All pieces are only posted when they are a year old. Critiquing new pieces never seems to work as you're blinkered for a while. Best reaction to feedback is when you revisit it. Therefore, if I should ever say "I improved that" I'm not blowing you off, I really have.
Latest:
I look like you, with your white face
With your fear paint
Towering above, us the base
With your fear paint
Paint us out
Where am I from?
Long forgotten, what I become
Come as a jew, and I'm your lord
Is he the one?
Is he the one?
The one who we need to come
We'll contact you and worship you
You'll send us a picture
We just can't get through
Are you the one?
Are you the one?
You don't understand whats going on
We need you now
We need you now
Its going wrong.
Hey Hey, you you:
meet me down
in the centre of town
you try too hard to
use the time
you have
to kill the time
you need
the time to kill
lazy bones
show me your bones
blackened and bruised
by the end of the day
Two cryptic/ obtuse/ emo/ bad pieces here:
They don't need us, but they do
Bloody hands wave you
Whence the franchise
Die in bold
DIE IN BOLD
Die in bold print
I
I die
I will die in small print
Hiding in a picture frame
Smile at your name
Remember my lint
I'll try
You'll try
Won't
Not the full thing. It's pretty old and I only just found a chunk of it:
Apparently he buys Buddha who says,
'The old city it lays,
Revenge and anger are sure new to me!'
But such slick words are a shame
For one of his game
When he creates shame
Amongst the creeps
Making them weep
To his tales of love for Wilde
But here's an idea that's quite...wild
Beyond Mr Gray
And the writing of his grave [A beginning rhyme...I hate them so very much]
His tales locked in a cage
Or written in French for up on a stage
And a nice, slightly more traditional one:
Oh as we walk over
puddles and
round droves;
The lights of the traffic
stretch out like elastic;
Black coats for two,
Collar cloth for four;
The twinkling lights
tonight below our height;
Too romantic do I,
paint what is a poor sky?
Possible
Well, probable
But I step
so fancy free
in this inch sea;
And talk of the great
and the mistakes
Nights out in seats
Nights in on the streets
and of the people today on the streets.
I'll be the first to admit, they are not the most common of poetry styles. But oh well.
Latest:
I look like you, with your white face
With your fear paint
Towering above, us the base
With your fear paint
Paint us out
Where am I from?
Long forgotten, what I become
Come as a jew, and I'm your lord
Is he the one?
Is he the one?
The one who we need to come
We'll contact you and worship you
You'll send us a picture
We just can't get through
Are you the one?
Are you the one?
You don't understand whats going on
We need you now
We need you now
Its going wrong.
Hey Hey, you you:
meet me down
in the centre of town
you try too hard to
use the time
you have
to kill the time
you need
the time to kill
lazy bones
show me your bones
blackened and bruised
by the end of the day
Two cryptic/ obtuse/ emo/ bad pieces here:
They don't need us, but they do
Bloody hands wave you
Whence the franchise
Die in bold
DIE IN BOLD
Die in bold print
I
I die
I will die in small print
Hiding in a picture frame
Smile at your name
Remember my lint
I'll try
You'll try
Won't
Not the full thing. It's pretty old and I only just found a chunk of it:
Apparently he buys Buddha who says,
'The old city it lays,
Revenge and anger are sure new to me!'
But such slick words are a shame
For one of his game
When he creates shame
Amongst the creeps
Making them weep
To his tales of love for Wilde
But here's an idea that's quite...wild
Beyond Mr Gray
And the writing of his grave [A beginning rhyme...I hate them so very much]
His tales locked in a cage
Or written in French for up on a stage
And a nice, slightly more traditional one:
Oh as we walk over
puddles and
round droves;
The lights of the traffic
stretch out like elastic;
Black coats for two,
Collar cloth for four;
The twinkling lights
tonight below our height;
Too romantic do I,
paint what is a poor sky?
Possible
Well, probable
But I step
so fancy free
in this inch sea;
And talk of the great
and the mistakes
Nights out in seats
Nights in on the streets
and of the people today on the streets.
I'll be the first to admit, they are not the most common of poetry styles. But oh well.
So say goodbye
Wave off the crowds
Don't shed a tear love
They'll still be there when you return
With some luck
No luck
They're unsheathing round the bike sheds
And facing up to your place
Six thousand knives in your back
And they don't remember but 23
Spooks aren't called in
And the benches are brought out
From Cansfield to Wainwright
You've beaten 'em all
And removed their worlds of
Of Dostoevsky's chairs
It's really not fair
Oh it's really really not so fair!
But 6 out of 10
And 4 out of 5
You're in the right
A passer-by in the line-of-fire
And cushioned 3 out of 4
The teachers they arrive
And the kids, well they all cry
The kids, they all cry
The bad acts buried in the grave
And over them paved
A priest to the lonely
And a butcher to the cruel
From Cansfield to Wainwright
You've beaten 'em all
And removed their worlds of
Of Dostoevsky's chairs
It's really not fair
Oh it's really really not so fair!
Wave off the crowds
Don't shed a tear love
They'll still be there when you return
With some luck
No luck
They're unsheathing round the bike sheds
And facing up to your place
Six thousand knives in your back
And they don't remember but 23
Spooks aren't called in
And the benches are brought out
From Cansfield to Wainwright
You've beaten 'em all
And removed their worlds of
Of Dostoevsky's chairs
It's really not fair
Oh it's really really not so fair!
But 6 out of 10
And 4 out of 5
You're in the right
A passer-by in the line-of-fire
And cushioned 3 out of 4
The teachers they arrive
And the kids, well they all cry
The kids, they all cry
The bad acts buried in the grave
And over them paved
A priest to the lonely
And a butcher to the cruel
From Cansfield to Wainwright
You've beaten 'em all
And removed their worlds of
Of Dostoevsky's chairs
It's really not fair
Oh it's really really not so fair!