Post by furvacatta on Apr 19, 2009 20:54:58 GMT -5
Right, so I've been told I'm a pretty good poet, and I've been posting my poetry on deviantart.com, where I'm not really getting much feedback. So really, I'd appreciate any kind of feedback!
Here's the link to the poems on DA:
furvacatta.deviantart.com/gallery/#Poems
And here's an example of my work:
Vienna Teng
It’s a nighttime parking lot,
Filled with stale cigarette smoke
And the taste of distant car fumes
Floating on the wind in spirals
Lit by widely spaced streetlamps
That give off a distinctly orange glow
It’s a childhood car trip
Sitting in sweaty, unconformable clothes
Constantly shifting in a soft but itchy chair
Mouth chalky with the residue
Of constantly slipping
Between asleep and awake
It’s a teenager’s bedroom
The walls plastered with a million memories
Soft plush surrounded by clean plastic air
Filled with artificial smells
Sickeningly sweet as they rise
Reminiscent of campfires and perfume
It’s a hole in the wall bar
Challenging the fire codes
Reeking of alcohol and fried food
With fragile plastic chairs wobbling
The burning heat of a summer night
Just beyond the arctic air conditioner
It's a foreign subway station
Whispers and shouts spiraling
In a beautifully alien jumble
The walls of cracked tiles
Carrying the wisdom of age
In their faded jewel tones
It’s a feeling
Difficult to describe
Even in all the world’s languages
With all of eternity to attempt
Of inner peace and happiness
Friendship and acceptance
Forgetting the bad times
And creating the good
Feeling your insides warm
With a burning hot golden glow.
Here's the link to the poems on DA:
furvacatta.deviantart.com/gallery/#Poems
And here's an example of my work:
Vienna Teng
It’s a nighttime parking lot,
Filled with stale cigarette smoke
And the taste of distant car fumes
Floating on the wind in spirals
Lit by widely spaced streetlamps
That give off a distinctly orange glow
It’s a childhood car trip
Sitting in sweaty, unconformable clothes
Constantly shifting in a soft but itchy chair
Mouth chalky with the residue
Of constantly slipping
Between asleep and awake
It’s a teenager’s bedroom
The walls plastered with a million memories
Soft plush surrounded by clean plastic air
Filled with artificial smells
Sickeningly sweet as they rise
Reminiscent of campfires and perfume
It’s a hole in the wall bar
Challenging the fire codes
Reeking of alcohol and fried food
With fragile plastic chairs wobbling
The burning heat of a summer night
Just beyond the arctic air conditioner
It's a foreign subway station
Whispers and shouts spiraling
In a beautifully alien jumble
The walls of cracked tiles
Carrying the wisdom of age
In their faded jewel tones
It’s a feeling
Difficult to describe
Even in all the world’s languages
With all of eternity to attempt
Of inner peace and happiness
Friendship and acceptance
Forgetting the bad times
And creating the good
Feeling your insides warm
With a burning hot golden glow.
