poem critique possible?

[Intricate B]

Random acts of vandalism. .

Mr. Darkus sat,
Deep in tranquil thought..
Internal cogs turning,
Like the magical sweep hand of a
-cuffed and shackled to this-
Keepsake slave master timepiece
(For we're all slaves to time)
Deepest lines so intricate,
Swarm in a
Million mosquito cloud
Of thought
As
Fluidly, the upstroke of
An L,
His hand writes out
The sonnet of the century,
With the poetic foundation
To concrete this poet
Into the annals of hostorical literature,
As though Poe himself
Climbed,
From the pits of hell
To scratch in blood
Upon parchment
That...
One final stroke of brilliance
Thought of,
Only upon his final breath...
At his moment of death.

As the masterpiece flowed forth
Mr. Darkus
Scribed out in masterful timing
And impeccable format
The story of "I WILL BE TAUGHT IN CLASS
AS A STENSIL OF 'This is how to write'
CREDITS!!"
Classic renditions
Reincarnated to modern tongue and twists..
An epoch of proportions
Unknown,
Appears as a stain left by pigments foreign,
Beneath the utensil in motion
In the surgical precisioned hands
Of Dr. Writer,
From "Storytown, Equilibrium Confused"..
Elated at the aspect of writing
Mankinds next
"Iliad"
Mr. Darkus snaps
Violently back to reality,
In gross realization that,
Somehow,
In a daydream haze
He in deep regret,
Gets to explain to Dr. Rosenthal's family,
How his newly dead skin
Became adorned
With freshly pocked carvings,
(As though a cave dweller of yesteryear)
In fashion of
"New era Iliad."
Crimson blood scroll,
At the point of a scalpal..
"Dr. Rosenthal unfortunately,
WILL NOT be ready
For his wake tomorrow"...
Explained Master Mortician Darkus...
"Random act of vandalism"...

[tectak]

Random acts of vandalism. .

Mr. Darkus sat,
Deep in tranquil thought..
Internal cogs turning,
Like the magical sweep hand of a
-cuffed and shackled to this-
Keepsake slave master timepiece
(For we're all slaves to time)
Deepest lines so intricate,
Swarm in a
Million mosquito cloud
Of thought
As
Fluidly, the upstroke of
An L,
His hand writes out
The sonnet of the century,
With the poetic foundation
To concrete this poet
Into the annals of hostorical literature,
As though Poe himself
Climbed,
From the pits of hell
To scratch in blood
Upon parchment
That...
One final stroke of brilliance
Thought of,
Only upon his final breath...
At his moment of death.

As the masterpiece flowed forth
Mr. Darkus
Scribed out in masterful timing
And impeccable format
The story of "I WILL BE TAUGHT IN CLASS
AS A STENSIL OF 'This is how to write'
CREDITS!!"
Classic renditions
Reincarnated to modern tongue and twists..
An epoch of proportions
Unknown,
Appears as a stain left by pigments foreign,
Beneath the utensil in motion
In the surgical precisioned hands
Of Dr. Writer,
From "Storytown, Equilibrium Confused"..
Elated at the aspect of writing
Mankinds next
"Iliad"
Mr. Darkus snaps
Violently back to reality,
In gross realization that,
Somehow,
In a daydream haze
He in deep regret,
Gets to explain to Dr. Rosenthal's family,
How his newly dead skin
Became adorned
With freshly pocked carvings,
(As though a cave dweller of yesteryear)
In fashion of
"New era Iliad."
Crimson blood scroll,
At the point of a scalpal..
"Dr. Rosenthal unfortunately,
WILL NOT be ready
For his wake tomorrow"...
Explained Master Mortician Darkus...
"Random act of vandalism"...

Hi int,
You need to disavow yourself of personal pride (only a mother could love this...or of course, the author) and write for the reader. If you do not like the idea of this, then you have to question your own motives...not for writing disconnected drivel, but for posting it.
There is such a high level of self-indulgence in this ill-conceived patchwork of eclectic, mis-spelt ramblings that it may be beyond your ability to knock it in to shape. I could be wrong regarding "ability" but if I am in error, that is your fault. Taking a SCALPAL to it would imply a little precision surgical procedure...but in truth, the words you use --with such lack of precision--would be better rearranged by a drug-addled mendicant...at least in order to claim veracity. I say this because you must be better than this posting indicates. Perhaps you could contact your muse and tell her to call round when your ego is out.
Just try to control the "you" and write something for "me".
Alternatively, just write what "you" want, but don't post it.
Finally, and in fairness, I was retrospectively glad that I got crit like this when I wrote similar stuff. Teen years are angst-wridden but provided we can navigate through the treacle of testosterone without losing the poetic compass it gets clearer.
Simplify, clarify, communicate.
Best,
tectak

[Erthona]

Seems a long way to go for a punch line.

Dale

[Intricate B]

Thank you for the feedback!

[tectak]

Seems a long way to go for a punch line.

Dale

Who? Me?

[ChristopherSea]

I think this has potential with a tune up. First you need to spell check for the typos. Second, there is a misuse of ellipsis… They should denote either unfinished thoughts or spans of time. I like the steampunk images and I would play them up more and trim the narrative. Also, there are unusual line breaks and they are too frequent throughout. Break for meter and drama. Try capping only the first words in each sentence (not the first one in each line), as it will improve the flow and comprehension. I hope this helps you in anyway. All the best!

[Intricate B]

I think this has potential with a tune up. First you need to spell check for the typos. Second, there is a misuse of ellipsis… They should denote either unfinished thoughts or spans of time. I like the steampunk images and I would play them up more and trim the narrative. Also, there are unusual line breaks and they are too frequent throughout. Break for meter and drama. Try capping only the first words in each sentence (not the first one in each line), as it will improve the flow and comprehension. I hope this helps you in anyway. All the best!

Thank you everyone for taking the time to offer these critiques!
I will take them all into consideration.