-Message deleted-
I am trying to write clear.
Between my lips
and your ear they morph.
You can't stand near enough.
I am trying to pull back smog
thick enough to peel
between us - hear
what I say.
I am trying to be clear
like the sun shimmering on
pavement
but it is covered with
glittering streams urging you
closer until you're older,
old enough to know
it's a trick
by your eyes.
I am thwarted like the smog
chokes lungs of the weeping ill.
I am stilled as daffodils
who would rather lay their heads upon the ground
then bother to look around and show their faces.
I am trying to draw closer to the river
over the road
so I can know it is an illusion
and not the fateful day the street
sinks beneath the lands.
I am trying to be clear.
These words are only words.
While I may value them
at their core,
they have a fault;
dependency upon their lot
alone can say such ideas as fear.
While we fancy that our pains are the same,
who could you turn to
who knows for sure that it is true?
Endorphins, estrogen, serotonin,
such mockery of reality that they think
somewhere between all these
changing facts, there are standards-
What is 'standard?'
Speech isn't standard.
How could chemicals be 'standard'
when we can't agree who's side is right
with news we've known for thousands of years?
We barely agree on gravity. If we look close
even that has questions we still try to explore.
Perhaps we agree things will always go wrong
when they are least convenient?
The car will break when we are in a rush.
We will forget the tickets on the counter
beside the nightstand.
We put them there to remember them
but on what more can we agree?
We can't agree on letters, or sounds,
so how do we know when we compound
such words as thymectomy you will know
what my hell has been?
So we break down again
something smaller.
Be clearer.
I am trying to be clear
but when my only method of explaining is
a morphing squiggly black line
upon a [once clean white] page
just some uniform to chicken scratch,
others, all the same,
how do I know you feel
cold wind eating through thin jeans
as you walk along the streets?
I am trying to be clear, so please
ignore the smears of metaphors as they morphed
before I saw the whole of it through.
My pen [my mind] has lost its focus
untrained to retain one strand for longer
than- It's gone.
I am trying to be clear
as I hear the peeling of smog change
to oranges stained in grays
until they [the orange peels] tumble down the hand,
[I know not where it came from]
and out of this nowhere,
we are on a beach watching waves
crash carelessly upon rocks,
which were once smog.
[The orange peels settled there
as rocks.]
I am trying to be still
Watch the smog fall around the fragmented forms
as if it were washing them clean. Dead people
in a haze wander about the street.
I d o n ' t k n o w w h e r e w e ' r e g o i n g
but I am trying to be clear
to peel back the orange
and instead of falling
to the beach
watching what remains.
People walking around in haze
silence on the streets
aside from cars which creep by
like ghosts of flesh, automated and replicated.
But I am trying to be simple,
Perhaps simple more than clear
for clear means that these things I see
would have to fit into conventions of reality.
Hello and happy review day to you! Cirute here to review your poem!
Let me start by saying that the length of this is quite impressive. The fact that you were able to write something this long and hold onto my interest throughout is even more impressive. Poems this long tend to get boring, not this one. Throughout the poem there are many things I found both interesting and thought-provoking. The way that you use the phrase "I am trying to be clear" over and over again, but were able to make it sound like it's not repetitive is another thing I liked about this. The writing and language is great, and the overall message of the poem is amazing.
I also found no spelling/grammar errors in the poem. This is good for obvious reasons. I like the fact that someone actually took the time to thoroughly go over their work and check for errors!
There was only one small problem I had with this. I don't know what it was, but for some strange reason I found the flow to be... quite strange. This might be because I don't read poetry very often, I dunno. Please note that this doesn't really take anything away from the poem just makes it... different. It seemed a bit choppy at times, but other than that it was pretty good.
I would like to add that the imagery in this was something of a wonder to behold. This is my stoner side talking, but the poem was extremely trippy. The whole part about the oranges and the ocean and all that was just amazing! The imagery was comparable to, dare I say, a Pink Floyd song. And seeing as how I basically worship Pink Floyd, I'd say you did a perfect job with the imagery!
In conclusion I think this is an amazing poem and that you have certainly earned yourself a like, as well as a new follower! Keep doing what you're doing! Great job!
~Cirute
Hi Aley! Nite here to offer up a review for the Cobalt Critiquers this fine Review Day! 
Well, yes, this is long, but it's so beautiful I don't mind. I feel like I can't offer half the review this piece deserves because you're way too good at this, but I'll try. My critiques are on small stuff.
I am thwarted like the smog
chokes lungs of the weeping ill.
when we can't agree who's side is right
they have a fault;
dependency upon their lot
alone can say such ideas as fear.
so how do we know when we compound
such words as thymectomy you will know
what my hell has been?
Barnyard Reviews: A Review For You ("Clarity" by Aley)
A warning of length appeared on the tagline to "Clarity." What better way is there than that to draw in a prospective reader? It's like putting a "free" sign in the glass window of your shop. In addition, it soon became apparent that the writer of this work was my colleague and talented poet, Aley. The urge to read the poem was irresistible.
And the urge paid off.
Opening with stanzas dealing strongly with parallelism and setting the scene for a message about to be communicated, the piece calls for a certain brand of poetry readers. It calls for those who are able to open their minds to more than just the same logical lines that weave in and out of a resolute society, those who are willing to pay attention to what the author needs to say, despite their previous dispositions. From here the poem begins a dissertation on the relativity and cosmic ambiguity of life that largely goes unnoticed or purposely ignored.
The real call to action rears its head with the incrimination of language and words itself, as they are merely constructs of expression based on a singular reality, and that they cannot really express all that needs to be expressed. This brings irony into the call for clarity, as the author long-windily remarks that nothing she can express to us using these conventions can really capture how she really feels about reality as the feelings would need some type of base in those logical tools themselves.
The poetic writing itself is phenomenal. The piece seamlessly blends metaphorical language with frank remarks and often bends sentence structure into patterns that relieve themselves unto new lines and points. The cadence is upheld varying but honestly as the piece boldly intones the conviction of
We can't agree on letters, or sounds,
so how do we know when we compound
such words as thymectomy you will know
what my hell has been?
So we break down again
something smaller.
Be clearer.
I am trying to be clear
as I hear the peeling of smog change
to oranges stained in grays
until they [the orange peels] tumble down the hand,
[I know not where it came from]
and out of this nowhere,
we are on a beach watching waves
crash carelessly upon rocks,
which were once smog.
[The orange peels settled there
as rocks.]
120,203 Literary Works • 649,067 Reviews
Points: 290
Reviews: 55
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