Poor Little Ingrid

Poor little Ingrid
no one found her pretty,
not in those bulging eyes or bent teeth
teeth that looked pulled by pliers every night
for five years straight.
That little monkey boy down the street liked her
but when he came over to play she wouldn't answer,
she pretended to sleep when her mom let him in.
His ears were big and brown from too much sun,
his nose pale from too much lotion
and those sunken eyes,
she wasn't like that was she?
I can't be like that, she thought.
he asked her why she's sleeping at 5 oclock
she rustled under her winnie the pooh and piglet blanket
it must have worked, because he left without a word
and she heard the flutter of bicycle spokes in the wind
and the sound of a foot missing the petal and catching it again.

Poor little Ingrid
she stopped going to school
and mother stopped asking why.
Ingrid counted the days that went by
thinking ugly, thinking ugly, thing
nothing else but bitter wants.
She missed the boy,
she wished his ears wern't so big though
she really wanted him to look better
she didn't want to feel ugly with another ugly.

Poor little Ingrid never had her day
and on her 25th year she ran into the boy
shopping at a store,
he was married
he smiled wide,
forgetful of his face
his earsy
his sunken, black shadow eyes
he must have forgotten about that
and his wife rounded the corner and laughed.

Poor little Ingrid,
he saw her,
standing in front of the watch section,
between the gold and silver stood her,
a rusty broze statuete.
She should have gone to school
she should have tried
she realized she should have done alot of things.

This had a good premise, but it sort of died by the end, like you just wanted to get the ending over and done with. The idea was fantastic, but I don't really think the free verse worked, Colier. :-s

-Dream Deep _/)

Freeverse doesn't work any which way. It's just short prose with poetic images.

where is your poetry?

and I swear if you write about:

singing shepards along brittle regements, that apple burns alone, alone, dark, alone. simplicity

I will be dissapointed. That writing is called spont-lit or spontaneus literature. it's too easy and when it's used to often it makes authors falsely pompous in that they think they are portraying a message when they are not,
and if you come out and say:

uh yeah, I already knew all about that, duh, wtf.

then I will lose even more respect for you.

I thought that it was good, but like dream deep said, it kind of lost steam at the end. Other than that, I liked it a lot.

_/)_- Reas

Reas- YOU PIG MONKEY, YOU STOLE MY SAILBOAT!!!!! _/)

Anyway, Colier, I do apologize if I've offended you, all I'm saying is that I don't care for the style.

I'm not sure what catches me on this poem, I think it's the format; especially in the first stanza, it feels as if you are overloading me with information.

As Bob would say, Do the PUNCT! You do have punctuation in this, but you are not consistant. I myself have this problem regulary.

Also more line breaks, the first stanza could be three or four.

Let's see here, this would be my type of formatting.

Poor little Ingrid
no one found her pretty,
not in those bulging eyes
or bent teeth; teeth that
looked pulled by pliers every night
for five years straight.

That little monkey boy down the street liked her,
but when he came over to play she wouldn't answer,
she pretended to sleep when her mom let him in.

His ears were big and brown from too much sun,
his nose pale from too much lotion
and those sunken eyes;
She wasn't like that was she?
I can't be like that.
He asked her why she's sleeping; (you have a tense shift here in 'she's sleeping' change to she had been, or something; time is superfluous)
She rustled under her winnie the pooh and piglet blanket
it must have worked, because he left without a word;
and she heard the flutter of bicycle spokes in the wind,
and the sound of a foot missing the petal and catching it again.

Poor little Ingrid,
she stopped going to school
and mother stopped asking why.
Ingrid counted days that went by
thinking ugly, thinking ugly, thing
nothing else but bitter wants.
She missed the boy,
she wished his ears were not so big (though is superfluous; and wern't is bad language)
she really wanted him to look better,
she didn't want to feel ugly with another ugly. (I don't like the structure of this sentence with the reirratration of ugly.)

Poor little Ingrid never had her day,
and on her twenty-fifth year she ran into the boy (write numbers out)
shopping at a store,
he was married;
he smiled wide,
forgetful of his face,
his ears
his sunken, black shadow eyes.
He must have forgotten about that
and his wife rounded the corner
and laughed.

Poor little Ingrid,
he saw her,
standing in front of the watch section,
between the gold and silver stood her, (change 'stood her' to 'she stood', the passive voice isn't working.)
a rusty broze statuete.
She should have gone to school,
she should have tried.
she realized she should have done alot of things.

-

The last line is pithy, I would change it. My favorite line was when the boy was riding away on the bike and the sounds. I feel in this poem, you do so much telling and not enough showing; if you know what I mean. I hope this helped.

Ciao, CL.