05-02-2021, 10:29 AM
I am seeking a critique for a poem I did for NaPoWriMo this year. Need fresh eyes on this one. Title is a working title. Will change it soon.
The city sleeps and so do I, I make time for tea.
The hour sits on an axis and rotates around in my head.
There is a hard tug in the rope I play with my brother.
The rope snapped, I collapsed on the floor laughing.
There is nothing so glorious as a first chuckle or fall.
I swear on my life, I will never remember that again.
The smell of tea, compels me to drink, I take little sips
While lying on the cotton floor, so lovely and smooth.
I feel like I am touching a lion’s fur, but I’m slowly dying
From the fact I have to gather my books to the store.
Things are looking grim, the city outside caught in a crowd,
Of people going from place to place in search of nothing.
I think they may be wandering for love or the news,
Of women falling from the window in dreadful pain.
I wonder; if I need to fall in love with others here.
The city where I inhabit keeps me on my toes.
And the intention of gathering my friends in the city.
Makes me feel horrid inside like a murder spree.
But after all this confusion with the city gentlemen.
And Gothic architecture keeping me enticed.
I think being bemused would be a suitable choice.
Since I cannot understand this ancient, dense, city.
I would much rather ride on my hobbyhorse.
Like I little kid, I’d rather ride on a horse on a stick.
But after gathering my books to the antique shop.
I think I might have stumbled on a future best friend.
Or at least a good friend, I have to get her to shout
My name, I want her to shout for the sake of shouting.
And smell my Boss cologne, perhaps just for today.
She should shout since we are both sick of this city.
The city sleeps and so do I, I make time for tea.
The hour sits on an axis and rotates around in my head.
There is a hard tug in the rope I play with my brother.
The rope snapped, I collapsed on the floor laughing.
There is nothing so glorious as a first chuckle or fall.
I swear on my life, I will never remember that again.
The smell of tea, compels me to drink, I take little sips
While lying on the cotton floor, so lovely and smooth.
I feel like I am touching a lion’s fur, but I’m slowly dying
From the fact I have to gather my books to the store.
Things are looking grim, the city outside caught in a crowd,
Of people going from place to place in search of nothing.
I think they may be wandering for love or the news,
Of women falling from the window in dreadful pain.
I wonder; if I need to fall in love with others here.
The city where I inhabit keeps me on my toes.
And the intention of gathering my friends in the city.
Makes me feel horrid inside like a murder spree.
But after all this confusion with the city gentlemen.
And Gothic architecture keeping me enticed.
I think being bemused would be a suitable choice.
Since I cannot understand this ancient, dense, city.
I would much rather ride on my hobbyhorse.
Like I little kid, I’d rather ride on a horse on a stick.
But after gathering my books to the antique shop.
I think I might have stumbled on a future best friend.
Or at least a good friend, I have to get her to shout
My name, I want her to shout for the sake of shouting.
And smell my Boss cologne, perhaps just for today.
She should shout since we are both sick of this city.