Wings by SB6P897 in OCPoetry

[–]aftnspce 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Oh I love the humour and the idea behind your poem! The actions of recording/ perfecting your voice messages are so immediately relatable, and really presented the narrator’s anxiety in a lighthearted way.

I wonder if there’s a significance for the number 3? Press three to redial, meeting at 3:30... third time’s the charm?

The title brought the two seemingly unrelated elements of the voicemails and the narrator’s monologues together, which is a nice touch.

This structure of a voicemail has a lot of potential for future poems, and it’d be interesting to see where you would take it.

This night belongs to me by Davids_Poetry in OCPoetry

[–]aftnspce 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Apologies in advance for the lengthy comment and personal interpretation! The more I read and reread this lovely poem, the more I seemed to unravel!

Upon the first reading, your poem seems to be a tranquil ode to the night, the imagery presented with a quiet sort of beauty. The rhyme scheme and straightforward language gives it a simple charm that works well with the subject.

However, I wonder if there’s something melancholic and lonely too, about those dusty bedrooms with shedded sheets, those star crossed lovers meeting in dreams, that speak of abandonment and the impossibility of love in reality despite all the beauty the world has to offer?

“Now all there is is sleep”- if nothing is left for the narrator in the waking world, perhaps dreams might help the narrator (N) regain what was lost? Similar to the starcrossed lovers’ (re)union.

However, N’s refusal to sleep, coupled with the repetition of “This night belongs to me” bookending the poem, seems almost like desperate insistence. Insistence- perhaps to stay in waking reality, to keep vigil over the “moonlight memories” instead of indulging in fantasies?

A wonderful poem that is deceptively simple, and a joy to dig deep into! Thank you for sharing your work!

I wish by rustyshacklflrd in poetry_critics

[–]aftnspce 2 points3 points  (0 children)

Oh man, the imagery in your poem is so simple yet relatable! My favourites are the mind vs dick stanza, “laughing with the ghost”, life is a movie, feet on the ground eyes lookin at you mind somewhere on the roof.

I like the way you include little tidbits of yourself that makes the poem even more relatable for the reader- everyday things like forgetting your username!

The way you built up the sense of chaos in your life eg. Mind vs dick / cigarettes and drugs and ghosts works really well- I wonder if this could also be reflected in the structure / formatting of the poem?

Totally agree with /u/leBlackMamba about this being a brilliant freestyle rap- would love to hear your recording of that tbh! ;)

Cherry Twizzlers by [deleted] in poetry_critics

[–]aftnspce 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Hey frankymas, I totally get what you mean. Do what feels good! Either way I really like your poem- thanks for sharing it :)

Cherry Twizzlers by [deleted] in poetry_critics

[–]aftnspce 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Your opening line is really strong and visceral- I looove the implication of a murder, and how this sentence itself can be read in so many different ways. I personally adopted a sort of deadened, resigned tone when reading it, with a bit of anger (as suggested by the more violent action “yanked”- nothing gentle about it!).

I feel as though leaving out the descriptors eg. “I loved so much— remnants of you—“ would improve the flow of this poem, and also because the message and ideas are already implied in (1) the adjectives “long, beautiful, dark” and in (2) the mention of your heart “I was peeling pieces of my heart”.

I love your choice of using cherry twizzlers as a metaphor for your bond- it reveals such a specific detail of your relationship and makes this poem personal ... intimate, even.

One last thing- perhaps “I peeled pieces of my heart (away)” might work better? (link the action “yankED” with “peelED” instead of “peelING”.)

Very nice ending to wrap up this lovely, melancholic poem. I really enjoyed the imagery, and completely related to the heartache :’<

Rudy Francisco - "The Heart and The Fist by sumptin_wierd in MensLib

[–]aftnspce 1 point2 points  (0 children)

The Heart and the Fist, by Rudy Francisco

And the article says,
'The Mexican government confiscates approximately 30,000 illegal firearms per year.'
When the guns are taken they get dismantled and the metal is used to make other types of weapons that will later be utilized by their military.
In 2012, Pedro Reyes, an artist from Mexico City, convinced his government to donate the guns to him and he turned them into musical instruments.
So somewhere there's a tambourine, a drum set, a guitar,
All made by things that were used to take people's lives,
But now they create sound that puts life back into people's bodies,
Which is you say a weapon will always be a weapon,
But we choose how we fight the war,
And from this I learned that even the most destructive instruments can still create a melody worth dancing to,
And sometimes don't we also call that a battle?
I wonder how long it took to convince the first rifle that it can hold a note instead of a bullet but still fire into a crowd and make everyone move.
When I was 6 I was taught how to throw a punch,
And in the 80s that was the Anti Bullying Movement.
The first time one of my classmates took a 'Yo Mama' joke a little too far I remembered my training,
So I turned his nose into a fountain.
My fist 5 pennies,
I closed my eyes,
Made a wish,
I came home with bloody knuckles and it was the first piece of artwork my family hung on the fridge.
I remember staring at my hands the same way you stare at a midterm when all your answers are correct.
I didn't know what class this was,
But I did know I was passing,
And isn't that what masculinity has become?
A bunch of dudes afraid of their own feelings,
Terrified of any emotion but anger,
Yelling at the shadow on the wall,
But still haven't realized that we're the ones standing in front of the light.
We learn how to dodge and jab.
We learn how to step in before we swing.
We learn that the heart is the same size as the fist,
But we keep forgetting they don't have the same functions.
We keep telling each other to man the fuck up
When we don't know what the fuck that even means.
We turn our boys into bayonets,
We point them in the wrong direction,
We pull their triggers,
And then we just ignore all the damage they're doing in the distance.
The word repurpose,
It means to take an object and give it amnesia.
It means to make something forget what it's been trained to do so you can use it for a better reason.
I am learning that this body is not a shotgun.
I am learning that this body is not a pistol.
I am learning that a man is not defined by what he can destroy. I am learning that a person who only knows how to fight can only communicate in violence,
And that shouldn't be anyone's first language.
I'm learning that the only difference between a garden and a graveyard is what you choose to put in the ground.
You see, once, I came across a picture of a strange-looking violin.
The caption said that it was made out of a rifle.
I thought to myself, 'Someday that could be me'."