Shotgun

A five shot Remington
with pump action and
a plastic magazine
is my only companion
in these halls.
These concourses of rejection -
Ad nauseum.

Barrels the size of quarters
and a firm solid kick-back
give my companion
a formidable reputation.
Guaranteed to take down
even the biggest game
or 100% money back.

But there will be no returns.

We hold these truths to be self evident,
that all men are created equal.
We talk the talk, that is.
But no one ever walks.
The overwhelming foster of
“they're-different-than-us”
is hereditary.
Prejudice has been programmed
into the human genome.

The eugenics of genetics.

Acceptance has been laid to rest
and a five shot Remington will be the gravekeeper,
shoveling in the dirt
burying regret.
Pump.
Pull the trigger.

Spent shells clatter to the ground.
I-told-you-so's are not enough
and the sound echoes as punctuation.
A shotgun should not be the answer.
But people are so blind sometimes
Pump.
Pull the trigger.

So stop the funeral, my friend,
and resurrect the dead.
Miracles like this are not reserved for the divine.

So what'd you think of this? Is it too abstract or too preachy?

Oooh! One of the best poems I've seen so far! This is really great Kyle, I'll come back with something, but for now, it's very very good!

A five shot Remington
with pump action and
a plastic magazine
is my only companion
in these halls.
These concourses of rejection -
Ad nauseum.

Barrels the size of quarters
and a firm solid kick-back
give my companion [When you say companion here, who do you mean? The shooter? I was slightly lost]
a formidable reputation.
Guaranteed to take down
even the biggest game
or 100% money back.

But there will be no returns. [I giggled at this line. It's so sarcastic to the rest of the poem, but I think the way it was set up could be done better. I think if you added it to the previous stanza and wrote it with parenthesis around it it might work even better. Seeing it on its' own just bothers me--but I really loved the line.]

We hold these truths to be self evident,
that all men are created equal.
We talk the talk, that is. [should this period be a semicolon?]
But no one ever walks.
The overwhelming foster of
“they're-different-than-us”
is hereditary. [I don't like the use of the word "foster" mostly because I can't understand it in this context. I also don't like the set up of "they're-different-than-us" it just looks odd, the "They're" isn't capitalized, and the quotes and dashes throw it off in my mind. Maybe if you put it in italics? I suppose it is more personal choice...]
Prejudice has been programmed
into the human genome.

The eugenics of genetics. [Again, this line all on it's own seems odd to me, but I don't see it fitting in with the whole poem as well as the other one did.]

Acceptance has been laid to rest
and a five shot Remington will be the gravekeeper, [I don't like the repetition of "five shot Remington" but I love the metaphor. And, is it grave keeper? Two words... or is there a hyphen? Grave-keeper. I'm not sure.]
shoveling in the dirt,
burying regret.
Pump.
Pull the trigger. [I adore this part "Pump. Pull the trigger." So... lovely. Should they be in italics, to set them apart and give it more power?]

Spent shells clatter to the ground.
I-told-you-so's are not enough [the apostrophe doesn't really serve a grammatical purpose here other than to make sense out of I told you so. I'm not sure what to do with it though... #_# perhaps if you wrote it like this: I-Told-You-Sos? ]
and the sound echoes as punctuation. [I love the use of the word punctuation! But I don't understand it's purpose enough, as beautiful as it is. It's odd, but at the same time I like it. Contradictory feelings...]
A shotgun should not be the answer. [comma, instead?]
But people are so blind sometimes.
Pump.
Pull the trigger. [The repetition works for you--but again, italics or no? it would set it aside from the rest.]

So stop the funeral, my friend,
and resurrect the dead.
Miracles like this are not reserved for the divine.

[color=red][I think I would love you if you ended the poem on Pump./Pull the trigger. as it's own stanza after this. I'm not sure what purpose it would serve though--other than for awesome repetition. =D

Alright! So, the breeching didn't kill me--I actually liked the poem a lot. It wasn't the best but it was certainly a new take on the idea, and had a lot of original and really good lines. I think one thing I would really like to see you do with this poem though is adding more imagery (make a use of the color red, for blood. It could be lovely.) and the addition of more metaphors for things. Sure, you are preaching, but if you can push that to the foreground, add more story and beauty to it, show some things rather than tell, this could be really, really amazing. Of course, I like it as is! But I could see it being much stronger. I think you could make a lot of amazing imagery with this. Perhaps don't scrap this version, but write another one with more imagery and see what comes of it? (reusing most of the poem and lines.) If it doesn't work -- oh well, no one is hurt -- but if it does, it might work nicely! ^_~

Hope to see more poetry from you! If you have any questions, I'm sure you'll be able to find me.

It thought it was good- well-written and insightful.

But no one ever walks.

I liked that you took a kind of cliche term and made it your own.

The only thing is I'm kind of scared you're going to go shoot up your school.

Claudette wrote:Alright! So, the breeching didn't kill me--I actually liked the poem a lot. It wasn't the best but it was certainly a new take on the idea, and had a lot of original and really good lines. I think one thing I would really like to see you do with this poem though is adding more imagery (make a use of the color red, for blood. It could be lovely.) and the addition of more metaphors for things. Sure, you are preaching, but if you can push that to the foreground, add more story and beauty to it, show some things rather than tell, this could be really, really amazing. Of course, I like it as is! But I could see it being much stronger. I think you could make a lot of amazing imagery with this. Perhaps don't scrap this version, but write another one with more imagery and see what comes of it? (reusing most of the poem and lines.) If it doesn't work -- oh well, no one is hurt -- but if it does, it might work nicely! ^_~

I agree with everything Clau said up there. You certainly have a way with words; this poem was an enjoyable read. I could almost see it as a performance poem because you make such great use of rhythm and sound.

Meaning. But what am I coming away with, other than your so-called "preachy" message? It's okay to be preachy, but I didn't feel that you pulled it off well. Rethink what you're trying to say and how you're saying it.

Rhythm. As I said, you make great use of rhythm. There are just a few shaky spots here and there:

The overwhelming foster of
“they're-different-than-us”
is hereditary.

This really throws me off; perhaps it is because you have so many rapidly spoken syllables in such a short space. Mix it up and get some shorter words in there.

Miracles like this are not reserved for the divine.

I sort of winced when I read this at the end of the poem. All you worked for with this great, rhythmical poem kind of dies right there. *tear*


Also:

The eugenics of genetics.

I find that a little redundant. Eugenics is part of genetics, is it not?

Good work!
-Colleen

EDIT: And regarding Clau's question about the "companion" in the second stanza--I think that's the same "companion" as in the first, meaning the gun. Am I right?

Thanks everyone! I will take everyones advice into consideration. I whipped this up in roughly 20 minutes, so it is a rough draft.

Cadmium>> Yes, the 'companion' is the gun

-Kylan