Miss Jackson

Don't ask, don't tell. But seriously people...I REALLY WOULD love some criticism. Really. Cause I'm startin' to think that I could write any old crap and people would still noise it up. I want to learn dammit! [/rant]

Wrapped in a multitude
of crochet rainbow
blankets, she wryly
smiles at her small
pupils. Each tiny child,
still coping without
the comfort of
their mother's womb.

Then to be led into a class
with this barren creature?

Yet, she loves her work.

It makes me ponder
on her indifference.
Is she making up
for what her moon
conducted bleeding cannot
offer?

Is she in love with
these small children
for no man or woman
would, or was
permitted to?

No comfort
in woollen dolls.

A sullen funeral
marches morosly
around her barricaded
heart. Blocking

the enterence of
anyone that would
force their attention on her.

A trench.

She lives in a frosty
trench, bitter as icy
lemons.

This pit, so deeply dug out,
so protected by barbed wire
anxiety and sworded tongue,

no man or woman could enter
by fist, magic or love.

Just a small gap in the fence,
big enough to let her
infant students in.

I wish I could criticise it, but I can't. This has some of the strongest imageery that you've ever used;
'She lives in a frosty
trench, bitter as icy
lemons.'

and

'a multitude
of crochet rainbow
blankets.'

I offered criticism on your other poem, but I don't think I really can on this one. I really, really love it.

Okay, maybe I have a small critique. Just ONE, and it's barely big enough to be announced...

For the part:
"She lives in a frosty
trench, bitter as icy
lemons. "

I really love that metaphor. It's really apt and everything, but at the same time, the "bitter as frosty lemons" was kind of humorous, but your poem is really anything but.

It's really nitpicky, and it doesn't matter THAT much. But you SAID you wanted the criticism.

Great job!

wait_what:

I offered criticism on your other poem, but I don't think I really can on this one. I really, really love it.

Okay, maybe I have a small critique. Just ONE, and it's barely big enough to be announced...

For the part:
"She lives in a frosty
trench, bitter as icy
lemons. "

I really love that metaphor. It's really apt and everything, but at the same time, the "bitter as frosty lemons" was kind of humorous, but your poem is really anything but.

It's really nitpicky, and it doesn't matter THAT much. But you SAID you wanted the criticism.

Great job!

Hmm, do you have any other recommendations for a replacement?

oMfG_i_LoVe_BiLlY_jO!!:

Hmm, do you have any other recommendations for a replacement?

Not really... I mean, I jsut wouldn't use a fruity metaphor in a serious poem. Perhaps you could just say something like, "bitter as a sour chill." or something. I don't know.

It's your poem, and it's great. I'm just picky.

Alrighty, typically when I critique poems people jump all over me ofr offering advice and say I "rip poems apart", which is entirely untrue, but seeing as how you asked I'd be happy too. Just know in advance I point out everything I see, everything, good and Bad. It's your poem though and ultimately you decide whats right and wrong. Alot of people in this forum just say 'oh thats beautiful' or 'thats lovely' just for the sake of commetning. As long as perfection is unreachable there is always room for improvement.



Wrapped in a multitude
of crochet rainbow
blankets, she wryly
smiles at her small
pupils. Each tiny child,
still coping without
the comfort of
their mother's womb.
Strong begining. Im very fond of poetry that flows not line by line, but beat by beat like this one.

Then to be led into a class
with this barren creature?

Yet, she loves her work.

It makes me ponder
on her indifference.
Is she making up
for what her moon
conducted bleeding cannot
offer?

I dislike the phrase "moon conducted bleeding" in this sense. It doesnt tie in with what you're saying and I don't have the slightest Idea what a bleeding moon is trying to symbloize in the case of this poem, however it's a very vivid phrase, I can almost see it describing a night scene where a murder is taking place O__o (I have morib imagery)

Is she in love with
these small children
for no man or woman
would, or was
permitted to?
twisted

No comfort
in woollen dolls.

A sullen funeral
marches morosly
around her barricaded
heart. Blocking

the enterence of
anyone that would
force their attention on her.
EXCELLENT metaphor. When you think of funerals dreary depressing images come to mind, and nothing keeps other people out of your life such as anti-social feelings that can be produced from depression. Bravo

A trench.

She lives in a frosty
trench, bitter as icy
lemons.
I like the repeated trench there.

This pit, so deeply dug out,
so protected by barbed wire
anxiety and sworded tongue,

no man or woman could enter
by fist, magic or love.
You can tell the poem is almost over here, as you can see it's concluding something.

Just a small gap in the fence,
big enough to let her
infant students in.
Im not sure I would have used the word infant. You do need an adjective there though so I did like the structure there. I would have chosen a word more like juvenile or maybe even innocent to contrast the students to her. Overall that was an excellent poem with very intense subject matter, and you don't read alot of poems like it, it owned the originality factor. I really enjoyed reading it.