I am with “slow”

[typing mantis]

I suffer from a strange disease;

I cannot ink down words.

It's not that I'm illiterate,

the reason's more absurd.

My words behave inexplicably,

they don't stick to their page.

As soon as they are written down,

they flap away like birds.

I am mortified of my condition.

But I hide it well:

When out, I am forever knitting,

I'm never free to write.

I haven't lost all hope just yet,

there has to be a cure.

Every morning, without fail,

I try and write some more.

Today, as I picked up my pen,

I felt blue and gloomy.

Maybe it has been long enough,

and now it's time I ceased.

But my lament was premature!

I wrote a word that stuck!

Well, actually, it moved glacially.

The word I wrote was “slow”.

It made its way painstakingly,

off the page, the desk, to the floor.

It slunk and slithered across the room,

and oozed out of the door.

I quickly rushed out after it,

in hopes that if I followed it,

I might finally get to see

where all my other words go!

I followed on till sunset,

my feet were now quite sore.

This is when I noticed,

some strange and purple snow.

Surprised, I looked around,

or, was it the world that spun?

When my eyes were fixed on “slow”,

my world had packed and run!

Perplexed, bemused and clueless,

I didn't know what to do.

And so I am still walking,

still blindly following “slow”.

[CRNDLSM]

I really like the story and chasing after the word slow, it's a great idea and some part you pull off nicely. I don't like the day way stay rhymes repeated in two strophes so close to each other back to back at the beginning. Maybe one strophe removed or moved to the end for symmetry and rounded back to the beginning. On the page they would stay doesn't flow for me. And til I was dead at the end is cheesy. Yeah, I would move the beginning to the end, good luck!

[billy]

just two points though there are more. watch out for bad syntax, you have a fair bit in the poem; on the page they would stay. is but one example. secondly; end rhymes do them so they work or leave the buggers out try not to repeat end rhymes unless it adds to the poem via a refrain or some other device. if you do rhyme try and make them feel natural and not forced. the story is there it just lacks imagery, use a few similes/ metaphors

[theyellowfog]

I enjoyed your poem! In the first stanza, I noticed that I think "will jump off the page" should perhaps be "would jump off the page" instead. I wonder what would happen if you released yourself from having to rhyme the end of your lines and you wrote in a more free form instead, because you have a lot of creativity here. Also, sometimes the message becomes unclear to me. For example, tying into both the rhyming and the message/imagery being unclear to me, when you rhyme "knew it" and "blew it": I think there are better word choices that could explain what is going on here. On a quick read, it gets confusing saying your words "blew it," even though going back and reading it comes to make sense; however, it feels like the word choice was just to rhyme it together, and I got distracted by that. I think also that even though you meant that your words failed in a sense ("blew it"), that you could rework the poem to be stronger in these instances if you want to keep the rhyming if you look for different, stronger word choices that make more sense instead. That's just one example. Also, before and after the stanza with the word "slow," it seems like two different poems, so I got kind of lost. I had to re-read it a few times so that the message and imagery was clear to me. I think both parts are necessary, but needs to be reworked to be more cohesive as one. I think you have a great poem here, but I think it just needs a little reworking. I can definitely relate to the message. Keep writing.

[Jase]

very enjoyable, especially:

"For people who came to me, with writing demands,
I took to very long sleeves, and pretended I had no hands."

and

"Surprised, I looked around,
or, was it the world that spun?
When I wasn't looking,
something must have been cooking,
for everything I knew, had packed up and run!"

for some reason i really like how you mention you're not sure if it was you that spun around or the Earth "When I wasn't looking". it adds to the zany idea of Oh God My Words Are Running Away. i really like the story behind it but i think a little rework here and there to help rhythm and rhyme would be beneficial. sort of like how:

"Except for one...
it was trying to run,
but was managing, just barely so.
The word was “slow”."

the first two lines 'work' in rhythm but the last two are a little awkward due to the length of the third line. it's just about rewording and restructuring certain sentences.

[typing mantis]

Thank you so much for your comments and suggestions! I am definitely going to try and work them into my poem.

[tectak]

I used to start with a pen in my hand everyday,

I would hum and haw, and chew my fingernails,

I was scared that the words that I'd write that day,

will jump off the page, and run away.

I don't exactly remember what day,

my words first behaved this abominable way.

But I do remember an easier time,

when the things that I wrote, on the page they would stay.

I was very ashamed of my strange affliction.

But in spite of it, I still managed to function.

For people who came to me, with writing demands,

I took to very long sleeves, and pretended I had no hands.

Then one fated day, when T.V. was a bore,

I thought I would sit, and test my words some more.

The outcome was, just as I knew it;

as soon as I wrote them, my words just blew it.

Except for one...

it was trying to run,

but was managing, just barely so.

The word was “slow”.

It made its way painstakingly,

off the page, off my desk, onto my floor.

It slithered and slithered across my room,

and oozed its way out of my door.

I quickly rushed out after it,

I thought, “Maybe, if I followed it,

I would get to where all my other words go!

This could be my salvation! I'd finally know!”

Such dreams I dreamed! Such plans I planned!

And followed on till dinner time.

In the distance the sun was setting low,

on the pavement... “Wait! Is that purple snow?!”

Surprised, I looked around,

or, was it the world that spun?

When I wasn't looking,

something must have been cooking,

for everything I knew, had packed up and run!

Perplexed, bemused, I stood there balking,

till I saw “slow” moving up ahead...

Then I shrugged, gave in, and started walking,
and kept on going till I was dead.

A lot that can be said has been said already. The syntax is very shaky and the end rhymes a little to simplistic, forced and repetitive. Nonetheless, as a concept it is verging on unusually fresh Main criticism is inconsistency in almost every department...but main concern is that you refer lower down to "my poem". Is this it? Will you write another? I would hate to think that you refer forever to this as "My poem"...singular
Best,
tectak

[typing mantis]

I used to start with a pen in my hand everyday,

I would hum and haw, and chew my fingernails,

I was scared that the words that I'd write that day,

will jump off the page, and run away.

I don't exactly remember what day,

my words first behaved this abominable way.

But I do remember an easier time,

when the things that I wrote, on the page they would stay.

I was very ashamed of my strange affliction.

But in spite of it, I still managed to function.

For people who came to me, with writing demands,

I took to very long sleeves, and pretended I had no hands.

Then one fated day, when T.V. was a bore,

I thought I would sit, and test my words some more.

The outcome was, just as I knew it;

as soon as I wrote them, my words just blew it.

Except for one...

it was trying to run,

but was managing, just barely so.

The word was “slow”.

It made its way painstakingly,

off the page, off my desk, onto my floor.

It slithered and slithered across my room,

and oozed its way out of my door.

I quickly rushed out after it,

I thought, “Maybe, if I followed it,

I would get to where all my other words go!

This could be my salvation! I'd finally know!”

Such dreams I dreamed! Such plans I planned!

And followed on till dinner time.

In the distance the sun was setting low,

on the pavement... “Wait! Is that purple snow?!”

Surprised, I looked around,

or, was it the world that spun?

When I wasn't looking,

something must have been cooking,

for everything I knew, had packed up and run!

Perplexed, bemused, I stood there balking,

till I saw “slow” moving up ahead...

Then I shrugged, gave in, and started walking,
and kept on going till I was dead.

A lot that can be said has been said already. The syntax is very shaky and the end rhymes a little to simplistic, forced and repetitive. Nonetheless, as a concept it is verging on unusually fresh Main criticism is inconsistency in almost every department...but main concern is that you refer lower down to "my poem". Is this it? Will you write another? I would hate to think that you refer forever to this as "My poem"...singular
Best,
tectak

Of course I plan to write more! I have just taken up poetry, and I am pretty excited. Thanks for the encouragement!

[typing mantis]

Hi! I just changed my poem, and have tried to give it some rhythm. I have also tried to fight against the immense urge to rhyme, though I have not completely succeeded. I would love to have more suggestions on how I could improve my writing.

[Raspberry Lemonade]

Suddenly my breath ran for the word "slow" as well.

The poem is fresh and the topic is new (at least to me). I like the idea of the protagonist chasing the word "slow," and though I imagine that means writers block, stuck on literary pieces, etc...

Some words you have choses to ryhm are more on the "basic" side, which is no mean a bad thing if the artist knows how to execute it well. It didn't post much of a problem, so props for that. The edited poem you have posted is, I can say without doubt, better (sorry former poem!) It's shorter and the words we see are the foundation. It's more simple. And that brings me to the point of the simplicity of your poem. 

This can be read by an audience of most ages, and that's awesome. The vocabulary isn't too over-the-top, allowing for people to understand your poem whole still being satisfied vocabulary wise. 

A complaint I do have is the line with the birds flapping away. Although metaphors can be seen as abstract and random, I feel like this metaphor doesn't go well with the poem as a whole. I'll leave you to decide whether or not to keep it.

Overall a great poem, I hope you write more in the future!

[vagabond]

 
 
I suffer from a strange disease;
I cannot ink down words.
It's not that I'm illiterate,
the reason's more absurd.
 
My words behave inexplicably                    act   instead of   behave  
they don't stick to their page.
As soon as they are written down,
they flap away like birds.
 
I am mortified of my condition.                  I´m   instead of   I am
But I hide it well:
When out, I am forever knitting,
I'm never free to write.
 
I haven't lost all hope just yet,
there has to be a cure.
Every morning, without fail,                     
I try and write some more.
 
Today, as I picked up my pen,
I felt blue and gloomy.                a little gloomy     instead of    blue and gloomy
Maybe it has been long enough,
and now it's time I ceased.             I would try to find some phrase for slowing down, braking or decelerating instead of ceased.. would prepare the appearance of “slow”                       
 
But my lament was premature!                 my lament, though, was premature
I wrote a word that stuck!
Well, actually, it moved glacially.          omitt “it”
The word I wrote was “slow”.             i´d write “I had scribbeled SLOW”
 
It made its way painstakingly,
off the page, the desk, to the floor.           “from page to desk to floor”?
It slunk and slithered across the room,      through   instead   of across?
and oozed out of the door.
 
I quickly rushed out after it,
in hopes that if I followed it,            omitt “it”
I might finally get to see                     “I finally might get to see”
where all my other words go!        “where all its brethren went”
 
I followed on till sunset,               “ I followed ´til the sun had set”
my feet were now quite sore.
This is when I noticed,               “looking down my eyes met with” (not sure though if that sounds natural)
some strange and purple snow.
 
Surprised, I looked around,
or, was it the world that spun?
When my eyes were fixed on “slow”,
my world had packed and run!
 
Perplexed, bemused and clueless,
I didn't know what to do.
And so I am still walking,
still blindly following “slow”.

I added a few suggestions next to some lines mainly for rhythm.

the poem contains a nice thought, the word slow makes the narrator focus on a simple thing (following a word), thereby slows him down (feet sore) and makes him stop and look at the world in a slightly different way (purple snow in the sunset, no purpose, just beautiful). 
up to that point I find it´s a very nice story and metaphor.. the last two stanzas however in my view abandon this positive aspect and make the narrator even blind again. but it´s a good point ending it like that, feels familiar and makes the reader think about the why´s .

alternatively I would somehow like it if the narrator realizes his amazement at the purple snow and find his other lost words in more details.. but that´s probably a different story.

[nibbed]

Hi, typing mantis. I giggled at the title.
My Grandma used to call my Grandpa "slowpoke".



I suffer from a strange disease;                                         
I cannot ink down words.
It's not that I'm illiterate,
the reason's more absurd.


My words behave inexplicably,
they don't stick to their page.
As soon as they are written down,
they flap away like birds.


I am mortified of my condition.
But I hide it well:
When out, I am forever knitting,                            -don't know why I see "ever knitting", meter perhaps?
I'm never free to write.


I haven't lost all hope just yet,
there has to be a cure.
Every morning, without fail,
I try and write some more.


Today, as I picked up my pen,
I felt blue and gloomy.                                          -I think there are better words.
Maybe it has been long enough,
and now it's time I ceased.                                    -I don't care for this last line, ceased makes me think of death.


But my lament was premature!
I wrote a word that stuck!
Well, actually, it moved glacially.
The word I wrote was “slow”.


It made its way painstakingly,                                - shouldn't painstakingly be between It and made?
off the page, the desk, to the floor.                       - this line lacks sharpness
It slunk and slithered across the room,                 
and oozed out of the door.


I quickly rushed out after it,
in hopes that if I followed it,
I might finally get to see
where all my other words go!


I followed on till sunset,
my feet were now quite sore.
This is when I noticed,
some strange and purple snow.


Surprised, I looked around,
or, was it the world that spun?
When my eyes were fixed on “slow”,
my world had packed and run!


Perplexed, bemused and clueless,
I didn't know what to do.
And so I am still walking,
still blindly following “slow”.                                  -how can you blindly follow something you can see?




A different sort of poem, almost seems insulting,
judgemental, even boasting omniscience-
but with an entertaining innocence about it,
reminded me of a meatball song. Thank you
for the read and opportunity to critque.



best wishes
nibbed