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[Huesoo]

I do poetry for shits and giggles an when Im bored (Also for school, the peice im going to show is for school). The following peice is called A New York City Veteranm I was born an grew up in New York and I saw a bunch of hobos who were probably veterans in army outfits, living on cardboard boxes with nothing to cover them but some newspaper. This impacted me deeply (And if youve lived or was born in New York you probably know what I mean) because I was so young. This poem is dedicated to them.

New York City Veteran

Sitting on the street
With his bare feet
Has nothing to eat
Not even some meat

Has no cover
Has no mother
To protect him from the cold
Not a single soul to hold

Sits a man
With no plan
Who fought a war
But now was poor

With nowhere to go
With nothing to show
Sits a New York City Veteran

Critique would be fine and if you want to post yours its ok.

[Huesoo]

Nobody likes it? Nobody wants to post their own?

[Supermikhail]

I was just going to post my impression! ('While you were typing...') Geez, have some patience.

~~~~~~
I predict you're so gonna be in a band (if you aren't yet)!

However, don't consider it a compliment. Modern song has quite low standards for poetry. You may want to revise it if you really wish to submit it somewhere. And, especially if it is quite personal, you need to take care with rhyming.

[Huesoo]

Take care with rhyming why?

[Mortesphere]

A burning piano,
The keys, aflame, the hammers, white hot
An opera is played
A grand crash
A tender cresendo
A ballet on the right
A battle to the left
Guns are singing
Wives are mourning
An infant cries
A siren blares
A city collapses
In a burning piano

Enveloped in the song, the hands dance
But his fingers are melting
As the pianist burns
The tempo slows
The pitch falls
The solo is over
The time is up
But he plays on,
The piano is alight
But he plays on
Fingers, burned
Mind, scarred
Soul, gone
But still, he plays on,
On a burning piano,

The end is nearing
And he feels it
So he plays piano,
To pass the time,
Until his time has passed
Sorrow plays a symphony
Tragedy rings a cacophony
But the pianist plays joy
On a burning piano.

The fires have died,
The song is not yet complete
But the room has fallen silent,
In a hollow room of charred and gilded oak,
Sits the ashes of a player piano.

[Supermikhail]

Take care with rhyming why?

The metre in 1'st and 4'th verse does not match with that of 2'nd and 3'rd.
Also
....war
....poor
?

Also, you know, having no meat on your table is not the greatest degree of poverty.


Now, Mortesphere... here I am not an expert on blank verse. But it feels nice. Horror poetry.

[piecewise]

I do poetry for shits and giggles an when Im bored (Also for school, the peice im going to show is for school). The following peice is called A New York City Veteranm I was born an grew up in New York and I saw a bunch of hobos who were probably veterans in army outfits, living on cardboard boxes with nothing to cover them but some newspaper. This impacted me deeply (And if youve lived or was born in New York you probably know what I mean) because I was so young. This poem is dedicated to them.

New York City Veteran

Sitting on the street
With his bare feet
Has nothing to eat
Not even some meat

Has no cover
Has no mother
To protect him from the cold
Not a single soul to hold

Sits a man
With no plan
Who fought a war
But now was poor

With nowhere to go
With nothing to show
Sits a New York City Veteran

Critique would be fine and if you want to post yours its ok.

I agree, be careful with rhyming. Poetry was never my shtick and wasn't my favorite to analyze but I can tell you that plenty of great poetry doesn't get anywhere near rhyming. It seems like your poem was written with the rhyme more in mind then the actual subject matter and suffers because of it. The rhymes aren't that great either. But I'm not much of one to criticize because I can't write poetry for crap either.

[Huesoo]

Take care with rhyming why?

The metre in 1'st and 4'th verse does not match with that of 2'nd and 3'rd.
Also
....war
....poor
?

Also, you know, having no meat on your table is not the greatest degree of poverty.


Now, Mortesphere... here I am not an expert on blank verse. But it feels nice. Horror poetry.

My accent is so that when I pronounce war and poor the sound almost the same.

[piecewise]

Take care with rhyming why?

The metre in 1'st and 4'th verse does not match with that of 2'nd and 3'rd.
Also
....war
....poor
?

Also, you know, having no meat on your table is not the greatest degree of poverty.


Now, Mortesphere... here I am not an expert on blank verse. But it feels nice. Horror poetry.

My accent is so that when I pronounce war and poor the sound almost the same.

I say you should write another poem but forget about rhyming this time and just see how it goes.

[Huesoo]

But rhymings what makes it fun! Fine ill do it, but I need a subject.

[piecewise]

But rhymings what makes it fun! Fine ill do it, but I need a subject.

you could do it on the same subject for comparison sake.

Or you could do it on something completely different for random sake

I suggest an epic ode to Dwarf Fortress

[tylor]

Stupid noble
Wants a throne
Fifth in row
Made of bone

I'll put noble
In the water
I will take him
To the slaughter

I will make
A damned throne
From the bones
Of that clown

Viva la Revolution!


Hmm... Clown disturbs me. Is there a better word that rhymes with throne?

[Cthulhu]

This is a haiku
Lacking seasonal reference
Or a caesura

[Supermikhail]

That was one of my edited out points before:

Why rhyme? Because it's aesthetically pleasing (has order to it).

But I believe, blank verse still has some order to it. Namely, tempo. So, it's not so easy in any case...

Hey, I know! There is my poem lying around here somewhere. It's about 2.5 years old... And there was a time I aspired to make it into a song. But I wasn't apparently made to be a songwriter, however here I can prove that I can rhyme, too.

Here it goes (I kept the "solo" notes, as they may aid you in... reading):

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

She was a bird
flew high in the sky
I was a man
was destined to die

She was so beautiful,
shining and free.
I looked at her
and begged "Come to me"

I burnt my house
swept ashes away
I tore my fishing net
I couldn't stay.

So she came down
"I'll give you a lift"
Saw tears in my eyes
blessed her for her gift.

She picked me up
Hands gentle as cloud
And I went high
And stars were around.

Solo.

We were rising and rising
I had no horizon.
Through the sky we were blazing
And the world was amazing.
With the moon I could sing
And I thought I had wings.

Solo.

Oh, my friend, I am tired
We cannot fly side by side
In the end I will let go
Our flight is too slow
And I mean you no harm
Come. I will set you down.

She flew down to earth
I held on her hands
I couldn't believe
Until was on land.

She smiled at me
I didn't smile back
And she seemed sad
She wished me good luck.

She went to the sky
And I was alone.
I sat down and cried.
I had no home.

Solo.

I look up at the sky
And still wait for the wind
of her wings on my face...

clown - [klaun]... throne - ... ah it has that symbol I don't know how to insert. The vowel is [eu] So it doesn't rhyme, really... Hehe, from the bones of that moron 

[Huesoo]

The tides of sweat
Hydrating the tides of men
Working, toiling on the works of their forefathers
Never done, never finished

These are the beasts of labor, muscle and beer
They work day to night
There deaths mean nothing
There lives mean nothing

They worship the ground
As it was God
Little do they know
It is also Satan

The blood theyve shed
Either of friend or foe
Pales in comparison
To the beer theyve drunk

They are dwarves
The pillagers of the over ground
The masters of the underground
They never forget
They never forgive