JessicaVendetta

I am standing on this clifftop
I can see snow
as it pushes against my cheeks, tangles in my lashes
wraps around the dark shadows of these
absences of flesh

the bitter sting of winter, even as this sun is shining
It is inescapable, it creeps beneath this fabric in time
and I can hear a distant voice call,
a small wind, a uproarious cry
that of life is calling to me.

For so long I have crept towards death,
slowly, ever inching towards its blissful oblivion.
oh do forgive me for this unholy mastication.

and suddenly I am forced to either choose,
to listen to this distant voice, follow it into the sun
or to turn away
among the shadows.

I don't know if I can do it.
I am scared, terrified
that I will fall of this ledge,
I'm safest here at least
but to live
ah to finally live again

for that i would take the first step towards the light
towards this unholy mastication.

****A rather basic one I wrote a while ago and thought I'd pass it through review. I'm sure it appears rather cliche, or masochistic....but come now, everyone has had their fair share of pleasure in darkness....I don't think it qualifies the subject unbreachable. Advice, thoughts? I'm wondering if this is worth working on or whether I should scrap the idea

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There is no place I can go, there is no place I can hide. It feels like it keeps coming from the inside.

I have it

I think you could condense it. get ride of its and buts. I like the idea, do not scrap it. =)

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JessicaVendetta

Thanks for taking the time to read I will keep what you said in mind when I go in to edit, thanks!

__________________
There is no place I can go, there is no place I can hide. It feels like it keeps coming from the inside.

Pete_C

Reading this poem I was struck by one thought; you would be very good at writing poetry. However, what we have here is an abject lesson in what you must learn to leave behind if you are to improve.

Firstly, there are some lovely phrases in there, some images that are clean and precise and easy for the reader to absorb. However, there is also some real self-indulgent twaddle that clogs up the flow and the meaning. Your "poetry" is being choked by what you believe a poem needs to survive. You are over-elaborating to flex your poetic tongue, and you have forgotten the reader.

Think of poetry as a fat man's heart. Lines like: "I can see snow
as it pushes against my cheeks, tangles in my lashes" are the lifeblood pumping through it. Lines like "and suddenly I am forced to either choose
life, death, this unholy mastication" and big blobs of fatty muck that are going to clog the whole shooting match up.

Currently, you are leaving poetry gasping for breath on the toilet floor, and it needn't be the case. Start by simplifying your work. What do you want to say? What should the reader feel? What should the reader think? Forget the reader, and all you are doing is doodling on toilet paper.

Unholy Mastication is such a great image, such a great idea, but I see no chewing of anything. It's almost like you liked the idea and that was enough. You left the reader behind.

vangoghsear

I agree with Pete_C. This starts with some marvelously creative images, but then drops into self absorbed angst. More lines as thoughtful as the lashes image and this would be a real gem.

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If writing is wrong, I don't want to be right.

JessicaVendetta

Thank you Pete_C, vangoghsear.
Taking into consideration what you both have said I have revised it, shortened it and taken out the more 'self-absorbant' or 'angsty' lines. I think it reads a little less despaired. You both were right and upon re-reading it, it did seem to slow with a sort of....I don't know, self-involvement that was completly oblivious to whoever might be reading, now I think it breaches more into the audience, please let me know if you agree or if it is still the same as before.

Also, Pete_C, the tittle Unholy Mastication....it isn't so much about the act of chewing so much as the act of being human. I have a rather stupid illness that makes the act of eating a very tiresome, weary process. And in this piece I was trying to convince myself to eat like a normal human being. To turn something I see as unholy in my mind, into a simple matter of being alive. I could probably elaborate in the poem, and tie in the idea from the tittle...but I always detest people who bear their scars in such a public way, I prefer it to be subtle.

I look forward to any further review and advice, and thank you everyone for taking the time to help me fine-tune this

__________________
There is no place I can go, there is no place I can hide. It feels like it keeps coming from the inside.

Pete_C

I agree about the "parading of scars"; however, at the opposite end of the spectrum is the "can you guess what it is about" school of tomfoolery. Poetry needs to be accessible; too many people write for other writers so they can out-clever each other. How many sell? Next to fuck all would be my educated guess.

You have to walk a line between the esoteric and the self-pitying. I would suggest that maybe you remove the angst and present the frustration in another way. Use mastication, but let the subject be something that's hard to chew or swallow, like a boulder, or steel, or something really unstomachable like piety or religion or hats for dogs.

Mirror

Unholy mastication - what a great concept! I can relate to it, having suffered the same disorder in my distant past.

Yet, this piece requires a thorough trim. I've tinkered with it (excuse my rough hand), just to give you an idea of what I think. Leave or take what you wish.

Standing on clifftop,
I see snow as it pushes
against my cheeks,
tangles in lashes,
wraps around shadows
of flesh absences.

Bitter sting of winter- inescapable
even as sun shines-
creeps this fabric in time
I hear a distant voice call,
small wind, uproarious cry,
life calling me.

For so long I have crept towards death,
slowly, ever inching towards its blissful oblivion.
Oh do forgive me for this unholy mastication.

(You may have ended the poem here; the last two stanzas lapse into cliché whereas the one above offers an inkling as to why you chose that title.)

Forced to choose,
to listen to distant voice,
follow it into the sun
or turn away
among shadows.

I don't know if I can do it.
I am scared, terrified
that I will fall of this ledge,
I'm safest here at least
but to live
ah to finally live again


I think this piece would work much better if you were to assuage the angst and expound on the unholy mastication through images that pertain to it.

Best,
Mirror

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vangoghsear

This could be improved with some cuts. The bold words and phrases below could be cut I think without hurting the poem to make some lines stronger and, in some cases, less 'pleading'. Still not bad.

I did some toying around below. Possibly loses your meaning, but just to show you how it can be trimmed.


Standing on this cliff top
snow pushes my cheeks, tangles in my lashes
wraps around the dark shadows of these
absences of flesh

the bitter sting of winter, even as this sun is shining
inescapable, it creeps beneath this fabric in time

a distant voice calls,
a small wind, uproarious cry
of life calling to me.

I have crept towards death,
slowly, towards its blissful oblivion.
forgive this unholy mastication.

suddenly forced to choose,
to listen to this distant voice,
follow it into the sun
or turn away
among the shadows.

Could I?
scared, terrified
that I will fall off this ledge,
It's safest there, at least
but to live
ah to finally live again

for that I would take the first step
towards the light
towards this unholy mastication.


Just a few cuts that can be made. By reducing the use of "I" phrases this could be less personal and more universal.

__________________
If writing is wrong, I don't want to be right.