I do many different kinds of poetry, such as haikus.
Here's my first
Strung
I can see my life hanging, by a thin string. My head is still banging, my ears still ring. No one can help me, I need to fly. No one can free me, I'm doomed to die.
It's very difficult To get some agknologement This thread is doomed
Don't take it personally, people don't comment that much on people's threads in this subforum. In my thread I'm getting close to 10 posts in a row. The view counts go up, though, so just because people don't reply doesn't mean they don't see it, I suppose.
Anyways, as for your "Strung" poem, I can't quite see what situation the main character is in. His head is banging, which would suggest a blow to his head or something, but then he says he needs to fly, which suggests falling or being about to fall? Anyways, the rhymes and stuff were good. The poem was good, even if I can't quite interpret it, thought that might say more about me than about your poem.
Six sylabuls in your first line, so its not a haiku.
the greatest thing on earth
The great-est thing on earth.
Six sylabuls in your middle line, so its not a haiku.
Remember, the structure is 5-7-5, so watch your sylabuls.
but then he says he needs to fly, which suggests falling or being about to fall?
Used as a verb, 'to fly' could also mean to run. Most notably, Gandalf telling the Fellowship before falling and 'dieing' in the abyss, saying 'Fly, you fools!'.
Strung was good. I interpreted it to be about a person who had recieved a hard blow, and wanted to flee. The flow is off in a few spots so watch that.
And don't worry about not getting abunch of post when you start out. I didn't have anybody post that much when I started. Granted, no one really post now, but that doesn't matter. I've got 45 views a post, so thats good. Just work on making good works so people look, and come back to look again.
Why did you leave me? Why was this? Was it because something went amiss? Was it my shirt, tie, shoes or hair? Was it simply my lack of care? Well I'm sorry, I wish you'd come home. Now my soul will forever roam.
Imagination is a idiotic thing, it's only of use for those who can sing. For writers it will help a lot, but for others, their minds will rot.
Imagine your teacher, as a hideous beast. Imagine yourself, at a king's feast.
These things will never be real, it won't be as true as the pain you feel. Never as filling, as a good meal.
A world without these lies, is a world I can only imagine
I know there are probably tons of errors, but I did my best. The ending is supposed to be ironic. It doesn't fit very well, but I really wanted to put it there. I hope you enjoyed it
