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Looking for feedback, or just to be read.

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Stumbling and lost in what's felt inside,
The fear and the hate,
The sense of living a lie.
The rage, the pain
It's all the same
We're always just a piece in someone's game,
Often less valued than a simple pawn
Yet we endlessly search for where we belong.
Active Ink Slinger
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Living life behind an endless facade,
Guarding the heart with all that I've got.
Sweet words hiding the venom within,
Blind made self-righteous by the illusion of vision
Pushed to the edge by those sworn to protect
Active Ink Slinger
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As we lay this world to waste,
As we spit in Mother Nature's face,
There's something bigger going on in between the lines.
We're bringing nearer our end without a care,
And the blame for the demise we all shall share.
While you sleep soundly in bed with nothing to fear,
There are soldiers enduring a barrel's cold leer.
And as the trigger is pulled and the blood hits the floor,
Very few wonder what it's all for.
Active Ink Slinger
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Life is a coin, a gamble of fate.
One side is kindness, a life filled with love.
The other side's different, for its roots are in hate.
On rare occasion the coin lands on the edge,
Creating a life that hangs in the balance.
The sides sway the coin, and the life along with it,
And each side's effect causes the life to be shifted.
But the sides push rather than pull,
Trying to snuff out the other's control.
In a war between forces dating back to times unknown,
The life can only watch through dirty windows.
Active Ink Slinger
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What kind of world is it that we live in,​
Where every other number is an odd one out,​
Where reputation seems to be the only thing we care about.​
We think we'll do fine, but all we do is play,​
Proving something set in stone can still fade away.​
All the pointless killing thought to solve our bouts,​
Only causing more until the lives run out.​
Taking from the world until the well runs dry,​
And when they run out, we'll just wonder why.​
When a fool looks up and he sees the sky,​
all he really sees is the clouds go by.​
When a wise man looks and sees the sky,​
He knows the pollution that lingers there,​
And he knows that mankind doesn't seem to care.​
Kill counts are climbing because our skulls are too thick,​
Soon we'll be gone, but that doesn't seem to click.​
M16's and snipers firing into the distance,​
Gatling gun bullets pounding like pistons.​
Kill counts sky rocket higher by the day,​
No one really thinking about who's going to pay.​
Cold hearted soldiers causing murderous slaughters,​
Killing them all, be it parents, sons, or daughters.​
Ruthless drill sergeants making killers from men.​
Running them through it again and again.​
Those who think this is right can join the front lines,​
Those who think it's just life can drop dead on the spot,​
Because how is there life in this endless onslaught?​
This is not life, not even close,​
This is pointless killing, but nobody cares,​
Except for the people with loved ones out there.​
They used to solve issues with chess matches they played,​
But when war came along they just threw it away.​
They say that the fool is blind but the wise man can see,​
And from what I've seen this proves true to me.​
For the fool gleefully supports the war, proving that ignorance is bliss.​
But the wise man understands.​
The wise man knows that war is really suicide.​
After every war, there are fewer people alive.​
With war after war, there's no time to recover.​
In the end, we'll run out, we'll become our own end.​
Some people out there don't even have homes to defend,​
But for some of us our biggest problem is losing a friend.​
The leaders out there think they are solving our issues,​
But they're not, they're burning houses and racking up kill after kill,​
And really they're just turning this world into a living hell.​
God gave them their chances to nourish the world,​
But then human nature decided to get in the way.​
God gave them their chance and they decide to blow it,​
Obliviously turning the world to Hell, but I know it.​
I'll carry this flag for as long as I can,​
But I'm getting pretty sick of seeing man killing man.​
And for those out there planning to join the fray,​
Remember that more and more are dying each day,​
And every kill you get casts another family into dismay.​
And for those of you that think "I can't die," it's still the start of the game,​
Remember in war there's always first blood,​
And who's to say that they weren't thinking the same?​
And when you get down to the point, what's the purpose of war?​
It's not to solve our debates, it only adds cruel intent.​
It's not to protect the people, because even more lives are spent.​
It's not for freedom, for it's with the chains of murder we're bound.​
It isn't for honor, for only shame can be brought when spilling blood on the ground,​
It's not for salvation, since each kill is a step towards Satan's Hearth,​
It's not for glory , causing the blood of the bold to stain the earth.​
But these are the lies that they feed to me and you,​
Constantly insisting that these "reasons" are true.​
The rhyme is for hatred, to make weapons from people,​
The reason is greed, for the leaders hunger for power,​
The purpose is murder, for the trees and the grass with blood are showered,​
The intention, destruction razing everything in it's path.​
The hunger for chaos, for it's kill or be killed, turning man into beast,​
The results are destruction, death, sadness, and loss,​
And far to many souls are joining those of the lost.​
For every pointless murder comes with a secret cost,​
Drawing heartless souls to the devil's facade,​
Even those who once tried to follow God.​
So open your eyes, join the few and the wise,​
See through the devil's not-so-clever disguise.​
Because Hitler's cause is going to come back,​
But this time it's won't just be the imperfect they attack.​
They'll be more organized. they won't make mistakes;​
They'll be swift and more deadly in the next retake.​
But the reason these wars have continued to blaze,​
Is because of the lies that are used as a haze.​
It's the peoples' support of this genocide,​
That helps cause the cruelty the government tries to hide.​
Through the pain of those with loved ones lost,​
We can see through their lies to the endless exhaust.​
It must be put to a stop, for we're killing ourselves,​
Killing each other just for war stories to tell.​
And don't you see what they're trying to do?​
They're using your hate to kill innocent people,​
Making guard towers from what used to be steeples.​
I bet you're irritated about being blamed for starting these wars.​
All those people whose family members have hit the floors.​
All the people that fall at the sound of the horn,​
And all of the reasons are simply ignored.​
So stand up and show me some pride,​
Don't just fall back and hide.​
Prove that your time is now,​
So man up and hold your ground.​
Mazztastic
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That last post is such a huge block of text that it puts me off reading it...

I see you've not actually published anything on lush yet, I'd suggest you give that a try, if it's feedback you're looking for and the post on of yours here thread is probably a better forum for these kinds of poems...

Certainly the last one really needs to be formatted into reader friendly paragraphs (it's not really the sort of thing I'm looking to read on lush... Maybe you'd consider the sister site, storiesspace, for that kind of thing?)
Active Ink Slinger
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They're all poems, albeit they don't fall into the category of love poems, which is why I don't post them. I asked a mod, they suggested I put them here. *Shrugs* Simple as that.

As for why I don't break up "What the Blind Ignore" into smaller pieces, it's all one poem, and I don't really know where the division of stanzas would work well.
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Quote by Silentdark
Stumbling and lost in what's felt inside,
The fear and the hate,
The sense of living a lie.
The rage, the pain
It's all the same


The above lines have little relationship with the below lines. It goes from wallowing in a generic mix of emotions to a specific belief in being used in someone else's strategic efforts.

Quote by Silentdark
We're always just a piece in someone's game,
Often less valued than a simple pawn
Yet we endlessly search for where we belong.


Since you are using a chess metaphor ......

Yet we endlessly search for where we belong
Beyond the limitations of a flat checkered board

Tie your emotional wallowing into a rebellion against using people for selfish gains. Give us a glimpse of what is beyond the board that you feel you are being cheated out of, what the person using you is being cheated out of.
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Quote by Silentdark
What kind of world is it that we live in,​
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
So man up and hold your ground.​


Repetition is your enemy. Too many of the same words are repeated in broadcasting the same message over and over again.

There is further repetition as it reads monotonous from beginning to end. Without a changeup in the rhythm, few readers are going to make it through the entire thing.

And you are preaching a long winded sermon, which will bore even God fearing people who do value human life. Imagine how it will be received by people who don't believe in your God and by Atheists.

Just make up some music in your head and reduce the poem into song lyrics that have a few additional verses than what we are usually accustomed to.
Active Ink Slinger
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Quote by Silentdark
Living life behind an endless facade,
Guarding the heart with all that I've got.
Sweet words hiding the venom within,
Blind made self-righteous by the illusion of vision
Pushed to the edge by those sworn to protect


This one is just a bunch of words that does not trigger any associations in my mind.

Read it and post what goes through your mind. It should prompt some memories or feelings attached to memories.

If it prompts nothing, then you don't really have a poem here.
Mazztastic
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Quote by Silentdark
They're all poems, albeit they don't fall into the category of love poems, which is why I don't post them. I asked a mod, they suggested I put them here. *Shrugs* Simple as that.

As for why I don't break up "What the Blind Ignore" into smaller pieces, it's all one poem, and I don't really know where the division of stanzas would work well.


The I think that you have to work on that, experiment, improve your craft...

I'd venture that only a writer with a dedicated following would get their readers to pay attention to such a large block of words.

It would read and flow so much better if it was split into verses, even if they were rough and uneven. I think it would improve it greatly.

You've obviously put a lot of thought into it thus far. The thoughts and ideas are interesting. A bit more work, some critical edits and you could have a really good read there.
Active Ink Slinger
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Quote by Silentdark
As we lay this world to waste,
As we spit in Mother Nature's face,
There's something bigger going on in between the lines.
We're bringing nearer our end without a care,
And the blame for the demise we all shall share.
While you sleep soundly in bed with nothing to fear,
There are soldiers enduring a barrel's cold leer.
And as the trigger is pulled and the blood hits the floor,
Very few wonder what it's all for.


This has rhymes, but there is no poetry.

Poetry is a piano falling on a musician whose only reason for living is to make music.

Poetry is using the story of how the show must go on despite a circus act gone bad to tell the story of a couple no longer in love staying married for the sake of the children[/I]. Or vice versa.

Poetry is getting readers to play music in their minds with just strategic words and line spacings.
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Quote by Silentdark
Life is a coin, a gamble of fate.
One side is kindness, a life filled with love.
The other side's different, for its roots are in hate.
On rare occasion the coin lands on the edge,
Creating a life that hangs in the balance.
The sides sway the coin, and the life along with it,
And each side's effect causes the life to be shifted.
But the sides push rather than pull,
Trying to snuff out the other's control.
In a war between forces dating back to times unknown,
The life can only watch through dirty windows.


This is poetry.

I would eliminate the last two lines.
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Quote by Magnetron

Poetry is a piano falling on a musician whose only reason for living is to make music.


Actually, I believe that's irony. Amusing irony, but irony all the same.
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Quote by Magnetron


Repetition is your enemy. Too many of the same words are repeated in broadcasting the same message over and over again.

There is further repetition as it reads monotonous from beginning to end. Without a changeup in the rhythm, few readers are going to make it through the entire thing.

And you are preaching a long winded sermon, which will bore even God fearing people who do value human life. Imagine how it will be received by people who don't believe in your God and by Atheists.

Just make up some music in your head and reduce the poem into song lyrics that have a few additional verses than what we are usually accustomed to.



That one was actually the first that I wrote. It was between my freshman and sophomore years in high school. I want to revise it, but Master Walton, my Tae Kwon Do instructor, has the written copy.
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Quote by Magnetron


This one is just a bunch of words that does not trigger any associations in my mind.

Read it and post what goes through your mind. It should prompt some memories or feelings attached to memories.

If it prompts nothing, then you don't really have a poem here.


I frequently write whatever emotion I feel, typically anger, depression, or loneliness. My parents are of the kind who seem sweet to everybody else, but when nobody's around, spend much of their time screaming at my siblings and I. Of the little bit of your psyche I've seen, I genuinely think you're bright enough to make the connection.
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Quote by Silentdark


I frequently write whatever emotion I feel, typically anger, depression, or loneliness. My parents are of the kind who seem sweet to everybody else, but when nobody's around, spend much of their time screaming at my siblings and I. Of the little bit of your psyche I've seen, I genuinely think you're bright enough to make the connection.


I get that it is an emotional piece, but it is too vague after line 3 as to whom you are referring to. Who is has done the swearing to protect? Policemen? Teachers? Nuns? Which in turn makes it vague as to who the you is in lines 1 thru 3, which could be anything from a teenager to a despondent Superhero.

This is a case of not enough words or words that trigger associations.

When I evaluate poetry, I mostly do it from the perspective of a reader rather than someone who writes poetry. If a poem does not engage me as a reader during the first pass, then my second pass as a poet offering feedback will isolate the reasons why.

I'm a firm believer in getting a clear message out in the first pass for the general reader to walk away satisfied. Sometimes that involves removing extraneous words and distractions. Other times that involves adding in extra words to grab attention, giving the reader more clay to shape and mold.

It is the reader that ultimately ends up finishing whatever you write wherever you leave off.
Lurker
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Quote by Magnetron


I get that it is an emotional piece, but it is too vague after line 3 as to whom you are referring to. Who is has done the swearing to protect? Policemen? Teachers? Nuns? Which in turn makes it vague as to who the you is in lines 1 thru 3, which could be anything from a teenager to a despondent Superhero.

This is a case of not enough words or words that trigger associations.

When I evaluate poetry, I mostly do it from the perspective of a reader rather than someone who writes poetry. If a poem does not engage me as a reader during the first pass, then my second pass as a poet offering feedback will isolate the reasons why.

I'm a firm believer in getting a clear message out in the first pass for the general reader to walk away satisfied. Sometimes that involves removing extraneous words and distractions. Other times that involves adding in extra words to grab attention, giving the reader more clay to shape and mold.

It is the reader that ultimately ends up finishing whatever you write wherever you leave off.


You are so very helpful..you see what others cannot...most lovely.
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Quote by daddysweetheart


You are so very helpful..you see what others cannot...most lovely.


Thanks. It's probably one of the few gifts I do have.
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Quote by Silentdark


Actually, I believe that's irony. Amusing irony, but irony all the same.


Irony is little different from Poetic Justice, which is opposite Poetic Injustice.
Lurker
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Quote by Magnetron


Thanks. It's probably one of the few gifts I do have.


wonders what other gifts you have while bursting out laughing..hehe


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Quote by Magnetron


I get that it is an emotional piece, but it is too vague after line 3 as to whom you are referring to. Who is has done the swearing to protect? Policemen? Teachers? Nuns? Which in turn makes it vague as to who the you is in lines 1 thru 3, which could be anything from a teenager to a despondent Superhero.




The ones sworn to protect, and also the ones with the sweet words, was referring to parents. Particularly mine.
Lurker
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Have you taken a look at our blue site? It is our non erotic sister site, one that I think your poetry would be able to get published on.
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Quote by Silentdark
The ones sworn to protect, and also the ones with the sweet words, was referring to parents. Particularly mine.


That was made rather obvious from your earlier reply.

Quote by Silentdark
I frequently write whatever emotion I feel, typically anger, depression, or loneliness. My parents are of the kind who seem sweet to everybody else, but when nobody's around, spend much of their time screaming at my siblings and I.


Feedback and criticism is meant to help better yourself as a writer. It would do you some good to be around more people that can offer such to you.

Quote by simply_sweet
Have you taken a look at our blue site? It is our non erotic sister site, one that I think your poetry would be able to get published on.
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Actually, I haven't even heard of it. But as for being around people who could offer it, I wish; a few years ago, my parents moved us from an area where intelligence was actually valued, to somewhere where the dim-witted jocks reign over all. I'm sure you know the kind of area that I mean.