Posts: 31
Threads: 8
Joined: Jun 2014
Lit brighter with
the flick of a lighter.
Flying high above the skyscrapers
looking down on ants,
hearing their rants, their pettiness.
Their penchant for petulant pensions
giving their lives dimensions.
Dementia patients know more.
Numb to feeling I watch them riot,
losing themselves on bottom shelves
numbing their existence,
their resistance and persistence.
Alienated and degraded
the faded never resonated
through the walls of the Capital.
Where capital is the capital concern.
Where the hungry yearn to learn,
the bodies burn in turn.
The urn filled to the brim
with dim resolutions and grim solutions.
A dilution of the disillusioned
herded to graze on their graves by suited shepherds.
Treated like marooned lepers.
Looking for a place
where everyone knows their name,
but the game of fame leaves blame.
A quarter hour later,
naked and no more famous,
weighed down by emotion and expectation,
let down by this great nation,
the tears fall as you call your mother.
Who calls her brother.
Who kills that man, that lowly man.
The virginal Son of Sam.
Coming back down to my fine town
I drown in sorrow
because there is a tomorrow. When
I will again be whored,
my dignity gored. Then
I will fly once again
above my fellow men.
With the flick of a lighter
to make my mind brighter.
I write what I see. Write to make it right, don't like where I be. I'd like to make it like the sights on TV. Quite the great life, so nice and easy.
It has some rough areas. Even if you cleaned them up, it would still be a typical street poet poem. The people that read in front of open mikes all over the country and sound the same.
If you slowed down with the rhymes and other effects and worked out something original, or at least more original ways to say things, it would probably come out better.
Posts: 417
Threads: 40
Joined: May 2014
(06-04-2014, 01:13 AM)Jimmy Stark Wrote: Lit brighter with
the flick of a lighter.
Flying high above the skyscrapers
looking down on ants,
hearing their rants, their pettiness. perhaps if you weren't so high above them. Arrogant.
Their penchant for petulant pensions
giving their lives dimensions.
Dementia patients know more. how?
Numb to feeling I watch them riot,
losing themselves on bottom shelves
numbing their existence,
their resistance and persistence.
Alienated and degraded
the faded never resonated
through the walls of the Capital. the faded? Like, dead people? What...
Where capital is the capital concern.
Where the hungry yearn to learn,
the bodies burn in turn.the first line make sense, but the second and third aren't as clear. Washington is a bad place where everyone wants money, but also a good place where the hungry want to learn something, and cremation occurs because of the lack of open fields.
The urn filled to the brim
with dim resolutions and grim solutions. re solutions and solutions is very weak.
A dilution of the disillusioned
herded to graze on their graves by suited shepherds. i think you are riding my nuts here. Chillax bro, no one is dying, long as I get my social security check next friday.
Treated like marooned lepers.
Looking for a place
where everyone knows their name,
but the game of fame leaves blame. politicians?, but they aren't lepers. They are those suited guys. This is confusing. Most of the blame the plebs place on anyone is on the government, but that isn't dependent on fame, so I don't get your point.
A quarter hour later,
naked and no more famous, no less famous tho
weighed down by emotion and expectation, their own fault, or, why isn't it?
let down by this great nation, its only great of you wanted it to be, if your going for satire, perhaps quote "this great nation"
the tears fall as you call your mother.
Who calls her brother.
Who kills that man, that lowly man. huh
The virginal Son of Sam.
Coming back down to my fine town
I drown in sorrow cliche
because there is a tomorrow. When
I will again be whored,
my dignity gored. Then that's up to you, but, again the rhyming sounds cheap, whorish even.
I will fly once again
above my fellow men. they might have taken away your dignity but they can never take away your pride [read: arrogance]
With the flick of a lighter
to make my mind brighter. yes, take no action, just smoke a joint.
I hate this poem. It makes assumptions and accusations but fails to present any arguments to back them up. You want to to be above everyone else, but instead of doing anything you decide to light up.
PFFFFFFFFFFT.
Posts: 31
Threads: 8
Joined: Jun 2014
If you don't have time for this it's perfectly alright, but could you be more specific about the rough areas? There are certainly parts I like more than others so I'm curious if we think the problems lie in the same places
(06-04-2014, 01:59 AM)rowens Wrote: It has some rough areas. Even if you cleaned them up, it would still be a typical street poet poem. The people that read in front of open mikes all over the country and sound the same.
If you slowed down with the rhymes and other effects and worked out something original, or at least more original ways to say things, it would probably come out better.
I write what I see. Write to make it right, don't like where I be. I'd like to make it like the sights on TV. Quite the great life, so nice and easy.
naked and no more famous
That stood out the most as a rough area.
Posts: 31
Threads: 8
Joined: Jun 2014
Ok. That's what I thought too. I'll either edit or take it out. Thank you
(06-04-2014, 05:12 AM)rowens Wrote: naked and no more famous
That stood out the most as a rough area.
I write what I see. Write to make it right, don't like where I be. I'd like to make it like the sights on TV. Quite the great life, so nice and easy.
Then again, it depends some on the credibility of the speaker. Maybe he's supposed to be a little off. There are still ways to add to the poem though. To have things stand out for better reasons.
Posts: 31
Threads: 8
Joined: Jun 2014
The poem is told through the eyes of someone who is high. He is noticing things that he does not notice when sober. While that may or may not make the poem any better for you, I can try and clear a few things up.
"Faded"= high. Those who are high, and seeing things like the narrator is, never resonate in the capital because when they see things they are not taken seriously.
"the bodies burn in turn"= people are silenced when they try and learn too much.
"the game of fame leaves blame"= not necessarily politicians. Just the idea that some people refuse to blame themselves for the shit happening in their lives. Some try to become famous and when it either doesn't happen or they become famous for something that isn't particularly flattering, in this case porn, they need someone other than themselves to blame.
The last two things you pointed out are how the narrator will once again be able to see the shit going on in the world. He isn't above them in his mind, he is simply high and is able to take a step back and see the world as if he were a voyeur flying above everyone. Smoking is how he does this.
If you don't like the poem that's fine, I don't consider myself a good poet by any means, but I did want to try and clear a few things up for you.
(06-04-2014, 04:06 AM)Qdeathstar Wrote: (06-04-2014, 01:13 AM)Jimmy Stark Wrote: Lit brighter with
the flick of a lighter.
Flying high above the skyscrapers
looking down on ants,
hearing their rants, their pettiness. perhaps if you weren't so high above them. Arrogant.
Their penchant for petulant pensions
giving their lives dimensions.
Dementia patients know more. how?
Numb to feeling I watch them riot,
losing themselves on bottom shelves
numbing their existence,
their resistance and persistence.
Alienated and degraded
the faded never resonated
through the walls of the Capital. the faded? Like, dead people? What...
Where capital is the capital concern.
Where the hungry yearn to learn,
the bodies burn in turn.the first line make sense, but the second and third aren't as clear. Washington is a bad place where everyone wants money, but also a good place where the hungry want to learn something, and cremation occurs because of the lack of open fields.
The urn filled to the brim
with dim resolutions and grim solutions. re solutions and solutions is very weak.
A dilution of the disillusioned
herded to graze on their graves by suited shepherds. i think you are riding my nuts here. Chillax bro, no one is dying, long as I get my social security check next friday.
Treated like marooned lepers.
Looking for a place
where everyone knows their name,
but the game of fame leaves blame. politicians?, but they aren't lepers. They are those suited guys. This is confusing. Most of the blame the plebs place on anyone is on the government, but that isn't dependent on fame, so I don't get your point.
A quarter hour later,
naked and no more famous, no less famous tho
weighed down by emotion and expectation, their own fault, or, why isn't it?
let down by this great nation, its only great of you wanted it to be, if your going for satire, perhaps quote "this great nation"
the tears fall as you call your mother.
Who calls her brother.
Who kills that man, that lowly man. huh
The virginal Son of Sam.
Coming back down to my fine town
I drown in sorrow cliche
because there is a tomorrow. When
I will again be whored,
my dignity gored. Then that's up to you, but, again the rhyming sounds cheap, whorish even.
I will fly once again
above my fellow men. they might have taken away your dignity but they can never take away your pride [read: arrogance]
With the flick of a lighter
to make my mind brighter. yes, take no action, just smoke a joint.
I hate this poem. It makes assumptions and accusations but fails to present any arguments to back them up. You want to to be above everyone else, but instead of doing anything you decide to light up.
PFFFFFFFFFFT.
I write what I see. Write to make it right, don't like where I be. I'd like to make it like the sights on TV. Quite the great life, so nice and easy.
If you're wondering about things being clear: It's unclear if the speaker is famous or just feels that way, or something like that, when he's high. The title, Bright Lights, still doesn't make it clear.
Posts: 417
Threads: 40
Joined: May 2014
Thank you for responding, but the poem is too full of full-blown hypocrisy for me to enjoy....
I found myself hating the speaker, no offense. (And nothing personal)
Also, if the person is high, you should let the reader know prior to the last line. You describe being physically high, but its a long leap for a person to make that the speaker is mentally high, especially when he talks like he hates people and life.
Posts: 222
Threads: 12
Joined: Apr 2014
(06-04-2014, 01:13 AM)Jimmy Stark Wrote: Lit brighter with
the flick of a lighter.
Flying high above the skyscrapers
looking down on ants,
hearing their rants, their pettiness.
Their penchant for petulant pensions
giving their lives dimensions.
Dementia patients know more.
Numb to feeling I watch them riot,
losing themselves on bottom shelves
numbing their existence,
their resistance and persistence.
Alienated and degraded
the faded never resonated
through the walls of the Capital.
Where capital is the capital concern.
Where the hungry yearn to learn,
the bodies burn in turn.
The urn filled to the brim
with dim resolutions and grim solutions.
A dilution of the disillusioned
herded to graze on their graves by suited shepherds.
Treated like marooned lepers.
Looking for a place
where everyone knows their name,
but the game of fame leaves blame.
A quarter hour later,
naked and no more famous,
weighed down by emotion and expectation,
let down by this great nation,
the tears fall as you call your mother.
Who calls her brother.
Who kills that man, that lowly man.
The virginal Son of Sam.
Coming back down to my fine town
I drown in sorrow
because there is a tomorrow. When
I will again be whored,
my dignity gored. Then
I will fly once again
above my fellow men.
With the flick of a lighter
to make my mind brighter.
(06-04-2014, 01:13 AM)Jimmy Stark Wrote: Lit brighter with
the flick of a lighter.
Flying high above the skyscrapers
looking down on ants,
hearing their rants, their pettiness.
Their penchant for petulant pensions
giving their lives dimensions.
Dementia patients know more.
Numb to feeling I watch them riot,
losing themselves on bottom shelves
numbing their existence,
their resistance and persistence.
Alienated and degraded
the faded never resonated
through the walls of the Capital.
Where capital is the capital concern.
Where the hungry yearn to learn,
the bodies burn in turn.
The urn filled to the brim
with dim resolutions and grim solutions.
A dilution of the disillusioned
herded to graze on their graves by suited shepherds.
Treated like marooned lepers.
Looking for a place
where everyone knows their name,
but the game of fame leaves blame.
A quarter hour later,
naked and no more famous,
weighed down by emotion and expectation,
let down by this great nation,
the tears fall as you call your mother.
Who calls her brother.
Who kills that man, that lowly man.
The virginal Son of Sam.
Coming back down to my fine town
I drown in sorrow
because there is a tomorrow. When
I will again be whored,
my dignity gored. Then
I will fly once again
above my fellow men.
With the flick of a lighter
to make my mind brighter.
I think the first lines about the lighter reflect the last two concerning mind states; you idea is interesting and there is good rhythm but it changes suddenly; like I've been told;
less words; more meaning, like resistance and persistence. There are a lot of forced lines which I think you can improve, and combine for more power and less rambling. Keep going. Loretta
A quarter hour later,
naked and no more famous,
weighed down by emotion and expectation,
let down by this great nation,
the tears fall as you call your mother.
Who calls her brother.
Who kills that man, that lowly man.
The virginal Son of Sam.
That part is about a porn star or a former porn star; a woman, and not the speaker? So the speaker isn't famous.
And he can only step back from the world when he's high. And it seems that doesn't do him any good.
I guess that's pretty clear. But only after you said that part was about porn; otherwise it could just be any old thing in general. And fame could mean something else. Who knows in a poem like this.
Posts: 1,325
Threads: 82
Joined: Sep 2013
(06-06-2014, 05:49 PM)kmatrixg Wrote: Almost comes off as prose and not poetry. Needs a solid rhyme scheme, also. Imagery is great, and so are the descriptors.
(09-04-2014, 12:22 PM)CameranMorgan Wrote: Yeah I agree with a lot of people. It's rough. Maybe next time look up some tactics to help guide you. Best of luck!
Neither of these are valid critique and are being deleted. Please try to emulate the best crit on a thread, not the worst. It would sincerely be appreciated.
/mod
billy wrote:welcome to the site. make it your own, wear it like a well loved slipper and wear it out. ella pleads:please click forum titles for posting guidelines, important threads. New poet? Try Poetic DevicesandWard's Tips
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Threads: 7
Joined: Jun 2014
I actually enjoyed reading this piece, I like the first line..
Lit brighter with
the flick of a lighter.
This poem comes across as Slam Poetry...which I have a fondness for, and which has a brutal honesty to it. However the use of simple rhyming technique in your poem destroys its potential for complexity. There is a lot to this work that could be simplified, and as such there is an incoherence to it. Alluding to 'porn' could have a different choice of written expression to make this clear. I agree that 'seeing oneself' above all others does appear to come across as arrogant. If the people are all petty, why?
Flying high above the skyscrapers
looking down on ants,
hearing their rants, their pettiness.
Their penchant for petulant pensions
giving their lives dimensions.
I agree that your argument on the presumptions of the 'people below' needs some backing. It would add some meat to the carcass, so to speak and you may find that doing this and taking more chances with your choice of rhyme may give this work more dimension, it would be beautiful if it had more dimension...
my muse ran screaming....no really
Posts: 50
Threads: 12
Joined: Aug 2014
(06-04-2014, 01:13 AM)Jimmy Stark Wrote: Lit brighter with
the flick of a lighter.
Flying high above the skyscrapers
looking down on ants,
hearing their rants, their pettiness.
Their penchant for petulant pensions
giving their lives dimensions.
Dementia patients know more.
Numb to feeling I watch them riot,
losing themselves on bottom shelves
numbing their existence,
their resistance and persistence.
Alienated and degraded
the faded never resonated
through the walls of the Capital.
Where capital is the capital concern.
Where the hungry yearn to learn,
the bodies burn in turn.
The urn filled to the brim
with dim resolutions and grim solutions.
A dilution of the disillusioned
herded to graze on their graves by suited shepherds.
Treated like marooned lepers.
Looking for a place
where everyone knows their name,
but the game of fame leaves blame.
A quarter hour later,
naked and no more famous,
weighed down by emotion and expectation,
let down by this great nation,
the tears fall as you call your mother.
Who calls her brother.
Who kills that man, that lowly man.
The virginal Son of Sam.
Coming back down to my fine town
I drown in sorrow
because there is a tomorrow. When
I will again be whored,
my dignity gored. Then
I will fly once again
above my fellow men.
With the flick of a lighter
to make my mind brighter.
Nice poem and rhymes.
The rhymes make the poems nice to but could have been even better broken up in stanzas
The words set the mood right for the title and the poem.
Some the wording you used to connect the edges was good.
Thanks
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