WARNING:

[nibbed]

WARNING:


There's an intricacy of campaigns
going on around here.
We are only bleeps
on the screens of devils.

A third the angels
took thousands of years from us
learning to manage
their own proudest crowns:
a conglomerate of confusion.

Nosy evil angels
draw assumption as a sword,
while others
arm themselves in automation,
every measure of intoxication,
manipulating their most powerful weapon of all:

silly egos made from burnt mantels
and every oh-so-common human flaw
jammed into a powerful cannon
of devastating friendly fire.

Their primary target?
The family unit,
our greatest troop of hope,
the place from which we should find
unconditional love
and renewed strength.

All the while
chipping away at our outskirts,
as our braver,
worn guards
crawl the perimeter,
seeking new recruitments
that may or may not destroy us.

Hold on fast, dear ones.
Wear the armor.
Bind and pull together,
forgive and love.

Make feasts and parties
in the foxholes
we've dug together,
blanket those lovely black sheep
in your own softened, white fleece.

Play and pray, love each other
through the stripes of regret,
through the heartache of fatality.

It's a raging battle,
never forget your comrades.

[dukealien]

WARNING:


There's an intricacy of campaigns
going on around here.
We are only bleeps  "blips" or perhaps "pixels?"
on the screens of devils.

A third the angels
took thousands of years from us
learning to manage
their own proudest crowns:
a conglomerate of confusion.

Nosy evil angels
draw assumption as a sword,  lovely ambiguity - draw attention/draw a sword
while others
arm themselves in automation,
every measure of intoxication,  "kind" or "form" instead of "measure?"
manipulating their most powerful weapon of all:  is "of all" necessary?

silly egos made from burnt mantels
and every oh-so-common human flaw
jammed into a powerful cannon  recalls Milton's demonic artillery, also the postmodernist canon of amorality
of devastating friendly fire.

Their primary target?
The family unit,
our greatest troop of hope, the "little platoons," as Edmund Burke put it
the place from which we should find
unconditional love  an unfortunate cliche - can this line be improved?
and renewed strength.

All the while
chipping away at our outskirts,
as our braver,
worn guards
crawl the perimeter, "their" perimeter vice "the?"
seeking new recruitments
that may or may not destroy us.

Hold on fast, dear ones. is "on" necessary?
Wear the armor.
Bind and pull together,
forgive and love.

Make feasts and parties
in the foxholes
we've dug together,
blanket those lovely black sheep "clothe" vice "blanket?"
in your own softened, white fleece. "soft" instead of "softened" - or maybe not.

Play and pray, love each other
through the stripes of regret,
through the heartache of fatality. dynamite line!

It's a raging battle,
never forget your comrades. would like to see a more connected two lines here at the end... "In this raging..." or "stay mindful of your comrades" - but better

Excellent sentiments, quite well expressed but could be better.  Generic advice:  view all uses of "the" with suspicion unless asserting that this is the only one.

My adverse reaction to "unconditional love" may be anomalous, but I see perfect love as simultaneously constant and potentially judgmental:  you have to remove the beam from your own eye, but don't forget to then return and lovingly remove the mote from the beloved's.

Were you thinking of those evil angels not included in Lincoln's "better angels of our nature?"  Those who wage "social justice," perhaps?

This is quite nice; the above are suggestions only.

[Lydish]

Revision


Don't Look

Cleaning my own clock
I chimed in
hungry scavengers;

From the time
I passed through the canal,
I've clung to every word offered
from this cruel world of pendulums, Nice extended metaphor with the clock. Think it could be more obvious/specific? I imagine a grandfather clock, but not sure...
trying to ready staves,
secure them in place;

Trusting scholars
over instinct & common sense,
my key turned once too often,
twisting out of shape I like this image a lot!
worn, rusted,
over-wound coils. Because you say "twisting out of shape", I wonder if something like "Ever-wounding coils" would be better to continue the continuing sense of the tense here

Weary of wasting each notch
on silly, lying vanities, Vanities are already silly
wondering if I would ever
find life again, "if I will find life again"
I turned fate over
to the hands
of my own mercy:

Sounding the great alarm, Wondering if there's a more specific word here // I like this poem! I would keep it and maybe take a look later. There's some fun images in there that you might be able to reuse
I lifted from my grave clothes
trading velvet cap and bells
for a robe of purest white.




Original
Don't Look


I cleaned my own clock
by hanging heavily
to every word
of this world;
trusting scholars,
turning over my life
to the hands of death
as I wasted time selling
my own lying vanities.









sorry, I realized the 1st poem
was a big mistake. I tried
to delete it, but it wouldn't
let me, so, I wrote over it
a completely different poem.

Sometimes self defense comes from the top down,
Like digging utensils, you can keep heeling,
A flying thwack, to the solid state,
Of our perceptions, young wooden
Double edged swords stuck
Between arm and rib, where that true metal
Scarred me, and made me bitter, unlike
The amateur porn that she had only half
A heart to see me watch.

I guess there were a few chases,
A few, well, chases, and I don't like Kinda lost here
The name Sue.

WARNING:


There's an intricacy of campaigns
going on around here.
We are only bleeps
on the screens of devils.

A third the angels
took thousands of years from us
learning to manage
their own proudest crowns:
a conglomerate of confusion. At a lost here for meaning

Nosy evil angels
draw assumption as a sword, Nice metaphor
while others
arm themselves in automation,
every measure of intoxication,
manipulating their most powerful weapon of all:

silly egos made from burnt mantels
and every oh-so-common human flaw
jammed into a powerful cannon
of devastating friendly fire. I'd say that powerful and devastating are redundant

Their primary target?
The family unit,
our greatest troop of hope,
the place from which we should find
unconditional love
and renewed strength.

All the while
chipping away at our outskirts,
as our braver,
worn guards
crawl the perimeter,
seeking new recruitments
that may or may not destroy us. why "may or may not"? Just stick with "that may destroy us"...maybe

Hold on fast, dear ones.
Wear the armor. Unnecessary "the" imo
Bind and pull together,
forgive and love.

Make feasts and parties
in the foxholes
we've dug together,
blanket those lovely black sheep
in your own softened, white fleece. Favourite stanza

Play and pray, love each other
through the stripes of regret,
through the heartache of fatality.

It's a raging battle,
never forget your comrades. I wonder if you could just keep it at "never forget" or "lest we forget", since those include the subtext of "your comrades"

I like (and understand) the second half more than the first. Maybe I'm just not familiar enough with angel/devil lit to get references you're making.

You have nice metaphor and imagery throughout. Good work, and keep trucking!

[nibbed]

WARNING:


There's an intricacy of campaigns
going on around here.
We are only bleeps  "blips" or perhaps "pixels?"                                                         -yes, I knew that didn't sound right, thank you!
on the screens of devils.

A third the angels
took thousands of years from us
learning to manage
their own proudest crowns:
a conglomerate of confusion.

Nosy evil angels
draw assumption as a sword,  lovely ambiguity - draw attention/draw a sword
while others
arm themselves in automation,
every measure of intoxication,  "kind" or "form" instead of "measure?"
manipulating their most powerful weapon of all:  is "of all" necessary?                       -that would make it better, indeed!

silly egos made from burnt mantels
and every oh-so-common human flaw
jammed into a powerful cannon  recalls Milton's demonic artillery, also the postmodernist canon of amorality
of devastating friendly fire.

Their primary target?
The family unit,
our greatest troop of hope, the "little platoons," as Edmund Burke put it               -they are precious, to be preserved
the place from which we should find
unconditional love  an unfortunate cliche - can this line be improved?                    -this will be a challenge, I will try
and renewed strength.

All the while
chipping away at our outskirts,
as our braver,
worn guards
crawl the perimeter, "their" perimeter vice "the?"
seeking new recruitments
that may or may not destroy us.

Hold on fast, dear ones. is "on" necessary?                                                                      -no, it's not
Wear the armor.
Bind and pull together,
forgive and love.

Make feasts and parties
in the foxholes
we've dug together,
blanket those lovely black sheep "clothe" vice "blanket?"                                           -clothe, might be better...changes my thought of warmth,
in your own softened, white fleece. "soft" instead of "softened" - or maybe not.                                                              and protection, though

Play and pray, love each other
through the stripes of regret,
through the heartache of fatality. dynamite line!

It's a raging battle,
never forget your comrades. would like to see a more connected two lines here at the end... "In this raging..." or "stay mindful of your comrades" - but better                                                                                              -a very good suggestion to consider

Excellent sentiments, quite well expressed but could be better.  Generic advice:  view all uses of "the" with suspicion unless asserting that this is the only one.

My adverse reaction to "unconditional love" may be anomalous, but I see perfect love as simultaneously constant and potentially judgmental:  you have to remove the beam from your own eye, but don't forget to then return and lovingly remove the mote from the beloved's.  -that's true

Were you thinking of those evil angels not included in Lincoln's "better angels of our nature?"  Those who wage "social justice," perhaps?
                                                                                                                                                 The thing about angels are, they aren't God.
                                                                                                                                                 They can't see the workings or underminings
                                                                                                                                                  of cleverer angels.
This is quite nice; the above are suggestions only.                                                                      They aren't Omnipresent or Omniscient.

                                                                                                                                     They make lousy judges.
                                                                                                                                                 

                                                                                                                                                 

dukealien, thank you for your awesomely thorough reading and consideration of my poem. I admire your level of understanding poetry and written words. I hope one day to be even a smidgen as good a poet/critique as you are. You are a blessing. I hope your day is filled with many happy and beautiful things.

nibbed
                                                                                                                                                 

---

Revision


Don't Look

Cleaning my own clock
I chimed in
hungry scavengers;

From the time
I passed through the canal,
I've clung to every word offered
from this cruel world of pendulums,                                                  Nice extended metaphor with the clock. Think it could be more obvious/specific? I imagine a grandfather clock, but not sure...
trying to ready staves,
secure them in place;

Trusting scholars
over instinct & common sense,
my key turned once too often,  
twisting out of shape                                                                      I like this image a lot!
worn, rusted,
over-wound coils.                                                                            Because you say "twisting out of shape", I wonder if something like "Ever-wounding coils" would be better to continue the continuing sense of the tense here

Weary of wasting each notch
on silly, lying vanities,                                                                    Vanities are already silly
wondering if I would ever
find life again,                                                                               "if I will find life again"
I turned fate over
to the hands
of my own mercy:

Sounding the great alarm,                                                         Wondering if there's a more specific word here // I like this poem! I would keep it and maybe take a look later. There's some fun images in there that you might be able to reuse
I lifted from my grave clothes
trading velvet cap and bells
for a robe of purest white.




Original
Don't Look


I cleaned my own clock
by hanging heavily
to every word
of this world;
trusting scholars,
turning over my life
to the hands of death
as I wasted time selling
my own lying vanities.









sorry, I realized the 1st poem
was a big mistake. I tried
to delete it, but it wouldn't
let me, so, I wrote over it
a completely different poem.

Sometimes self defense comes from the top down,
Like digging utensils, you can keep heeling,
A flying thwack, to the solid state,
Of our perceptions, young wooden
Double edged swords stuck
Between arm and rib, where that true metal
Scarred me, and made me bitter, unlike
The amateur porn that she had only half
A heart to see me watch.

I guess there were a few chases,
A few, well, chases, and I don't like                                                     Kinda lost here
The name Sue.

WARNING:


There's an intricacy of campaigns  
going on around here.
We are only bleeps
on the screens of devils.

A third the angels                                                
took thousands of years from us
learning to manage
their own proudest crowns:
a conglomerate of confusion.                                                 At a lost here for meaning

Nosy evil angels
draw assumption as a sword,                                                 Nice metaphor
while others
arm themselves in automation,
every measure of intoxication,
manipulating their most powerful weapon of all:

silly egos made from burnt mantels
and every oh-so-common human flaw
jammed into a powerful cannon
of devastating friendly fire.                                                I'd say that powerful and devastating are redundant

Their primary target?
The family unit,
our greatest troop of hope,
the place from which we should find
unconditional love
and renewed strength.

All the while
chipping away at our outskirts,
as our braver,
worn guards
crawl the perimeter,
seeking new recruitments
that may or may not destroy us.                                                why "may or may not"? Just stick with "that may destroy us"...maybe

Hold on fast, dear ones.
Wear the armor.                                                Unnecessary "the" imo
Bind and pull together,
forgive and love.

Make feasts and parties
in the foxholes
we've dug together,
blanket those lovely black sheep
in your own softened, white fleece.                                                Favourite stanza

Play and pray, love each other
through the stripes of regret,
through the heartache of fatality.

It's a raging battle,
never forget your comrades.                                                 I wonder if you could just keep it at "never forget" or "lest we forget", since those include the subtext of "your comrades"

I like (and understand) the second half more than the first. Maybe I'm just not familiar enough with angel/devil lit to get references you're making.

You have nice metaphor and imagery throughout. Good work, and keep trucking!

thank you for reading my poem and commenting.
weird, your notations didn't show up until I responded.
so now I need to say
thank you kindly for your thoughtfulness to take time to critique,
I will certainly consider your helpful tips.

nibbed

[nibbed]

slight revision


WARNING:

There's an intricacy of campaigns
going on around here.
We are only blips
on the screens of devils.

A third the angels
took thousands of years from us
learning to manage
their own proudest crowns:
a conglomerate of confusion.

Nosy evil angels
draw assumption's sword,
while others
arm themselves in automation,
every measure of intoxication,
manipulating their most powerful weapon of all:

silly egos made from burnt mantels
and every oh-so-common human flaw
jammed into a powerful cannon
of devastating friendly fire.

Their primary target?
The family unit,
our greatest troop of hope,
the place from which we should find
unconditional love
and renewed strength.

All the while
chipping away at our outskirts,
as our braver,
worn guards
crawl fort's perimeter,
seeking new recruitment
that may or may not destroy us.

Hold on fast, dear ones.
Wear God's armor.
Bind and pull together,
forgive and love.

Make feasts and parties
in foxholes
we've dug together,
blanket suffering black sheep
in your softened, white fleece.

Play and pray, love each other
through stripes of regret
and heartache of fatality.

It's a raging battle,
never forget your comrades.





original
WARNING:


There's an intricacy of campaigns
going on around here.
We are only bleeps
on the screens of devils.

A third the angels
took thousands of years from us
learning to manage
their own proudest crowns:
a conglomerate of confusion.

Nosy evil angels
draw assumption as a sword,
while others
arm themselves in automation,
every measure of intoxication,
manipulating their most powerful weapon of all:

silly egos made from burnt mantels
and every oh-so-common human flaw
jammed into a powerful cannon
of devastating friendly fire.

Their primary target?
The family unit,
our greatest troop of hope,
the place from which we should find
unconditional love
and renewed strength.

All the while
chipping away at our outskirts,
as our braver,
worn guards
crawl the perimeter,
seeking new recruitments
that may or may not destroy us.

Hold on fast, dear ones.
Wear the armor.
Bind and pull together,
forgive and love.

Make feasts and parties
in the foxholes
we've dug together,
blanket those lovely black sheep
in your own softened, white fleece.

Play and pray, love each other
through the stripes of regret,
through the heartache of fatality.

It's a raging battle,
never forget your comrades.