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.
No. I do not dabble in the boredom of legal matters.
Nor do you seem to dabble in the ability to comprehend poetry or any written word for that matter. It is one thing to give a writer, such as myself, constructive critism, it is another to miss the mark and then accuse me of not writing it. All the while being obnoxious and offensive. So, simply because my ability to write above your standards, and to out wit you in the way of words, I become a babling child? Simply because I am a tragic writer I am pessimistic? Oh, no doubt I am, however to simply state it and not to reinforce it with anything constructive is highly offending. So, unless you have something of USE to tell me, whether it is good or bad, I care not, please refrain from posting any more comments on my thread in such a fashion.
And nothing you have said strikes me as intellectual. Accusing me of plagerism, not understanding the subject matter; all this is very ignorant.
Humans have a myriad of sides and forms. To speak of humanity is a complicated thing, for it means so many things. In the poem you accuse me of not understanding man, I fully understand man, I simply am speaking of the humane side of man. The kind and caring side. Passion and empathy.
It is a great poem. although it does not strike goodness in the heart. it seems to portray downfall. that evil will win. excuse my criticism, but isn't that a little pessimistic?
Of course it's pessimistic. I never said it wasn't. And it doesn't say evil will win. It says evil shall triumph while good men do nothing. Ever here the saying? With my work you need to look beyond what is in front of you
Oh great. Now evil is going to triumph because good men were not good men at all.
PLEEAASSE STOP. And if you think you understood that, you didn't. ;D ---------------------------------------------------- The last poems were a good read with there depth and flow. See ya!
Hmmm. its a great poem though. Wolf, do you make a living from this? you could be quite rich.
That's the idea one day. Not quite yet. I have a series of novels planned out and I'm working on the first. Also please stop commenting if it isn't going to be of any use to me. AKA constructive criticism.
You draw lines across my skin And watch as the red ink Seeps to the surface. Staining me with its hue. You do not understand What it is you've done. And I pray that you never will.
