Pick up an old poem

[AChild]

Challenge

Pick up an old poem you think is esp. a piece of shit. Has to be at least 2 years old. Post it here and revise it. Don't care if you couldn't make it work. Lets see some style progression. All current participants of the 30 and 30 will be challenged by name. Not cause I'm picking on you, just cause I read your stuff every day and it would be nice to see some earlier work.

Vampire Lust you are hear by challenged.
Wildsweetone you are hear by challenged.
4degrees you are hear by challenged.
darkerdreamer you are hear by challenged.
champagne1982 you are hear by challenged.
RisiaSkye you are hear by challenged.
Loserstyx you are hear by challenged.
BluePoet you are hear by challenged.
TheRainMan you are hear by challenged.

Have fun kids.

 

[wildsweetone]

i have only started writing poetry seriously for a year, but i'll see what i can find (i should charge you for making me go back and look at that stuff *shudder* ) - ew so much to choose from! and wow... it's about two years that i've been in the Poetry Forum, fancy that.

 

[darkerdreamer]

El Challenge-o? Oh God, drudging up 2D's poetry past is a sad sight indeed... there has to be something here that isn't complete shit.

(After an extensive search it turns out they're all awful, so here's one at random.)

Battle Hymn

The proletarian lost in time,
archaic society lost in the dust
of our ever-enhanced increasing beautiful
techno-utopian assembly line of people.
Harvesting souls and minds through the television
screen, the computer screen, the screened reality.
We only see half of the picture anymore,
the one that is TV appropriate.
You have devoted your life
or absence of one
for this... I hope its exactly what you want.
Intellect devourers, breathing down our necks, down our spines
down our minds, souls, waiting
always watching.
One mistake.... just one.

First edit is stripping at all the obvious conflicting words, fixing the punctuation some, and editing word-endings to try and attain a common tense.

The proletarian are lost in time.
Archaic society buried in the dust
of our ever-enhanced increasingly beautiful
techno-utopian assembly line of people.
Harvesting souls and minds through the television
screen, the computer screen, the screened reality.
We only see half of the picture anymore—
the one that is TV appropriate.
You have devoted your life
(or absence of one)
for this; I hope its exactly what you want.
Intellect devourers breathing down our necks, down our spines
down our minds and souls; waiting,
always watching.
One mistake,
just one.

This piece obviously needs more work, but there's a start.

 

[BluePoet]

Challenge

Pick up an old poem you think is esp. a piece of shit. Has to be at least 2 years old. Post it here and revise it. Don't care if you couldn't make it work. Lets see some style progression. All current participants of the 30 and 30 will be challenged by name. Not cause I'm picking on you, just cause I read your stuff every day and it would be nice to see some earlier work.

Can you give me a piece of your shit to revise?


I'll go look for something old... of mine...

 

[AChild]

for the bluepoet's revisioin

"sit in my room alone thinking, wearing only a cock-ring."

revise me, im sick. for the bluepoet

rid me of this flesh
a test? please I'll pass it every time
if only for a minute let my mind be free
but this flesh you curse me with its form
with its constant up keep
with this addiction to life
Yeah I feel big when I loud talk death
but rid me of this flesh
with its subtle slow decay
with its unwillingness to
respond to my Deep desires
RID ME OF THIS FLESH
rid me of time of tick of tock
rid me of space
rid me even
of this dimension but I beg you
on broke and bended and afore mentioned
knee rid me of this flesh

I'll brake every bone and bleed every drop
if you'll grant me just one request
rid me of sensory
rid me of pain
rid me of ties to this known world
Rid me of this Flesh
this creep and crawling thing
this humaness
rid me of it all, so eye remain
untrapped by bodily sections
and then we will compare.

 

[4degrees]

my old
poems
all look
like
this.

there
is NO
fixing
them.

ha
ha
ha
ha.

i'll post one anyway. i may be not so great now, but damn, i used to really be bad.

 

[BluePoet]

I went back to 2002 on the forum to dig up some of my crap. Fortunately, I was laughing at it in 2002. A poem about my panties was #1 on the top list for a long time. It's shit. I will not willing share it now and I will not revise it.

 

[BluePoet]

"sit in my room alone thinking, wearing only a cock-ring."

revise me, im sick. for the bluepoet

rid me of this flesh
a test? please I'll pass it every time
if only for a minute let my mind be free
but this flesh you curse me with its form
with its constant up keep
with this addiction to life
Yeah I feel big when I loud talk death
but rid me of this flesh
with its subtle slow decay
with its unwillingness to
respond to my Deep desires
RID ME OF THIS FLESH
rid me of time of tick of tock
rid me of space
rid me even
of this dimension but I beg you
on broke and bended and afore mentioned
knee rid me of this flesh

I'll brake every bone and bleed every drop
if you'll grant me just one request
rid me of sensory
rid me of pain
rid me of ties to this known world
Rid me of this Flesh
this creep and crawling thing
this humaness
rid me of it all, so eye remain
untrapped by bodily sections
and then we will compare.

Damn...

 

[AChild]

M.a.s.k.

Oldie

The masks I wear are masks
of no worries no violence
and no hurries

The masks I wear are of the jester
and the bard
and when I start to play
the parts I play them quite hard

My first mask is molded out of
cynical behavior
this,
helps me to be kind to every sort of stranger

Its painted with colors
the love and joy

I don't care
some people loathe that color there.

This truly is my favorite mask it
gets me through most daily tasks
it loves to sing and also act but making
jokes is jesters true knack.

Not everyone likes it.

 

[AChild]

Mask Revision "now meet the new me."

Revision

Wearing worn masks,
the seams cannot be seen
casually in mirrors

make-up stitches the illusion line
a smiling fool

molded to spin doctor
down beats into casual laughter

decorated with tears that well up in the
bottom of my shield

masters disapprove of my color scheme

 

[vampiredust]

This is something I wrote from 2004

------
Ode to a dying man

There he stands
crooked and old
with a hump
where his sturdy back
once stood
these are his last days
and silently he knows it

he says a prayer
to his faithful god
take me to the heavens
where I belong
he asks

he heads to bed
where he crawls inside
rests his head on the pillow
and sleeps

 

[vampiredust]

okay, let's revise it

--------
The Dying Man

He carries his world
in a hump on his back:
a complete city
stored within that flesh
saddle strapped to him

when he was born.
Sometimes he'll unzip it
and out will pop something
he once knew: a dog
from his childhood,

father's rickety old Ford.
Corn fields baring their teeth.
Girls passing messages in gum.
He can feel their weight
pressing against him

when he sleeps.
Prayer cannot push it away.
Perhaps when he is gone
someone will open it up
and wander through this world,

finding a version of him
staring at a glass of water,
wandering why there is shaking
and why everything is moving

when he is perfectly still,
so perfectly still.

 

[AChild]

okay, let's revise it

--------
The Dying Man

He carries his world
in a hump on his back:
a complete city
stored within that flesh
saddle strapped to him

when he was born.
Sometimes he'll unzip it
and out will pop something
he once knew: a dog
from his childhood,

father's rickety old Ford.
Corn fields baring their teeth.
Girls passing messages in gum.
He can feel their weight
pressing against him

when he sleeps.
Prayer cannot push it away.
Perhaps when he is gone
someone will open it up
and wander through this world.

Someone in a recovered house
will find a version of him,
staring at a glass of water,
wandering why there is shaking
and why everything is moving

when he is perfectly still,
so perfectly still.

sweet. Esp. the hump imagery.

 

[champagne1982]

August

If the clouds would only bleed,
And pour the loving succor,
Of cool waters onto dry lips,
Drenching parched deserts.

Wanting the rainwashed spectacle,
Of azure sunrises and,
Magenta sunsets with the night,
Falling midnight blue across the plain.

The wonder of the dew spangled,
Morning making magical the sun,
Too early for morning heat to bleach,
The color from the grass.

Yet only kisses sweet will wet smiles,
With love like rain and touches of dew,
Only passion simmers there beneath,
The hot and sultry darlings of the sun.

_____________

I think I wrote this back in 2003, I can't remember. I'll work on the adjectives in this one.. but later.

 

[Guest]

my old
poems
all look
like
this.

there
is NO
fixing
them.

ha
ha
ha
ha.

i'll post one anyway. i may be not so great now, but damn, i used to really be bad.

i tried
to
ignore
this and
not
comment
but

here's
my
comment
anyway:



You've come along way, friend.

 

[wildsweetone]

okay, thanks to VD i'm working on one.

Notch (submitted 3 March 2003 --- i can't believe that date!)
by wildsweetone©

They grabbed him after nightfall.
No one heard sounds.
Farm dogs lay dead,
Their throats slit.
Mouths open,
Silently barking.
Death had come with speed.

He must have struggled,
Two kitchen chairs lay overturned,
Glass shards and
Pooled milk leaked between floorboards.

She found her lover swinging,
Inside an old barn out back,
Rope screeching.
His body pendulous from the wind howling through open rotted doors.

One denim pocket held recorded details,
A fourth notch scratched on wood.


editing

Notch

They grabbed him after nightfall. <--- who are 'they'?
No one heard sounds. <--- what sounds/sounds of what?
Farm dogs lay dead, <---why had the dogs died?
Their throats slit.
Mouths open,
Silently barking. <---- oxymoron
Death had come with speed. <--- how?

He must have struggled, <--- why?
Two kitchen chairs lay overturned,
Glass shards and
Pooled milk leaked between floorboards. <--- what's milk got to do with it?

She found her lover swinging, <--- why? and, why had he died?
Inside an old barn out back,
Rope screeching.
His body pendulous from the wind howling through open rotted doors. <--- a pendulum, swinging

One denim pocket held recorded details,
A fourth notch scratched on wood. <-- who put the notch there, and why?



notes to self:
-get rid of the initial capitals in the beginnings of each line
-fill out the details that are obviously missing - too little information
-is the kitchen scene necessary in order to keep the poem moving forward?



====================================================

edits

notch - revisited

stanza 1
They grabbed him after nightfall
no one heard their steps,
their grunts preceding
dead farm dogs throat-cut coughs.
Death had come with speed.




stanza 2

She found her lover swinging,
inside an old barn out back,
rope screeching.
His body a pendulum, swinging
from the wind howling through open rotted doors.


edit stanza 1
stanza 1
They grabbed him after nightfall
no one heard their steps,
or their grunts
preceding the dead farm dogs
throat-cut coughs.
Death had come with speed.

edit stanza 2
stanza 2

She found her lover swinging
inside an old barn out the back,
rope screeching.
His body a pendulum, swinging
from the wind howling through the open rotted doors.



will come back to this when i've time

 

[Guest]

Pseudo Recall

before:


In a short chair
the sun beats down
burning
toes in hot sand

Brush of skin on thigh
glides to
a nudge in crotch

No ignoring
t h a t

Quick look beneath Ray-Ban's
as gleaming white teeth
(all snarly)
bite into tensed belly

~ Pristine beaches
here, there
Ocho Rios is never far


after:


In a low chair, the sun beats
down, burning my toes
in the hot sand.

For a moment, I forget
where I am, where I belong.

Then, brush of skin
on thigh, gliding to a nudge
to my center seam.

There's no denying that,
no denying her at all.

A quick look beneath Ray-Ban's
catches gleaming teeth,
snarling before the bite
into a tense belly.

That's it baby, ya.
I continue to forget and let
wetdreams rewrite memories.

~ Pristine beaches
here, there
Ocho Rios is never far.


* OK, not much difference there but it was a 2004 poem I reworked a little, extended it. My shittier work stays in the toilet. I'm not revising it.

 

[AChild]

This is fun

Oh yes this is fun.

 

[4degrees]

i tried
to
ignore
this and
not
comment
but

here's
my
comment
anyway:



You've come along way, friend.

you're so kind.
it means a lot.

 

[wildsweetone]

ah... do you want to see the workings or just the end result? i think i misunderstood

 

[champagne1982]

August

If the clouds would only bleed,
And pour the loving succor,
Of cool waters onto dry lips,
Drenching parched deserts.

Wanting the rainwashed spectacle,
Of azure sunrises and,
Magenta sunsets with the night,
Falling midnight blue across the plain.

The wonder of the dew spangled,
Morning making magical the sun,
Too early for morning heat to bleach,
The color from the grass.

Yet only kisses sweet will wet smiles,
With love like rain and touches of dew,
Only passion simmers there beneath,
The hot and sultry darlings of the sun.

_____________

August

If the clouds would only bleed
and pour the loving succour
of cool waters onto dry lips
to drench parched deserts.

Ache for a rainwashed spectacle
of azure sunrises and magenta
sunsets with the night fall
in midnight blue across the plain.

The wonder of the dew spangled
dawn making magic with the sun,
too early for day's heat to bleach
the color from the grass.

Only kisses, sweet, will wet smiles
with love like rain and misty touch.
Only passion simmers below the sky,
on hot and sultry darlings of the sun.
_____________

I find it difficult to rework some poems without a bit of feedback. Even my older pieces hold me too close to the flaws, that I can't see how extensive they are.

 

[Maria2394]

my old
poems
all look
like
this.

there
is NO
fixing
them.

ha
ha
ha
ha.

i'll post one anyway. i may be not so great now, but damn, i used to really be bad.

OMG! Curt, youre so funny and so real. I have about a thousand that look like that too. I am wondering if stick poetry is something we all have to suffer through






dammit, I wanna play but all my old crapy poems are locked up in my old computer that I have yet to take to the computer geeks and have it removed.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

dammit, I wanna play but all my old crapy poems are locked up in my old computer that I have yet to take to the computer geeks and have it removed.

We can wait.

 

[champagne1982]

Okay, here's a second poem that definitely needed a bit of tweaking.
_____________

Scrape

Mom could fix it.
Wash the burning scour,
pink ovals of her nails,
hands pretty and so tender.
Then a Bandaid
softly and carefully laid.
Facecloth, warm and clean,
erasing the tearstains on my cheeks
followed by a kiss.

Smile refreshed
bounding out the door
to the walk where Daddy waits.
There's no sign of the scar
in the flower bed,
where the pedal gouged a canyon
and my elbow
deprived the grass
of some of its green.
_____________

You Never Forget

Mom always fixed it.
She washed scoured rawness
away, flashed the pink
ovals of her nails
on hands so tender and pretty.

Then a Bandaid -
softly and carefully laid,
a facecloth - warm and clean,
erased the tearstains on my cheeks,
followed by a kiss.

Smile refreshed
I'd go bounding out the door
to the walk where Daddy waited.

There's no sign of the scar
in the flower bed,
where the pedal gouged a canyon
and my elbow
deprived the grass
of some of its green.

 

[Guest]

OMG! Curt, youre so funny and so real. I have about a thousand that look like that too. I am wondering if stick poetry is something we all have to suffer through






dammit, I wanna play but all my old crapy poems are locked up in my old computer that I have yet to take to the computer geeks and have it removed.

Look, I did a stick poem too!

It's Me (2002)


What's in you
Excites, is slick,
Makes me sweat.
We can be
Slow
Or Quick
Box feels tight
What's in you
Is thick, fits tight,
Makes you wet.
We Can be
Quick
Or slow
All it needs to be
Is done right.
Ya, we both
Know what's
In you,
It's me.


* and this one is still posted on my submission page. I think I'll keep it. haha