07-06-2012, 02:31 AM
I apologise for posting another poem so soon, but this one just fell out of me today and I really want to work it into something good.
I fear it doesn't have much rhythm, and it's also the first non-rhyming poem I've done in a while. I am worried it doesn't all connect together well. So please be as harsh as you like! I want to turn it into something good.
-----------------
v.2
Welcome to the urban future beach,
almost natural, completely bleak,
where processed plastic particles
make the spectacular ivory sands.
It's a stark and white sterile paradise,
where the beguiling ground is soft and warm
yet the tide brings up discarded waste,
and beneath lie broken sharp debris
or sometimes shards of bone.
The sea comes in many shades of brown,
dissolved human filth and indifference,
waves rising, claw desperate at the shore,
pale seafoam horses form nightmares.
Enjoy the cold, corrosive salty spray
and taste bleach wafting in the breeze,
take a barren romantic walk across
dreamy dunes derived of petrochemicals,
then sit and watch the sunset bleed.
Polluted skies loom lethargic overhead,
light choked by thick grey factory clouds
weeping acidic rain down below,
yet in humidity they gather here,
for purpose long forgotten.
Try this synthetic seaside holiday,
crouched in fetal position,
exposed, soak silently in ultra-violet rays,
as children wide-eyed want to play,
instead of shells collecting scraps,
they still try to build their castles
and bury each other alive.
A sign states 'surf at your own risk'
with a biohazard symbol printed underneath
and a girl walks out along the beach,
head held down, eyes empty,
quietly she starts talking
"Do you remember when things lived here?"
clutches a crackling geiger counter in shaking hands,
but like a shade she is passed by,
her questions are too potent and
she smells of artificial brine.
-----------------
v.1
Welcome to the urban future beach,
almost natural, completely bleak,
where processed plastic particles
are crushed to make the sand.
It's a stark and white sterile paradise,
be careful where you put your feet,
for the ground is soft and warm
yet the tide brings up discarded waste,
and beneath lie broken sharp debris
or sometimes shards of glass.
The sea comes in many shades of brown,
dissolved human filth and indifference,
waves rising claw desperate at the shore,
the pale seafoam horses now form nightmares.
Enjoy the cold, corrosive salty spray
and taste bleach wafting in the breeze,
take a barren romantic walk across
dreamy dunes derived of petrochemicals,
then sit and watch the sunset bleed.
Polluted skies loom lethargic overhead,
light choked by thick grey factory clouds
weeping acid rain down on the ground,
yet in humidity they gather here,
for purpose long forgotten.
Try this synthetic seaside holiday,
crouched in fetal position,
soak silently in ultra-violet rays,
as children wide-eyed want to play,
instead of shells collecting scraps,
they still try to build their castles
and bury eachother alive.
A sign states 'surf at your own risk'
with a skull and crossbones printed underneath
and a girl walks out along the beach,
head held down and eyes empty,
she starts talking, but not to anyone
"Do you remember when things lived here?"
clutches a crackling geiger counter in shaking hands,
but like a shade she is passed by,
her questions are too potent and
she smells of artificial brine.
I fear it doesn't have much rhythm, and it's also the first non-rhyming poem I've done in a while. I am worried it doesn't all connect together well. So please be as harsh as you like! I want to turn it into something good.
-----------------
v.2
Welcome to the urban future beach,
almost natural, completely bleak,
where processed plastic particles
make the spectacular ivory sands.
It's a stark and white sterile paradise,
where the beguiling ground is soft and warm
yet the tide brings up discarded waste,
and beneath lie broken sharp debris
or sometimes shards of bone.
The sea comes in many shades of brown,
dissolved human filth and indifference,
waves rising, claw desperate at the shore,
pale seafoam horses form nightmares.
Enjoy the cold, corrosive salty spray
and taste bleach wafting in the breeze,
take a barren romantic walk across
dreamy dunes derived of petrochemicals,
then sit and watch the sunset bleed.
Polluted skies loom lethargic overhead,
light choked by thick grey factory clouds
weeping acidic rain down below,
yet in humidity they gather here,
for purpose long forgotten.
Try this synthetic seaside holiday,
crouched in fetal position,
exposed, soak silently in ultra-violet rays,
as children wide-eyed want to play,
instead of shells collecting scraps,
they still try to build their castles
and bury each other alive.
A sign states 'surf at your own risk'
with a biohazard symbol printed underneath
and a girl walks out along the beach,
head held down, eyes empty,
quietly she starts talking
"Do you remember when things lived here?"
clutches a crackling geiger counter in shaking hands,
but like a shade she is passed by,
her questions are too potent and
she smells of artificial brine.
-----------------
v.1
Welcome to the urban future beach,
almost natural, completely bleak,
where processed plastic particles
are crushed to make the sand.
It's a stark and white sterile paradise,
be careful where you put your feet,
for the ground is soft and warm
yet the tide brings up discarded waste,
and beneath lie broken sharp debris
or sometimes shards of glass.
The sea comes in many shades of brown,
dissolved human filth and indifference,
waves rising claw desperate at the shore,
the pale seafoam horses now form nightmares.
Enjoy the cold, corrosive salty spray
and taste bleach wafting in the breeze,
take a barren romantic walk across
dreamy dunes derived of petrochemicals,
then sit and watch the sunset bleed.
Polluted skies loom lethargic overhead,
light choked by thick grey factory clouds
weeping acid rain down on the ground,
yet in humidity they gather here,
for purpose long forgotten.
Try this synthetic seaside holiday,
crouched in fetal position,
soak silently in ultra-violet rays,
as children wide-eyed want to play,
instead of shells collecting scraps,
they still try to build their castles
and bury eachother alive.
A sign states 'surf at your own risk'
with a skull and crossbones printed underneath
and a girl walks out along the beach,
head held down and eyes empty,
she starts talking, but not to anyone
"Do you remember when things lived here?"
clutches a crackling geiger counter in shaking hands,
but like a shade she is passed by,
her questions are too potent and
she smells of artificial brine.