So here are a few of my poems that I'm sending for a college schoarship. Compared to last years winners, I think I have no chance. I don't know why I down-play my own artistic ability in writing, but I do. So figure I get your opinions. Honestly, give me your true opinions. Does it work? What doesn't work? Ect. I don't even care if it's harsh. Let me know whats good and what isn't. First poem: The snow receded from the mountains Onto the jejune avenue- And when the end of days came; The world stained olive. Then, Soaked in sun Mountains twisted into ghastly creatures. Leaves bloomed, Woods remained barren and unfertile, dark deep, deathly woods. Yet, in the looming distance- A church bell rang. Choirs sang their last note subdued by hushed tones and wails. Terrible wails conformed in black. The church bell rang, veiled in eternal silence. Again. And again. Bells. Entrenching the butter-sweet Second poem: Whose house is this? I think I know He did live under the brown-wood snow Screams so quiet? I do suppose But I forget why winters cold. No sounds. So quiet. Like tummy’s fed. Musky scent, and motors revved. Whose house is this? I thought I knew. Reminisced in silver pools. The brown-wood snow has melt to bones? Of course. Of course, he’s here. Restrained and tied; confined in white. Do you not think it queer? third poem: Not finished yet. Highschool will be the death of me. It comes to no immediate surprise that high school is, in fact, a gateway. Maturity? Independency? No. The talons of high school’s shutters, that lock from inside, might I add: Holding-cell Prison Detainment. What debacle is there? Rose-colored, young women. Oh so sweet in youth. But they’re not young. Are they? Sleep-deprived, awake because of the silt tasting coffee. Scent of Earl-Gray on their faux handbags On homework and essays`
Thank you for those! I'm a poet--and writing--and making art--keeps me alive and more or less sane. Don't stop doing this! Don't ever ever let anyone discourage you or try to tell you what's 'good' and what's 'bad.' Trust your own heart and mind--and read read read--not just old dead (mostly men) poets, but poets writing today. There are so many wonderful poets--women poets, a book just released that is pure magic: My Feet Have Become Maps, by Jenn McCreary. Like nothing you've ever seen before--build on fairy tales. .... and lesbian poets! Do you know Eileen Myles? If you live where there are readings (places like Philly, which is a like Poetry Paradise)... oh, Apiary Magazine. Google it! A magazine that embraces all the many different kinds of poetry out there--some younger than you. Some older than me. Black poetry. Spanish poetry. Spoken word. Thank you again for posting those. I feel a poets heart and mind in every one!