(rape) Phnom Penh

[Flos Campi]

If I could know your sprawling city streets
like those in this three river four face town
(and that thoroughly, though I digress)
then maybe once again we two could meet
just as we did when time bossed us around
but childhood kept us in its own warm nest—

We've flown since then I fear, unfurled our wings
still damp with sticky yolk and spread them out,
uncertain of where tempest winds would lead,
and you have built a sturdy home with things
which give you no excuse to stop and doubt
if brick and stone fulfill your deepest needs—

My dear, my house lies doubled, halved in pain
for I had counted like on prayer beads
that east in east would keep its western shape,
that koki walls would stand against spring rain
and shelter from the swelt'ring autumn heat
and camouflage from red militia rape—

These city streets are closing in tonight
and now I doubt that I have ever known
them with the confidence that I have claimed
for when I try to picture them alight
with the same sunbeams that cover your own
I cannot see: they stay dark all the same.

(I was trying to achieve a narrator with a wandering, frazzled mind in this poem, but I fear it might have made it come across as incohesive and disorganized. Any advice to help with this particular issue [or any of course] is greatly appreciated.)

Phnom Penh

If I could know your sprawling city streets
just as I know those in this very town
(and that is thoroughly, I do attest)
then maybe once again we two could meet
just as we did when time bossed us around
but childhood kept us in its own warm nest—

We've flown since then I fear: unfurled our wings
still damp with sticky yolk and spread them out
uncertain of where wandering winds would lead
and you have built a sturdy home with things
which give you no excuse to stop and doubt
aesthetic matters which serve no great need—

My dear, my house lies in fair shambles now
for I have fashioned it with foolish hope
that beauty would suffice to keep its shape: 
If only I could silently lie down
and sleep under your own roof I could cope
but as it stands these wounds will stay agape—

These city streets are closing in tonight
and now I doubt that I have ever known
them with the confidence that I have claimed
for when I try to picture them alight
with the same sunbeams that cover your own
I cannot see: they stay dark all the same.

[theDesigner]

Your vocabulary and imagery is really good, but I think you need to vary your pacing. Most of the lines all had 10 syllables in them, with some 9's and 11's thrown in there randomly, and you didn't use many commas or tools to create breathing room for the reader.
This is just something I threw together to explain to you what I mean

Ex. If I could know your sprawling city streets
as I know my own towns
Excuse me;
I know mine thoroughly, don't claim otherwise!
I digress,

Basically, just try to think about the space you put between each thought, and the images you want to have a harder punch and the one's that you want to be more subtle.

[ellajam]

Hi, Flos, I found it coherent and interesting.There are a few bumps in the meter for me which I'll point out below. I enjoyed your use of rhyme, it added to the piece without being oppressive. I need to spend more time
with the poem to comment more but I wanted to start while I'm here. I also think you may want to consider a move to Mild Critique for more detailed comments, it seems like you put a lot of work into this.

(I was trying to achieve a narrator with a wandering, frazzled mind in this poem, but I fear it might have made it come across as incohesive and disorganized. Any advice to help with this particular issue [or any of course] is greatly appreciated.)

Phnom Penh

If I could know your sprawling city streets
just as I know those in this very town
(and that is thoroughly, I do attest) L2/3 seem to have some filler words you could replace with something more meaningful: very, I do attest.
then maybe once again we two could meet
just as we did when time bossed us around
but childhood kept us in its own warm nest— These lines are lovely.

We've flown since then I fear: unfurled our wings
still damp with sticky yolk and spread them out Strong, interesting image.
uncertain of where wandering winds would lead Not a fan of wandering winds.
and you have built a sturdy home with things
which give you no excuse to stop and doubt
aesthetic matters which serve no great need— Strong three lines but a meter bump with matters which, for me.

My dear, my house lies in fair shambles now
for I have fashioned it with foolish hope
that beauty would suffice to keep its shape: 
If only I could silently lie down
and sleep under your own roof I could cope
but as it stands these wounds will stay agape—

These city streets are closing in tonight
and now I doubt that I have ever known
them with the confidence that I have claimed
for when I try to picture them alight
with the same sunbeams that cover your own
I cannot see: they stay dark all the same.

Being in Basic, this may be too detailed so I stopped there, lovely piece.

[billy]

first off great effort. were you going for an italian sestet rhyme, abcabc, if so town/around in the first verse and now/down in the third verse could perhaps be played with. the meter feels forced in a few places but what's missing for me is the image of phnom penh as a whole: i can't see it, i do like the poem because you've put some good thought into its structure but it could be anywhere. mention some Vietnamese food, street names, attire, modes of transport, types of building and or other things that could tie the place to an image in our mind. thanks for the read.

(I was trying to achieve a narrator with a wandering, frazzled mind in this poem, but I fear it might have made it come across as incohesive and disorganized. Any advice to help with this particular issue [or any of course] is greatly appreciated.)

Phnom Penh

If I could know your sprawling city streets
just as I know those in this very town
(and that is thoroughly, I do attest)
then maybe once again we two could meet
just as we did when time bossed us around
but childhood kept us in its own warm nest—

We've flown since then I fear: unfurled our wings
still damp with sticky yolk and spread them out nice carry on of the metaphor.
uncertain of where wandering winds would lead some will see an extra half foot here but for me wandering is pronounced wandring and works well enough to keep
and you have built a sturdy home with things
which give you no excuse to stop and doubt
aesthetic matters which serve no great need—

My dear, my house lies in fair shambles now
for I have fashioned it with foolish hope
that beauty would suffice to keep its shape: 
If only I could silently lie down
and sleep under your own roof I could cope
but as it stands these wounds will stay agape—

These city streets are closing in tonight
and now I doubt that I have ever known
them with the confidence that I have claimed
for when I try to picture them alight
with the same sunbeams that cover your own
I cannot see: they stay dark all the same.

[Flos Campi]

Thank you everybody for your advice! I will definitely take it all into consideration and write up a revised edition in the very near future, with emphasis on finding more carefully chosen words and more specific imagery.

[Lizzie]

If I could know your sprawling city streets
like those in this three river four face town -- maybe 'three-river, four-face'?
(and that thoroughly, though I digress)
then maybe once again we two could meet
just as we did when time bossed us around -- I like 'time bossed us around,' though not sure it works metrically.
but childhood kept us in its own warm nest—

We've flown since then I fear, unfurled our wings
still damp with sticky yolk and spread them out, -- 'out' is not a strong word for a line break
uncertain of where tempest winds would lead,
and you have built a sturdy home with things -- again, not a strong line break, and 'things' is not evocative. Give specifics.
which give you no excuse to stop and doubt -- too wordy. Needs to be pared down.
if brick and stone fulfill your deepest needs—

My dear, my house lies doubled, halved in pain
for I had counted like on prayer beads
that east in east would keep its western shape,
that koki walls would stand against spring rain
and shelter from the swelt'ring autumn heat
and camouflage from red militia rape—

These city streets are closing in tonight
and now I doubt that I have ever known
them with the confidence that I have claimed
for when I try to picture them alight
with the same sunbeams that cover your own
I cannot see: they stay dark all the same.

(I was trying to achieve a narrator with a wandering, frazzled mind in this poem, but I fear it might have made it come across as incohesive and disorganized. Any advice to help with this particular issue [or any of course] is greatly appreciated.)

Phnom Penh

If I could know your sprawling city streets
just as I know those in this very town
(and that is thoroughly, I do attest)
then maybe once again we two could meet
just as we did when time bossed us around
but childhood kept us in its own warm nest—

We've flown since then I fear: unfurled our wings
still damp with sticky yolk and spread them out
uncertain of where wandering winds would lead
and you have built a sturdy home with things
which give you no excuse to stop and doubt
aesthetic matters which serve no great need—

My dear, my house lies in fair shambles now
for I have fashioned it with foolish hope
that beauty would suffice to keep its shape: 
If only I could silently lie down
and sleep under your own roof I could cope
but as it stands these wounds will stay agape—

These city streets are closing in tonight
and now I doubt that I have ever known
them with the confidence that I have claimed
for when I try to picture them alight
with the same sunbeams that cover your own
I cannot see: they stay dark all the same.

The revision is an improvement, I think. My general advice to you would be to make every word count. Make every word the strongest, most evocative word you can manage. I see you're doing iambic pent, and I think it's hard when you're working with meter not to throw in extra words to meet metrical demands.

Looking forward to seeing more of your work.

Cheers,

Lizzie

[Graca]

I'm new to critiquing and so can't offer something quite as detailed as the wonderful comments that you've already gotten -- however, I loved this poem. It really stood out to me, in that it was descriptive and "rich" enough that I could see the imagery in my mind. Beautifully done. 
The only part that didn't fully "flow" for me is the last two lines. It's hard to say why (I don't know much about meter) but the wording seemed a little clunky. "Cover your own" is a little too ambiguous perhaps? Is it referring to house, the streets? Is there a clearer way to say this?