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Blackbird's profile
AGE:
19
LOC: Santee, CA
GEN: Female
LAST LOGIN: December 06
LOC: Santee, CA
GEN: Female
LAST LOGIN: December 06
I haven’t been writing very long. I’ve been writing poetry for a little less than a year and am looking for constructive criticism. I’ve never been published. I guess I’m waiting to better understand the art of writing poetry before I start sending out for publication.
I’m inspired by lots of things. Music, nature, politics, novels, poetry, movies.
I listen to classic rock and blues. Eric Clapton, Stevie Ray Vaughn, Robert Cray, Jonny Lang to name a few.
To read more, check me out on HubsPage at: http://hubpages.com/profile/Blackbird
Items
Version 2
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Rain slaps down on concrete in shovel-fulls. Shovels full of murkey water of rain mixed with dirt. Not the dirt a rose grows up in, The eclectic dirt, of a day dedicated to- The dregs of a day, like an empty tea cup leaves loose and muddy like a swamp. A woman wears her best red bikini, and slides her fair-skinned toe into the brown-grey water. Sinking into a slimy entrancing mud like looking into fate, watching dismal prospects come. Camouflaged in momentary happiness, you slide into the mud...
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Version 1
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Twilight glow lands on fingers intertwined a black night allows no sight. Only her hint of rose perfume and his warm breath against her neck.
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Version 1
1 Review
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Yellow rays land on fingers intertwined. Unfiltered glare forces squinted eyes to close. Only her hint of rose, and his warm breath against her neck.
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Version 1
14 Reviews
4 Comments
He stares out the window. The sun, a light bulb against a bare blue wall mixing dark green leaves with gold. Below, the grass sways and the golden leaves dance as the wind sings an angry song. Some brake off from the tree crumbling into the wind as they fall and storm away from their brown rooted mother. Sitting just inside his nose almost touching the window pane, He watches her wearing confidence like a coat. She walks in from where the sun begins and the grass continues. He watches her sun...
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Version 1
11 Reviews
1 Comment
Rain slaps down on concrete in shovel-fulls. Shovels full of murkey water of rain mixed with dirt. Not the dirt a rose grows up in, The eclectic dirt, of a day dedicated to- The dregs of a day, like an empty tea cup leaves loose and muddy like a swamp. You wear your best red bikini, and slide your fair-skinned toe into the brown-grey water. Sinking into slimy inviting mud. Trees placed sporadically in a half moon surrounding the pool. You feel a creature sweep past your foot in the water. The...
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Reviews
Its a cute ending but I would like the poem better if the middle was shorter. I would look through it and cut out whatever isn't necessary. That said, you had some parts with good rhythm.
Its very sweet, and to the point. I like how you indented every other line. The only thing I didn't like, was that it built up a very sweet feeling in the first three stanzas, but the last stand alone line, "So what are we doing today?" seems much to simple and its an overused phrase. Other then that i liked it!
Its so sad! I strongly believe that good poetry conveys an emotion, which this does. I would add a few more stanzas, this would make a very short song. I love your repetition of "Hey there Mr. Anderson."
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