<![CDATA[Poetry Forum - Basic critique]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/ Mon, 01 Jun 2026 19:23:35 +0000 MyBB <![CDATA[Untitled (after busker)]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27399.html Fri, 29 May 2026 16:24:04 +0000 matsunosuperfan]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27399.html apologies to the poet - fell in love with that line and couldn't help myself

Untitled
after busker

Love is the only foolish 
adventuring we do, a story 
most convincing in the absence 
of the truth. 


Part a pair of parrots, and 
they’ll pluck themselves to death. 
The clock starts ticking once the plumage sheds
its final breath. 


I looked for you in London, where the air
is thick with memory—you weren’t there,
but your sister was. The cockles
made me sick. 


Time accrues. It wraps around
the throat and closes slow, until
one morning, you just don’t wake up.
And you’re the last to know. ]]> apologies to the poet - fell in love with that line and couldn't help myself

Untitled
after busker

Love is the only foolish 
adventuring we do, a story 
most convincing in the absence 
of the truth. 


Part a pair of parrots, and 
they’ll pluck themselves to death. 
The clock starts ticking once the plumage sheds
its final breath. 


I looked for you in London, where the air
is thick with memory—you weren’t there,
but your sister was. The cockles
made me sick. 


Time accrues. It wraps around
the throat and closes slow, until
one morning, you just don’t wake up.
And you’re the last to know. ]]> <![CDATA[Because I once loved you there]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-26146.html Wed, 27 May 2026 01:00:21 +0000 busker]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-26146.html
Because I once loved you there

Because I once loved you there
London's precious to me.
The poems written about you there 
were really letters to me.

Love is the only foolish
adventuring we do -
no scraps with a ghostly, ghoulish,
pirate clipper’s crew

are had in life, spent sourly
making bandit barons kings.
Some places keep their pearly 
moon white angels’ wings

because I loved you. Unaware,
like ghosts and ghouls, you’ll haunt me there.]]>
Because I once loved you there

Because I once loved you there
London's precious to me.
The poems written about you there 
were really letters to me.

Love is the only foolish
adventuring we do -
no scraps with a ghostly, ghoulish,
pirate clipper’s crew

are had in life, spent sourly
making bandit barons kings.
Some places keep their pearly 
moon white angels’ wings

because I loved you. Unaware,
like ghosts and ghouls, you’ll haunt me there.]]> <![CDATA[There Are Less Butterflies Now]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27387.html Wed, 20 May 2026 04:00:07 +0000 sodatabbed]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27387.html But there are less butterflies now
And it was too hot to go outside.
As a child, I chose
Binoculars and a microscope as my prize
For all those long days
Doing math problems indoors
With these instruments in my hands,
I looked about,
and realized I had nothing around me with which to make music.
I sat back down in my chair
And continued reading notes instead,
As my tongue prodded the gap in my gums,
Where a tooth used to be.

Hello everyone, this is my first time posting in the Pen (and in fact, my first presenting a poem to critique, period). I chose a smaller one to start out, and posted here in the Basic Critique Forum since I'm a beginner to all this, but please feel free to critique as thoroughly as you like if you have the time to spare! I'm eager to learn and improve.]]> But there are less butterflies now
And it was too hot to go outside.
As a child, I chose
Binoculars and a microscope as my prize
For all those long days
Doing math problems indoors
With these instruments in my hands,
I looked about,
and realized I had nothing around me with which to make music.
I sat back down in my chair
And continued reading notes instead,
As my tongue prodded the gap in my gums,
Where a tooth used to be.

Hello everyone, this is my first time posting in the Pen (and in fact, my first presenting a poem to critique, period). I chose a smaller one to start out, and posted here in the Basic Critique Forum since I'm a beginner to all this, but please feel free to critique as thoroughly as you like if you have the time to spare! I'm eager to learn and improve.]]> <![CDATA[A Few Days Before your Birthday]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27385.html Tue, 19 May 2026 03:07:01 +0000 brynmawr1]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27385.html

A Few Days Before Your Birthday
 
On the patio it’s spring;
your 60th year.
 
I hear the call, no,
the chorus of the spring peeper,
Pseudacris crucifer, how they sing--
the give and take of their eager song
and then the bark of a distant fox
to mark their own beginning
to this symphony, a tune too familiar,
somehow always new
against the memory of another year.
 
In this moment, I see
where, soon, the tent will rise, white
against the bright sky,
guests will arrive with their gifts
of friendship dressed in the glitter
of their best backyard finery
and there will be singing and a cake
whose candles you might mistake
for a funeral pyre, tho’ blown out with ease,
death denied with a breath, let it burn---
I say, what better measure of your life
than the glow of such faces as these
held in the light of your years?
 
Here we are in celebration
from 6:30pm to whenever.
My birthday wish,
as the shadows of day spill into night,
you celebrate each moment to forever.]]>

A Few Days Before Your Birthday
 
On the patio it’s spring;
your 60th year.
 
I hear the call, no,
the chorus of the spring peeper,
Pseudacris crucifer, how they sing--
the give and take of their eager song
and then the bark of a distant fox
to mark their own beginning
to this symphony, a tune too familiar,
somehow always new
against the memory of another year.
 
In this moment, I see
where, soon, the tent will rise, white
against the bright sky,
guests will arrive with their gifts
of friendship dressed in the glitter
of their best backyard finery
and there will be singing and a cake
whose candles you might mistake
for a funeral pyre, tho’ blown out with ease,
death denied with a breath, let it burn---
I say, what better measure of your life
than the glow of such faces as these
held in the light of your years?
 
Here we are in celebration
from 6:30pm to whenever.
My birthday wish,
as the shadows of day spill into night,
you celebrate each moment to forever.]]> <![CDATA[Cool Morning - edit, title change]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27383.html Mon, 18 May 2026 19:39:38 +0000 dukealien]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27383.html

This morning I have lit a charming fire
with gas and electricity, but still
it flames in orange, blue, and saffron-gold
on logs of porcelain, with cinder screen
of glass; it might as well be video
but emanating heat and captive threat.

For as I go about my breakfast rounds–
the brewing, microwaving, counting pills–
that little blaze arrests my passing gaze
each time I turn my head and see it burn.
We humans have made fire our eager slave
like nuclear, but dare not let it thrive.


original version;

A Lighting


Cool morning.  I have lit a merry fire
with gas and electricity, but still
it flames in saffron, blue and petal-white
on logs of porcelain, with cinder screen
of glass; it might as well be video
but that it emanates faint heat and threat.

For as I go about my breakfast rounds–
the brewing, microwaving, counting pills–
it catches at my eye each time I turn
across a line of sight including it.
We humans have made fire our willing slave
like nuclear, but dare not let it thrive.

]]>

This morning I have lit a charming fire
with gas and electricity, but still
it flames in orange, blue, and saffron-gold
on logs of porcelain, with cinder screen
of glass; it might as well be video
but emanating heat and captive threat.

For as I go about my breakfast rounds–
the brewing, microwaving, counting pills–
that little blaze arrests my passing gaze
each time I turn my head and see it burn.
We humans have made fire our eager slave
like nuclear, but dare not let it thrive.


original version;

A Lighting


Cool morning.  I have lit a merry fire
with gas and electricity, but still
it flames in saffron, blue and petal-white
on logs of porcelain, with cinder screen
of glass; it might as well be video
but that it emanates faint heat and threat.

For as I go about my breakfast rounds–
the brewing, microwaving, counting pills–
it catches at my eye each time I turn
across a line of sight including it.
We humans have made fire our willing slave
like nuclear, but dare not let it thrive.

]]> <![CDATA[A sonnet]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27381.html Mon, 18 May 2026 10:35:28 +0000 JohnS]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27381.html a melody of tears,
a symphony of longing
a tune that no-one hears.
 
A tale of love untold
waits sadly for an end,
the narrative not written,
still waiting for the pen.
 
A verse of love unrhymed,
no metaphor in place,
some lines that have no meaning
will now all be erased
 
I saw you with your chosen one,
all hope for me is gone.]]> a melody of tears,
a symphony of longing
a tune that no-one hears.
 
A tale of love untold
waits sadly for an end,
the narrative not written,
still waiting for the pen.
 
A verse of love unrhymed,
no metaphor in place,
some lines that have no meaning
will now all be erased
 
I saw you with your chosen one,
all hope for me is gone.]]> <![CDATA[The Divine Comedy]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27379.html Sun, 17 May 2026 11:09:18 +0000 Sullivan]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27379.html
Another lyrics/poem for my 2nd and last track of my upcoming single release tomorrow. I'm yet unsure I could post the AI song on it yet.


"The corridors of life
Under the sun or under the rain
Seem eternal to me
A feeling of sudden death

The corridors of life
Are true labyrinths
We manage to get through them so far
Despite the wine, the absinthe

Absinthe, absent
Hell of madness
They manage to get through them
The soulful fairies

The chimeras of life
Under the sun as in the rain
Seem infinite
A paranoid feeling

The corridors of life
Are true labyrinths
We manage to get through them so far
Despite the wine, the absence

Your fairy-like absence
Your soulful-like absence"]]>
Another lyrics/poem for my 2nd and last track of my upcoming single release tomorrow. I'm yet unsure I could post the AI song on it yet.


"The corridors of life
Under the sun or under the rain
Seem eternal to me
A feeling of sudden death

The corridors of life
Are true labyrinths
We manage to get through them so far
Despite the wine, the absinthe

Absinthe, absent
Hell of madness
They manage to get through them
The soulful fairies

The chimeras of life
Under the sun as in the rain
Seem infinite
A paranoid feeling

The corridors of life
Are true labyrinths
We manage to get through them so far
Despite the wine, the absence

Your fairy-like absence
Your soulful-like absence"]]> <![CDATA[Metaphysics]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27377.html Fri, 15 May 2026 22:08:06 +0000 Sullivan]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27377.html I'm trying to sharpen my writting of poems and lyrics by having in mind AI can carry me musically, if not my singer when I have a music ready to be sang on it.
I'm about to release my 3rd AI release. And As I already said, all my AI songs, lyrics are written by myself, otherwise the tool would be obsolete.
This poem is from a track of a release that's still w.i.p, named "MCI Copacabana present The Bitter End". MCI Copacabana being like a 2nd artist of myself (only mentioned when I do AI work)

Metachemistry


"Tear me to pieces now
For I have sinned greatly
Strip my soul bare
Whether you are man or woman

Rainy days satisfy me
For down here there are pretty girls
Sunny days amaze me
For I stay awake

I'm not alone in this
No, I'm not alone in this
But go to hell
If it's not for tonight

Tear me to pieces now
For I have sinned greatly
Strip my soul bare
Whether you are man or woman

The days of night are over
I think I've found the right girl
The job, the time
Without pretending

Without being alone in this
For a tip, you have to believe in it
But we're waiting for tonight
To see if it's to see each other

Dewy days satisfy me
For down here there are pretty girls
Sunny days amaze me
For I'm staying there without being on standby.

And besides, the sky isn't just for making things beautiful:
An intermediary for love and lies"]]> I'm trying to sharpen my writting of poems and lyrics by having in mind AI can carry me musically, if not my singer when I have a music ready to be sang on it.
I'm about to release my 3rd AI release. And As I already said, all my AI songs, lyrics are written by myself, otherwise the tool would be obsolete.
This poem is from a track of a release that's still w.i.p, named "MCI Copacabana present The Bitter End". MCI Copacabana being like a 2nd artist of myself (only mentioned when I do AI work)

Metachemistry


"Tear me to pieces now
For I have sinned greatly
Strip my soul bare
Whether you are man or woman

Rainy days satisfy me
For down here there are pretty girls
Sunny days amaze me
For I stay awake

I'm not alone in this
No, I'm not alone in this
But go to hell
If it's not for tonight

Tear me to pieces now
For I have sinned greatly
Strip my soul bare
Whether you are man or woman

The days of night are over
I think I've found the right girl
The job, the time
Without pretending

Without being alone in this
For a tip, you have to believe in it
But we're waiting for tonight
To see if it's to see each other

Dewy days satisfy me
For down here there are pretty girls
Sunny days amaze me
For I'm staying there without being on standby.

And besides, the sky isn't just for making things beautiful:
An intermediary for love and lies"]]> <![CDATA[Another Place - feedback?]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27376.html Fri, 15 May 2026 17:57:31 +0000 RichardBosten]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27376.html And sail Tomorrows free.
Another Place I find Myself —
Where no one else has been.

I’ve swum to Shores so lost before —
As Raindrops in the Sea.
Spurned the Tide of Dutiful —
Responsibility.

Worries lurk away amid —
Stowed Fantasies and Schemes.
Scurried — gnawing — little Rats —
They nibble at my Dreams.

Compass spinning dizzily —
True Lost is hard to find.
Trade Winds of Conformity —
Swells the Sails of Mind.

Without a rudder, chart or fare
Direction left to toss
With fog of mind I set to find
Another Place that's lost

I started this months ago and then came back to it  . I kinda like it always looking for advice . I was wondering if I could use this to write an actual song with acoustic guitar perhaps.]]> And sail Tomorrows free.
Another Place I find Myself —
Where no one else has been.

I’ve swum to Shores so lost before —
As Raindrops in the Sea.
Spurned the Tide of Dutiful —
Responsibility.

Worries lurk away amid —
Stowed Fantasies and Schemes.
Scurried — gnawing — little Rats —
They nibble at my Dreams.

Compass spinning dizzily —
True Lost is hard to find.
Trade Winds of Conformity —
Swells the Sails of Mind.

Without a rudder, chart or fare
Direction left to toss
With fog of mind I set to find
Another Place that's lost

I started this months ago and then came back to it  . I kinda like it always looking for advice . I was wondering if I could use this to write an actual song with acoustic guitar perhaps.]]> <![CDATA[Poetic magic]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27371.html Tue, 12 May 2026 11:10:07 +0000 Smiley]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27371.html A charm
To protect one from harm
So while I do these rhymes and spell
I treat them all well

By drawing a circle round
Negativity shall be bound]]> A charm
To protect one from harm
So while I do these rhymes and spell
I treat them all well

By drawing a circle round
Negativity shall be bound]]> <![CDATA[The Conversation]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27370.html Tue, 12 May 2026 11:07:24 +0000 Bushberry18]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27370.html
Flatness and fatigue, a vacancy where you sat.
To be blunt, I don’t want this.
Leftovers hidden under overcooked greens
harder to swallow when cold.
Here I am plucking on invisible strings
because we are ever connected.
Strains on the tiny thread.
I wish you were here, not just in my head.
 
Kaleidoscope shows that open all hours
a front row seat that’s ticketless.
I saved you a place; just encase you came.
OK. Black tape rolling.
Are you ignoring me?
Do you remember our chat?
I was that woman, the floppy straw hat.
 
Miles upon miles, stretched
grey sand, you were never a fan.
It’s so bloody cold. Incandescent, my heart.
Pools of salt water, old memories cleaned.
She was sooo beautiful and so were you.
Grit and the silt and the sound of the sea
I am just asking now, let’s let things be.]]>
Flatness and fatigue, a vacancy where you sat.
To be blunt, I don’t want this.
Leftovers hidden under overcooked greens
harder to swallow when cold.
Here I am plucking on invisible strings
because we are ever connected.
Strains on the tiny thread.
I wish you were here, not just in my head.
 
Kaleidoscope shows that open all hours
a front row seat that’s ticketless.
I saved you a place; just encase you came.
OK. Black tape rolling.
Are you ignoring me?
Do you remember our chat?
I was that woman, the floppy straw hat.
 
Miles upon miles, stretched
grey sand, you were never a fan.
It’s so bloody cold. Incandescent, my heart.
Pools of salt water, old memories cleaned.
She was sooo beautiful and so were you.
Grit and the silt and the sound of the sea
I am just asking now, let’s let things be.]]> <![CDATA[Havana]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27355.html Wed, 06 May 2026 10:31:36 +0000 JohnS]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27355.html

A worn-out diva dressed to look fine,
still on the stage
but forgetting her lines.

A ’56 Chevy made to look new,
running quite well
‘till the head gasket blew

A mural of Che in his beret,
waving his fist,
slowly fading away

Crumbling facades on tired avenues
and unpaved streets
where the kids have no shoes,

Somewhere a horn is blowing the blues]]>

A worn-out diva dressed to look fine,
still on the stage
but forgetting her lines.

A ’56 Chevy made to look new,
running quite well
‘till the head gasket blew

A mural of Che in his beret,
waving his fist,
slowly fading away

Crumbling facades on tired avenues
and unpaved streets
where the kids have no shoes,

Somewhere a horn is blowing the blues]]> <![CDATA[Tock - edit]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27354.html Tue, 05 May 2026 20:03:06 +0000 dukealien]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27354.html

Have you ever walked into a room
or simply found yourself alone in one,
unable to remember why you’re there
or what it was you were supposed to do?

But then an inkling comes and you recall
a reason you’d have gone there and a smile
of self-congratulation forms until
you recollect that she should be there, too.


original version;

Have you ever walked into a room
or simply found yourself alone in one,
unable to remember why you came there
or what it was you were supposed to do?

But then an inkling comes and you recall
a reason you’d have gone there and a glow
of self-congratulation warms your heart
until your head reminds you she has died.


Trying to get back into iambic, and away from geography.
]]>

Have you ever walked into a room
or simply found yourself alone in one,
unable to remember why you’re there
or what it was you were supposed to do?

But then an inkling comes and you recall
a reason you’d have gone there and a smile
of self-congratulation forms until
you recollect that she should be there, too.


original version;

Have you ever walked into a room
or simply found yourself alone in one,
unable to remember why you came there
or what it was you were supposed to do?

But then an inkling comes and you recall
a reason you’d have gone there and a glow
of self-congratulation warms your heart
until your head reminds you she has died.


Trying to get back into iambic, and away from geography.
]]> <![CDATA[Plum Tree (Made August 28th, 2025)]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27347.html Thu, 30 Apr 2026 05:23:22 +0000 aaminarrh]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27347.html PLEASE READ FIRST: This is one of my first poems ever, I had someone studying poetry to look over it - however I would like some more insight, MAYBE into what type of poetry I am into, because I am unsure! Nice to meet you guys! ) 
Plum Tree
August 31st, 2025
(underlined= points I need to work on )

nostalgia is reluctant.

the waking sunlight peeks through the curtains
I can hear the faint laughter of my younger sister,
innocence that liberates the worries of reality -
soft pink tones of girlhood.

baby blue buttoned skies as she plays in the playground, only five.


I lie, grounded in the thoughts of my existence
a hot yellow flame hits the ring of my iris,
and what surrounds me are the paint strokes of emerald green, amongst are flowers - purple ones
sunlight burning the subtle tone of my skin
I let it burn the script of my memories onto my body
Do I run?

go! , go!
seek the shelter you so wish for,
hide from the orbit of time
choose to face forever, no mellowing
age can do nothing but bear you pain, right?

Hang onto the teared rope of the past
As crimson blossoms from the palms of your hands.

Threads of emotion and art become twined
The words of artists.. cloud the purity of my actions.
I sink, slowly into the grass.. consuming me in its blades.

be gone, the greyscale colours of emptiness!
Can you dig out what heart I have left shovelled in my soul?
Plant it,
to replace what was once a plum tree?
What was once before, bearing fruit

time is but a mere rot
yet here on the grass turned forest green I lie,

My sister fifteen, runs along the grey concrete - shed of her innocence
I can’t feel that waking beam of light hugging my essence.

Nostalgia is merely setting me back
But I can’t be rid of it
]]> PLEASE READ FIRST: This is one of my first poems ever, I had someone studying poetry to look over it - however I would like some more insight, MAYBE into what type of poetry I am into, because I am unsure! Nice to meet you guys! ) 
Plum Tree
August 31st, 2025
(underlined= points I need to work on )

nostalgia is reluctant.

the waking sunlight peeks through the curtains
I can hear the faint laughter of my younger sister,
innocence that liberates the worries of reality -
soft pink tones of girlhood.

baby blue buttoned skies as she plays in the playground, only five.


I lie, grounded in the thoughts of my existence
a hot yellow flame hits the ring of my iris,
and what surrounds me are the paint strokes of emerald green, amongst are flowers - purple ones
sunlight burning the subtle tone of my skin
I let it burn the script of my memories onto my body
Do I run?

go! , go!
seek the shelter you so wish for,
hide from the orbit of time
choose to face forever, no mellowing
age can do nothing but bear you pain, right?

Hang onto the teared rope of the past
As crimson blossoms from the palms of your hands.

Threads of emotion and art become twined
The words of artists.. cloud the purity of my actions.
I sink, slowly into the grass.. consuming me in its blades.

be gone, the greyscale colours of emptiness!
Can you dig out what heart I have left shovelled in my soul?
Plant it,
to replace what was once a plum tree?
What was once before, bearing fruit

time is but a mere rot
yet here on the grass turned forest green I lie,

My sister fifteen, runs along the grey concrete - shed of her innocence
I can’t feel that waking beam of light hugging my essence.

Nostalgia is merely setting me back
But I can’t be rid of it
]]> <![CDATA[Im high again]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27346.html Wed, 29 Apr 2026 18:34:07 +0000 Smiley]]> https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-27346.html No paranoia, no fear
Heart beating in my chest
Then go and sleep it of and rest
I see thoughts come and go
My emotions flow
I enjoy it so]]> No paranoia, no fear
Heart beating in my chest
Then go and sleep it of and rest
I see thoughts come and go
My emotions flow
I enjoy it so]]>