Poem(s)?

Red coat lockers.
On red coat lockers
dials spin and clank,
metal on metal,
opening to a surprise.

A surprise that is
tomes of knowledge,
filled with puzzles,
information, life.

Of the world;
through numbers
and formulas,
absolute facts
of space and of time,
languages and words.

To the poet's muse.
Sealed in red coat lockers.

My own walk.
Muscles damaged,
limping to a stand,
a nice shooting pain
runs though my leg.

For I cannot walk-
normally, that is.
My movements slow,
precise, uneasy.
Uncertain.

When nearly off balance,
the gravity worsening,
my outlook falling.
As horizons disappear
and the land engulfs
the sky.

It is here,
that I walk and stand,
not as a man
but as myself.
In my own right.

Well, I said I would try but I can't promise you I'll come out with anything insightful, poetry... is not my thing But there's no harm in giving you my personal take on your poem


Review:Red coat lockers.
I had to google 'red coat lockers', because I didn't know what they were :S I felt stupid when I realised it was just a coat locker... in red :/ Enough of my rambling...

I liked the idea of the poem very much but the problem for me, was how it was conveyed through your words. For example, there seems to be parts of the poem that could be developed in order to create a better picture.

On red coat lockers
dials spin and clank,
metal on metal,

I'm not to keen on the first line, but that may be me personally, as I don't like a poem opening with its title. I think, instead of directly telling us your talking about red coat lockers, you could have described it, or showed it rather. For example, you could have described, its tall frame, its stillness-- and its redness.Duh.

The bits I like best were towards the middle, where we get a sense of the idea around the poem, though I would try and change 'tones of knowledge' as I think a better phrase could be used here. Also, I'm a bit confused as to why you would describe the contents of the locker as a 'surprise' and mind you, the idea of it being a suprise is repeated twice in the poem. Wouldn't the owner of the locker know what's inside?

Of the world;
through numbers
and formulas,
absolute facts
of space and of time,
languages and words.

This stanza seemed a little messy to me, and didn't read fluidly in my mind. As your listing different things inside the locker I think all the 'and's and 'of's are unnecessary. I would try and rearrange that stanza to cut all the extra bits out, and so it reads clearer.

To the poet's muse.
Sealed in red coat lockers.

I like this line, and I also like the fact you've ended with the phrase 'red coat lockers'.

Overall, this is a nice poem and I really enjoyed reading it!

Keep writing!

-Onyx

Hey! Ha ha, my first review of your poetry, this should be fun. I really enjoyed the first poem, as I could almost visualize the red exterior of the locker hugging the contents like a well-worn jacket. Although I am not so sure "surprise" would be the appropriate term here. To find a surprise in my locker, it would have to be a note or a slimy mess or flowers, something that is not usually there. Finding my textbooks wouldn't make me gasp in shock.

As for the second poem, I wonder if this injury is something you've experienced yourself with your participation in track? If so, how can a shooting pain be classified as nice? I am sensing a bit of sarcasm, perhaps? Even so, I didn't really feel like it fit well, as the rest of your poem doesn't have a sarcastic tone to it.

Either way, I must say, I really enjoy your poetry. Which is saying something.

Nurturing parents
Days settle
and rains come;
washing and singing
a mother-like tune.

Saying softly underneath her
breathe "Everything will be alright".
Tapping and dancing
the sun to life.

Shining through the day,
a father-like confidence,
a protector-like stature.
Standing tall among trees
and varied life.

Let the rains come tonight.
Shine through to tomorrow
and make world.
Worth living for.

For haiti, eh?
The earth quaked
and buildings shook.
Homes dropped to their
knees, praying to god.

That their lives aren't gone
their families aren't dead.
But now, they roam the streets
for the loved one's,
blood trail.

That so easily marked
their death.
And their homes
are now tombs.
For the family
huddled together.
Dead.

All the bewildered.
All the bewildered,
isolated, enigmatic,
solutions vary.
Questions differ.

Like shades of light
bending from Red to
Yellow, from Blue
to violet.
The day darkening
with consequential
thoughts.

Of our lives.
From birth to dead.
In seeking knowledge,
a conscious fight,
between information
and reason.
From happy dreams
to hellish nightmares.
You can rest your head
on data bank pillows.

With all the bewildered,
isolated and enigmatic
solutions vary.
And questions differ.

Brilliant Ed.
Keep up the good poetry

Ben