Couldings and Feathered Hats- Critique wanted!!

[polarberry91191]

I've been trying to spill my mind onto paper for a while now. I'm not sure why, but every time I write, it comes out abstractly, and I can't seem to do it any other way. I do enjoy word play and making up words. I feel there's potential in some of the pieces, but again, I’m more focused on feeling than understanding. I don't know.

Couldings and Feathered Hats


I roar in my ruby ribcage
For a touch that spirals me down a meadow
Im busy with the business, I'm a cat in its cradle
I jump at sound
I am in the middle and I grow hotter til a man whos got a goal like mine
Will see the soup im aging in 
For a good old fashioned cookout,
Drink me!
 feeling his wet pink throat
Letting its gelatinous texture, bring me to newness
I let go of the shears in my arms that hold a bent ache 
I release it like a rope 
And let my arms fall straightly  
Till there out like post 
And slither into a pressed stamp for letters, that i have to send for others
Making sense, of the unsensual 
Characters that want volume
Alchemy that breaks on through 
The wilds in which I hide behind is my lover, Who else could I touch 
I could break the belts buckle any time, its the weather
Read by one staring component, Ushered through quirks 
 Wet carpet garnishes martyrdom, Lobsters cry as being manhandled
California cotton balls constrict my neck, my beach blonde washed me ashore
I'll drink to say the cowboy in me missing my horse feels alive again 
Pressed jackets lay over hipsters kingdoms 
Cameramen born to be examiners, Too free to change with growing pains of etiquette 
Whales tails, St Andrews, Panic buys your mind like a dirty counterfeit
Words that don't call, They never do
Coo’in for your ribs, drawing on your flesh 
Kissing it like a baby, Making elephant acts
Violence on the valley, asking what it means 
silk white tops and open windows, you compliment my do 
Never spoke to Kassi, but she's miles away now
Kids playing in neon like sugarcake, 
I ask everyone “What are you all about?”
Love like a kite, Love like a knob you turn all the way 
Castle the board for a finale

[poetry_zealot]

I've been trying to spill my mind onto paper for a while now. I'm not sure why, but every time I write, it comes out abstractly, and I can't seem to do it any other way. I do enjoy word play and making up words. I feel there's potential in some of the pieces, but again, I’m more focused on feeling than understanding. I don't know.

Couldings and Feathered Hats


I roar in my ruby ribcage
For a touch that spirals me down a meadow
Im busy with the business, I'm a cat in its cradle
I jump at sound
I am in the middle and I grow hotter til a man whos got a goal like mine
Will see the soup im aging in 
For a good old fashioned cookout,
Drink me!
 feeling his wet pink throat
Letting its gelatinous texture, bring me to newness
I let go of the shears in my arms that hold a bent ache 
I release it like a rope 
And let my arms fall straightly  
Till there out like post 
And slither into a pressed stamp for letters, that i have to send for others
Making sense, of the unsensual 
Characters that want volume
Alchemy that breaks on through 
The wilds in which I hide behind is my lover, Who else could I touch 
I could break the belts buckle any time, its the weather
Read by one staring component, Ushered through quirks 
 Wet carpet garnishes martyrdom, Lobsters cry as being manhandled
California cotton balls constrict my neck, my beach blonde washed me ashore
I'll drink to say the cowboy in me missing my horse feels alive again 
Pressed jackets lay over hipsters kingdoms 
Cameramen born to be examiners, Too free to change with growing pains of etiquette 
Whales tails, St Andrews, Panic buys your mind like a dirty counterfeit
Words that don't call, They never do
Coo’in for your ribs, drawing on your flesh 
Kissing it like a baby, Making elephant acts
Violence on the valley, asking what it means 
silk white tops and open windows, you compliment my do 
Never spoke to Kassi, but she's miles away now
Kids playing in neon like sugarcake, 
I ask everyone “What are you all about?”
Love like a kite, Love like a knob you turn all the way 
Castle the board for a finale

I will be quite frank here. Some of the things you say in this piece are beautiful but it is too unstructured and chaotic to appreciate. Some lines are simply too long like the the 5th line and some line breaks seem to be completely unrelated. First, I think you need to find a general structure even if it's free verse to guide the poem. After which you can focus on the abstract. My recommendation is to reign in or revolve what you're saying around a certain idea/metaphor instead of having it be pure chaos like this. On a side note, look towards improving your grammar skills. Some possessive nouns are not given apostrophes and some phrases like "violence on the valley" don't make much sense. There is a lot of potential in your abstract mind but only if you can make it coherent for future readers. That being said though, I look forward to reading more pieces from you.

[rowens]

This is so-called automatic writing based in a found and flowing rhythm guided by private connections, Affect and feeling-tones, definitional, linguistical speech and thought muscleplay-mental bumps and caresses. 

This is the natural flow of sensual-oriented thought when tunneled into the experience of poem-making.

So how do you use this? Do you stick with the hermetic connections and make it work through contextual framing? or do you go line by line, cutting what gets in the way and connecting what amounts to some unity of effect?






I roar in my ruby ribcage


What is more important for you here? the sound of the words or the logical connections? What is the ruby connecting with: heart, lungs, sound, blood, love? 
What are the correspondences between colors and sounds and body parts and actions and emotions and communication? 
If there is no importance either way, making an importance is your first tool as a poet.


For a touch that spirals me down a meadow
Im busy with the business, I'm a cat in its cradle
I jump at sound

A cat jumping at sound is a good image and effect. But why the allusion to cat's cradle to begin with? 
That question is the demarcation between arbitrary cliche of an on hand, readymade phrase and an Allusion proper.  


That's enough to get you working. 




I am in the middle and I grow hotter til a man whos got a goal like mine
Will see the soup im aging in
For a good old fashioned cookout,
Drink me!
feeling his wet pink throat
Letting its gelatinous texture, bring me to newness
I let go of the shears in my arms that hold a bent ache
I release it like a rope
And let my arms fall straightly 
Till there out like post
And slither into a pressed stamp for letters, that i have to send for others
Making sense, of the unsensual
Characters that want volume
Alchemy that breaks on through
The wilds in which I hide behind is my lover, Who else could I touch
I could break the belts buckle any time, its the weather
Read by one staring component, Ushered through quirks
Wet carpet garnishes martyrdom, Lobsters cry as being manhandled
California cotton balls constrict my neck, my beach blonde washed me ashore
I'll drink to say the cowboy in me missing my horse feels alive again
Pressed jackets lay over hipsters kingdoms
Cameramen born to be examiners, Too free to change with growing pains of etiquette
Whales tails, St Andrews, Panic buys your mind like a dirty counterfeit
Words that don't call, They never do
Coo’in for your ribs, drawing on your flesh
Kissing it like a baby, Making elephant acts
Violence on the valley, asking what it means
silk white tops and open windows, you compliment my do
Never spoke to Kassi, but she's miles away now
Kids playing in neon like sugarcake,
I ask everyone “What are you all about?”
Love like a kite, Love like a knob you turn all the way
Castle the board for a finale

[The_system_screams]

This reads to me like a hopped-up version of an abstract beatnik and I like it in many ways yet in others I have some doubts.
I think the main thing for me is asking what this is and what it should make me feel/think/wonder/relish or is it just sentences strung together in a hopscotch way. You can achieve great free form with rhythm or sounds and the words don't have to make too much sense. But they have to roll of the tongue then, or have meaningful stops and turns.
I like the words and the wordplays and the sentences are great but in its wholeness it loses something. The suggestions from both Poetry_Zealot and rowens are great and they both have merit but the question is - what do you want this to be?

[polarberry91191]

This reads to me like a hopped-up version of an abstract beatnik and I like it in many ways yet in others I have some doubts.
I think the main thing for me is asking what this is and what it should make me feel/think/wonder/relish or is it just sentences strung together in a hopscotch way. You can achieve great free form with rhythm or sounds and the words don't have to make too much sense. But they have to roll of the tongue then, or have meaningful stops and turns.
I like the words and the wordplays and the sentences are great but in its wholeness it loses something. The suggestions from both Poetry_Zealot and rowens are great and they both have merit but the question is - what do you want this to be?

Thank you for the meaningful reply. I have no clue about poetry. But the idea of beatnik sounds very interesting. It helped me realize how much this could use some framing.
The truth is I am not sure what I am doing. I only write when I feel like I have to, when something needs to come out. My mind gets tired of trying to understand things, of constantly performing mentally for others. Even writing for myself feels exhausting sometimes.
Each line I write is tied to a sensation, a moment, a memory. It is like I am hopping rapidly from thought to thought. But at the same time I do not want to create something that feels unfavorably chaotic/seizure like or worse, not ringing true/invoking emotion
My mind jumps from memories to emotions to things I cannot even describe. Sometimes all I can do is string together odd word combinations to try and feel something through the numbness. (Lol, that sounded dark)
I think I need to sit with this a bit longer and really consider

---

This is so-called automatic writing based in a found and flowing rhythm guided by private connections, Affect and feeling-tones, definitional, linguistical speech and thought muscleplay-mental bumps and caresses. 

This is the natural flow of sensual-oriented thought when tunneled into the experience of poem-making.

So how do you use this? Do you stick with the hermetic connections and make it work through contextual framing? or do you go line by line, cutting what gets in the way and connecting what amounts to some unity of effect?









I roar in my ruby ribcage


What is more important for you here? the sound of the words or the logical connections? What is the ruby connecting with: heart, lungs, sound, blood, love? 
What are the correspondences between colors and sounds and body parts and actions and emotions and communication? 
If there is no importance either way, making an importance is your first tool as a poet.


For a touch that spirals me down a meadow
Im busy with the business, I'm a cat in its cradle
I jump at sound

A cat jumping at sound is a good image and effect. But why the allusion to cat's cradle to begin with? 
That question is the demarcation between arbitrary cliche of an on hand, readymade phrase and an Allusion proper.  


That's enough to get you working. 




I am in the middle and I grow hotter til a man whos got a goal like mine
Will see the soup im aging in
For a good old fashioned cookout,
Drink me!
feeling his wet pink throat
Letting its gelatinous texture, bring me to newness
I let go of the shears in my arms that hold a bent ache
I release it like a rope
And let my arms fall straightly 
Till there out like post
And slither into a pressed stamp for letters, that i have to send for others
Making sense, of the unsensual
Characters that want volume
Alchemy that breaks on through
The wilds in which I hide behind is my lover, Who else could I touch
I could break the belts buckle any time, its the weather
Read by one staring component, Ushered through quirks
Wet carpet garnishes martyrdom, Lobsters cry as being manhandled
California cotton balls constrict my neck, my beach blonde washed me ashore
I'll drink to say the cowboy in me missing my horse feels alive again
Pressed jackets lay over hipsters kingdoms
Cameramen born to be examiners, Too free to change with growing pains of etiquette
Whales tails, St Andrews, Panic buys your mind like a dirty counterfeit
Words that don't call, They never do
Coo’in for your ribs, drawing on your flesh
Kissing it like a baby, Making elephant acts
Violence on the valley, asking what it means
silk white tops and open windows, you compliment my do
Never spoke to Kassi, but she's miles away now
Kids playing in neon like sugarcake,
I ask everyone “What are you all about?”
Love like a kite, Love like a knob you turn all the way
Castle the board for a finale

Hello, thank you for the glorious feedback. The Cats in the Cradle line came right after the business line because I have been managing a business and it has been very stressful. My grandpa and father both loved that song by Harry Chapin, so it felt right to include. It made sense emotionally, even if not logically.
I cannot really tell what this is. All of it is truly meaningful to me, but when I try to make sense of it or break it down into logical sections, it starts to lose its connection to me. That is why I wonder if it is more of a surreal stream of consciousness, or maybe a kind of diary entry.
I do love the way the words look, vainly. I feel like I can see my mind in those images, in the way certain phrases hit. And I will not write an ugly sentence or word, even if it perfectly describes how I feel. Every part of it is tied to a moment. I need more time. But I dont think I will ever keep one mood for one poem, I want it to be mysterious, and surreal. But I cant achieve it yet without confusion

[rowens]

Everything we say is a stream of consciousness.


You can keep all your poems like this. Keep this as it is and other ones in one folder, and have another folder where you take this and mold it into a poem or poems in a 'traditional' sense.
Say your mind is an Ocean, and these poems flow into a Pool, and you label all these poems Pool, and you use the Pool as the material for separate poems.

I don't know if you want to write concretely personal poetry or poems that don't let on to any clear personal subject matter. Maybe you don't either. 
Either way you could focus on one episode or image, as though it were a center, and have a spiralling in and out, riffing outwards based on the episode or image while simultaneously centering in. That way, you have all the momentum and free association, but as a pulsing, honing kaleidoscope rather than an eight mile slip and slide.

You could even format in your mind or in a book the poems as they come out, and have subpoems taken from them that are more "crafted and polished".

These suggestions are all tricks to convince you. You can do whatever you like, of course. These are some suggestions on how to frame and tune your poetry-producing mechanism.