Feedback wanted on poem

[XCelesteX]

Hi everyone,

Just joined this site (first time poster) and looking for some feedback on my poem, and some help thinking of a title.

I am especially not happy with the last couple of stanzas.

*
In my basement room,
we hide from my children
the same way we hide
from your parents.

You are almost half
my age. Your lips are
still full and pink, and you
wear your skin with the
relaxed softness
of youth.

Gen Z, you see
a thing you like
and photograph it:

The angle I make
riding backwards
on you, or the
tip of your finger
between my legs.

Your inventiveness
enthrals me. Together
we pretend to be others,
that I am teaching you
something you don’t
already know.

Yet you tell me that
we have been opening.
I beam, wanting
nothing more than
To be a fond memory.

Nothing more.

With you I am
truly in the present;
my skin is crackly
with the freedom.

It is not anything
- not really - yet just
what I’ve been seeking.

 

[42Below]

Hi everyone,

Just joined this site (first time poster) and looking for some feedback on my poem, and some help thinking of a title.

I am especially not happy with the last couple of stanzas.

*
In my basement room,
we hide from my children
the same way we hide
from your parents.

You are almost half
my age. Your lips are
still full and pink, and you
wear your skin with the
relaxed softness
of youth.

Gen Z, you see
a thing you like
and photograph it:

The angle I make
riding backwards
on you, or the
tip of your finger
between my legs.

Your inventiveness
enthrals me. Together
we pretend to be others,
that I am teaching you
something you don’t
already know.

Yet you tell me that
we have been opening.
I beam, wanting
nothing more than
To be a fond memory.

Nothing more.

With you I am
truly in the present;
my skin is crackly
with the freedom.

It is not anything
- not really - yet just
what I’ve been seeking.

Before other poets comment, I suggest everyone read the Dairy of Celeste to understand XCelesteX’s skill as a poet.

 

[42Below]

Re the last two Stanzas:

I think it’s primarily about maintaining tone throughout the poem; ‘crackly’ doesn’t strike me as being in its voice. Not to mention sensory and visual imagery. But I do get it, what can you substitute for ‘crackly’ that isn’t a trope?

In a similar vein the last Stanza slips out of voice for me. I think when you tighten the poems language selections you will find its name.

 

[XCelesteX]

What about it I get rid of that last couple of stanzas and draw out the line "nothing more."

In my basement room,
we hide from my children
the same way we hide
from your parents.

You are almost half
my age. Your lips are
still full and pink, and you
wear your skin with the
relaxed softness
of youth.

Gen Z, you see
a thing you like
and photograph it:

The angle I make
riding backwards
on you, or the
tip of your finger
between my legs.

Your inventiveness
enthrals me. Together
we pretend to be others,
that I am teaching you
something you don’t
already know.

Yet you tell me that
we have been opening.
I beam, wanting
nothing more than
To be a fond memory.

Nothing more
at all.

 

[42Below]

It’s the ‘yet’ that still bothers me. The thing being, does it put in work? ‘Yet’ still is it needed. I think there is a lot of noise not needed in the end.

 

[XCelesteX]

Yes I think you are right. The "yet" interrupts the rhythm.

You tell me that
we have been opening.
I beam, wanting
nothing more than
To be a fond memory.

Nothing more
at all.

 

[XCelesteX]

I think the title, then, is "Nothing More".

 

[42Below]

What’s in a poems name? Is it a sign post? A full stop. Or is it a lock and key? Locking in meaning and opening hidden depths?

The question is what does Nothing more add to your poems voice? You have many great candidates in your Stanzas, for example (this is not a suggestion) S3 you see a thing you like and photograph it.

And I get you’re not asking.

Your call of course. You also have the option of no name at all.

I couldn’t comment further without intruding into ‘the basement.’ Not a name.

 

[42Below]

What part of the story will the poems title tell?

 

[Bigtitsbitch1000x]

I like this poem very much. It has a real breakthrough aspect in its treatment of an enigmatic topic. I will show it to some of my literary colleagues. I would like to find a place to publish it. It might need some context. I will think about this and comment further.

( O )( O )

 

[42Below]

I like this poem very much. It has a real breakthrough aspect in its treatment of an enigmatic topic. I will show it to some of my literary colleagues. I would like to find a place to publish it. It might need some context. I will think about this and comment further.

( O )( O )

I am hoping XCelesteX will write some Non Erotic Poetry and post in Lit Poetry Forums

 

[42Below]

I am hoping XCelesteX will write some Non Erotic Poetry and post in Lit Poetry Forums

Good on you BTB. I was wondering when you would take a look.

You always add value to any discussion or piece of work. I also feel we are kindreds in the sense: we share a mutual passion for helping others and growing the poetical Litosphere to generate freedom writers writing with their own unique voices.

Speaking of which, what are you thinking in this moment? Fuckcough 42 is a accepted and perfectly respectable response

 

[Bigtitsbitch1000x]

Good on you BTB. I was wondering when you would take a look.

You always add value to any discussion or piece of work. I also feel we are kindreds in the sense: we share a mutual passion for helping others and growing the poetical Litosphere to generate freedom writers writing with their own unique voices.

Speaking of which, what are you thinking in this moment? Fuckcough 42 is a accepted and perfectly respectable response

Wow! At this moment I'm thinking, first, how nice it is to hear from you!

Otherwise:

1. Hope my Big Domme will call today.

2. Therapy day. All purple, lilac, amethyst clothes, jewelry. Purple makeup. Blue indigenous Mexican purse. Making notes for therapy topics.

3. Big decision: miniskirt or satin shorts? In my mini I can tease curiosity about my boyclit. People see me and wonder what I have. I don't let anything indicate what's in front. I don't need gaffs. I'm typically smooth. At worst a camel toe, not a banana. I like bananas in my holes. Not hanging idiotically between my thighs.

Though it's interesting to imagine a photo composition of a scrotum and penis in the front zone of my body but appearing detachable or as a trophy like a dead deer on the hood of a car.

Lately I'm into showing off my booty crack, my rear cleavage as I call it. My body is firm but juicy. I love how my boobies and my booty cheeks jiggle when I walk.

I rilly love being touched and felt up by anonymous men. The thought makes my boyclit perk up.

Walking through life being caressed and handled by strangers, who feel free to squeeze my boobies and my booty. Men who stop me on the street and push my mini up, finding my reverse panties pulling my booty open, sticking their thumb in for a second. Pulling my boobies out and chewing on my nipples. Then pushing me aside, leaving me for another to play with.

Total sluthood. In the bright sun. Before the whole universe. Ripe. Juicy. Big suckable boobies. Big fuckable booty. Here to be had.

Used by a thousand men. Lined up and in a hurry. Sweaty. Uncaring. Just needing a cumdump.

A cosmic fucktoy. Holes stuffed with cock through eternity. Ages of ages; world without end. A human black hole.

The satin pants are good for showing my booty. I'm getting used to having such a small boyclit I can reasonably expect to stop wearing panties altogether.

4. Hope gay poet friend S. has time to talk this morning. We have big projects with, I hope, plenty of comedic gold. So we can pile up real gold.

5. Writing. An insight: my process as a writer has always involved a system of references I used to stimulate production. A vol of classic troubadour poets; another of Breton; Beckett, Hurston, rock music, a news clip.

Clothes, jewelry, and makeup play the same role. A cute tight top is like a quote from Bernard de Ventadorn; a necklace with a pendant of Holy Death is like a passage from Wallace Stevens; blue glitter flake eyeliner is like this:

My anthem:

The time has come to say fair's fair,
To paint my nails and bleach my hair,
The time has come, a fact's a fact.
This body's mine, and I took it back!

6. I might have chicken for lunch. Cheap vodka through the day. Nice thc tablets.

7. My boobies are splendid today. Up and ready to go out!

You asked!

( O )( O )

 

[42Below]

Wow! At this moment I'm thinking, first, how nice it is to hear from you!

Otherwise:

1. Hope my Big Domme will call today.

2. Therapy day. All purple, lilac, amethyst clothes, jewelry. Purple makeup. Blue indigenous Mexican purse. Making notes for therapy topics.

3. Big decision: miniskirt or satin shorts? In my mini I can tease curiosity about my boyclit. People see me and wonder what I have. I don't let anything indicate what's in front. I don't need gaffs. I'm typically smooth. At worst a camel toe, not a banana. I like bananas in my holes. Not hanging idiotically between my thighs.

Though it's interesting to imagine a photo composition of a scrotum and penis in the front zone of my body but appearing detachable or as a trophy like a dead deer on the hood of a car.

Lately I'm into showing off my booty crack, my rear cleavage as I call it. My body is firm but juicy. I love how my boobies and my booty cheeks jiggle when I walk.

I rilly love being touched and felt up by anonymous men. The thought makes my boyclit perk up.

Walking through life being caressed and handled by strangers, who feel free to squeeze my boobies and my booty. Men who stop me on the street and push my mini up, finding my reverse panties pulling my booty open, sticking their thumb in for a second. Pulling my boobies out and chewing on my nipples. Then pushing me aside, leaving me for another to play with.

Total sluthood. In the bright sun. Before the whole universe. Ripe. Juicy. Big suckable boobies. Big fuckable booty. Here to be had.

Used by a thousand men. Lined up and in a hurry. Sweaty. Uncaring. Just needing a cumdump.

A cosmic fucktoy. Holes stuffed with cock through eternity. Ages of ages; world without end. A human black hole.

The satin pants are good for showing my booty. I'm getting used to having such a small boyclit I can reasonably expect to stop wearing panties altogether.

4. Hope gay poet friend S. has time to talk this morning. We have big projects with, I hope, plenty of comedic gold. So we can pile up real gold.

5. Writing. An insight: my process as a writer has always involved a system of references I used to stimulate production. A vol of classic troubadour poets; another of Breton; Beckett, Hurston, rock music, a news clip.

Clothes, jewelry, and makeup play the same role. A cute tight top is like a quote from Bernard de Ventadorn; a necklace with a pendant of Holy Death is like a passage from Wallace Stevens; blue glitter flake eyeliner is like this:

My anthem:

The time has come to say fair's fair,
To paint my nails and bleach my hair,
The time has come, a fact's a fact.
This body's mine, and I took it back!

6. I might have chicken for lunch. Cheap vodka through the day. Nice thc tablets.

7. My boobies are splendid today. Up and ready to go out!

You asked!

( O )( O )

Super cool as ever BTB.

 

[Wat_Tyler]

I like the losing of the last two stanzas. It helps.


Regarding "noise" at the end, I get that, too. If you want to add a bit, however, focus on the nothing. It's a nice juxtaposition with the fond memory. Maybe something like:


Nothing.
Nothing more.
Nothing at all . . . .


But that's just me. Make yourself happy

 

[Bigtitsbitch1000x]

In my comment on this poem I mentioned context. Here is what I mean: too many young and new poets try to put everything into one great poem. I think it's better to get back to the bardic and epic tradition of writing in series and in continuation. I'll say more on this in a bit but for now I'm hoping this author has at least two more poems on related experiences.

( O )( O )

 

[butters]

Hi everyone,

Just joined this site (first time poster) and looking for some feedback on my poem, and some help thinking of a title.

I am especially not happy with the last couple of stanzas.

*
In my basement room,
we hide from my children
the same way we hide
from your parents.

You are almost half
my age. Your lips are
still full and pink, and you
wear your skin with the
relaxed softness
of youth.

Gen Z, you see
a thing you like
and photograph it:

The angle I make
riding backwards
on you, or the
tip of your finger
between my legs.

Your inventiveness
enthrals me. Together
we pretend to be others,
that I am teaching you
something you don’t
already know.

just my opinion, Celeste: this seems a good place to end your poem.
anything after it doesn't feel as if it adds anything more, really.

the lines i'd suggest dropping might be important to you, for what message you wish to convey.
for me, as a reader, i find they muddy the stronger voice ending this here lends your poem.

title? hmmn...electric? electricity of freedom? sparks ride my skin?
perhaps if you drop the end stanzas, but take that solid imagery of the electricity of freedom you wanted to convey and just find the right wording for it, you'll not lose the thought you were writing.

 

[Bigtitsbitch1000x]

I'd like to suggest posting poems in threes.

I'd like to see the young and new poets looking at their work as more than a feature of their lives.

Your poetry should be your life.

You should live for it.

You should live in it.

You should think about it at every moment. This means a kind of subtle multitasking. Thinking about language and how it works while involved in how the world works.

Your poetry is your life journey. When people around you or succeeding you think of you they will, one hopes, think of your poetry, not your ability to bake a cake or cut up a dead animal.

I love my beautiful boobies. I love them more than the books I used to rescue and otherwise collect. My boobs are more important than my books.

But my poetry is not just what appears on a book page.

My poems include my boobs and my books. They transcend me and my life.

Your poetry is the story of your life. Be epic. Look at your poetry as the epic of your life. Be your own hero.

Be bardic. Your poetry is your life. But it connects your life to the life of the whole universe. Your creation is the whole creation. Write about yourself in creation. Be a goddess.

Write long. Write big. Write loud.

Read Ezra Pound and don't worry about his politics. Understand clean language.

Be a true poet. True to yourself. True to your language. Truthful always.

( O )( O )

 

[Bigtitsbitch1000x]

My point being that it makes more sense to me, if I am asked for my opinion, to offer it on the basis of a view of the poet's vision, rather than a sample glimpse through a partly opened door.

( O )( O )

 

[Wat_Tyler]

Be present. In this day and age, that's a trick. You're not responsible for what floats into your brain, but you are 100% responsible for what you allow to occupy it.

 

[XCelesteX]

Thanks for your help guys. I really appreciate it. I don't have much time to spend on this forum but I have been so impressed by the quality of the feedback and by the community feel here.

Here is what I've come up with:

Nothing More

In my basement room,
we hide from my children
the same way we hide
from your parents.

You are almost half
my age. Your lips are
still full and pink, and you
wear your skin with the
relaxed softness
of youth.

Gen Z, you see
a thing you like
and photograph it:

The angle I make
riding backwards
on you, or the
tip of your finger
between my legs.

Your inventiveness
enthrals me. Together
we pretend to be others,
that I am teaching you
something you don’t
already know.

You tell me that
we have been opening.

I beam, wanting
nothing more than
nothing more.

 

[Wat_Tyler]

Yeah. Making progress.

 

[Deleted member 6789170]

https://www.literotica.com/authors/Elle4u2use2/works/poetry

 

[PeteyPP]

good stuff ELLE

 

[Mrtenant]

Hi everyone,

Just joined this site (first time poster) and looking for some feedback on my poem, and some help thinking of a title.

I am especially not happy with the last couple of stanzas.

*
In my basement room,
we hide from my children
the same way we hide
from your parents.

You are almost half
my age. Your lips are
still full and pink, and you
wear your skin with the
relaxed softness
of youth.

Gen Z, you see
a thing you like
and photograph it:

The angle I make
riding backwards
on you, or the
tip of your finger
between my legs.

Your inventiveness
enthrals me. Together
we pretend to be others,
that I am teaching you
something you don’t
already know.

Yet you tell me that
we have been opening.
I beam, wanting
nothing more than
To be a fond memory.

Nothing more.

With you I am
truly in the present;
my skin is crackly
with the freedom.

It is not anything
- not really - yet just
what I’ve been seeking.

I'm really glad you wrote it. Always keep doing that. Honored that you would look to this forum for constructive critique. I'm not in a head space to offer any at the moment. Just wanted to say that. Thank you for sharing.