Wolfchild
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Aug 3, 2002
- Posts
- 1,004
I'm interested in what the community thinks of my first poem.
http://www.literotica.com/stories/showstory.php?id=111739
http://www.literotica.com/stories/showstory.php?id=111739
If you guys wouldn't mind....
- Thread starter Wolfchild
- Start date
Angeline
Poet Chick
- Joined
- Mar 11, 2002
- Posts
- 27,349
Your Poem
Tribute
by Wolfchild ©
This is a tribute to large men like me. If you are looking for rhyme and slickness than I am sorry to report that you have come to the wrong poem and I kindly advise that you exit this story and take a walk in the other direction.
We are large but do not believe us to be obese or otherwise a danger to ourselves or those around us. We are simply good hefty-sized men who enjoy eating a good hefty-sized meal and living a good hefty-sized life. And in the rare occurrence where we are able to somehow through some stroke of luck procure ourselves a date we enjoy eating 2 bowls of rich pasta made in southern Italy or a 16-oz steak, all the while knowing that we will be summarily rejected when the night is over and used as nothing more than some sad touchstone to a night of joking about the male gender over glasses of wine at your friend’s house on a Friday night.
We are large but since most of you might not ever to get to know this allow me to tell you now: If you let us we can be at 250 pounds or higher as delicate and caring for your needs as some 190-pound pretty boy who spends his time preening in the mirror. We are not Brad Pitt or Colin Farrell so you’ll have to come to grips with the idea that your rich society friends might not be as excited by your relationship as they would be with Patrick or James who looks good with his shirt off. We can cook a great romantic dinner for you and listen attentively to your complaints about your job with no problems whatsoever.
What is the point of this treatise you might ask? It’s to say that we are large in stature and loving when the sun sets and when the bedroom windows are drawn.
Hi and welcome to the poetry board.
I've copied Tribute here, so other can have it availble to comment on, too, if they like.
I think you write well. Overall, I think you can do some pruning and not lose your points, but the writing is clear and logical.
The question is--Is this a poem? To me, no, it's a persuasive essay--a decent one, granted, but prose not poetry. It has a hypothesis, reasons with examples to support it, and a conclusion. I don't see the imagery, the visual language, metaphors or similes that, to me, say poem. There's a bit of cynicism but not irony, unless it's so subtle that I'm missing it.
I know that prose poetry is very popular these days. There are sites dedicated to this sub-genre like The Prose Poem. Look at a few examples from that site.
Robert Bly
A PIECE OF BLACK COAL
FOUND UNDER A TREE
This is a small piece of coal, black to the core; it's a one-inch by three-quarters inch bit of coal, ignored and ignominious. The surface gleams a little, like Iago's thoughts, or a peacock's foot in the dark. It's like the tooth of a corrupt judge that gleams as he opens his mouth.
There were farm mothers like this, self-satisfied after feeding, so many kids, some of whom will pass their twenty-first birthday in jail. Shall we say the coal is like a father who can't wait to burn himself up by being a bad boy, abandoning "all he was taught"? This bit of coal gives my lips the longing to kiss it ...
The chunk of coal iies on the table at this moment two feet from my lips and from my writing hand; it is as heavy as I am and as depressed; well, it is pressed out of old vegetation, we know that ... Eventually I'll come walking along while visiting this girls' school, looking for some object to write about with them, and I'll find it.
_________________
"The winter her body no longer fit, walking felt like swimming in blue jeans and a flannel shirt. Everything stuck to her skin: gum wrappers, Band-Aids, leaves. How she envied the other girls, especially the kind who turned into birds. They were the ones boys hand-tamed, training them to eat crumbs from their palms or sing on cue."
-- Nin Andrews
These have poetic features. If it were me, I'd spend time at that site seeing what other poets do to make the form moving like poetry, rather than convincing like an argument.
You may totally disagree. No doubt others will; the thing about this place is that for every opinion, there's an opposing opinion. And mine is only one. If you do decide to revise it, feel free to ask for more review in this thread if you like.
Keep writing and try some of the exercises here--they're fun.
Angeline
Tribute
by Wolfchild ©
This is a tribute to large men like me. If you are looking for rhyme and slickness than I am sorry to report that you have come to the wrong poem and I kindly advise that you exit this story and take a walk in the other direction.
We are large but do not believe us to be obese or otherwise a danger to ourselves or those around us. We are simply good hefty-sized men who enjoy eating a good hefty-sized meal and living a good hefty-sized life. And in the rare occurrence where we are able to somehow through some stroke of luck procure ourselves a date we enjoy eating 2 bowls of rich pasta made in southern Italy or a 16-oz steak, all the while knowing that we will be summarily rejected when the night is over and used as nothing more than some sad touchstone to a night of joking about the male gender over glasses of wine at your friend’s house on a Friday night.
We are large but since most of you might not ever to get to know this allow me to tell you now: If you let us we can be at 250 pounds or higher as delicate and caring for your needs as some 190-pound pretty boy who spends his time preening in the mirror. We are not Brad Pitt or Colin Farrell so you’ll have to come to grips with the idea that your rich society friends might not be as excited by your relationship as they would be with Patrick or James who looks good with his shirt off. We can cook a great romantic dinner for you and listen attentively to your complaints about your job with no problems whatsoever.
What is the point of this treatise you might ask? It’s to say that we are large in stature and loving when the sun sets and when the bedroom windows are drawn.
Hi and welcome to the poetry board.
I've copied Tribute here, so other can have it availble to comment on, too, if they like.
I think you write well. Overall, I think you can do some pruning and not lose your points, but the writing is clear and logical.
The question is--Is this a poem? To me, no, it's a persuasive essay--a decent one, granted, but prose not poetry. It has a hypothesis, reasons with examples to support it, and a conclusion. I don't see the imagery, the visual language, metaphors or similes that, to me, say poem. There's a bit of cynicism but not irony, unless it's so subtle that I'm missing it.
I know that prose poetry is very popular these days. There are sites dedicated to this sub-genre like The Prose Poem. Look at a few examples from that site.
Robert Bly
A PIECE OF BLACK COAL
FOUND UNDER A TREE
This is a small piece of coal, black to the core; it's a one-inch by three-quarters inch bit of coal, ignored and ignominious. The surface gleams a little, like Iago's thoughts, or a peacock's foot in the dark. It's like the tooth of a corrupt judge that gleams as he opens his mouth.
There were farm mothers like this, self-satisfied after feeding, so many kids, some of whom will pass their twenty-first birthday in jail. Shall we say the coal is like a father who can't wait to burn himself up by being a bad boy, abandoning "all he was taught"? This bit of coal gives my lips the longing to kiss it ...
The chunk of coal iies on the table at this moment two feet from my lips and from my writing hand; it is as heavy as I am and as depressed; well, it is pressed out of old vegetation, we know that ... Eventually I'll come walking along while visiting this girls' school, looking for some object to write about with them, and I'll find it.
_________________
"The winter her body no longer fit, walking felt like swimming in blue jeans and a flannel shirt. Everything stuck to her skin: gum wrappers, Band-Aids, leaves. How she envied the other girls, especially the kind who turned into birds. They were the ones boys hand-tamed, training them to eat crumbs from their palms or sing on cue."
-- Nin Andrews
These have poetic features. If it were me, I'd spend time at that site seeing what other poets do to make the form moving like poetry, rather than convincing like an argument.
You may totally disagree. No doubt others will; the thing about this place is that for every opinion, there's an opposing opinion.
And mine is only one. If you do decide to revise it, feel free to ask for more review in this thread if you like.Keep writing and try some of the exercises here--they're fun.
Angeline
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