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Addiction (1 Viewer)

how did this poem make you feel?

  • understanding

    Votes: 0 0.0%
  • sad

    Votes: 0 0.0%
  • confused

    Votes: 2 66.7%
  • drawn in

    Votes: 1 33.3%

  • Total voters
    3

misstee

Member
I miss her. No I don’t.

In the eyes of the sinner the white is god.
In the pale murky depths of my soul I see good intentions
I reach out, grab, scratch as the world flickers past me at a speed only a demon knows.

In the eyes of me, she is beauty.
I surrender my bones to the grasp of her darkness
I envoke the stress, the drama, the intensity just to remind me im alive
If I fail now, I fail forever. I’ve made my choice.

I will watch it fizzle and burn into the firey deadly depths of dissolve.
Till the mind creates its own warpath,
til the sky shatters its tears all over my brain.
As I stare into my own psychotic gaze the blaze in my head wont let me lie.
She taunts me. A myriad stream of light & dark on a direct course for collision.

I miss her. No I don’t.

In the eyes of the saint the white is devil.
In the glorious heat of my soul I see bad intentions.
I don’t try to reach out, I lay back, I surrender.
 

SilverMoon

WF Veterans
Hi Misstee and welcome to WF and the Poetry board!

The gist of your poem certainly lives up to its title. That well known addiction to another person which many of must have experienced. You explored, very well, "the essence" of what one feels in a relationship gone sour, leaving the other half to their own wonderings and wanderings. You created much depth in this poem. Though, when I read "I miss her. No I don't" I expected to read about ambivilance in this relationship but could not tap into it.

Exampled by:
I’ve made my choice

You have some great lines here:

I reach out, grab, scratch as the world flickers past me at a speed only a demon knows. Great Imagery!

I envoke the stress, the drama, the intensity just to remind me im alive Perceptive and isn't it the truth.

I will watch it fizzle and burn into the firey deadly depths of dissolve Great alliteration

Now, I think your poem needs a little tidy to clarify your points. e.g.

If I fail now, I fail forever. I’ve made my choice. What choice have you made?

While I'm a bit confused as to the following meanings, I happen to like these lines very much. And good choice for placement. Always up for enlightenment.

In the eyes of the sinner the white is god.

In the eyes of the saint the white is devil

There's some structural issues but I just wanted to focus on content.

A very fine "debut" poem! So glad to have you a part of the gang! Laurie
 
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Chesters Daughter

WF Veterans
Welcome, misstee. I'm pressed for time so I can't do an in depth, but I'm thinking heroin for two reasons. The lines Laurie quoted hinted it might be that. White is God to the junkie and white is a tempting devil to a recovering addict. The line "I will watch it fizzle and burn into the fiery (typo there) deadly depths of dissolve" to me indicates cooking up. If I'm wrong, believe me it wouldn't be the first time, I apologize. As Laurie said, technically it needs a few tweaks, I'll be back with some humble suggestions. In the meantime, I enjoyed this.

Best,
Lisa
 

MisterSpider

Senior Member
I miss her. No I don’t.

In the eyes of the sinner the white is god.
In the pale murky depths of my soul I see good intentions
I reach out, grab, scratch as the world flickers past me at a speed only a demon knows.

In the eyes of me, she is beauty.
I surrender my bones to the grasp of her darkness
I envoke the stress, the drama, the intensity just to remind me im alive
If I fail now, I fail forever. I’ve made my choice.

I will watch it fizzle and burn into the firey deadly depths of dissolve.
Till the mind creates its own warpath,
til the sky shatters its tears all over my brain.
As I stare into my own psychotic gaze the blaze in my head wont let me lie.
She taunts me. A myriad stream of light & dark on a direct course for collision.

I miss her. No I don’t.

In the eyes of the saint the white is devil.
In the glorious heat of my soul I see bad intentions.
I don’t try to reach out, I lay back, I surrender.

Everything in bold (and then some) is an abstraction. Abstractions = bad poetry. The fastest way to improve you poetry is to read poetry (real poetry) and to replace abstractions with concrete images, of which this poem has none.
 

Linton Robinson

Senior Member
Excuse me, but that's absurd. Have no idea where you got the idea that abstractions are bad poetry, but "sinner" is not an "abstraction". Neither are "god", "world" "white" "saint", "SHE??????" etc.

I double dog dare you to show us a poem that doesn't include nouns or colors, etc.

Bad advice: ignore.
 

MisterSpider

Senior Member
Where did I get the idea abstractions are bad poetry? Oh, I don't know, it's only a common and elementary principle in poetry. Abstractions can be used correctly by people who know what they are doing. No offense to misstee, who has just started writing poetry I see from her profile, but she is not a master poet (I don't think she'd disagree) and the abstractions do not help this piece.

"She" and the like are abstractions in this poem because they have do not represent anything concrete. Who is "She"? What is this "White"? You will notice, Lin, or maybe you won't, that "white" is being used as a noun, not an adjective. The point isn't to write a poem bereft of all things abstract, it is to use abstraction when appropriate.

You want to double-dog dare me? Here's "A Subaltern's Love Song". The thing about poetry, Lin, is that I know a lot about it. Choose your fights carefully.

Miss J. Hunter Dunn, Miss J. Hunter Dunn,
Furnish'd and burnish'd by Aldershot sun,
What strenuous singles we played after tea,
We in the tournament - you against me!

Love-thirty, love-forty, oh! weakness of joy,
The speed of a swallow, the grace of a boy,
With carefullest carelessness, gaily you won,
I am weak from your loveliness, Joan Hunter Dunn.

Miss Joan Hunter Dunn, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn,
How mad I am, sad I am, glad that you won,
The warm-handled racket is back in its press,
But my shock-headed victor, she loves me no less.

Her father's euonymus shines as we walk,
And swing past the summer-house, buried in talk,
And cool the verandah that welcomes us in
To the six-o'clock news and a lime-juice and gin.

The scent of the conifers, sound of the bath,
The view from my bedroom of moss-dappled path,
As I struggle with double-end evening tie,
For we dance at the Golf Club, my victor and I.

On the floor of her bedroom lie blazer and shorts,
And the cream-coloured walls are be-trophied with sports,
And westering, questioning settles the sun,
On your low-leaded window, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn.

The Hillman is waiting, the light's in the hall,
The pictures of Egypt are bright on the wall,
My sweet, I am standing beside the oak stair
And there on the landing's the light on your hair.

By roads "not adopted", by woodlanded ways,
She drove to the club in the late summer haze,
Into nine-o'clock Camberley, heavy with bells
And mushroomy, pine-woody, evergreen smells.

Miss Joan Hunter Dunn, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn,
I can hear from the car park the dance has begun,
Oh! Surrey twilight! importunate band!
Oh! strongly adorable tennis-girl's hand!

Around us are Rovers and Austins afar,
Above us the intimate roof of the car,
And here on my right is the girl of my choice,
With the tilt of her nose and the chime of her voice.

And the scent of her wrap, and the words never said,
And the ominous, ominous dancing ahead.
We sat in the car park till twenty to one
And now I'm engaged to Miss Joan Hunter Dunn.

Oh, my goodness. I forgot the word "joy" was in there. Joy is an abstraction.

I am sorry, misstee, to do this in your thread. But you should know what advice is good and what advice isn't. To believe that abstractions are good for poetry is to do yourself a disservice. If you would like to talk about this in private, do send me a PM, I will be glad to explain things in more detail.



You double-dog dare me? Fine.
 

Linton Robinson

Senior Member
Oh, I don't know, it's only a common and elementary principle in poetry.
Oh, but it's only no such thing.

The thing about poetry, Lin, is that I know a lot about it.
Oh, gosh! You KNOW something about poetry? Oh dear, we ignorami tremble.
Meanwhile, the only thing you've said about it here is a crock, so what are we to think?


And according to you She is an abstraction. So there go all your pronouns.


Her father's euonymus shines as we walk,
And swing past the summer-house, buried in talk,
And cool the verandah that welcomes us in
To the six-o'clock news and a lime-juice and gin.

The scent of the conifers, sound of the bath,
The view from my bedroom of moss-dappled path,
As I struggle with double-end evening tie,
For we dance at the Golf Club, my victor and I.

Oh, dearie.

Absurd.


Ignore.


PS "eunymous" makes the cut because words people have to look up are, ultimately, abstract. And SO many would say the use of obscure terms= bad poetry, or at least something to rarified to matter.
 
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Linton Robinson

Senior Member
By the way, the poem you list, whoever it's by, seems to be mannerist treacle with no real significance or weight.

But hey, what do I know?
 

MisterSpider

Senior Member
Apparently not much, since it's one of the most beloved poems in England. It's by John Betjeman, late Poet Laureate, whose collected works, according to the blurb on the back of the book, have sold 2.5 million copies. That's more than Auden. But what do you care.

You seemed to have missed the point (quelle surprise). Like I said, "The point isn't to write a poem bereft of all things abstract, it is to use abstraction when appropriate." But you have taken a bulldozer to my words and missed every subtlety.

By the way, most of the words you have bolded in Betjeman's poem aren't abstractions. For instance, "struggle" is not used as a noun, it is used as a verb. The other bolded words have been anchored with concrete images.

Here's one for you: find me a poem that used all abstraction. A good poem. That will have you searching for awhile.
 

Linton Robinson

Senior Member
No, actually, what you said was "abstraction=bad poetry". Go take a look.

Oh, not we GET IT. Jeez. "Struggle" isn't an abstrction, but "stress" is. Gotcha my anonymous "know a lot so don't argue with me".

The poem is crap. I don't care who wrote it. But just for the sake... Rod McKuen is the best-selling poet of the last century with over 65 million books sold, not to mention three best-selling albums of his spoken poems. And he uses abstraction, so maybe the "argumentum ad NYTlist" isn't as compelling to you as you think it should be to me.
So, of course, does Kahlil Gibran, one of the best-selling poets--in fact best-selling WRITERS--of all time.
But of course, you know so much about poetry, I'm sure you knew all that.

Have no idea why you'd come up with that "all abstraction poem" crap. There aren't many "all pronoun" poems, either, but if somebody said "pronouns=bad poetry" I'd challenge it. This little fillip indicates somebody that doesn't "know a lot" about logic or argumentation. Quel dommage
 

Linton Robinson

Senior Member
I LOVE the "who is SHE" thing, by the way. Give NAMES in poems. Or else. Hilarious.


To get back to the OP-- I'd suggest that you take to heart only what makes sense and helps you from these forums. Don't be swayed by people who write you off, or make sweeping statemnents and cite "rules".
 
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misstee

Member
wow!.. I didnt know my words would start a war!..

Laurie - Hi & thank you for your welcome note :) .. and you are partly right, my poem is about an addiction to another human, but it's also about addiction to something else too. It's about the addiction to cocaine (thats where the 'white' comes into it)..

' Ive made my choice' - I have already made the choice to take the substance, to surrender to it, ive made the wrong choice and now there is nothing to do but lay back and watch it grip me.. til my mind flickers and I go psychotic etc etc.... the other addiction is that im not doing it alone.. im addicted to someone who is doing it, therefore 'she' refers to the other person aswell as the drug.

Lisa - Hi!>. Thank you very much for your comments and its not heroin but you were close!..im real glad you enjoyed my poem and I would very much like to hear your suggestions when you find the time! :)

MisterSpider - wow!.. Thank you.. you are a harsh critique but I see what you trying to do and seen as though this is my very first poem EVER I have to take on board everyone's opinions & suggestions. I can take criticism, and being new to this I expect it.

Lin - hey :) Thank you for your comments too.. i really appreciate you point of view.. what did you think of my poem though?..

I want my poem to have depth.. any suggestions on how to make it better are more than welcome.. no matter how harsh! Thank you.. Terri
 

SilverMoon

WF Veterans
What a breath of fresh air! Such a dignified and generous reply. I'd be happy to help you out, Terri. What I'm going to do is copy your poem and flesh it out with the information you provided (just something to give you ideas to play with) and create a new structure for you so the eye can move more easily down the page. OK, here we go.

Addiction

In the eyes of the sinner
my white is a god,

White
insisting that I
grab and scratch,
as the world flickers
past me at a
speed
only a
demon
knows.

She travels
with me,
this woman
almost as beautiful
as white.

We lay out
White Lady
on glass,
a merry bed,
for us and
fairey dust.

I've made my choice

I sneeze
and surrender my bones
to the grasp of her darkness,
darkness cloaked in white.

In the pale murky depths of my soul
I see good intentions.
She is beauty,
for now.

This woman,
almost as beautiful
as white,
knows I evoke, stress,
and drama in order
to feel alive,
in order to be with her.

I've made my choice.

My mind is a warpath.
It fizzles and burns into
firey depths of dissolve.

That High Sky!
It shatters,
splinters
over my
young bones.

I gaze into the
blaze of my eyes
and see a myriad steam
of light and dark
on a direct course
for collission.

In the eyes of the saint,
my white is the devil.
Terrie, the text was not supposed to come out in script. Something buggy going on with my computer. Only use script when you really need emphasis. You have a truly brilliant opening and ending stanza. Since you write abstractly, as I sometimes do, I didn't want to loose that "feel" for you but it did need to be fleshed out. Organized. And you may know that "White Lady" is a term for cocaine but if the reader is unaware I don't think it will make a difference. We've established that the white is "honored".

I hope I've helped out. Laurie
 
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vangoghsear

WF Veteran
WF Veterans
Welcome! Good job for your first poem. Not bad at all.

A few suggestions for improvement:

I miss her. No I don’t. (I'd cut this. It's a weak start.)

In the eyes of the sinner the white is god. (Much better first line)
In the pale murky depths of my soul I see good intentions (Here is an opportunity to use concrete imagery to help us understand your abstract thought. Example might be "submerged I see good intentions as through gauze in a pond")
I reach out, grab, scratch as the world flickers past me at a speed only a demon knows.

Keep writing. Not bad at all.
 
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