07-13-2012, 04:23 AM
Honest feedback is the only kind we deal in here 
This is a very promising poem. For the time being I've confined my feedback to small technical problems as this is the Novice section, but as billy said, when you feel more comfortable with criticism it would be a good idea to post this in one of the other forums for maximum benefit (we try to restrict criticism here to just a few things, don't want to scare anyone away!) I really enjoyed reading this.
This is a very promising poem. For the time being I've confined my feedback to small technical problems as this is the Novice section, but as billy said, when you feel more comfortable with criticism it would be a good idea to post this in one of the other forums for maximum benefit (we try to restrict criticism here to just a few things, don't want to scare anyone away!) I really enjoyed reading this.(07-12-2012, 01:42 PM)arbil_poieo Wrote: Playing is in the playground
chocolates in the box,
maturity is the taste of
artificial flavor.
feeling your mouth sweat
melting inside.
It's hands clutching
the metal on the swings
swaying back and forth.
It's the door swinging -- you have "swings" in the preceding stanza, are you sure you want to use it again so soon?
open and close. -- closed
that final feeling of
a door's warmth against
the wall turning cold.
it's wishing on a penny
in the fountain
finally throwing it.
Feeling your ghost,
the texture must have
felt distant when it's
sinking to your veins.
the last touch, is your pulse
I'm the echo -- perhaps "I am" would be stronger
repeating alone.
there isn't anyone
left to fight but there
is an accident
left to prepare for.
time circles around -- "circles around" is redundant, just "circles" would serve
when the day is blank
until it becomes used
then it is patient,
disappearing slowly.
Consider my knees
on the floor once,
the indention in the sounds
of escaping to the bottom
for you.
The eyes forming-swelling
adjusting-existing the mood
to lonliness. -- loneliness
It's the motion of
pushing yourself from
behind on a slide
to gain momentum
and to finally land from a height.
It's the hands breaking the seal
off a heart-shaped box,
wiping the chocolate on your
clothes. hoping it hides well
in your mouth when it tastes
like childhood.
It's the penny in the fountain
still holding the wish-wishing.
It's the door, worn and beaten
by flashes of leaving,
by staying too long. -- these stanzas "circle" nicely back to the first couple, very well done
Why couldn't we have been adults?
It could be worse