Sunny days,
Burning fire,
Careful consideration of my attire.
Heart aflutter,
Face like stone,
Will you let me take you home?
Wishful thinking,
Teary eyes,
God my life is full of lies.
Short I know, but it is to the point I hope.
Last edited by Honyflame on Thu May 10, 2007 11:44 am, edited 1 time in total.
I think I've fallen in love with this poem...no joke. I just love it. I'd put "of my attire" on its own line, and the same for "take you home".
Some of your phrases are a little stale, like "Heart aflutter
Face like stone".
Usually, I'd suggest trying to express yourself in some other way, but for some reason I think that it just works here. I love the flow, and the impact of the ending.I don't know...there's just a sort of purity or something about this. I can't explain it...which isn't vey helpful, I know, so I'm sorry.
For the sake of experimentation, I'd try taking this theme and using fresher sentiments...but I like this one just the way it is.
"Just like moons and like suns, With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I'll rise." -Maya Angelou
I liked it, thou it is short. my first poems were short too. I realized that even thou I was able to get the feeling across I needed more imagery. The same goes here. We feel the emotion, but the imagery isn't placed any where specific.
Not only that, it lets you explain a back story better. i get the feeling "You" are asking some one out and then lie or something. If you mad it a little longer and built upon that idea you'd have an even nicer poem. I still liked it just so you know. Let me know when and if you fix it up.
Can I just say bravo? I think your rhyme is great and your meter and flow are fluid and tight, it is a piece of work that deserves pride. It has an almost limerick feel to it, but it's short and to the point. Unfortunately that means that it doesn't leave much room for analysis or too much deeper communication of any message other than what you've come out and already said. But, y'know? I'm okay with it. It's a very nice piece.
A poet must take the thorns so that others may enjoy the roses that have been made red through no act of nature.