To Kill A Fly

[billy]

bumps are okay after a week or so if you've had little or no feedback on a poem. as ella said, edits if there are some to do are best.

okay, the very first line has three problems, it gives virtually no information and uses two imponderables. ideally you want to start your first few lines at a run with something solid in them; what are you pondering? get to it quick or else the reader will leave. and cliche and the same thing continues throughout the poem. the fly feels like a human imagining there a fly, make it real. at present i'd suggest leaving the rhyme alone and just concentrate getting some images down that are original.

oh, and look out for doubling up on words, abyss comes to mind, you can use ten different words to say abyss so no need to repeat such words.

To kill a fly: A tragic occurrence

I sit and ponder, wonder. More
Time I squander, condors soar,
Around my head. I fall asleep,
Astounded! Something’s calling me...
This dark abyss that’s hard to grip;
It hurts my head to stall and think,
And grasp the vast fall beneath...
Perhaps at last the contour forms?

I soon begin to look in shock;
A dark abyss was not the black!
I gaze in awe I’m shook and god!
It’s hard to miss this monster pass,
It’s eyes defined as sockets; glass!
The sheen they show on top of that,
Reflects, directs on top of me,
-Smack!-

Now I’m caught between...

The hands of beats who kill galore!
They handle me I feel no more,
A sandal squeezed to drill my form,
Amanda screams and spills the gore!
It’s quite a mess that I have bled;
I am dead they find no mess!
I zoom and see, my doom, and jeeze!
If I’m that ugly you would scream!

Eventually we all will go,
But I'm so small that I will choke.
I cannot think; no calls for hope,
No dreams or schemes with god to cope!
For you its just a death so quick,
A corpse that falls; it's left to sit.
I get that it's an easy task,
But life is nice you need to grasp!

I wake and -gasp!- I take and grasp,
This paper pen and make so fast,
A script to show that if you hope,
To drill and kill; leave stiff alone,
The corpse, let death come sort this mess,
In sad decay let pass away,
A beast whom squeals and also feels!
And now the fly will never heal!

I sit and ponder, wonder. More,
The time I squander, condors soar,
Around my head; they buzz away.
The beasts are flies not birds I lied!
A dark abyss that’s hard to grip.
It hurts my head to stall and think,
And grasp the vast fall beneath...
For flies who die, we all should weep!