poetry critical

online poetry workshop

writer's cockblock.

Nothing tocks my clock
quite like ticking
that takes effort enough to exhaust my hands
that stay,
that would be taping down
a mentality for good measure.
Tried is not true,
contrary as a traitor.
motive needs -ation,
is shunned 'til tomorrow
    or next,
'til the best is better.
Were I a scorpion,
I would sting myself
and be stung like your lips.
paralyzed. contemplative.
So when the chameleon grows
   bold and breaks my stare,
      I am right on target.

18 Oct 08

Rated 7 (7) by 1 users.
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Gotta make the reader care about the stranger-speaker.  No-one knows him.  No one cares, not by this sort of poem.  Better to write about the external world.  This poem, OK for what it is, only reinforces depressive feelings and also bleakens the lives of any and all readers.  And inasmuch as we all have enough bleakness to last our lifetimes, what, may I ask of the poet, what good does this do, to create concreted overshoes?  Refuse to be unhappy, poet.
 — netskyIam

I'm not finding a lot of sense in this.  Tocks my clock quite like ticking?  Lines 5-6 don't show anything.  

For me, the poem begins on line 13 and ends on 16.  That is complete, the rest just as you say, ticking clocks with no numbers to show us the time or anything else.
 — Isabelle5

i love the title and that's why i came, but it is a confusing piece to me. 7-12 i have no clue what that is about!! lol
 — unknown