Writing A poem or two [E]

[Break]

I'm quite bored so I thought I'd just post a couple of my poems on here to see what everybody thought. They're not so much poems as an unconscious flow of what comes out of my brain, but, you can be the judge of that.
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XXIII

The ballroom echoes with a waltz that anyone can follow, and this happens shortly after the music starts. The men move stiffly in their suits with the creases ironed in and the women move elegantly in their billowing nightgowns. One, two, three. They can follow the rhythm like it is printed in their heads like a set of orders. These ballroom dwellers continue to waltz outside of the ballroom, twirling through alleyways, car parks and shopping centres. A hundred years ago the ballroom was much less rich, but the decorum within it remained the same. For four years millions of men waltzed and waltzed without a partner, longing to see them. They would dance into hellfire, but not back from it. They would be burned and they cannot help it. Their partners have no idea why they are dancing, their print says to stay put and wait for them to return to a more homely ballroom. But as the men are in position they all know that this will be their last waltz, dancing alone into a hail of fire. The music of this old song came from those with no taste but plenty of romantic meaning, yet it still was imprinted within our men?s minds, like some terrible order. This order played like a stuck record until it was shattered by clashing notes, irregular, continuous and horrific. Thank God that we will never have to waltz like that, to Hell and never back.
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I

In the beginning was the word, and in the beginning was the potential, and in the beginning was the inevitable. The fall from grace, the avarice of the human race. The call for arms, the need to bring deferrers to harm. This is my time, my Psalm. My crime, my Sunday Palm, bleeding of stigmata for the Cross and the Calm. The woman in blue, the businesses interested in you. She cries a tear for every penny made in interest, for every billboard. She is best seen in her petrified state, weeping through the lacquered wood. The willow wishes, weeps if it could, before the megaton machines bear down. Saws buzzing whilst they hang ever sadder, each tree is weeping as it is felled. Fires fuelled by this bark to quell the dark of any true meanings. Laws made broken by the plague of hypocrisy, vague in truth but clear in popularity. Blindfolds and cigarettes, asleep and billowing with the smoke of skyscrapers and intersections as our line is led to the wall.

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Comments and criticism are welcome.

[Kamuro]

[SIZE=1][B]Writing Style[/B]: Your style is very different from anything I've seen before. You havn't offered any structure for the writing so it's hard to find a rhythm, yet it still seems flow well in a majority of places. I like the idea of having a moral to the writing, or a certain overwhelming idea. I think there's definitely something behind each writing but it does offer some space for individual thought. Of course religion is represented in both works you've written, which most know isn't my area of expertise lol. I did enjoy it, however.

[B]XXIII[/B]: I love the waltz idea since dancing is often a great way to express emotions. Not only are you close to someone physically, but dancing offers a close physical interaction as well. Dancing towards the hellfire can be interpreted in many different ways. I'm not sure of what you were going for but I'm pretty sure the poem represents a certain kind of relationship. You seem to be focused more on the men then the women. As if the men are leading the women along blindly to their death without knowing any better. The acquisition of a romantic tune almost acts as an excuse for this.

[B]I[/B]: This song expresses a lot of things, change being the first that comes to mind. Although there aren't solid physical representations of both, it's clear to me that beliefs from the past are very different then our beliefs now. What use to be utter faith and dedication is plagued by hypocrisy and righteousness. It's hard to dedicate yourself to a supposed perfect being having become so flawed yourself. I get the feeling of "sin" when I read this work and it has heavy religious ideals and exemplaries. I enjoyed this one a bit more then the first.

[B]Conclusion[/B]: I think you have a unique style of writing and a lot of talent in this area. Although they lack structure and some writing basics, they show passion and utter dedication to their subject as well writing in general. Keep it up.[/SIZE]

[Break]

Wow, I love your analysis! Nice and in depth.

First off, thank you, it's been a while since I've shown anyone any of my writing and I was worried lol - obviously I know now not to be! I prefer [b]I[/b] better than [b]XXIII[/b] myself, I think the second one just flows better. The first is not so much about relationships - though I never thought of it that way, it seems a good way to look at it - but is about war, particularly the First World War, how everyone followed orders (the idea of the waltz [orders] imprinted in someone's head - everyone's got rhythm!) and whatnot. The second, more religious one - I don't know what I was thinking, but I liked your interpretation: Change is a good subject. :)

I presume it's okay for me to post another?
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XXXI

I am bread. Repent. Advent. Overdose on these fine tomes, Lent sees to it that we forget wine. Bloodlet the messiah in time, we?ll get it again. Sin. Lime. Spent are the hours, spent are their coffers and ours; spent is my charity. Faith seems to come and go like a cold. I am bold. I am bread. Hope is weighed down like lead, less done, much said. I?ve won. I?m dead. Upon this rock I have spun many a tale of woe and not failed, spoken of miracles and overcome the misery entailed. Blessed are the meek, blessed are the gullible, blessed are the weak willed so easily overcome when blood is spilled. Here are three nails. Now believe.

[Mitch]

[b]I[/b] is beautiful. Your word choice and the way you presented everything that's in it is what made it so good.

[b]XXIII[/b] is very forgettable. To be honest, I don't even know what it was about. Something dealing with waltzing, and some guys doing it. I didn't care for it and didn't pay attention.

[b]XXXI[/b] is better than [b]XXIII[/b], but still doesn't pack the amazing power of [b]I[/b]. It gets better towards the end, I thought, but is, as well, overall, forgettable.

For the record, some of these are more prose than poetry. First off, the format is that of prose. Especially the first one you posted seems more like prose than a real poem - especially in the way what you're saying is presented.

Maybe it'd be to your advantage to actually use stanzas and lines, which are obviously what poetry is? I don't know. I understand the desire to be different, to try something else out. I went through a stage where I wrote blurring the lines between what's poetry and prose - what I'd best sum up as "prosetry." I could show you some if you'd want, Break. Specifically, one piece I made, "gargoyle," I love to this day, and think packs power.

[Break]

[QUOTE=Mitch]For the record, some of these are more prose than poetry. First off, the format is that of prose. Especially the first one you posted seems more like prose than a real poem - especially in the way what you're saying is presented.

Maybe it'd be to your advantage to actually use stanzas and lines, which are obviously what poetry is? I don't know. I understand the desire to be different, to try something else out. I went through a stage where I wrote blurring the lines between what's poetry and prose - what I'd best sum up as "prosetry." I could show you some if you'd want, Break. Specifically, one piece I made, "gargoyle," I love to this day, and think packs power.[/QUOTE]

Well thank you for your criticism and praise, I didn't think that the waltzy was very good myself. Why is that when you spend more time on something you end up killing it? lol, [b]I[/b] was spur of the moment!

I've just 'translated' both the decent poems into stanzas and lines, and they look a great deal prettier. I did want to be different, but I was sort of too lazy to sort it out into lines etc. because I had the rhythm and sense in my head. But now that they're in stanzas and stuff now they [i]do[/i] look a lot better. I converted another prose type thing into stanzas; it is more personal and less general than the others I have shown so far, so hopefully it will be "powerful" and not so "forgettable" =p
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[b]XXI[/b]

The smell of another tragic love story
Hit her as she entered the room.
It reeked of light and dark,
Of Heaven and Hell,
Of opposites,
Of positive and negative,
East and West,
Of the poles of the earth.

Snow-capped desires like frigid peaks
Here jutted out through a mountain range
Of thresholds and boundaries ?
Every risk was a sheer drop;
Every dare a smiling face with no footholds.
A fall to death
Marked the end of a struggle,
A battle against the elements
And Fate
And Time.

Ascension came to those who had earned it,
Though all thought they should have
Through their ice picks, boots,
Sunglasses and winter coats:

?Morituri te salutant?

And they did.

The mountain stared back with not even a word,
Knowing silently that none would reach the top,
That they would all succumb to the cold
And freeze to death on those old peaks.

They would stick
To their own pathetic advances
As she turned the cold shoulder,
Snow beating down on their frozen gazes.
They daren?t smile,
As it would fracture their tired, worn faces,
Like the old marble floors
Left for time to consume.

And as she surveyed the room,
Petals on the floor glowed with warning;
The intersection of her bedroom
Was alive with red-lights that said
Stop,
Stay,
Go no further;
Turn back if you want to live.
It turned out that so many were blind,

So many saw green,
Go,
Advance.
She knew this, she would think
As she clipped the heads from roses
That littered her bed
Like discarded cigarette ends.
I know this.
__________

Any better?

Mitch: I would very much like to see your 'gargoyle' poem/prose (proem?)!