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If you wish to take part in the Writeoff,
You'll find that in spite of
The skills that you master,
Someone else can type faster.
You'll find that in spite of
The skills that you master,
Someone else can type faster.
When I get older (plug-in the mic)
i'm gonna be WILDER
and write poetry in my spare time
and I'll use some very interesting metaphors! (drum is shoe)
and then post my poems online.
cue rain and groovy triangle
i'm gonna be WILDER
and write poetry in my spare time
and I'll use some very interesting metaphors! (drum is shoe)
and then post my poems online.
cue rain and groovy triangle
That's a pretty distinct image. As to what it means, it's vague enough that I think it can be interpreted lots of different ways. Some people would call that a strength. I'm in the middle camp, where I feel like the image is strong but don't know what I'm supposed to get from it.
I really like this. There are some areas where the rhythm is a little forced, but they're pretty minor. Only one really stuck out to me. Though there are also a few where you use words that people pronounce with a different number of syllables. Like you use "fire" as two syllables. I've always said it as one. I don't know which is more common, but Webster lists both as acceptable. You go the other way on "tale" as one syllable, where you'll find some people pronounce it as two.
I appreciate it when a rhyming or metered poem doesn't feel obligated to make the ends of lines be at natural break points in the language. I also really like how the asteroid impact quite literally disrupts the poem's structure. But as the mammalian ancestor finds a way to survive, so does the poem immediately return to business as usual. The topic and execution of this are both clever.
I appreciate it when a rhyming or metered poem doesn't feel obligated to make the ends of lines be at natural break points in the language. I also really like how the asteroid impact quite literally disrupts the poem's structure. But as the mammalian ancestor finds a way to survive, so does the poem immediately return to business as usual. The topic and execution of this are both clever.
I'm a little confused by this. I think it's treating dreams as a negative thing, and while it could be because the author suffers from bad dreams, I think the theme is that dreams allow us to experience more wondrous things only to have to hope of them being possible dashed when you awaken. It's an interesting thought. People are mostly hardwired to always strive for more, so maybe having to repeatedly ground that hope keeps us from having to find ever grander things to hope for when you keep getting your wish. One thing I've long thought is that if you got what you most wanted in the world, how long would it keep you happy? Maybe that's a bit of a counterargument to this, but I do like the sentiment here. I don't know if there's anything to be read into the lack of a rhyme scheme until near the end. That might have been unintentional.
Another one that's vague enough that it could mean a lot of things. I was prepared for this to be a commentary on current events, but then the narrator wouldn't be blaming himself. So in the end, I guess it's a simple message about taking the responsibility for making the most of your life. Which is fine. It's just not doing it with much finesse.
>>Pascoite
Pascoite, I'd like to thank you for taking the time to make these reviews. You have a fine critical eye and it's always a pleasure to see you've stopped by.
Pascoite, I'd like to thank you for taking the time to make these reviews. You have a fine critical eye and it's always a pleasure to see you've stopped by.
Bang Bang
Maxwell's silver hammer slammed down upon my verse,
Bang Bang
Though I wrote vers libre and really kept it terse!
Maxwell's silver hammer slammed down upon my verse,
Bang Bang
Though I wrote vers libre and really kept it terse!
They did not know, they only lived
And died and left their forms,
Until that spark that sees itself
But passed to us the better gift
Of thought that swarms in storms.
And died and left their forms,
Until that spark that sees itself
But passed to us the better gift
Of thought that swarms in storms.
Holding my foot,
Looking down
At that stupid blue globe
On which I stubbed my toe
While strolling through
The stars.
May the dominant species
Wither!
Looking down
At that stupid blue globe
On which I stubbed my toe
While strolling through
The stars.
May the dominant species
Wither!
In roiling murky umber haze
Lay Thanatos in slumber lock'd
Until the air, now full of steam,
Called like whims of Tantalus
With rich aroma full of life
That draws one full awake to savor,
So Thanatos arose, stood up
Greeting Hypnos, and took sup
From that fresh-brewed and brimming cup.
Lay Thanatos in slumber lock'd
Until the air, now full of steam,
Called like whims of Tantalus
With rich aroma full of life
That draws one full awake to savor,
So Thanatos arose, stood up
Greeting Hypnos, and took sup
From that fresh-brewed and brimming cup.
Wow this was actually pretty cool. I'm not a poetologist so I can't dig too deep into things, but I am pleasantly surprised to see extinction and humanity's eventual rise to dominance recorded in verse for a change, rather than whatever tack ration they call high school text books.
"Flail of Heaven" is evocative. Has a bit of a Warhammer 40k ring to it. I particularly dig the idea that the direct ancestor of humanity was this close to being something else's lunch when ol' SMOD 1.0 hit. Really emphasizes the fragility of life and how big a role chance plays in life sometimes.
"Flail of Heaven" is evocative. Has a bit of a Warhammer 40k ring to it. I particularly dig the idea that the direct ancestor of humanity was this close to being something else's lunch when ol' SMOD 1.0 hit. Really emphasizes the fragility of life and how big a role chance plays in life sometimes.
I'm a semi-lucid dreamer, in as much as I'm usually aware I'm dreaming even if I can't always do much about it, so the idea that dreams slowly sap your hope away—the little deaths—is an interesting one. When I'm dreaming, I'm never out of breath, or feel sluggish and tired. My hips don't creak, sometimes I can fly, and occasionally there's a pretty girl somewhere who isn't already snogging on my best friend. I get some repeat dreams, which is cool, but more often than not it's a new adventure every night. The occasional black fog of existential horror, but all in all a net positive.
And then I wake up, and every time I wake up I'm still me. Maybe that's the real nightmare.
Anyway cool poem I'm going to go cry now.
And then I wake up, and every time I wake up I'm still me. Maybe that's the real nightmare.
Anyway cool poem I'm going to go cry now.
I'm choosing to take this as the bad ending to Gurren Lagann, or possibly the lizard's perspective from Chicxulub.
Alternatively, having thought about it longer now, the phrase "seeing stars" comes to mind, referring to the dazed state after getting whooped.
Looking upward / through stars - perspective poet (P.P.) is likely on the ground, dazed, staring up
at the giant - opponent is clearly significantly larger than the P.P., leading me to think it may be a child to have evoked such a comparison
who’s fists balled in rage - Angry, possibly drunken parent
who broke / me - who did not or has not held back, breaking the poet physically, mentally, or both by this point
Man, at first I was all "angry god go brrr" but now that I've mentally framed it as child abuse I can't think of it any other way. I never got beat as a kid, but I could set a clock by my mom's arguments with her first husband (they usually started half way through Wheel of Fortune, so about 7:30) so I'm at least familiar with the reference frame.
Either way, nice work making me thing so hard about a scant few lines. Proper min-maxing technique.
Alternatively, having thought about it longer now, the phrase "seeing stars" comes to mind, referring to the dazed state after getting whooped.
Looking upward / through stars - perspective poet (P.P.) is likely on the ground, dazed, staring up
at the giant - opponent is clearly significantly larger than the P.P., leading me to think it may be a child to have evoked such a comparison
who’s fists balled in rage - Angry, possibly drunken parent
who broke / me - who did not or has not held back, breaking the poet physically, mentally, or both by this point
Man, at first I was all "angry god go brrr" but now that I've mentally framed it as child abuse I can't think of it any other way. I never got beat as a kid, but I could set a clock by my mom's arguments with her first husband (they usually started half way through Wheel of Fortune, so about 7:30) so I'm at least familiar with the reference frame.
Either way, nice work making me thing so hard about a scant few lines. Proper min-maxing technique.
Not as big of a read on this one. The final line really narrows down the intent from basically any sort of life cut short/wasted to specifically having let life pass the perspective poet on by. Which is a valuable lesson, to be sure.
Though I am curious about the transitions from the bangs to the booms. I don't have a solid explanation for that, so I'm curious if anyone else has some thoughts, or what the author intended with the switch. We'll see in 9ish hours!
Though I am curious about the transitions from the bangs to the booms. I don't have a solid explanation for that, so I'm curious if anyone else has some thoughts, or what the author intended with the switch. We'll see in 9ish hours!
