Ghost Stories in C Sharp

[Animalhill]

haha wrote this a LONG time ago



Was that you? Caged like a bird, and squawking in C sharp?
The staccato of your consonants shook the strings of my
cynical harp when we pitched a tent and told
ghost stories around the campfire of my combustible heart.
By the ocean, our will turned to seafoam;
and we fucked like we were ordained by the moon.
The fluctuations of the tide strove to match our stride,
and we mocked it, and lapped it on that astronomical track.
We fucking dove into those fishing nets, and felt safer there;
Made our home in the heart of a polar bear and knew we could tough it out.
I swear my arms batter harder than my fore-Fathers,
and when that biggest Wave comes; I'll drowned- but do so kicking.
We shook the beams of the Grand Hotels,
the one that floats above the tremolo of this smoke-stacked hell.
And though we were found out; and shot back down; we really
made them think about what they'd given up.
Sure we've got a gift-wrapped interminable hack,
but no three-personed god can wrap me up like Ivy
and show me the wonders of electricity.
We will churn the oceans from the bottom up;
spit in the face of that dead-beat god,
prove to him with a handful of Dionysus
that we revel in the way we won't keep our jaws shut.

[de la sympathie]

The first six lines seem like they don't match the rest of the piece. Some of the imagery seems like it could have been pulled off more elegantly, especially when compared to the rest of the piece (from "we fucking dove" to "they'd given up" may as well have been cut out, or taken from another piece entirely). I'm also uncertain about how you switch from "we" to "I" and "me". Either way, the bottom of this piece demands more attention than the top - I enjoyed the top because it was more delicate, but you seem to switch from that, especially since you have the top telling ghost stories and the bottom churning oceans and spitting in the faces of gods. I think you could make this piece a lot more successful if you made the chunks of verse match up - the top and the bottom, but fixing the middle lines (see above) where they could be dressed up or changed.

I'm also not so sure about the obscenities - I don't think I'd mind as much if your writing weren't as sophisticated as it is. Your work can stand on its own without being propped up by that. However, I don't mind the first use of "fucking" as much as the second - the first might even be okay if the second one wasn't there.

[Animalhill]

The first six lines seem like they don't match the rest of the piece. Some of the imagery seems like it could have been pulled off more elegantly, especially when compared to the rest of the piece (from "we fucking dove" to "they'd given up" may as well have been cut out, or taken from another piece entirely). I'm also uncertain about how you switch from "we" to "I" and "me". Either way, the bottom of this piece demands more attention than the top - I enjoyed the top because it was more delicate, but you seem to switch from that, especially since you have the top telling ghost stories and the bottom churning oceans and spitting in the faces of gods. I think you could make this piece a lot more successful if you made the chunks of verse match up - the top and the bottom, but fixing the middle lines (see above) where they could be dressed up or changed.

I'm also not so sure about the obscenities - I don't think I'd mind as much if your writing weren't as sophisticated as it is. Your work can stand on its own without being propped up by that. However, I don't mind the first use of "fucking" as much as the second - the first might even be okay if the second one wasn't there.
Word! Thanks so much for the advice. I agree- plus I wrote this when I was 16 and I was curious as to what people would think.

[fishingthe_sky]

haha wrote this a LONG time ago



Was that you? Caged like a bird, and squawking in C sharp?
The staccato of your consonants shook the strings of my
cynical harp when we pitched a tent and told
ghost stories around the campfire of my combustible heart.
By the ocean, our will turned to seafoam;
and we fucked like we were ordained by the moon.
The fluctuations of the tide strove to match our stride,
and we mocked it, and lapped it on that astronomical track.
We fucking dove into those fishing nets, and felt safer there;
Made our home in the heart of a polar bear and knew we could tough it out.
I swear my arms batter harder than my fore-Fathers,
and when that biggest Wave comes; I'll drowned- but do so kicking.
We shook the beams of the Grand Hotels,
the one that floats above the tremolo of this smoke-stacked hell.
And though we were found out; and shot back down; we really
made them think about what they'd given up.
Sure we've got a gift-wrapped interminable hack,
but no three-personed god can wrap me up like Ivy
and show me the wonders of electricity.
We will churn the oceans from the bottom up;
spit in the face of that dead-beat god,
prove to him with a handful of Dionysus
that we revel in the way we won't keep our jaws shut.
There are some good things in here, but it's sort of all over the place in terms of imagery. There's a good amount of Bukowski-esque pronoun usage, which isn't a bad thing. Instead of dissecting this, I've bolded the best parts of your poem. Though they don't necessarily build a coherent second poem, they are the lines you should build this from. They have the strongest and most original imagery and language. The first lines are particularly good, and the idea of will turning to seafoam is great.