Poetry Forum

Night light air storm snow high up waits to kisses her apple cheeks red raw if the rooftops are whiter than the floor tender skin is a price she’ll pay- she climbs into the attic, I lift the tiles away. Church bells drop knells and bitter tears, when in gruesome light tomorrow’s head rears you’ll be...

Oh God I don't know but does anyone ever think that definition gets in the way of art, this obsession with form.

Peter, I realise that wheher or not like something is not something you can controll- I didn't mean toinsinuate otherwise.

Leigh.

Hi there.I just want to assure everyone that I'm not offended by anything anyone has said and appreciate your being frank. I agree with much of what you say Ros, though there is a simile in there. There are few other devices but I'm not entirely sure what they're called e.g. when a person or people ...

I'm not sure if it is or isn't poetry really- I don't mind if anyone see's it as peotry or not. It would be nice, I think, just to find out how it makes people react, how it makes the reader feel. I think its more important to express myself in a manner I feel is true to me, if my work is peotry or ...

I'm not sure what you mean by peotry.

Normally I don't understand my writing, but this one does a loose progression of plot. It's about a soildier imagining, perhaps halucinating, that he saves the life of and falls in love with one of the prisoners he has to execute, because she refuses to wear a hood during the execution. In real life...

A line of hooded heads and strung wrists led out to the mark in front of the pock filled wall. One lone head amoung them, one unhooded womans face. She slipped her cuffs beautif'li I no'iced before the rest, told her run with my eyes while I laid down cover left and right. Watched her scale the peri...

I think this reads really well. I enjoy writing where every word seems necessary. Just a suggestion but I'd cut 'the' out of the last line so it would read "and on this shut door".

Cheers.

Charming. Some beutifull images. A real feeling of warmth surrounds this poem- even with the chill round the tent.

Cheers suzanne, thanksfor the reply. I don't really understand it myself. I feel like a robot sometimes and so thought I might try and write like one.

try not to think about self, turn backto sight of ruined mental health. Shadow fears insight concern, phones talk to ghosts at home alone. Dead pianos played by no fingers, rehydrate sustain but death still on lingers. Disident bones rebel against their spirits, prepare by severing head for brainles...

burning as if to shirk the heat comes in the lamp lit hung, over the east. Trussed up still in the long time quiet. remember december ill, black coal teeth: on a diet. he takes his seat Loud blood a man drops to his knees on the siding in one singular motion his hand fallen his head bowed sliding A ...

This made me laugh. Excelent: so innocent, without reproach. Beuatifull

A very informal direct piece. I feel as though I heard you read it. The onlly thing i would change is to remove the parenthesis on slowly: it would have the same effect without it.

This is trully great. Its that pit which surrounds us like white washed courtyard walls, blinding in the sun; yet still our feet know the truth of the sodden mud floor. Also, it reminds me of what happened to me yesterday. You have a real tallent for describing dour filth.

Seems like a very personal piece. I get the impression that real inidents are being reffered to and, by way of balance, in specific being specific the references retain a sureall quality: a surrealnes coupled with a refence to what is often termed reallity- I can't think of a good word for it. Like ...

It seems like quite an apt analogy for life: a taxi queue at lest it would have if you had of n had of been stabbed and died; not that I think the end of the poem doesn't have legitimacy, it seems to suggest the beginning pf a cycle. Incidentally, i think queue is one the strangestly spelt words in ...

maybe its part of a poem. I think its easy to imagine the rest.

Either you have someone else, you think I need discipline like an unruly dog or you are just being a bitch.



I believe you are trying to force me out of love with you. everything is a construct

Hey, the he and it thing are different. It is the panic and he refers to a halucination. The a title is reerence to a E. A. Poe poem. Cheers guys.

You are right coop, it is rushed and without thought, but it made me laugh. Sometimes I write without any consideration whatsoever, just let the words out. I think if I invented a context for them it would be a misrepresentation of whatever inspired them. I think throw away rushed things can be appr...

Its about a terrfic anxiety, a needless horror that defies words.

It could be any incident, pick one. It could also be the infliction of the cut.

I rememebr it from years ago, it clawed in during a fever and re-aranged the furniture, everything was wrong, I heard him say he wants me dead mirror writing. That was the worst time. It still visits, I still have no word for it because it has no reason. the sheet of my bed are always uneven loud an...