In which I realize I am an empty, empty umbrella with a hole in it

visage triste :c

je voulais le lire.

Well, Poetry is not my forte and I'm not even doing it for a long time and the sort.
Now, this to me didn't seem poetry, not because of the rhyming thing, poems are also without rhymes, it was more like you wrote sentences with some meaning.
Though the last two lines were the best for me.
Your skills are undeniably good, try to do it with a feel of a poem, if you understand my point.
Hope my review helped.
Regards,
Blakey789

Hello!

Firstly, this could hardly be considered a poem. I know it sounds a bit harsh, but this is not in poem format AT ALL. You should've firstly put it as a short story, as that it was it is. I'll save you the trouble of this all, and work with the first paragraph. I figure you'll get the idea after that.

"It serves me right;
a hot drink cooled by
spoke-for lips.
A spillproof millstone
inside of me.
A swarm of new flies,
the old ones having never
wandered back from
the wilderness of
my one good friend's
chewed up body."

That ^^ is poem format.

Not to mention, this is not lyrical at all. There are SO many instances when I just want to smash my face into a wall, and rewrite this whole thing for you. Frankly, I am not Reason, and I shall therefore leave the writing up to you. But I'll tear apart the first paragraph (or as I've made it... stanza). Firstly, you've broken up these sentences, making them choppy and unappealing.

Also, your wording is strange, and just puts me off. "It serves me right: A hot drink cooled by spoken-for lips."

It took me a few times of reading to finally process all of this and this is only the first sentence. I don't even know what's going on with this sentence, nor the ones following it. "A spillproof millstone inside of me"? Please, we're authors. I know you're trying to be interesting, but this is a touch too much.

"A swarm of new flies, the old ones having never wandered back from the wilderness of my one good friend's chewed-up body." There is too happening within this sentence.

You're explaining too many things at once, and is this seriously one sentence? A bit too long. You've gone over the top with "my one good friend's". "My friend" would've sufficed, even worked better.

"From the wilderness" irks me as well. You're usually a metaphor, but it's not working too well. Try again, please.

Now, I do apologize for being so harsh, but it was necessary. I'm not going to even go near the other parts of this story, but I will say: 'Good job. Good descriptions.' Because, there were a few. But not many.

In other words, a decent job, but this was a strange story. Sorry, sorry...

~Bandit

Ky,

I always want to like your work, even when I have to think about it. I had to to think about this, but in the end I don't really like it. I see what you're doing and I think I understand why you're doing it, but I don't dig it in the end.

Your best lines are the last two. They're perfect and beautiful and I would have loved them if you'd posted them on their own. I enjoyed the "hot drink cooled by spoken-for lips" but disliked "apocalypse of sunrises" like you wouldn't believe. There was just something... incredibly... something about that image that smacked me with insincerity. I think I find this poem an odd mix of the sincere and not. I don't feel the scissor kick line because... it just... doesn't jive for me. I'm not being very explanatory. I think that's because for me this is a great mix of really interesting and smooth images which jar against the less interesting and misplaced ones.

I want your whole poem to be those last two lines, to have the focus and the smooth feeling of continuity those lines have. I see how they connect to the poem, I see how each line runs in and around the next throughout the poem, but it isn't tapping into me emotionally. This emotional tapping is something I feel like you used to often miss for me. In the recent poems you posted, I felt more of the emotional, but this one is again lacking.

I suspect I am partially reading them without the right intonations, the right inner connection which is necessary to correlate between the sky and a foot. (Seeing succulent is becoming almost surreal in how wrong the word is looking now I've read it five times). This seems a good branching of skill to me, what you're doing here with the prose poetry, though I suspect it needs more consideration before it reaches the technical excellence of your other forms.

Thank you for the read, regardless, it was and always is a treat.

~ Pen.

I don't want to change anything except the terrible beginning of the title. I hate the ol' "in which". But I'm so happy with this.