A few poems for review

[razoreater]

here are a few of my own personal works. I would like to know what people think.

THE STRANGLES EYES OF DEATH

The strangled eyes of death are upon us
Darlin,
as we lay here in this filthy bed
at this bottom hour
the smells of cheap sex
and cigarette smoke
Filling our nostrils like a wonderful drug
a slow dull fog that makes us fat
and lazy

Did you feel the chill?

Friend death is looking down
checking out your breasts and ass
my cock
taking inventory
I suppose
working us over with
Rapists’ eyes
as the sun comes up
in the window

He is drawn to this
lust and greed
young beauties rutting like pigs
fucking like dogs
all the screaming and groaning
the sweat and pleasure
rather like a suicide
I would think

HOSPITALIZED

Rooming with a
300 pound
Schizophrenic named John
who reads
Spiro Agnew
He says “getting Better”
I say “Really, Whatta they do for
Being a republican these days,
Shock therapy?”
He doesn’t find it as funny as I do.
Every morning
it’s 14 pills
To make me
Like you
And I don’t
Like you
it’s
Pills for
Everything
Seems like
Pills to sleep
To eat
To wake
To talk
Dream
Breath
Walking the halls
Like a zombie
Bumping
Into things
Placating
Those that
Call from home
“I’m fine, getting better”
As I run my tongue over
The roof of my mouth
Where the sighting bead
On the shotgun
Left grooves
Therapy
In big happy groups
6 times a day
“We should all be happy”
Some therapist dressed
In plaid, or yellow, always plaid
Or yellow, telling us to be happy
That life isn’t shit
He makes
A 100 plus a year
Goes home and
Fucks his wife every night
Plays with his kids
I listen to a schitzo named john
Talk about commies
And hippies and
The towel heads
But I don’t get angry
No one gets angry
We all want to go home
We say what we have to
What they want to hear
No one wants to hurt themselves
Or anyone else
Except John (he’d like to bust a few towel heads)
Like being in jail, parole board
24/7
We don’t get shoe laces, knives, pens,
Belts, etc
We’re dangerous
A poet, a mother, a doctor,
A grandfather, a deaf hairdresser, a 300 lb
Republican,
Don’t give us any shoe laces you
Bastards
We’ll take over the world
Oh well
I wear boots
Anyway.

 

[canadiancutie]

wow, you're my new favorite poet

 

[Liar]

Yeah, you definitely have something there, razoreater. A sharp wit and a slightly burlesque view of the world can get you far as poetry goes.

What I also like is that you try on slightly different styles, both visually and in voice, on those two poems, but theym are still unmistakeably by the same poet.

Keep 'em coming,
#L

 

[razoreater]

thanks for the crituque's guys. I definatly try to write using what i feel is my own personal style and voice. I'm not much for rhymes or trees. I prefer something a little more harsh.

 

[razoreater]

alright not getting many responses from the first two, so I thought I'd add a couple more...let me know what you think, either post here or feel free to pm

Drowning isn’t so bad

something very wrong today/cuts burning like fire
sitting on the balcony/too hot
feeling of dread or maybe general malaise/not sure which
just uncomfortable, as if my skin /hair legs arms/decided they didn’t fit anymore
torn black shirt jeans and boots
piles of cigarette butts in ashtray
empty beer bottle/ need to get more
girl is gone/lost maybe/can’t remember
down to 3 smokes
out of blue paint
have to read the tube/colorblind/black and white/cliché’
jogging by/it really shakes/gods look at her
phone ringing/let it go/don’t want to talk
cat is being strange, he can sense it/impending doom
chair with only 3 legs/still works
broke one/too much leaning
2 more days/back home/home?
scarred/scared/beaten/crushed
she’ll hold my head under/drowning isn’t so bad


Etc…Etc…

And it is another lonely Alabama night,
And something slow and dark is dreaming it's way from the stereo
1000 cigarettes line the ashtray
And outside now,
At 2 am,
The sound of high heels on the balcony
Crushes it all down
And a million lights and songs
Poor out of the houses, apartments, caves,
In this slow dazed town
A million different voices, minds, hearts
Souls?
And each one is like a moth
Flying right into the candle
A puff of smoke, a funny smell
And nothing,
Dust, ashes, and a wrinkling of the nose

And the good Texas Night never seemed so far
Away
With it's magic and sweet sensual voice
Like Garbo drunk on cheap beer
Marilyn on a thousand hits of acid
Like that girl you had a crush on in 1st grade

There is no heart to this one
No sky going on forever and ever
No tragic memories or laughter to give it
Soul

This is a night for crosses burning in ignorance
A Wrath of god
Beating of wives and daughters
Prom Queen suicides
Etc. etc…