, carting scavenge balmed hearts. [b]"scavenge-balmed"
Must they, weeping gardens, clap with singled arm;
satisfied now, wrapped in gold lilt, paint farts?
This is not my landscape;
I am made of lead pipe.
Mack truck poetry, fist-fucked love holes, that's mine.
Dressed in refuse: nuclear me singing
carbon pressed joys, seismic measured hate speech.
Runaway dandy I, oiled up, clinging.
This is now my landscape;
I am made of lead pipe.
Love the three-stanza organization, with the same sentence at the end of each. It ties it all up nicely, especially since the rest of the writing is flowery and descriptive, so that simple sentence completes it. This is a great piece. Not much more I can suggest, really!
Let's put Rowdy on top of the TV and see which one of us can throw a hat on him first. 
