jacks4u
Really Really Experienced
- Joined
- May 27, 2009
- Posts
- 430
I wrote this, as a bit of a lark, while pondering the Author's Hangout Vending Machine.
I know it's not an erotic poem. Instead, basically a learning exercise.
Some constructive criticism would be nice. And not to worry, I'm not thin skinned in the least.
Some questions I have:
Did you enjoy it?
Is my word choice good?
Does it have a decent rhythm? Did that rhythm break?
And what about punctuation?
Is there anything else that would help me to write better poetry?
Thanks in advance!
Jacks
Laying about this sorry machine,
hopes, dreams, broken things.
A lock, a hasp, a monkey wrench,
all here, the same for a horny wench.
And the prize, for when it works,
is such surprise, or even worse.
Within the bowels of this cursed box,
a flaw, a mote, a broken cog.
A tire, a stove, the kitchen sink
go in the slot, but “how?” you think.
To wait a moment and then you find
a half ate burrito, or a gold mine.
Come one, come all and see the wonder
in the slot you place your plunder.
In but a moment you will see
your greed exchanged for a broken knee.
But if by chance or strange design
your junk turns into a shiny dime,
decry, you can, your granted dream
from Author's Hangout Vending Machine.
I know it's not an erotic poem. Instead, basically a learning exercise.
Some constructive criticism would be nice. And not to worry, I'm not thin skinned in the least.
Some questions I have:
Did you enjoy it?
Is my word choice good?
Does it have a decent rhythm? Did that rhythm break?
And what about punctuation?
Is there anything else that would help me to write better poetry?
Thanks in advance!
Jacks
Laying about this sorry machine,
hopes, dreams, broken things.
A lock, a hasp, a monkey wrench,
all here, the same for a horny wench.
And the prize, for when it works,
is such surprise, or even worse.
Within the bowels of this cursed box,
a flaw, a mote, a broken cog.
A tire, a stove, the kitchen sink
go in the slot, but “how?” you think.
To wait a moment and then you find
a half ate burrito, or a gold mine.
Come one, come all and see the wonder
in the slot you place your plunder.
In but a moment you will see
your greed exchanged for a broken knee.
But if by chance or strange design
your junk turns into a shiny dime,
decry, you can, your granted dream
from Author's Hangout Vending Machine.
Last edited: