Assorted Poetry by .Mr. .Disco. (Harsh critiques please! :D)

[Secularity]

I decided to post some of my poetry here, all of which have been turned into song at one point or another. (I'm the lead singer of a band entitled, "Mr. Nice Guy"...) Enjoy! All critiques welcome!


"Wicker Wings"

Somewhere, Someone, Something...
Take me away on white wicker wings.

The sand speaks to the withered footsteps.
Undead water washes over death threat pebbles.
Brand new architecture collapses on past infant hands.
An extraterrestrial ravine showing something so serene.
The palm leaves lie to the palm trees as if disgusting laughter were a thing of the B.C times.
The moon plays head games with the stars.
The sun glides upon snow-covered mountain peaks on moon light.
Grass blades splice multiplied beetles to specks on a banana peel.
Plucking the dreams of coconut puppet strings.
Leading to laybrinths of crop field dreaded antics.
Even a criminal's skeleton could redeem itself in these blackened waves.
In these parts, there is no one to save.
They all enjoy their sinless stay.

So take me away, white wicker wings.
I hope I never wake up.



"Machine"

Pumping gas and steam
Shoveling coal in for speed
Your conduit of blood that fuels the machine
We're sorry we couldn't tell you sooner, ma'am
Your daughter is now part of the machine
We're sorry we couldn't tell you sooner, sir
Your son is now part of the machine
The cords stretching from one side to the other
We're sorry, dear public, we've taken another
Gears turning and the products are coming
Out of the machine, and into a box
Delivered for public enjoyment
A plethora of styles for your amusement!
And with these toys, come the memories
All of their thoughts and current reveries
Strings attached? They're all over!
Our products, you see, are just a cover
For something more sinister
Something more fearful
Something so twisted
Something more dreadful
And when we knock upon a door
We say the words of glory once again;
"We're sorry we couldn't tell you sooner, ma'am
Your daughter is now part of the machine.
We're sorry we couldn't tell you sooner sir
Your son is now part of the machine."




Every poet must have an untitled poem, so here's mine!
xd



"Untitled"

One
Heavy-lifting, unknown and pending
Left in the dust, but is a must.
Fast-paced, possibly black-laced?
Fat, skinny, in the middle ********, reproducting
To make one superiour, maybe inferior.
Time-pending.
Teaching nothing, but pencil-lending.
Nothing too much, failing cosmotology.
Phonetically studying anthropology
For animation of a superiour
Inferior creation.





So there are a few of my poems for you all to read and hopefully will enjoy. If anyone is curious as to what inspired them or how why they were written, feel free to ask!  

[hapahaole]

I liked "Machine".

It's a very interesting idea, and I like your imagery. One thing I would suggest is that you describe more how being a part of the machine changes them, or what they lose or something to that effect. At any rate, I really like it! heart  

[calviness]

hope you don't mind if I give you a relatively sound critique. I figure there's no way to get known in the guild, better than doing what I do best... and so:

.Mr. .Disco.

I'm just going to do one, to start with. Remember, these are my opinions. Poetry is pretty iron-clad fortified against Objectivity...
"Wicker Wings"

Somewhere, Someone, Something... (eh, kind of a traditional beginning. I'm not nearly as much a fan of this as the imagery in the rest of the piece.)
Take me away on white wicker wings. I love these last three words. excellent. - the assonance, and the image is both excellent. to flow with the rest of the piece, I would like to see better wording than just "take me away" though

The sand speaks to the withered footsteps. k
Undead water washes over death threat pebbles. nope, lost me. undead is a particularly evil word in poetry, followed by death - even death threats - and it makes me go "ick" also, I am already left wondering, why is the water undead? why the footsteps withered? why death threat pebbles? WHY??? what makes them that way?Brand new architecture collapses on past infant hands. where did the beach go? collapsing ON hands is a bit hard to picture too.
An extraterrestrial ravine showing something so serene. why the stretch for internal rhyme? and what something is it? also, extraterrestrial strikes me a more modern tone than the poem has been so far
The palm leaves lie to the palm trees as if disgusting laughter were a thing of the B.C times. repeat of palm puts undue emphasis on it, good line otherwise.
The moon plays head games with the stars. whoa! where did the stars come in all of a sudden?lets go back to the beach, the beach is tangible
The sun glides upon snow-covered mountain peaks on moon light. heh, first half made me think it was skiing down the mountain - because of word "upon" i can't assimilate the moonlight at all, can't place it anywhere
Grass blades splice multiplied beetles to specks on a banana peel. multiple beetles? and has it been splices into specks, or what?
Plucking the dreams of coconut puppet strings. excellent, all around
Leading to laybrinths of crop field dreaded antics. whoa.. no clue how to read this, labrynths of crop field, crop field dreaded antics? say what?
Even a criminal's skeleton could redeem itself in these blackened waves. ooh... i like it
In these parts, there is no one to save.
They all enjoy their sinless stay. the last two lines confuse me. they seem to make no sense within the earlier context of the poem.

So take me away, white wicker wings.
I hope I never wake up.
i really like this end. very nice.

alright.. in general, your imagery is very unique, but it does border a bit on the vague. Each individual image seems to be well rounded out, but because each image only gets one line, and we have nothing to build on, they stay very ephemeral and intangible. While I can see this working very well as an argument for the dream-like quality of the poem, there are few places where you cross the line into just confusing the reader "Brand new architecture collapses on past infant hands", "Grass blades splice multiplied beetles to specks on a banana peel."
while they sound cool, i find myself unable to form any sort of image whatsoever out of these.
The second bit that confused me was your narrator (the "I") and especially their relationship toward this dream-like state. The words of the middle stanza tend to be rather dark, yet in the last line, the speaker expresses a wish to remain in that dark dream-like state - kept there by white wings (a very positive image). This left me confused as to whether the middle stanza was actually a dream, or if it was the reality which the white wings were taking you away from.
and lastly - i am intrigued by your form, and why you chose not to break the lines. it does increase the insubstantiality and surrealness of the piece, but it leaves the first and last 4 lines as a little too solid, making me feel as if those two were acting only as a frame, and that the middle stanza was the real poem.
anyway... you asked for harsh... I must point out a few of the best points though (as I would hate you to lose them) The language is clear and effective. As a general rule, it has a solid voice and tone throughout the whole piece, which is generally very difficult to manage. Then there is your excellent imagery, with solid, substantial nouns that the reader can take hold of. (try experimenting a bit more with verbs though.. words like slink, shuddering, grasp might help you solidify the images.)
anyway, kudos. i think it's a rather good piece, and I would love to critique the others, though, I will leave it up to you whether I do or not.