It's the old recurring problem with poetry: cliche. No matter how good the imagery, no matter how excellent the language, no matter how stunning the meter: if it's angst, it's been said. There is a hoard of depressed teens out there, and pretty much all of them have had relationships/friendships/parents gone bad, and they all want to write about it.
Now, I'm not saying it's not helpful to you personally, but therapy poetry should stay in the diary. And if you really want poetry that makes people sit up and take note, write something orginial. You can even write angst poetry, as long as it's in a new way: Seamus Heaney, Gillian Clarke, they're all about their own pain, but it makes you think in new ways. Words like winter, silence, loneliness, and anything about waiting for a phone that doesn't ring: these are images that doom a poem to obscurity.
You've got some skill, I think: you're more than capable of generating good images, and you're not afraid to try out new rhythms and styles, but you need to get better subject matter, not personal pain, and not in these words.
Well, afraid I have to disagree backgroundbob, though most respectful tippings of the hat to your opinion, etc. etc. I dont think this is your usual run-of-the-mill angst at all. From what I've read, most angst poetry is usually (a) poorly written, (b) full of useless details and (c) insufferable. This is (d) none of the above. Personally I think there's nothing truly original when it comes to imagery (particularly with regards to angst) and in my opinion it is not the imagery that needs to be different to make the poem good but the approach and the idea behind it. I usually treat angst with suspicion bordering on disgust (and how!) but - as ever - it's impossible to resist your work, Incandescence.
She keeps picking up the phone to an empty dial tone, wondering if the silence of home is all he's made of.
Rhyming! RHYMING! And it doesnt make me cringe! Thats a 10+ bonus right there, lol. I really love the sentiment here, particularly those last two lines. Not sure about the little dot-dotty bits (LMAO "dot-dotty bits". I'm "dot-dotty"). Formatting???
In his room, he's a heroin boy, taking off his shirt and pants and filling up the bathtub, but he won't drown.
A man destined to burn can never drown.
Again, the last line here is great. The "heroin boy" bit kind of throws me, not sure what you mean there, but you know, we mortals seldom do.
In the approaching winter, they sit together, outside, letting the cold chap their lips and their eyes shift to bricks. And they hold each others' hands, letting the other know going home won't make the loneliness end.
Very ... wistful, here. Kind of dislike the ending - it seems too abrupt, if you know what I mean? Like there should be more. Or maybe that's wishful thinking
In part, I suppose, the poem's aim was to somehow (innocuously) reveal the acknowledgment of its own existence; that is to say, it is a poem that knows it is a poem. I'm glad some of you detected an emptiness within its structure, format, because I was trying to capture that existential moment in romance when the couple realizes there's nothing to do but keep holding hands and looking away.
