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wolf1991
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wolf1991
3,437 posts
Farmer

Here is a thread dedicated to my work as a writer. This thread will mostly be filled with my poems which vary in theme but I try to fashion myself after my favourite poet T.S Eliot, who I believed captured human nature in his words. I aspire to do the same. Please feel free wo citique and review my work. However, simply saying "I like it" is not good enough, as a writer I must grow and develop so I beg you readers to give me a reason as to why or why not you liked the poem. To start off I shall provide you with one of my personal favourties.

These Are The Boring Bits

Call life what you will,
A joke,
A curse,
A gift,
An adventure.
Take from it what you will,
Joy,
Sorrow,
Love,
Hate.
Lose yourself in it
Find your purpose
Or,
Find nothing at all.

A man asked, "What is the meaning of life?"
A woman told him, "Whatever you make it to be."
A child asked, "Is god real?"
A parent told them, "Only you can decide."

Personal opinion is what we use to guide us,
The opinions of others are what lose us.
We can never be certain
That we are certain of anything
Because of change,
And because things stay the same.
What makes sense one day,
Will confuse us another,
And so it goes on.
People tell others to:
Get in line,
Grow up,
Get our lives straight,
Who told these people these things?
And why tell us the things that broke them?

Is it human nature to be unhappy?

Two men sit on a bench,
In a park,
Under a tree.
They talk about family and friends
They talk about work and dreams.
One man says, "It is a waste of time to dream,"
The other says, "Yes, but to have dreams is not."
Dreams are what the world is made of
Bad dreams,
Good dreams,
Lost dreams.

Hope is never far off,
As the old die,
The young are born,
The young grow,
They become old,
The old die.
But while they are young,
They change the world.
Some for the better,
Others for the worse.

Inspiration is a dream.

The only inspiration in life is life:
What to do?
How to do it?
Can we change the world?
How to change the world?
Is there purpose?
Are we real?
Or a figment of imagination?
All questions do not need answers.

Call life what you will,
These are the boring bits.

  • 634 Replies
jezz
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jezz
3,337 posts
Farmer

Wait.. I remember reading this the other day but forgot what I had to say. Its interesting and different.. but I think you waffle on a bit too much in some places. Lemme read it again and get back to you on the feedback later.

wolf1991
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wolf1991
3,437 posts
Farmer

Take a look
Just a simple look
Just a quick look
And tell me what you see
Do you see what I see?
Give an answer
Just a simple answer
Just a quick answer
And tell me what you know
Do you know what I know?

We fall through life
At the speed of sound
Everything lost
Nothing found
Our friends
Our family
They all fade with time
And yet we know not
What we have lost.
O we busy ourselves
To forget the pain
Itâs like they're still there
Everything is the same.
We are creatures who love to hate
We love what we need
Then throw it away.

We build buildings,
We build homes,
Theaters, shopping centers
And malls.
But the one thing that we forget to build
Is our heart.
These modern times,
We've lost so much
It seems like morality
Is nothing more
Than ashes
And dust.
Money is manâs heart
Money to buy and buy some more,
Well tell me
If you please
Does money buy the heart?

There is always hope,
That's what Iâve learned
Because there is always good.
Not all men have forgotten their sense.
Some still hold firm to
Belief, heart and hope.
Some hold morals
In this sadistic age.
These people fall through life
At the speed of a turtle
They love to love
And cast away nothing.
They laugh for the good
And cry for the bad
These are the people
You wish you had,
As a friend.
These people
Know what they lost

So take a look around
Tell me what you see
Tell me what you know.
Is it what I know?
Is what I see?
Tell me
Please,
Or let this remain,
A mystery.

*This poem has always gotten mixed reviews. It is part of a set which will be my next contribution over the next little while.*

wolf1991
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wolf1991
3,437 posts
Farmer

I guess asking for critiques, comments or general feed back isn't helping?

Hypermnestra
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Hypermnestra
26,390 posts
Nomad

I will give you some CC.

Call life what you will,
A joke,
A curse,
A gift,
An adventure.
Take from it what you will,
Joy,
Sorrow,
Love,
Hate.
Lose yourself in it
Find your purpose
Or,
Find nothing at all.

Hm...obviously, this poem is meant to be prose, but I think that it would be better if you got some meter in it. In its current state it just seems kind of random, ya know? I did like the last part, "find your purpose or find nothing at all", but I think that you kind of...stretched it out a bit. Why does practically every word have to be on another line? I think it detracts from the poem, to be honest. So maybe, you could find a way to create a meter, stop being so random about it, and stop spreading it out so much. Punctuation might also help a little, or less punctuation. I think you let some of the more powerful lines burn out without expanding on them, while expanding some of the weaker lines. Maybe something a little more like this would be better, in my opinion:
Call life what you will.
A joke, a curse, a gift
Take from it what you will.
Joy, sorrow, love, hate
Lose yourself in it
Find your purpose, find yourself
Or find nothing at all.
Otherwise, I think it's a great idea, the problem is just the way you put it, yanno?

A man asked, "What is the meaning of life?"
A woman told him, "Whatever you make it to be."
A child asked, "Is god real?"
A parent told them, "Only you can decide."
Personal opinion is what we use to guide us,
The opinions of others are what lose us.
We can never be certain
That we are certain of anything
Because of change,
And because things stay the same.
What makes sense one day,
Will confuse us another,
And so it goes on.
People tell others to:
Get in line,
Grow up,
Get our lives straight,
Who told these people these things?
And why tell us the things that broke them?
Is it human nature to be unhappy?
Two men sit on a bench,
In a park,
Under a tree.

This part...this part just shoots everywhere. Like seriously. It bounces around way too much for it to be properly understood. Have you ever heard of these delightful things called stanzas? They're a way for you to divide the poem into parts so it's not so insanely long, you know? It gets confusing with just a bunch of stuff piled together in a mess.

A man asked, "What is the meaning of life?"
A woman told him, "Whatever you make it to be."
A child asked, "Is god real?"
A parent told them, "Only you can decide."
Personal opinion is what we use to guide us,
The opinions of others are what lose us.

For example, before moving on to certainty or whatever, perhaps you could stay on the path. It starts branching off too soon, in my opinion. The whole &quotersonal opinion" thing could be tied together with the rest of the stanza so nicely, but instead you just kind of tossed it in there. And instead of doing the whole thing, perhaps you could have these peoples' different answers, and then branch off into the child and parent conversation. This might be a little better:
A man asked, "what is the meaning of life?"
A woman told him, "whatever you make it to be.
Certainty is uncertainty
And we cannot be certain of anything
Unless we are certain of ourselves
Answer your own questions, be your own self."
You know? Something like that.

A child asked, "Is god real?"
A parent told them, "Only you can decide."
Personal opinion is what we use to guide us,
The opinions of others are what lose us.

So now we move on to the child and parent in a different stanza. We can tie in the personal opinion bit as being part of what the parent says, like what we did with the woman.
A child asked, "Is god real?"
A parent told them, "Only you can decide.
Personal opinion is the compass used to guide us,
The opinions of others are what get us lost.
For how can we know if they follow their compass
Or if they follow the other blind men?"
You know, something similar to that. If you're going to jump around like that, either tie the stuff together or throw some of it out the window.


Because of change,
And because things stay the same.
What makes sense one day,
Will confuse us another,
And so it goes on.
People tell others to:
Get in line,
Grow up,
Get our lives straight,
Who told these people these things?
And why tell us the things that broke them?
Is it human nature to be unhappy?
Two men sit on a bench,
In a park,
Under a tree.
They talk about family and friends
They talk about work and dreams.
One man says, "It is a waste of time to dream,"
The other says, "Yes, but to have dreams is not."
Dreams are what the world is made of
Bad dreams,
Good dreams,
Lost dreams.

See, this is a prime example of where you jump around without real resolution to one subject, then move onto another subject and the whole poem starts to look like a mess.
Because of change,
And because things stay the same.
What makes sense one day,
Will confuse us another,
And so it goes on.

See, this should be a stanza by itself. You should separate it from the rest of this big part because it's pretty unrelated and has a fair enough closing line. You don't really need to edit it, just set it aside so it can be read without having to read the rest all in one sitting.

People tell others to:
Get in line,
Grow up,
Get our lives straight,
Who told these people these things?
And why tell us the things that broke them?
Is it human nature to be unhappy?

Again, you're stretching out the poem and the meter and putting things on separate lines that don't need to be separated. It might be a little better this way:
People tell others the things that broke them
"Get in line, grow up, straighten out your life."
Who told these people these things?
And why should we break ourselves?
Is it human nature to be unhappy?
Or is it human nature to try but fail?

Two men sit on a bench,
In a park,
Under a tree.
They talk about family and friends
They talk about work and dreams.
One man says, "It is a waste of time to dream,"
The other says, "Yes, but to have dreams is not."
Dreams are what the world is made of
Bad dreams,
Good dreams,
Lost dreams

Again, with the separate lines thing. I don't know if you're intentionally trying to make the poem choppy and disjointed or what, but you succeeded in a big, big way. Just...try to connect the lines so it's a little smoother, and again, don't jump around quite so much. And frankly, the park and tree lines are just unnecessary, you can get rid of those.
Two men sit on a bench.
They talk about their family and friends
They talk about their work and their dreams.
One man says, "It is a waste of time to dream,"
The other says, "Yes, but to have dreams is not."
Dreams are what the world is made of
To have good dreams, and bad dreams, and lost dreams is to be human.
You know, these are just suggestions and to be frank, that part just...I dunno, it just seemed to bounce about too much. As Jess said, most accurately, you "waffle on". It makes it unique but at the same time it just...it just makes it difficult to read, yanno what I'm saying here?

Hope is never far off,
As the old die,
The young are born,
The young grow,
They become old,
The old die.
But while they are young,
They change the world.
Some for the better,
Others for the worse.
Inspiration is a dream.
The only inspiration in life is life:

Really, the entire poem has this same problem, and I honestly think at this point that you're just going on and on. I don't mean to be mean or anything, just trying to help(you did ask for a critique), but really. The hope line can be tossed out the window, and bits and pieces of the inspiration line will need to be tossed into the trash can as well.
As the old die, the young are born
The young grow, then grow old, then die
But while they are young, they change the world.
Some for the better, some for the worse.
Some don't change the world at all.
But they always change themselves

What to do?
How to do it?
Can we change the world?
How to change the world?
Is there purpose?
Are we real?
Or a figment of imagination?
All questions do not need answers.
Call life what you will,
These are the boring bits

Truly, the entire poem has the same basic problem, and that's overextension, which I think I've said several times by now. And I think this whole stanza can just be thrown out the window, really, it's just kicking around now. You've already pretty much driven your questioning point home with the rest of the poem, which makes this part useless. Keep it if you want, though.
So, here is what I think would be an improved version of the poem.

Call life what you will.
A joke, a curse, a gift
Take from it what you will.
Joy, sorrow, love, hate
Lose yourself in it
Find your purpose, find yourself
Or find nothing at all.

A man asked, "what is the meaning of life?"
A woman told him, "whatever you make it to be.
Certainty is uncertainty
And we cannot be certain of anything
Unless we are certain of ourselves
Answer your own questions, be your own self."

A child asked, "Is god real?"
A parent told them, "Only you can decide.
Personal opinion is the compass used to guide us,
The opinions of others are what get us lost.
For how can we know if they follow their compass
Or if they follow the other blind men?"

Because of change,
And because things stay the same.
What makes sense one day,
Will confuse us another,
And so it goes on.

People tell others the things that broke them
"Get in line, grow up, straighten out your life."
Who told these people these things?
And why should we break ourselves?
Is it human nature to be unhappy?
Or is it human nature to try but fail?

Two men sit on a bench.
They talk about their family and friends
They talk about their work and their dreams.
One man says, "It is a waste of time to dream,"
The other says, "Yes, but to have dreams is not."
Dreams are what the world is made of
To have good dreams, and bad dreams, and lost dreams is to be human.

As the old die, the young are born
The young grow, then grow old, then die
But while they are young, they change the world.
Some for the better, some for the worse.
Some don't change the world at all.
But they always change themselves

Anyways, I hope that helped!
wajor59
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wajor59
909 posts
Nomad

Your poetry is deep, like mine and this may throw the younger crowd off a bit. I like and agree with your philosophy. As a friend I have to ask you, how do you like your work? If, it's a hard critique you're wanting I would suggest inviting a moderator, like Cenere, who writes poetry? Invite everyone who's active on the 'biweekly poetry contest' to read your work and give you feed back.
I haven't responded sooner because I've been working on my own thread. I have recently invited certain friends to read my work, too.
I notice a lot of activity in the Forge, too. Frank has started a thread, Thoad has restarted a game thread, etc.

wolf1991
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wolf1991
3,437 posts
Farmer

Your poetry is deep, like mine and this may throw the younger crowd off a bit.


Define younger, I'm 19. lol. Thanks anyway.

To Hypermnestra: I appreciate your critique. I will have to sadly disagree with what you have said. I appreciate your points and do not think I am merely throwing your comments away out of hand, I never do that. The poem is written in a specific style, and yes I admit it jumps, but you need to read it as a whole to understand the poem is about life. For the record you clumped two stanzas together. The poem is to show things in life that people often times ignore or over look. We often feel out of place and that we need all our problems and questions answered. Again I appreciate your time and effort.
wolf1991
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wolf1991
3,437 posts
Farmer

Lines in the Sand

Can we but look upon what we have wrought
And hope to change it all for naught?
For where in the ramblings of mad men
Do we live once more and take hope again.
In this darkest night before far off dawn
We wage our wars and stumble blindly as lines are drawn.
Oh dearest what have we wrought?
What confounding misery have we bought
Not only to this desolate unresolved wastland
But to our children who build castles of sand.
Sand. As if it were brick and steel.
And far off the mortars roar. You can almost feel
The crashing explosions of the fire all round
And soon we be burried beneath this ground.
Here we lay, and poppies shall grow
This place where crosses are row...on row.

wolf1991
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wolf1991
3,437 posts
Farmer

I Will Love You

In what way could I even begin
To tell you how much you mean to me?
How can such words be adequate
To describe the way you bring hope
To my most forlorn heart. And how?
How can I scarcely begin to reitterate
The words unspoken, the things left undone.
Time is a cruel thing my dear, a thing that serves no man.
And evermore it tears my heart assunder
Under a burden of shame and guilt
That I know is not mine, yet I feel it all the same.

My dear, my heart is yours to keep
And whether we drift apart and find others
Do know this: Forever I shall love you.
Forever I shall love you no matter where you go,
Whether it be to the places we stood on northern shore.
Where I, lost in a madness of sorts,
Saw the ghosts of men, and their sacrifice.
And you, among doubt, told me cruel things.
But do not dwell on then, for I forgive you those things.
And I shall love you no matter where you rest
No matter where you lay your head at night.
Whether it is beside me or no. Even then I love you.
This is a feeling that may dim, but never fade.
This is a feeling that may be misplaced, but never lost.
Forever shall your voice haunt my waking hours
And your face will haunt my dreams. Always.

I shall love you.
I shall love you forever.
I shall love you and never forget.
And though we part for now.
I shall see you again.
And I will remind you, I will whisper it softly,
"Love you."

wolf1991
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wolf1991
3,437 posts
Farmer

I had meant to put more than poetry here, but in my current state forgive me if nothing but poetry is placed here for a while. I would greatly appreciate some feedback.

Efan
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Efan
3,086 posts
Nomad

I have enjoyed the complexity and depth in your work wolf of words, but you need more then poetry.

in my current state forgive me if nothing but poetry is placed

A mental block?
StepOnABaby
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StepOnABaby
583 posts
Nomad

Cool poems bro!

wolf1991
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wolf1991
3,437 posts
Farmer

A mental block?


A severe emotional upheaval. Those who have read more of my work within the poetry contest will notice a reoccuring theme recently. Heartbreak. The denouncement of love and other such things.
wolf1991
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wolf1991
3,437 posts
Farmer

You can pray and hope your world doesn't burn, but there will always be a fire. It's what you do with the ashes that count.

Efan
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Efan
3,086 posts
Nomad

life will always return to the soil no matter how scorched the earth is.

wolf1991
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wolf1991
3,437 posts
Farmer

**READ! So below is something I'm working on but I don't know where to take it or what to do with it. ADVICE WOULD BE HELPFUL!

Break. It's a word that echoes through the mind of everyone at some point. Break. No one really considers the word, no one really thinks of the meaning. To break is to be in need of repair, and God help me I am in need of repair. Look at where I've landed myself, on some downtown Toronto sidewalk with people passing me by in the pouring rain. Hell, they don't even see me. They're too focussed on their own lives, too self centered in their bubble of...of f*ck I don't know! But, here I am, 18 and broken. Broken so d*mn badly I might not be able to even be repaired, and if I could be, what would I be? A former shadow of who I was? Some stranger I don't even know? Christ...best to remained broken I guess. I guess that's where you come in, whoever you are. Yeah, maybe you'll listen. One word of warning though. Break.

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