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/pen/ - A Place to Create and Critique

Writing and reviewing ink pens and political literature
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Welcome to Pen Island
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File: 1428593532221.jpg (245.67 KB, 400x395, 80:79, DJ OKAWARI.jpg)

 No.322

Nzolo, whats your say on my newest poetry?

Feedback on my poem?

Genuine

Give me the sweet green exception
of your genuine red affection
not the chalked up, blacked out alienation
far below our crowded white sunny sky sensation
where planes fly and our infatuation never dies
which where way above in the dark abyss
across the ocean of time, love is just a myth
I have to say hell no, fuck yes,
fathom the aesthetics from which you are blessed
it's a reason in the yellow for our connection that needs care
but for now let's just forget the rest.

Pour your dedication in the connection we share,
we start from nowhere and arrive to somewhere,
as far as it takes for it takes for our sublime affair,
because my Genuine affection for you is still there.

Don't collide with the ladies shamed with envy,
you can hide behind the honesty the shields you and me
whiplash, all in reverse, straight from myself,
until I finally stand up to say
you deserve the best
and the most fun
all over again once more,
from the mouth to the lips of a genuine one.
____________________________
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 No.323

>>322
OP here. First line where it says Nzolo was just copy pasta gone wrong.
Ignore that.
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 No.324

Maybe too much adjective use?
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 No.326

>>322
I would have to hear it, I can't get any rhythm from reading it.

Besides that, and I mean this with respect, what the fuck are you on about? It reads like a schizophrenic's manifesto.
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 No.327

>>326
Does it really? How so?
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 No.328

>>324
Such as what?
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 No.329

>>322
I like it, anon.
But try to carve out a bit more of a rhythm.
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 No.331

>>327
My understanding of the poem is this. It's a confused profession of some bastard of adoration and lust for some other - never defined nor articulated, like the first stanza zooming about in its caprice. All of this urge directed towards some person that we are assured is 'genuine' and worthy of the 'best' treatment, I presume, despite that treatment not being the most noble in the first place.

Now, am I off the mark, or is this poem really a Frankenstein's monster of traditional, virtuous love and misguided modern "love"? The lack of discernible rhythm helps to exude that vibe of a fickle narrator. This is why it reads like a schizo's manifesto, or perhaps more strikingly, the midnight text messages I receive from my junkie friends. It's all over the place, like a budding, awkward teenage writer's first poem for his secret crush.

It shows great promise, but it is simply unrefined and immature in its structure and motive. Practise and read more, learn more about the ways of the world, and make sure that your next inspiration is more of a tour de force, and not like this tour de farce.
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