Rasputin

[rasputin]

Three poems that I wrote the other week. Whadya think.

The Sema

If I were to spin on the spot
would I see God?
Would the shrouds of white smother my elation?
Would I breathe in the flames
to suppress my own sanctity?
Breeding our own impurities
we flail at the realisation of anguish
attaining perfection in every conceivable sense
it's just an elegant conception of our tyranny
fortune may favour the brave
but the question still remains
If I should spin where I stand
would I sleep eternally in god's hand?

untitled

To minimise our losses
we retreat behind our aesthetic glory
with our hearts flailing we covet the effigy that pervades our throne
reveling in its position of power
the swarm beckons with its endlessly obsessive indulgences
benevolent bordering on deranged
like a sail without a breeze
like an eye without sight
like a turbulent dream that leaves you awake
obscuring the bearings of your soul's direction

untitled

tyrannical, the lights that spin in the sky
yellowing the walls with their charcoal breath,
not all your faith in quietude, we hack away at the
enigmatic and precocious roots that swarm beneath your feet
deliverance is a delinquent thought
abruptly it leaves a taste in your mouth, yellowed from the charred walls
irreversible or not, it manifests where your mind is
leaving a brand on your soul,
endlessly screaming your name

[kitsch]

i actually like these pretty well
ill crit them in depth later

but two immediate suggestions:
1.)try not to use complex words for the sake of complex words
and
2.) read some of stephen crane's poetry. you'd love it

[charlesfishowitz]

what the ****?!

[kitsch]

problem?

[rasputin]

1.)try not to use complex words for the sake of complex words
and
2.) read some of stephen crane's poetry. you'd love it
to be very honest there was perhaps only a single instance where i used a complex word when I didn't have to, but yeah. I'll look into him, thanks.

[charlesfishowitz]

problem?

**** you thats my problem

[willfellmarsy]

i actually like these pretty well
ill crit them in depth later

but two immediate suggestions:
1.)try not to use complex words for the sake of complex words
and

I agree, even if you think the words belong, you don't want to come off as "hey I'm smarter than you" or have the reader think "wow i need a dictionary to read this, it sucks"...i mean this in the least critical way, as a writer myself, i know how hard it is and how right you can think some of your phrases are, but you have to sometimes use the less fancy word to get the desired effect...the first one is ace, the second one is good, idk bout the third one

I'd say (maybe with too much hometown pride) to read some Walt Whitman, maybe "Song of Myself"...even if you don't like it, you can see a simpler approach to writing that is just as powerful...i'm a crazy fanboy of his tho so i won't make promises

This is good tho

[kitsch]

i think whitman pwns as you can tell.

anyone want to give my poem a good *** kicking?

[TimJim]

Three poems that I wrote the other week. Whadya think.

The Sema

If I were to spin on the spot
would I see God?
Would the shrouds of white smother my elation?
Would I breathe in the flames
to suppress my own sanctity?
Breeding our own impurities
we flail at the realisation of anguish
attaining perfection in every conceivable sense
it's just an elegant conception of our tyranny
fortune may favour the brave
but the question still remains
If I should spin where I stand
would I sleep eternally in god's hand?

untitled

To minimise our losses
we retreat behind our aesthetic glory
with our hearts flailing we covet the effigy that pervades our throne
reveling in its position of power
the swarm beckons with its endlessly obsessive indulgences
benevolent bordering on deranged
like a sail without a breeze
like an eye without sight
like a turbulent dream that leaves you awake
obscuring the bearings of your soul's direction

untitled

tyrannical, the lights that spin in the sky
yellowing the walls with their charcoal breath,
not all your faith in quietude, we hack away at the
enigmatic and precocious roots that swarm beneath your feet
deliverance is a delinquent thought
abruptly it leaves a taste in your mouth, yellowed from the charred walls
irreversible or not, it manifests where your mind is
leaving a brand on your soul,
endlessly screaming your nameput that with some shred, and youd have some good music there