Hine-Titama

this is going to be one long work in progress piece that I am trying to put together for my mothers fiftieth birthday next year, feel free to chime in with any culling, or suggestions, but this will be a very long drawn out process I wanted to try and get it all written out first then put it here but time dictates that I am simply going to have to try and wing it through and edit it down as I go, but with all the main writing collected hopefully I can make a cohesive enough piece to hand to her when it's done. It is all very personal writing however I don't take criticism of my writing personally......

any way here goes.

looking forward to seeing where this went and help if i can. trouble is, your writing often leaves me feeling like i've just took a sucker-punch - so first as a reader, then i'll put on my more critical glasses once that first emotional impact is past.

fierce wild hair black as night
unkempt, untamed
she lay in a rubbish pile
home for the while
had a lid to keep out rain
food thrown in every day
eyes as dark as obsidian
shard of glass to cut
any who thought to take
away her abode

creak of lid opening
not rubbish going in but
three of them
caught her napping
years of honed senses
had her up in seconds,
with spit and hissing
she at them in earnest
a furnace heat of rage and death
if they would only let her arm free
they would bleed
oh how she would make them pay

they held her tight rape and murder
in their mind.....................

he arrived, fists and feet
screams that seemed to come from miles away
her head rocked by a brick
dizzy blood poured
cries silenced by sharp cracks
smell of copper cloys
the hand in her hair now limp
slightly tangled

He bends down
scoops her in his arms
a sheltered cradle
for a lost babe
vicious he kicks the prone mans nose
crunch of cartilage groan of dulled pain

an unkempt wild man
she has found a saviour
her life stream trickles down
his hand
it mingles with the blood
he bled for her

his arms feel of steel
She jostles against his chest head lulled
sounds distort in snapshot freeze frame
yes, no, I
nothing,
what, where
dark,
hospital bound
sirens pound against delicate membranes
She glimpses her hero
chiselled roman nose, broken once or twice
his eyes
brilliant blue
ringed by a darker shade
eyes of a predator
his frame in constant motion
muscles tense, relax
postured danger
he smiles down
she is struck with a second brick
before healing sleep gently sways
her into silence and it feels of steel
and shrinks into blue
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Kilburn
A fitting name for a place
they send trains and dreams to die
tagged grafitti slashes fence lines
even in the day the grey shrouds
the good, addiction runs these streets
everyone seems to be hunched and bent
by world weary weight
as if the decay of the freight trains
had seeped in and everything is rusting
in sympathy

her hero resides here
some dark knight from the abyss
hospital was a memory
he came every chance he could
when she was there
a silent predator watching over her
her infatuation was an obsession
he had saved her life and redeemed her
from the dumpster
she felt like a queen
Kilburn is a ring up from the gutter
not a high rung but she was climbing

this man was a fighter
a protector, how deep the subconcious
tricks the thinking mind
amidst the dreck of wreck and decay
she was a wild flower blooming in defiance

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

her petals were too bright for this place
of steel grey, concrete and unrelenting heat
She drew attention
her protector was forced to stamp down
on her beauty, so he could possess and control
her wild fire to covet as his own

Dejected, infected with a sense of not being enough
she pulls her petals shut and blends in with the weeping asphalt

constant pressure
denied light
Starved or water
A servant girl to stitch his mates wounds
fetch their beers, be there for his use
at his whim, to be the scratching post for
His lust
His anger
an emotional tampon to be used and discarded

butters said:

looking forward to seeing where this went and help if i can. trouble is, your writing often leaves me feeling like i've just took a sucker-punch - so first as a reader, then i'll put on my more critical glasses once that first emotional impact is past.

Click to expand...

I'll bring the tissues if you bring the critique
damn empathetic readers lol, at least you didn't have to live it

I'm a tad uncertain how far I go and what I blend in, there are so many pieces that I have written that I can slip in chronologically that I could simply put this down as todski's poetic diary and make it a chapter book

way out of sync but it relates and I can edit my own posts

How many times
did his heart stop
medically dead
couldn’t keep tally

they proclaimed him a miracle
life over death

Bi-lateral bulging intestines
hole in his heart,
fingers like triggers
asthma filled bronchioles
would just quit, pale blue
resuscitation a mothers burden
ventolin, puffers, and nebulisars
control his rebellious lungs
antibiotics, immunosuppressant's
so he could live

his squalls and screams in mothers dreams
he lay deserted in neonatal units
where nurses tended him day and night
his fight for life begun at birth

scalpels, whining beeps
of loveless machines
brought ohhs and ahhs
infancy swallowed in
smiles that lied, didn't touch their eyes
staff so obsessed with the medicine
they forgot about him,

hospital stays became less frequent
lungs strengthen, heart stitched
held together with a mother’s love
sacrifice for his life.

Childhood looms, his parents love dies
cast him into a void
eccentric, slow to learn
not quite there,

erratic times filled with violence
and drugs,
seventeen primary schools
hell holes, the bells toll
high school manifests

imaginary friends that
screech in the night,
that whisper in the day
they play with his thoughts
as a child would a toy,

he moves from

torment to torment
drugs to drugs
flat lined too many times
he missed his day to die

His voice cut a hacksaw
blade through my veins
gravel dragged from a tip tray
the low rumble of thunder
clouds the fear that strikes
a wheat farmers heart when crops
may be crushed by the stuff they
have been yearning for through summer

the grey gloom cast as his shadow loomed
the ominous eclipse of light
feel like a Mayan must have felt
before crazy blood letting sacrifice

to want to be dust
to be blown
into the stratosphere
away from him and here
all I can do is cower
play turtle

pray that I can walk
when he has finished
crushing me in the gravel
of his throat
and the steel in his boot
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I survived
funny thing to say about
what should have been child hood

growing into adolescence
with this churn of addiction
a rage flame fanned by
praise for the ability to inflict pain


I didnt walk the mean streets
I drank it down
crushed asphalt cigarettes and syringes
force fed
in the ring gloves on tears streaming
fight for your affection boy
the loser is outside for the night
and the winner
is showered in love and praise
goaded into deriding the loser
it was all about the fight

dragged through glass shards
a patch work quilt of scars
cut, beaten bloody but never beaten

then when I came of age
I was the mean streets
the glass in face, and barstool swinger
a harbringer of hospital visits and
blood stained pavements

dance a dance of violent destruction
there were no sparring with words
merely an off hand gesture
could call on a wrath
my mantra

one of us is going to hospital cunt
I hope you understand the gravity of this situation
because the only time I felt
anything but empty
was when I was full of the mean streets
and driving people into gutter biting
head stomps
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The eyes of the miserable
reflect back in the shine
of a partially rusted tin can
hollow faded purple and brown
that drown the mirth or flying foxes
swingset freedom and monkey bar madness
those time when it feels best to be alive
snuffed like a match on flesh, the seal and sear
followed by the gagging scent
that gouges the nose

huddled half mile from home
alone, what thoughts roam
in a mind fresh with
tears and insults
foam flecked spittle, yellowed teeth
and the sight of the something
he was sliding into his arm
that sudden rush of fury
A storm cloud thunderburst deluge
that rained vitriol and hit like a brick
flung from an unsecured load

all he wanted to do was say
I love you dad

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

High pitch
Scrape that cuts the air
pierces the barrier between us
silence
the knife squeaks again
on a plate of porcelain

flinch reaction one eye scrunched
as if it can block the sound
that emanantes from each slice
deviled sausage and mash
he cuts his potatoes just so we know
who is the only one allowed to make noise

can't stomach the stuff and he knows
he waits for a penalty infringement
in the laws laid down no yellow cards
in this game, they're all red
read out like the riot acts

can't let his slop slip into my gullet
dry heaves
wrack as force is not enough to overcome
natural body function
I can see his wry grin as he loads
up the plates and swings

fist connects just above my left eye
and adds a delicate splatter of sauce
to my pristine white potatoes
fist- wall-roof-light-wall-floorboards-table leg
kaleidoscope together in a blur
words slur scream through partial deaf haze

"Get up you little cunt, or you get the boot"
dizzy carnival ride head
staggers left right fall
table leg
boot and spittle
drop in slow motion serenity
gravity is too heavy for me

saliva lands first, a sprinkle of DNA
before the leather sole sinks into my side
the dull thud of meat hit
with a tenderizer precision
that wet crunch-crack as ribs separate
the break from the pain as it fades into white

Hospital light
lies as I try to explain how
I fell off the back step playing ball
through lips so swollen I can almost see them
every breath scrapes like knives on dinner plates
as he stands behind the doctor
with a wry grin

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kil-Burn summer 1990

asphalt melts in black puddles of shimmering haze
the gaze of two teens rested on
a lonely child as he pedals,
each push clacks a pegged joker
on the spokes of the rear tyre

their approach is a hollering rush
of violence
the bike their prize
the boy cries tears of defeat
as the teens beat his face with fists and feet
he trudges home head down
shuffle steps, tears drown out his sight

where is your bike boy
the gravel crunch speaks in anger incarnate
a sob story told of teens and conflict

you boy are pathetic,
a single slap cracks the boy to the ground
hands scrape on rocky chunks
as knees are ripped in bleeding hunks
a boot to be sure a lesson is learned

turned back out the driveway
screwdriver in hand
get your bike and come back a man

and I only had to stab the first one twice

*The smile of breaking*

Beating back laughter and happiness
Over torn bread
Dull thunks of meat
The jolly butcher pounds
His lump of flesh

jawbone at an obscure angle
Mummy normally looks pretty in red
An organic bib blooming
Growing larger by the second

Mushmouthed words
I ove ou oys e stong
(I love you boys be strong)
thunk, thunk, thunk
The hammering continues
Jolly butcher smiles
Mummy looks like Quasimodo

The butcher asks, maniacally
“choose your cut of lamb, madam’e?”
Screams of you bastard sound more like
Oo astard
A final thunk, mummy goes to sleep

The butcher continues talking
In
Punctuated
Psychobabble
To his cowering meat
Be happy coz the best cuts are well beaten
And pounded

He looks down on my brother and I,
Both small tender cuts of lamb
And says simply

“I do it coz I love you,
Which one is next?
Hurry on I have a lot of work to do today
Gotta tenderize that meat”



I guess that's enough crap for now, just need to finish the introduction section and geeze this is going to be a bigger job than I initially thought......

I know where you've been because I've been there too Just one question for now. Is this what anyone would want for a birthday present?

UnderYourSpell said:

I know where you've been because I've been there too Just one question for now. Is this what anyone would want for a birthday present?

Click to expand...

At the moment it is rehashing all the negative but in the end we all survived and we are all in better places so as the piece progresses it will up lift but these were the long dark times.

without the contrast of then and now,
How would we or I appreciate the lives we currently live?

To myself and i know my mother it is more uplifting to be free of that than to have never experienced it at all

todski28 said:

fierce wild hair black as night
unkempt, untamed
she lay in a rubbish pile
home for the while
had a lid to keep out rain
food thrown in every day
eyes as dark as obsidian
shard of glass to cut
any who thought to take
away her abode

creak of lid opening
not rubbish going in but
three of them
caught her napping
years of honed senses
had her up in seconds,
with spit and hissing
she at them in earnest
a furnace heat of rage and death
if they would only let her arm free
they would bleed
oh how she would make them pay

they held her tight rape and murder
in their mind.....................

he arrived, fists and feet
screams that seemed to come from miles away
her head rocked by a brick
dizzy blood poured
cries silenced by sharp cracks
smell of copper cloys
the hand in her hair now limp
slightly tangled

He bends down
scoops her in his arms
a sheltered cradle
for a lost babe
vicious he kicks the prone mans nose
crunch of cartilage groan of dulled pain

an unkempt wild man
she has found a saviour
her life stream trickles down
his hand
it mingles with the blood
he bled for her

his arms feel of steel
She jostles against his chest head lulled
sounds distort in snapshot freeze frame
yes, no, I
nothing,
what, where
dark,
hospital bound
sirens pound against delicate membranes
She glimpses her hero
chiselled roman nose, broken once or twice
his eyes
brilliant blue
ringed by a darker shade
eyes of a predator
his frame in constant motion
muscles tense, relax
postured danger
he smiles down
she is struck with a second brick
before healing sleep gently sways
her into silence and it feels of steel
and shrinks into blue
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Kilburn
A fitting name for a place
they send trains and dreams to die
tagged grafitti slashes fence lines
even in the day the grey shrouds
the good, addiction runs these streets
everyone seems to be hunched and bent
by world weary weight
as if the decay of the freight trains
had seeped in and everything is rusting
in sympathy

her hero resides here
some dark knight from the abyss
hospital was a memory
he came every chance he could
when she was there
a silent predator watching over her
her infatuation was an obsession
he had saved her life and redeemed her
from the dumpster
she felt like a queen
Kilburn is a ring up from the gutter
not a high rung but she was climbing

this man was a fighter
a protector, how deep the subconcious
tricks the thinking mind
amidst the dreck of wreck and decay
she was a wild flower blooming in defiance

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

her petals were too bright for this place
of steel grey, concrete and unrelenting heat
She drew attention
her protector was forced to stamp down
on her beauty, so he could possess and control
her wild fire to covet as his own

Dejected, infected with a sense of not being enough
she pulls her petals shut and blends in with the weeping asphalt

constant pressure
denied light
Starved or water
A servant girl to stitch his mates wounds
fetch their beers, be there for his use
at his whim, to be the scratching post for
His lust
His anger
an emotional tampon
used and discarded

Click to expand...

the stark of night time lights
that blind in a flash of surrendered rights
mayleene was in the lair of wolves
a cat amongst the brutes but with claws
honed sharp by gutter life

the lead wolf Crazy Frank had brought her in
this den of psycho misfits
feared by the likes of the law
and a law unto the violence they sought
fought over the scraps and dregs of alcohols
absolution, playing vein darts,
it always starts out fun till someone loses a limb,
even in forty degrees there were chills to be had
as some poor lowlife was stabbed
or beaten, for expressing an opinion
asking why it had to be this way

on it went for mayleene, as she cooked and cleaned
played nurse to his friends bleeding
the curse of the fighting class.

time turns on the dial of dust as trust is
etched in sandstone erosion
a faint line where there used to be letters
thick and stark
at first a small backhand mark
a sting on the cheek
a sorry did I hurt you and the I'll never do it again
but she was bred for this
beaten bloody by her mothers slew of lovers
unconscious women cant say
no dove or peace offering to assuage the
night time assaults
and she loved this man who saved her life

from this love a seed was planted
and between the pushing of blue caps into
tooth paste lids a job she did for 2 cents an hour
how to raise the newly budding child
and how to tell a man that was determined
to be his own destruction.

'playing vein darts' wow that's a powerful line.

todski28 said:

the stark of night time lights
that blind in a flash of surrendered rights
mayleene was in the lair of wolves
a cat amongst the brutes but with claws
honed sharp by gutter life

the lead wolf Crazy Frank had brought her in
this den of psycho misfits
feared by the likes of the law
and a law unto the violence they sought
fought over the scraps and dregs of alcohols
absolution, playing vein darts,
it always starts out fun till someone loses a limb,
even in forty degrees there were chills to be had
as some poor lowlife was stabbed
or beaten, for expressing an opinion
asking why it had to be this way

on it went for mayleene, as she cooked and cleaned
played nurse to his friends bleeding
the curse of the fighting class.

time turns on the dial of dust as trust is
etched in sandstone erosion
a faint line where there used to be letters
thick and stark
at first a small backhand mark
a sting on the cheek
a sorry did I hurt you and the I'll never do it again
but she was bred for this
beaten bloody by her mothers slew of lovers
unconscious women cant say
no dove or peace offering to assuage the
night time assaults
and she loved this man who saved her life

from this love a seed was planted
and between the pushing of blue caps into
tooth paste lids a job she did for 2 cents an hour
how to raise the newly budding child
and how to tell a man that was determined
to be his own destruction.

Click to expand...

Pride burns the man that flees his duties
in a dirty needle and empty bottle
Hate hungers for his heart
his shoulders chipped by bearing weight
of 5 generations that preceded
what are we if not products of genetics
and environment,
fought like addicts for the next fix

what pride can you carry when
the only torch you burn is for cracked bones
and twisted faces
so it went
weary years of the same men
trampling the same broken ground
its stark cracks reflect back a double edged blade
as time wounds all heels,

on the rugby field
in the boxing ring
running cement hills collecting trash cans
the old way with bare hands
strength and power were his
but his demons shambled on relentlessly
how was she to compete
when he had nurtured his beasts
coddled them to his breast
fed them his blood
and the blood of any that thought
they were his better.

tiding up and fiddling round with this before I continue

We all face death
a companion to those who know the bleak
descent into depressions cluttered rubble
the scent of week old vegetables
cracked egg shells
scrape the grime from flesh

in her rubbish bin home
unrested and alone
safe from crimes committed in the family home
unwanted touches crawling spider like
on virgin skin
safety earned in a shard of glass
to slash the flesh of
any who thought to take
her abode

dreams drift in a flurry of slime
interruptions creak on a rusted fulcrum
three nightmares caught her napping
honed senses
had her up in seconds,
with spit and hiss
she at them in earnest
a furnace heat of rage and death
if her arm were free
their debt would pay with blood
they held her tight rape and murder
in their mind

he arrived, fists and feet
screams that seemed to come from miles away
as her head is rocked by a brick
dizzy blood poured
cries silenced by sharp cracks
smell of copper cloys
the hand in her hair drops
limp slightly tangled

Her saviour bends down
scoops her in his arms
a sheltered cradle
for a lost babe
a last vicious kick to the prone mans nose
crunch of cartilage
groan of dulled pain

her life stream trickles down
his hand
mingles with the blood
he bled for her

his arms feel of steel
She jostles against his chest head lulled
sounds distort in snapshot freeze frame
yes, no, I
nothing,
what, where
dark,
hospital bound
sirens pound against delicate membranes
She glimpses her hero
chiselled roman nose, broken once or twice
his eyes
brilliant blue
ringed by a darker shade
gaze of a predator
his frame in constant motion
muscles tense, relax
postured danger
he smiles down
she is struck with a second brick
before healing sleep gently sways
her into silence and it feels of steel
and shrinks into blue
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Kilburn
fitting name for a place
they send trains and dreams to die
tag grafitti slashes fence lines
even in the day grey shrouds
the good,
addiction runs these streets
everyone hunched
bent by world weary weight
as the decay of the freight trains
seeps in
everything rusts in sympathy

her hero resides here
some dark knight from the abyss
hospital was a memory
he came every chance he could
a silent gladiator watching
her infatuation became obsession
he had saved her life
redeemed her from the dumpster
she felt like a queen
Kilburn is a rung up from the gutter
and she was climbing

this man was a fighter
a protector, how deep the subconcious
tricks the thinking mind
amidst the dreck of wreck and decay
she was a wild flower blooming in defiance

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

her petals too bright for this place
of steel grey, concrete and unrelenting heat
She drew attention and was stomped down
Dejected, infected with a sense of not being enough
she pulls her petals shut and blends in with the weeping asphalt

constant pressure
denied light
Starved or water
A servant girl to stitch his mates wounds
fetch their beers, be there for his use
at his whim, to be the scratching post for
His lust
His anger
an emotional tampon used and discarded

the stark of night time lights
that blind in a flash of surrendered rights
mayleene was in the lair of wolves
a cat amongst the brutes but with claws
honed sharp by gutter life

the lead wolf Crazy Frank had brought her in
this den of psycho misfits
feared by the likes of the law
and a law unto the violence they sought
fought over the scraps and dregs of alcohols
absolution, playing vein darts,
it always starts out fun till someone loses a limb,
even in forty degrees there were chills to be had
as some poor lowlife was stabbed
or beaten, for expressing an opinion
asking why it had to be this way

on it went for mayleene, as she cooked and cleaned
played nurse to his friends bleeding
the curse of the fighting class.

time turns on the dial of dust as trust is
etched in sandstone erosion
a faint line where there used to be letters
thick and stark
at first a small backhand mark
a sting on the cheek
a sorry did I hurt you and the I'll never do it again
but she was bred for this
beaten bloody by her mothers slew of lovers
unconscious women cant say
no dove or peace offering to assuage the
night time assaults
and she loved this man who saved her life

from this love a seed was planted
and between the pushing of blue caps into
tooth paste lids a job she did for 2 cents an hour
how to raise the newly budding child
and how to tell a man that was determined
to be his own destruction.


Pride burns the man that flees his duties
in a dirty needle and empty bottle
Hate hungers for his heart
his shoulders chipped by bearing weight
of 5 generations that preceded
what are we if not products of genetics
and environment,
fought like addicts for the next fix

what pride can you carry when
the only torch you burn is for cracked bones
and twisted faces
so it went
weary years of the same men
trampling the same broken ground
its stark cracks reflect back a double edged blade
as time wounds all heels,

on the rugby field
in the boxing ring
running cement hills collecting trash cans
the old way with bare hands
strength and power were his
but his demons shambled on relentlessly
how was she to compete
when he had nurtured his beasts
coddled them to his breast
fed them his blood
and the blood of any that thought
they were his better.

smiles flow
pour in the slur of drunken words
songs sung as the fire burns
the happiness is palpable
that infectious type where everyone laughs
and sings along

gone is the bitter strike of knuckles
and the bash of boots
here love is in the colour amber

Hinetitama

7 months full, swollen
by planted seeds
as she speeds with her bleeding man
to another emergency visit

forced to pull over and stem the loss of blood
that has flooded over the balanced perceptions
of her everydaylife

the questions of
is this the life I want for my child
as he writhe in pain
she dresses the compression bandage
they head to hospital again

severed tendons and dreams
are never the same
when stitched
back together

Sit for a minute
a loss, a mass of raped hymen
and hatred
puking the vitriol rammed down your throat
by your mother's slew of lovers
your innocence was plucked
discarded like diseased fruit
crushed beneath the heel of a man
kicking in doors and barriers

your soul squeezed
into a jar and buried
amidst the crumbling wreck
the cracked
the torn asunder

ripped shreds and vestiges of self
so far gone, you changed your name
leaving parts
like severed limbs
trailing behind

here you sit
staring into flaking shards of shattered dreams
they fall, dead leaves
trying for closure
to heal

Where his mouth ran
like two slugs with spider's legs

bribes used

whispers stumble on carrion breath
"shhhh don't tell"
"it's our secret"

threats ground out through clenched teeth

"I'll get your sister next"

"they'll come and take you away"

to silence your voice
turn you into a mute comedy
a mime on barbwire puppet strings........


I would wake you some mornings
the stench of alcohol
ragged on your poison-soaked breath

you would whisper
blank-eyed
crushing air from my lungs
"It'll be alright
son
Mommy is going to make it all
all'ight"

"go play
Mummy needs to sleep"

and now.......
now I understand

n aside note from some place i left in the dust

There's a reflection
of a reflection
of a reflection
scattered trash on the genetic highway

a man with clenched fists
a mans face snarled in rage
the innards of a fish puddled at his feet

shattered glass an inverted sky
of twinkling stars
I drop to my knees to pray
screaming the rending agony
of violence
of history's bloodied boot
soaked in distilled amnesia
to make the aged leather supple

licking droplets of my own blood
from the wicked curves of perditions razor
for one last taste before the
reapers scythe

the image of
broken faces
of blood running
a heart beating bile
fermented into an elixir of
forget-me-now-future
live in the expanse of a shape
of moments
the past is a dirt pile of corpses
shaped like seconds
no bringing it back
so it doesn't matter
the future doesn't exist
it doesn't matter

feeling of teeth on my fist
taste of a woman's rapture
a night cap or seven
by god that's the only thing worth
anything that matter

I stand in my pile of brown
and clear glass
the necks of bottles
protruding like middle fingers
turning into a lovers caress

I could stay
make a home here
till I become another broken bottle

my daughter cries
tasting stale air and me
for the first time

my skin
the fishguts I bathed in
the reek of death on me
like failure
like betrayal
like glass shards dripping blood
on a battlefield of addictions cold
dead finger

and she didn't care
all she needed I had to offer.....

I stand barefoot
in this barren land
step forward onto glass
smile as it eats into my souls
begin the long trek home

todski28 said:

n aside note from some place i left in the dust
[...]

Click to expand...

I guess the line above is actually the title of your poem(?). Then I would have it in parentheses:


You start with "a man", then you switch to "I" (a bit confusingly). I feel that it'd be obviously more consistent but also in general better if you had "he" instead of "I". Your "I" cuts down on the emotional distance while "he" would keep it. I feel that it is more mature to have this distance. Your poem is strong hence "I" would make it too much.

I can't say much more about your poem at this time. I did glance at your several poems over time. Actually, to read them thoroughly is a difficult task if one is serious about it. Your writing has good components while you don't know yet how to get a smooth total which would combine all your poetic skills together. That's my opinion.

Hey, good luck,

Senna Jawa said:

I guess the line above is actually the title of your poem(?). Then I would have it in parentheses:

(n aside note from someplace left in the dust)
​

You start with "a man", then you switch to "I" (a bit confusingly). I feel that it'd be obviously more consistent but also in general better if you had "he" instead of "I". Your "I" cuts down on the emotional distance while "he" would keep it. I feel that it is more mature to have this distance. Your poem is strong hence "I" would make it too much.

I can't say much more about your poem at this time. I did glance at your several poems over time. Actually, to read them thoroughly is a difficult task if one is serious about it. Your writing has good components while you don't know yet how to get a smooth total which would combine all your poetic skills together. That's my opinion.

Hey, good luck,

Click to expand...

Thank you Senna for the input, It's all a work in progress really. Appreciate the feedback.

Awesome!!!!!

Awesome!!!!

Kudos Bro!!!!