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Glyax
03-14-2016, 11:38 PM
Just a general disclaimer. Not necessarily seeking critique on this, however as always, it is welcome. That being said, this was more just an expression of self, of inner frustration that I feel at times, and the difficulty I have even trying to express it through writing...which is generally the only means I have to express my emotions...

Have you ever sat down to write
to find every sentence a fight?
Words are called, beckoned, bribed:
Yet poetryís light within has died.
The words are lost, they tumble about;
in the dark, you long to shout.
Frustration, stress, rage, boil within
and I donít know how to show them!
I want to, I want you to know,
so I start, I try, my feelings to show.
Then I stop, Iím lost: I scratch, I claw.
My poem has heard ravenís cawÖ.

I try to start again,
I canít let this end.
Yet how do I begin?

Gah, this is no good, I wish to write.
But why, why has it become a fight?
My inner peace broken, aggravation grows,
solace invaded, damages show.
When peace of mind is shattered;
words, memories, skills are scattered;
I cannot write when my mind is broken.
Healing cannot occur if the problem isnít spoken.
Iíll share this work, a pitiful cry,
an attempt at poetry, a pathetic try.
Is it even a poem, an attempt, is there a rhyme?
Truth be told I know you know Iíve wasted your timeÖ

I give up
Iím in a rut:
Ctrl-C; cut.

William Haskins
03-14-2016, 11:56 PM
it's a common malady. the key is to keep writing. i'll throw one of mine on the pile:

The Poem That Wasn't

a half million words in
this bastard language

sprung from tongues
of prince and peasant

borne of blood
and conquest

polished, exalted
raped and assaulted

through centuries
of plague and progress

and yet tonight
in this dimming light

i can’t find forty
with which to write.

Glyax
03-15-2016, 12:00 AM
it's a common malady. the key is to keep writing. i'll throw one of mine on the pile:

The Poem That Wasn't

a half million words in
this bastard language

sprung from tongues
of prince and peasant

borne of blood
and conquest

polished, exalted
raped and assaulted

through centuries
of plague and progress

and yet tonight
in this dimming light

i can’t find forty
with which to write.

^ This, I really enjoyed this, thank you.

kborsden
03-15-2016, 02:03 AM
As William says, we all get this way and indeed the trick is to keep writing however much dross and dreck we end up knocking out--eventually something will come out that is halfway decent :) FWIW I enjoyed the poem and the sentiment in it. Could it be tighter? Yes, of course it could be, but that would miss the point of what its actual intent is. Poems like this work best when raw... or at least as raw as you can allow before the OCD editing kick in ;)

CassandraW
03-15-2016, 02:15 AM
Oh, I cannot do raw. I stew my words until they dissolve into mush and all individual tastes and textures have been boiled away. When they stick to the bottom in a blackened mass and set off the fire alert, the poem is done.

I'm writing a poem about it now. Will post when it's cooked.

Glyax
03-15-2016, 08:41 PM
As William says, we all get this way and indeed the trick is to keep writing however much dross and dreck we end up knocking out--eventually something will come out that is halfway decent :) FWIW I enjoyed the poem and the sentiment in it. Could it be tighter? Yes, of course it could be, but that would miss the point of what its actual intent is. Poems like this work best when raw... or at least as raw as you can allow before the OCD editing kick in ;)

The OCD editing made me put in punctuation (whether correct punctuation is a different story entirely haha). That being said, I find it interesting that these raw moments, when I'm struggling or rushed or not thinking clearly, are the times when what I produce is actually enjoyed/liked by all of you! :P Makes no sense to me, when I try, I fail, when I flail, I succeed?

CassandraW
03-15-2016, 09:15 PM
I think here we all relate to the emotion behind the poem. We have all struggled with trying to find the right words (or sometimes, any words at all).

My cooking jokes aside, I do prefer my poems (my own and those I read) carefully crafted. One can leave in a raw feeling while still painstakingly choosing exactly the right words to convey that.

It is a bit like cooking, at that. You want the ingredients of your dish to be of the highest quality. You want them to meld together perfectly, complimenting each other without clashing or overwhelming one other. You want the onions caramelized, perhaps -- but not burnt -- and you do not want your shrimp cooked to rubber. The herbs you might want chopped fresh, added at the last moment.

Simple your dish may be. But it should none the less be carefully composed and cooked to perfection, in a manner appropriate for that dish and its ingredients.

ETA:

That said, it is certainly possible to over-edit and in the process, suck all the life out of something, or to get so cute with your craft you lose the emotion (especially true, I think if you're trying to be extra clever with rhyme, meter or metaphor -- you do not want your device to come at the expense of your meaning and emotion).

Knowing when something is finished is an art in itself, I think -- and one I still occasionally struggle with (although less than I once did).