The Time Stamp

You've done it again! The extensive earth imagery works wonderfully. It is such an active poem that when a beautiful image or feeling is presented (a jade garnet /
spiked with frost) its quite touching.

I'm pleased you have enjoyed my work it makes it all worth while you know , again thanks :)

This is strange; I like all your work and I've only just realised why:
It's this great uneven stoccato rythmn behind your phrases that means it's quite difficult to form a full perfect picture or image of what's going on. But each fragmenty little phrase is excellent in it's own way; like these treasures that completely explode the poem; "sun screams a glare," "...asleep. Thinking, profound.." Just these average words put together to make something hugely powerful.
So that's why I like your work: maybe you didn't write it with that intention or idea, but that's what I get from your writing, and I really like it.

yeah I know your meaning sometimes I use like a single worded chain to build it up to a glimpse of what I am seeing and it all depends on what mood I'm in and the general gist of the poem I feel honoured you have taken the time to read and figure out such things thanks merda oh and heres an example of my chande of rhyme of feel I'd be interested in your verdict to these because you sure no whats what lol :)))

EPITAPH FOR THE WORLD

Avalanches of time rocks gather,
in ancient lime state flocks,
as the violin sky unlocks,
releasing its corrosive weather.
The spinning , burning,
flaming war fire ring,
how long ,
before its man kinds last rite song,
how long,
before the final analogue dong,
the sound of the eastern gong.
Oil, ticking,
the toil ,
starts slicking,
mad colonels are sickening,
upon this rock,
we just wait for the wave of shock.
Separatists ,
terrorists,
hostage holding ,
rebel fists,
religious ,
unindigenous ,
fundamentalists ,
sunburst colours crash through the mist,
desert soldiers lie dead in the dust.
Broken bricks ,
burnt out wicks ,
a child stands crying in the eclipse,
a world sits sighing,
at tv's of blitz.
Vacant baby eyes,
of sufferage ,
no yule tide surprise,
at the orphanage.
An abandoned teddy bear ,
against a blood smeared kerb,
a distant unclear ,
perturbed, smouldering serb.
Artillery fire balls burning the air ,
in a glare,
to sadden,
armistice or Armageddon ,
could it end or will it happen.
Freedom fighters ,
ira bombers,
semtex lighters ,
standing outside harrods.
No more seas ,
and weathered rocks,
ageing trees or building blocks,
theres just the stagnant shattered faces ,
of a world and its dead clocks .

Unborn Nostalgia
I need you to reinvent,my unborn nostalgia ,
to strike a dent,
in my butterfly neuralgia,
a song for when I die,
a lament,
for us,
forever after,
to redefine,
my scarred memory eye ,
and sit with me and cry,
through to laughter,
I greed you to much,
I need you badly,
for your present state I cannot touch,
the arms ...I would welcome gladly,
Instead I act so butch,
but apart I fall so sadly ,
different keys now unlock your doors ,
but all I ask is open up to me.

thanks merda x

I'd love to read them through- give me a day or two and I'll get back to you :]

obscure elements brought together into a cleverly constructed verse....

Well written

S