[Eadha Deora]

Hard crusts of bread,
honey to my hunger,
gnawing in my mind's belly
a beehive hidden behind the eyes.

This is not good poetry,
just poetry cracking open
the encrusted cases of hardened thinking,
the skull of overcomplicated metaphors
that lose their souls in the process.

This is not good poetry,
just poetry easing into
the kind of place where
good poetry goes wild.

no perfume
sharp teeth
unshaved legs
on all fours

rolling in the mud that squishes through
every last crevice
before the frenzied jump

over
the bluff into

deep pools of peace.

[Vorcla]

Re: "This Is Not Good Poetry:"

Sez who?

Your metaphors; just so intricate and gorgeous. And this:

Hard crusts of bread,
honey to my hunger,
gnawing in my mind's belly
a beehive hidden behind the eyes.

Fresh, unusual images and word choices. This shakes off the cliches.

no perfume
sharp teeth
unshaved legs
on all fours

You use wild symbology and descriptions rather often. I find that refreshing and exciting. I understand and can identify with feral things.

rolling in the mud that squishes through
every last crevice
before the frenzied jump

over
the bluff into

deep pools of peace.

Very kinetic. Just a nice job all around, Jenn.

[Eadha Deora]

Well I'm working on something atm on my idea of "Feral Poetry" ... so it is cropping up in my thoughts a lot!

[RENA HANDS]

Rubbish, ‘Not Good Poetry,’ it’s Extraoridinary!

My favorite, the second stanza...

This is not good poetry,
just poetry cracking open
the encrusted cases of hardened thinking,
the skull of overcomplicated metaphors
that lose their souls in the process.

My rating 5/5!

[MindsEye]

Your poetry (including this one) is so raw, unyeilding, and wild. I enjoy the imagry and the way you capture the emergence of something true... a birth. Poetry should not be unnaturaly created of forced into existance but yet it should spring forth from our minds, snarling and twisting, spitting the colors of reality into our world.

I do see here a yearning... something inside you wanting out... yet held back. What is stopping it? Maybe like a furnace inside.. burning with popping embers wanting to burst forth and dance in the icy truth. I enjoyed this piece very much keep up the amazing work.