A few poems

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Okay... I wrote thse for my English class (which was before Christmas and I still haven't returned all the works... I know I am a moron...) and, well, I'd like to hear someone's opinion about them.
They are very personal, but, well, I need to show them to someone, and you guys are always honest and fair, and I know you won't be sing these to mock me.

*end serious babble phase*


DISCLAIMER: Both of the works of literature below, poems "me" and "My Mind" are exclusively copyrighted to me, Johanna Harju, and are not allowed to republish anywhere without my consent.
(Sorry about that, a fictioner's instinct, always do a disclaimer....)

Here are the poems:

Me

As mad as a hatter, people say,
Behind my back, who cares?
I don’t, I won’t
Because I cannot

Shards of dreams, shards of hope
Piercing my heart, as fragile as crystal
Another heartbreak, and nobody cares
Not even myself

As hard as nails, people say
When they see my exterior
But they’d fall on their posteriors,
If they saw the scars

Black-clad, I am,
As dark as night
To hide the bloodstains,
From a lost fight

As dead as a dodo, people say
When they look me in the eyes
There is nothing to see
But everything to hide

Shadows of fear, shadows of pain
As cold as blue ice
Jagged shards, ready to maim
Outside to match inside

As ugly as sin, people say
And I believe them.
A decade of derogation
Is bound to leave its mark

A tear, as scalding as molten lava
Trailing down my cheek
Of pain, of rage, of sorrow, of hate,
The answer I cannot seek

As shallow as a bird pool, people say
When they think they know me
I don’t blame them; no one knows me
Not even myself

The tiniest word, the barest glance
Can make me shatter, like faulted glass, as brittle
That’s what I am, faulted
Broken, thrown to the wolves of hate


My Mind

When I look into chaos, I see
Nothing, as it is
Dark as a raven’s wing
Immersed in midnight

I try to catch a thought,
A thought as slick as an eel
And I fail. Spectacularly.
But that’s nothing new, right?

Falling, face first, into nothingness.
Empty, it is, my mind, like a beggar’s purse.
Of mercy, of compassion, of anything labeled “good”

Too much rejection,
Too much torment,
The result is twisted and gnarled,
Like an old oak tree,
Standing in the storm

Dark clouds in the horizon
Another storm in my mind
As blind as a bat, I am,
After lightning strikes

It is always there, you know,
Feeling, that I am not,
As good as any other,
But merely a failure

As right as rain…
Nothing could be farther from the truth
Twisted, dark, painful
Not a sign of pure water
Just acid burns

When I try to remember
Have I been happy?
My mind is as stiff as a board,
And it’s all in vain

Touches, as light as feathers, of memories
From a time long gone,
When there were no walls
Of Ice and Flame surrounding me

All in chaos, all in shade
A tint as red a heart’s blood
And blood it is, my blood
From wounds never healed
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Well, what do you think?

Ara
(The Bloody Awful Poet, I hope not... effulgent at least!)

 

First off that is a tad too deep for me. And very sad. Life cant be that bad. I am not a expert on poetry but I atleast found it good.

 

A warning: this comes from a Biology student whose favourite movies are Star Wars (all four). Also, I am capable of claiming that my favourite book is "1984", "A Wizard of Earthsea", "Pride and Prejudice", "Remembrance of Things Past" and Terry Pratchett's "The Last Continent" - all in the same day. In other words: my opinion, to all artistically-minded people I met until this point meant absolutely nothing, and so should probably mean nothing to you. Also, remember that I have never written a poem in my life, and that English isn't my native language.

Also: What is below are disjointed notes on my first reading. Probably most of them will be unintelligible to you anyway, sorry, my fault.

And also: I know little of the proper language, so I will call a "stanza" a four-verse. I think that is what it is, but I'm not sure.

The theme:
Honestly, I haven't been in a very good mental state recently, and when I read your work, I pretty much identified with the person speaking. This is probably a good thing (for the poem, not me, that is). Not much to add here.
Of the two, I liked "Me" much more than "My Mind". The procession of images in the second one is fast, too fast: I suspect this is to represent the chaos, but there are some parts that simply don't fit:

midnight/dark - eel - purse - oak tree - storm - cloud/storm/bat(night again?)/lightning - rain - water - acid - board - feathers - walls - shade/blood

The "eel", "purse" and "board" are like from an entirely different story!
(This is probably intentional, and I am making an idiot of myself.)

"Me"
Note: Is the comma after the first "people say" intentional? Because it both changes the meaning of the sentence AND it is different from the other odd-numbered stanzas.

All right, the first thing I loved about this one is how you made this resemble a song. I love the repeating first verses of odd-numbered stanzas, the alliterations/contrasts of "don't/won't/cannot", "nothing/everything", "outside/inside", the way you managed to get a simile in every stanza, the rhymes/alliterations of "night/fight", "eyes/hide", "pain/maim", "decade/derogation", "cheek/seek", "tiniest/barest". The repetitions of "shards" in 2nd stanza, "shadows" in 6th, "of" in 8th. But there are some problems I found (again, probably these aren't problems anyway, only my lack of intelligence):

- the poem already has a certain rhythm thanks to the anaphorae. Part of the rhythm is its arythmicity: syllable counts are not constant; in this context, the 4th stanza is a jarring intrusion: not only does it have rhymes, but an almost regular syllable count (4/4/5/4?)... it disrupted to me the flow of the text and diminished the effect of the general frame. It feels as from a different piece, a different story altogether!

- there is the alliteration of "exterior/posterior". This - to me - is again somewhat jarring. I cannot, alas, pinpoint what spoils this part to me exactly: perhaps it is the comic effect of people "falling on their posteriors", entirely unjustified here? Or is it the effect of so many "r"'s in one place? Don't know, but it feels forced. Just a gut feeling.

- there is a bit of inconsequence in the poem, as in: sometimes you use rhymes, sometimes you don't; sometimes you use the repetitions, sometimes you don't. This is particularly in regard to the last two stanzas; I don't like the repetition you use there ("they know me/no one knows me"). The last stanza I suspect to be purposefully much different from others, but then the previous one shouldn't be.

- is the repetition of "Not even myself" intentional? If yes, why here?

- in the 8th stanza, there is "a tear, as scalding as molten lava". One small thing here: when read, there is likely to be an ellipsis of one "s" (or perhaps it is merely a matter of my accent?)... perhaps it will be easier with "a tear, scalding as..."?

- I made a small poll on whether "blue ice" is any colder than any other type of ice, and none of those I asked said yes... sorry, again a gut feeling, but this part struck me as incredibly goofy. Sorry.

- this is REALLY nitpicking, but these are your similes in even-numbered stanzas:
as fragile as crystal
as dark as night
as cold as (blue) ice
as scalding as (molten) lava <- isn't lava always molten? Perhaps molten iron/rock?
like (faulted) glass, as brittle
The last one is very different from the previous ones. Is that intentional? Because it again disrupts somewhat the flow of the poem.

- and the last, the weirdest one:
2nd stanza:
"shards piercing heart"
"heart (fragile) as crystal"
OK, the thing here is that the common image connected to "crystal" in one's memory is something fragile, but tough, like a diamond, let's say. And something that can be pierced... well, it should be soft (like a real heart), like a real muscle. By introducing the "crystal" part, you effectively negate the previous part, because if the heart is a crystal, it is tough and will not be pierced by shards. Again, just a gut feeling.


I hope you aren't now going to edit out the kind words you wrote regarding my small story I really liked the poems - as I wrote in the beginning, they are precisely how I feel now, and because of that I think they are very good, those are just some stupid observations.

 

First off, many of those books are good, so don't put yourself down. Secondly, you analyze very well.

Thank you for the comments and constructive criticism.

Ara
(Brutal honesty can be a good thing... even for a Slyth like me...)