04-21-2021, 09:42 PM
Hi Majestic, I did something a little unorthodox here, but it was the best way I could think to critique your poem. What I did was red- out all the stuff I thought was repetitive or uninteresting to me. What you see left on screen in black is what I liked, what seemed like the makings of a poem, maybe a bit shorter.
I hope this is in some way helpful.
For me, the weakest parts of the poem, as you can see from what I left out, is the stuff about a "new day". I know what you mean, but I think a more vivid phrase ("new life" "new beginning" etc.) is needed, if that idea is important to you. Also, it ended on a very passive note. After all that build up, you want to do something more than just wait for the new whatever. you want to seize it. At least I'd think you would.
The strongest parts are your descriptions of what you are doing, your meditations on jazz could be more developed.
Hi MajesticI
t’s been a long day in the dreary house.
I take my long cigarette and scotch and relish
The thought of a new day through pockets
Of streetlight light stabbing through my home.
The night cannot get any worse, so it gets even.
It tends to argue with itself unveiling the moon
Or the clouds which I feel is breathtaking in itself.
I feel a sense of dread in my gut, my soul splinters
Into two, I hope one day I could get my act together
As I drink this scotch, shoving it down my throat.
I sit and wonder if this new day will come.
Perhaps now, even the rain will stop pouring.
I will get down to breathing into this cigarette soon.
Another puff makes little circles of smoke fly.
At least now I can get a little bit of sensual grip.
The way I feel at parties or even at Jazz events.
For now, I will continue to think about new days.
The way I wander from thought-to-thought reminiscing.
This new day has to come, might as well dream.
This desiccated song I remember, that gloomy Jazz,
Where I think to myself on how slick the saxophone is.
Sometimes I dream about this new day over again.
I want this daylight to remain a jack-in-the-box for me.
Perhaps I can feel happy again, more or so enlightened
About what this new day can do for a man like me.
Afterwards can I reveal the notes I had planned.
For the coming of Jazz bands that’s coming to town.
Then I will get off this chair and go to their show.
For the gravity of Jazz that is crawling up my spine.
Showing goosebumps of awe on my own skin.
The night will give an encore for its longevity of darkness.
I in fact hate the dark, I believe in vampires and werewolves.
But they seem to exist only in the brain like prophesies.
As soon as I get up from this chair, I’ll wait for this new day
And the spirit of jazz which impacts my life.
I hope this is in some way helpful.
For me, the weakest parts of the poem, as you can see from what I left out, is the stuff about a "new day". I know what you mean, but I think a more vivid phrase ("new life" "new beginning" etc.) is needed, if that idea is important to you. Also, it ended on a very passive note. After all that build up, you want to do something more than just wait for the new whatever. you want to seize it. At least I'd think you would.
The strongest parts are your descriptions of what you are doing, your meditations on jazz could be more developed.
Hi MajesticI
t’s been a long day in the dreary house.
I take my long cigarette and scotch and relish
The thought of a new day through pockets
Of streetlight light stabbing through my home.
The night cannot get any worse, so it gets even.
It tends to argue with itself unveiling the moon
Or the clouds which I feel is breathtaking in itself.
I feel a sense of dread in my gut, my soul splinters
Into two, I hope one day I could get my act together
As I drink this scotch, shoving it down my throat.
I sit and wonder if this new day will come.
Perhaps now, even the rain will stop pouring.
I will get down to breathing into this cigarette soon.
Another puff makes little circles of smoke fly.
At least now I can get a little bit of sensual grip.
The way I feel at parties or even at Jazz events.
For now, I will continue to think about new days.
The way I wander from thought-to-thought reminiscing.
This new day has to come, might as well dream.
This desiccated song I remember, that gloomy Jazz,
Where I think to myself on how slick the saxophone is.
Sometimes I dream about this new day over again.
I want this daylight to remain a jack-in-the-box for me.
Perhaps I can feel happy again, more or so enlightened
About what this new day can do for a man like me.
Afterwards can I reveal the notes I had planned.
For the coming of Jazz bands that’s coming to town.
Then I will get off this chair and go to their show.
For the gravity of Jazz that is crawling up my spine.
Showing goosebumps of awe on my own skin.
The night will give an encore for its longevity of darkness.
I in fact hate the dark, I believe in vampires and werewolves.
But they seem to exist only in the brain like prophesies.
As soon as I get up from this chair, I’ll wait for this new day
And the spirit of jazz which impacts my life.