Kyler
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Kyler
Pricey tags in the musty room of hay with spices
Filled with little endless spirals of funny spiders
Maybe perhaps you could take a closer look
The magnified world of one eight legged crawler
Behold! meet Kyler. He squeaks (or thinks so) to you gleefully
Lunch is served , on the plate of his home
and he is content, for the next few hours is his world
Jingle. Sing . Dance with the coloured wings of the wind.
Then time flies, and Kyler grows lean.
Not a single catch in days, his mood grows mean
His thoughts wander afar. As he mends his home
Waiting for another meal to unfold.
Listening to the sound of the little creek (or so it seems to him)
as it drips and trickles down pipes of stoned grey
Gripped like fig to the pillars of which he makes his world
He tailors his web of thoughts to the drip. drip.drip.
And then. Like little insanities. He lets fly , and waits for the wind to catch him.
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Little toys
When did they grow up to be themselves?
Lost in their selfless wonder of the world around them
In youth, we play them, as they did play us
what goes on in their story instead?
Or , as we put them aside and go to sleep,
They awake, and patch their own wounds
then, tilling their souls, they look to us and they brim with tears,
hoping tommorow, the bite marks go away, and we will treat them better.
In another world, love and affection. Growing up
Touch and tell, The child-like innocence, wide-eyed wonder
In their eyes, where has the story been told
Of their whispers in the dark, praying to be stronger.
So as we awake the next morning, so many years ago. We see them on the floor
"Hi! could we play together?"
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Southern blend
Orange smoothies,
Are we awake yet?
Its morning already love!
But its already evening!
Shall i fix the coffee then, love?
Its getting late! why dont we get to bed. You had a long day.
Have a great day ahead! see you later after work okay?
Hmm? You ok Honey? The tummy ache wont wait till next morning!
Hi! how was your day?
Feeling better? Need a backrub?
Whats for dinner? * sniffs you instead*
you know....work could wait till tommorow.....
the funnies.
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Comments please! thank you! -
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okay, let me try to comment.
Kyler the Spider?
i don't get "pricey tags", what has it got to do with a room of hay?
and "Maybe perhaps " isn't a bit redundant? one will do? unless your aim is to add more sylllables to the line.
2nd & 3rd stanzas are ok with me.
Not too sure about the 4th stanza, of course the little creek could be the rain gutter of the house. can imagine it building its web to the tempo of dripping water.
and the last line, it's trying to end it all?
Little toys
This is your strongest poem so far.
Like this, esp. "They awake, and patch their own wounds". Lovely.
This is a good one, Mirumoto.
Southern blend
ok , can't really make out what's this. But like the flow of the words, it's like a conversation between 2 people.
Care to further elaborate?
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aite! am sorry for replying so late. A certain ISP decided to play around with my connection.
Sent u a PM already! please do check! thank you!
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hi Mirumoto,
Ok, after reading your pm, i do understand a few things.
in Kyler, you are writing generally about life, but from a radically different angle. this is interesting. There can be many interpretations to the piece.
i was thinking more of bourbon than orange juice in Southern blend.
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Originally posted by Mirumoto:
This piece is filled with all sorts of metaphors.
[b]Kyler
Pricey tags in the musty room of hay with spices
Filled with little endless spirals of funny spiders
Maybe perhaps you could take a closer look
The magnified world of one eight legged crawler
Behold! meet Kyler. He squeaks (or thinks so) to you gleefully
Lunch is served , on the plate of his home
and he is content, for the next few hours is his world
Jingle. Sing . Dance with the coloured wings of the wind.
Then time flies, and Kyler grows lean.
Not a single catch in days, his mood grows mean
His thoughts wander afar. As he mends his home
Waiting for another meal to unfold.
Listening to the sound of the little creek (or so it seems to him)
as it drips and trickles down pipes of stoned grey
Gripped like fig to the pillars of which he makes his world
He tailors his web of thoughts to the drip. drip.drip.
And then. Like little insanities. He lets fly , and waits for the wind to catch him.
=========================================
Kyler is a predator. Somehow I get this feeling you are describing predatory men, who make traps among attractive things (pricey tags and spices) . However they also get tired of things easily, it's as if they need new prey all the time to satisfy their appetite. This is why Kyler is only happy for a while after lunch, then he becomes restless again and starts thinking about how to catch his next meal. If the current location or situation, no longer suits him, he simply moves on. -
Originally posted by Mirumoto:
When we met up, you mentioned that this poem is about child rape, but reading this piece, I think the hints within are too subtle, and the tone of the poem overall is too calm.
Little toys
When did they grow up to be themselves?
Lost in their selfless wonder of the world around them
In youth, we play them, as they did play us
what goes on in their story instead?
Or , as we put them aside and go to sleep,
They awake, and patch their own wounds
then, tilling their souls, they look to us and they brim with tears,
hoping tommorow, the bite marks go away, and we will treat them better.
In another world, love and affection. Growing up
Touch and tell, The child-like innocence, wide-eyed wonder
In their eyes, where has the story been told
Of their whispers in the dark, praying to be stronger.
So as we awake the next morning, so many years ago. We see them on the floor
"Hi! could we play together?"
As it is, the poem itself seems to lean more towards about growing up and losing childhood like innocence, but not enough to suggest something as serious as what you intended.
Despite that, it is a very interesting question posed: what do toys see in us as we grow up around them.
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I'm afraid I will not be able to comment on Southern Blend. I find it far too abstract. I think you are trying to do some non-sequitors, but I'm failing at connecting the lines. -
Aite! thanks for the comment! Am currently editing little toys! Thank you!Originally posted by Bluesky_Liz:When we met up, you mentioned that this poem is about child rape, but reading this piece, I think the hints within are too subtle, and the tone of the poem overall is too calm.
As it is, the poem itself seems to lean more towards about growing up and losing childhood like innocence, but not enough to suggest something as serious as what you intended.
Despite that, it is a very interesting question posed: what do toys see in us as we grow up around them.
++++++++++
I'm afraid I will not be able to comment on Southern Blend. I find it far too abstract. I think you are trying to do some non-sequitors, but I'm failing at connecting the lines.
Orange blend is a drink. Haha, was just trying to describe the taste of the drink. -
U deserve credit for trying but they won't quite make the cut just yet.....
Keep trying though
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You need to read your poems not mentally but aloud.
You also need to pay more attention to the linebreaks, which will affect directly the tone and flow of your poems.
Good luck and stop laughing.
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hmmm ok! will try harder!