Artificial Fibs

[UnofficiallyMe]

Hello all!

I really appreciate the critique of my previous poem, you all helped make it so much better. I really wanted to post a poem I have been working on for awhile but this one came to be and I just couldn't help it..

So here it is!
and really, thanks!
Its a bit rough maybe so I am open to anything!

Artificial Fibs

Clammy sun incites
Its sleepy state
Whilst
Old moon broke
Leaking all over the floor;
The mop died.

When mourning rays
Shed way to morning
Will a flower grow
In the middle of this face
Drawing moustaches
All around my eyes?

My mental fjord
Is abscessing
Like
Jettisoned up municipality
Birds without wings.

Yellow brick road
With artificial fibs
That lure and glue
Feet to his rotted veins,
I hope you sink
From all that you drink.

Psychosis is precocious
All taut and wound
Round the gate
Sealed for a minute or two
Never getting free
That’s what the doctors all told me.

[tectak]

Hello all!

I really appreciate the critique of my previous poem, you all helped make it so much better. I really wanted to post a poem I have been working on for awhile but this one came to be and I just couldn't help it..

So here it is!
and really, thanks!
Its a bit rough maybe so I am open to anything!

Artificial Fibs

Clammy sun incitesWord use is suspect immediately. What do you think incites means? Whose sleepy state?
Its sleepy state
WhilstWhy break the line here. You are trying far too hard to be poetic. Just calm down a little. I know it is exciting but get a grip.
Old moon broke
Leaking all over the floor;
The mop died.I am lost here but it might become clearer. Capitalising each line is not really contemporary thinking and serves only to confuse

When mourniing rays
Shed way to morningThis is a cliched old word play. You won't get away with it on serious crit boards
Will a flower grow
In the middle of this face
Drawing moustaches
All around my eyes?Rhetorical questions should always be answered OR answerable. Even in real life. I have no inkling of what this flower will do.

My mental fjord
Is abscessing
Like
Jettisoned up municipality
Birds without wings.This stanza is just fdreadful. Ditch it. Abcessing fjords and jettisoned up municipalities? Gobbledygook.

Yellow brick roadAgain, a cliche by every definition.
With artificial fibs
That lure and glue
Feet to his rotted veins,
I hope you sink
From all that you drink.This stanza is shockingly abrupt. It comes out of nowhere. Who on earth is this alcoholic "you". It sure ain't me. It is a pity because you are just getting in to your stride. I like "Lure and glue feet to his rotted veins"...whoever "he" is!!!

Psychosis is precociousSez who? Did you hear the doctor right? Are you sure he didn't say precious? I cannot get "Precocious psychosis" at all. Suspect word use or explain it to me. I will listen
All taut and wound
Round the gate
Sealed for a minute or two
Never getting freeSealed for a minute...never getting free. Your definition of never is shorter than mine.
That’s what the doctors all told me.Get a second opinion

Hi there,
Overall you are trying too hard to be poetic. In some areas you succed but there is precious little consistency. You would do well to restructure this piece, preferably with longer lines. Why with longer lines? Because then you have the luxury of time and distance to set-up your piece. Write it all as just text, punctuate it it, put in no line breaks apart from those due to the limitation of paper width. Now break it up into sensible, MEANINGFUL lines. Make it flow.
This, after all, is EXACTLY what you wrote:
[/b]
Clammy sun incites Its sleepy state Whilst Old moon broke Leaking all over the floor;The mop died. When mourning rays Shed way to morning Will a flower grow In the middle of this face Drawing moustaches All around my eyes? My mental fjord Is abscessing Like Jettisoned up municipality Birds without wings. Yellow brick road With artificial fibs That lure and glue Feet to his rotted veins, I hope you sink From all that you drink. Psychosis is precocious All taut and wound Round the gate Sealed for a minute or two Never getting free That’s what the doctors all told me.

What makes us think that just because we are being poetic the first thing we should do is ditch the punctuation! Let's start a movement!
Best,
tectak

[UnofficiallyMe]

I have loved having my work critiqued. It lets me see where others will come from, get rid of some of my flaws, and see how dedicated to a piece I am. I will talke some of this into consideration.

I will say "positive" criticism is the key. all the rest is, well, Gobbledygook.

This is what I wrote, really.

A clammy sun incites its sleepy state, whilst an old moon broke leaking all over the floor; then the mop died.

When mourning rays shed way to morning, will a flower grow in the middle of this face, drawing moustaches all around my eyes?

My mental fjord Is abscessing Like jettisoned up municipality birds without wings.

The yellow brick road has artificial fibs that lure and glue feet to his rotted veins.

I hope you sink from all that you drink.

My psychosis is precocious, all taut and wound round the gate that is sealed for a minute or two.

Never getting free, that’s what the doctors all told me.