WARNING:

[Lydish]

Revision


Don't Look

Cleaning my own clock
I chimed in
hungry scavengers;

From the time
I passed through the canal,
I've clung to every word offered
from this cruel world of pendulums, Nice extended metaphor with the clock. Think it could be more obvious/specific? I imagine a grandfather clock, but not sure...
trying to ready staves,
secure them in place;

Trusting scholars
over instinct & common sense,
my key turned once too often,
twisting out of shape I like this image a lot!
worn, rusted,
over-wound coils. Because you say "twisting out of shape", I wonder if something like "Ever-wounding coils" would be better to continue the continuing sense of the tense here

Weary of wasting each notch
on silly, lying vanities, Vanities are already silly
wondering if I would ever
find life again, "if I will find life again"
I turned fate over
to the hands
of my own mercy:

Sounding the great alarm, Wondering if there's a more specific word here // I like this poem! I would keep it and maybe take a look later. There's some fun images in there that you might be able to reuse
I lifted from my grave clothes
trading velvet cap and bells
for a robe of purest white.




Original
Don't Look


I cleaned my own clock
by hanging heavily
to every word
of this world;
trusting scholars,
turning over my life
to the hands of death
as I wasted time selling
my own lying vanities.









sorry, I realized the 1st poem
was a big mistake. I tried
to delete it, but it wouldn't
let me, so, I wrote over it
a completely different poem.

Sometimes self defense comes from the top down,
Like digging utensils, you can keep heeling,
A flying thwack, to the solid state,
Of our perceptions, young wooden
Double edged swords stuck
Between arm and rib, where that true metal
Scarred me, and made me bitter, unlike
The amateur porn that she had only half
A heart to see me watch.

I guess there were a few chases,
A few, well, chases, and I don't like Kinda lost here
The name Sue.

WARNING:


There's an intricacy of campaigns
going on around here.
We are only bleeps
on the screens of devils.

A third the angels
took thousands of years from us
learning to manage
their own proudest crowns:
a conglomerate of confusion. At a lost here for meaning

Nosy evil angels
draw assumption as a sword, Nice metaphor
while others
arm themselves in automation,
every measure of intoxication,
manipulating their most powerful weapon of all:

silly egos made from burnt mantels
and every oh-so-common human flaw
jammed into a powerful cannon
of devastating friendly fire. I'd say that powerful and devastating are redundant

Their primary target?
The family unit,
our greatest troop of hope,
the place from which we should find
unconditional love
and renewed strength.

All the while
chipping away at our outskirts,
as our braver,
worn guards
crawl the perimeter,
seeking new recruitments
that may or may not destroy us. why "may or may not"? Just stick with "that may destroy us"...maybe

Hold on fast, dear ones.
Wear the armor. Unnecessary "the" imo
Bind and pull together,
forgive and love.

Make feasts and parties
in the foxholes
we've dug together,
blanket those lovely black sheep
in your own softened, white fleece. Favourite stanza

Play and pray, love each other
through the stripes of regret,
through the heartache of fatality.

It's a raging battle,
never forget your comrades. I wonder if you could just keep it at "never forget" or "lest we forget", since those include the subtext of "your comrades"

I like (and understand) the second half more than the first. Maybe I'm just not familiar enough with angel/devil lit to get references you're making.

You have nice metaphor and imagery throughout. Good work, and keep trucking!