Forgotten sight

[jacko94]

The grey, blacked-out, path of a thousand followers,
Thousand, million voice the facts, opinions thrown to the side of them.
Stars chucked across black out skies;
Meteors, shooting stars, cast back down to earth;
Ripped from hollow headed mantels, hacked from orange damsels, far from distress,
The popular life, kids, mass-producers, controlled through made up, fantasized realisms,
Thrown with cigarettes, thrown with joints, thrown with drugs,
Torn from worn televisions with pictures of hallucinating public statues and tragic stories;

Lost boys with only a companion to the left and right, ridiculed by attractive organisms.
Forgotten with wars, visionaries and slavery,
Wasted youth, deteriorated from birth, the scolding mark in their mind, scaring them from loving, feeling and forgetting.
Wondering only in solitary packs, two or three at a time,
Called from non-existing phones, bursting with false friendships,
Only the laughter that comes from the pen, the ink that flows through naked bodies as red blood and memories,
Caught in safety nets which only exist in the imagination
Life’s which should be lived in day number one, not two,
Intimacy, romanticism, subsistence to the fashioned, crowd-pleasing, tasteless public's,
To where contemporary fools flush in hands full of insignificant and hopeful oblivion's.
Plucked from suburban prying hands,
Only to be thrown, chucked, abandoned,
Put out, rotting, the flesh of a thousand running down the iced out rivers,
Dead.

[Paddygirl]

The grey, blacked-out, path of a thousand followers, - nice image, perhaps leave out grey so as not to confuse the 'blacked out'
Thousand, million voice the facts, opinions thrown to the side of them. -again, nicely put, we are told what to think but can't have an opinion, repeating 'thousand' throws the million (s) voice... a little though
Stars chucked across black out skies; -like the description
Meteors, shooting stars, cast back down to earth;
Ripped from hollow headed mantels, hacked from orange damsels, far from distress, -a little confused on hollow headed mantels but love the faked tanned females and the sarcasm of 'far from distressed'
The popular life, kids, mass-producers, controlled through made up, fantasized realisms,
Thrown with cigarettes, thrown with joints, thrown with drugs,
Torn from worn televisions with pictures of hallucinating public statues and tragic stories; -really like the image of 'worn televisions' here

Lost boys with only a companion to the left and right, ridiculed by attractive organisms.
Forgotten with wars, visionaries and slavery,
Wasted youth, deteriorated from birth, the scolding mark in their mind, scaring them from loving, feeling and forgetting.
Wondering only in solitary packs, two or three at a time,
Called from non-existing phones, bursting with false friendships, (social networkings a real bitch eh!)
Only the laughter that comes from the pen, the ink that flows through naked bodies as red blood and memories, nice, love laughter that comes from a pen
Caught in safety nets which only exist in the imagination
Life’s which should be lived in day number one, not two, -Life?
Intimacy, romanticism, subsistence to the fashioned, crowd-pleasing, tasteless public's,
To where contemporary fools flush in hands full of insignificant and hopeful oblivion's.
Plucked from suburban prying hands,
Only to be thrown, chucked, abandoned,
Put out, rotting, the flesh of a thousand running down the iced out rivers,
Dead.

Hi Jacko, hope you don't mind me taking some of your poem line by line as I have done, it is definitely an interesting read, I get from it that you want to keep it real and resent the mass followers of fashion so to speak really liked the descriptive angles you took throughout. there are a few repetitive words that could be changed to give it a tidy-up but a good perspective throughout. I enjoy reading the perspective of other poets and I certainly enjoyed yours!! thanks for the poem

[Timmycom]

The grey, blacked-out, path of a thousand followers, - a little over dramatic for my taste
Thousand, million voice the facts, opinions thrown to the side of them.
Stars chucked across blacked out skies;
Meteors, shooting stars, cast back down to earth;
Ripped from hollow headed mantels, hacked from orange damsels, far from distress, < That was good Original line there.
The popular life, kids, mass-producers, controlled through made up, fantasized realisms, True, but things 'aint going to change.
Thrown with cigarettes, thrown with joints, thrown with drugs,
Torn from worn televisions with pictures of hallucinating public statues and tragic stories; I think that should be "Of tragic stories;" because it then goes onto imply that the lost boys are the tragedy

Lost boys with only a companion to the left and right, ridiculed by attractive organisms. Sounds like you're a bit bitter here, but honestly it was my Favorite line of the poem.
Forgotten with wars, visionaries and slavery,
Wasted youth, deteriorated from birth, the scolding mark in their mind, scaring them from loving, feeling and forgetting.
Wondering only in solitary packs, two or three at a time,
Called from non-existing How are the phones non existing? phones, bursting with false friendships,
Only the laughter that comes from the pen, the ink that flows through naked bodies as red blood and memories, I don't find this very relateable? Sounds over dramatised, people don't often die from trends
Caught in safety nets which only exist in the imagination
Life’s which should be lived in day number one, not two,
Intimacy, romanticism, subsistence to the fashioned, crowd-pleasing, tasteless public's,
To where contemporary fools flush in hands full of insignificant and hopeful oblivion's. True.
Plucked from suburban prying hands,
Only to be thrown, chucked, abandoned,
Put out, rotting, the flesh of a thousand running down the iced out rivers,
Dead.


This got 6 out of 10 for me. It felt over dramatised and a bit bitter rather than what I think you where trying ti aim for was insightful?- but the anger is real and there are some very original lines that of which I have highlighted. I think this was quite reasonable but it wasn't a high flyer with me.

[Universalchild]

The grey, blacked-out, path of a thousand followers,
Thousand, million voice the facts, opinions thrown to the side of them. I think it would be better to be vague with the numbers rather then say thousand or million. Or at least stick with one or the other!
Stars chucked across black out skies;
Meteors, shooting stars, cast back down to earth;
Ripped from hollow headed mantels, hacked from orange damsels, far from distress, Good imagery, interesting.
The popular life, kids, mass-producers, controlled through made up, fantasized realisms, Although I totally agree with the sentiment, I think it could be rephrased a little better.
Thrown with cigarettes, thrown with joints, thrown with drugs,
Torn from worn televisions with pictures of hallucinating public statues and tragic stories; Really good imagery, and good repetition.

Lost boys with only a companion to the left and right, ridiculed by attractive organisms. I think this sounds a bit whiney and petty.
Forgotten with wars, visionaries and slavery,
Wasted youth, deteriorated from birth, the scolding mark in their mind, scaring them from loving, feeling and forgetting. Great line, good use of a cliche.
Wondering only in solitary packs, two or three at a time,
Called from non-existing phones, bursting with false friendships,
Only the laughter that comes from the pen, the ink that flows through naked bodies as red blood and memories,
Caught in safety nets which only exist in the imagination
Life’s which should be lived in day number one, not two,
Intimacy, romanticism, subsistence to the fashioned, crowd-pleasing, tasteless public's, I think it would be better as just tasteless public.
To where contemporary fools flush in hands full of insignificant and hopeful oblivion's.
Plucked from suburban prying hands,
Only to be thrown, chucked, abandoned,
Put out, rotting, the flesh of a thousand running down the iced out rivers,
Dead.

Great read, thanks a lot.

[billy]

leave some feedback on other poets work, while it's not mandatory, it is the fair thing to do

The grey, blacked-out, path of a thousand followers,
Thousand, million voice the facts, opinions thrown to the side of them.
Stars chucked across black out skies;
Meteors, shooting stars, cast back down to earth;
Ripped from hollow headed mantels, hacked from orange damsels, far from distress,
The popular life, kids, mass-producers, controlled through made up, fantasized realisms,
Thrown with cigarettes, thrown with joints, thrown with drugs,
Torn from worn televisions with pictures of hallucinating public statues and tragic stories; this is the poem it's strong, it has image and it's original.

Lost boys with only a companion to the left and right, ridiculed by attractive organisms. orgasms would have made good wordplay
Forgotten with wars, visionaries and slavery,
Wasted youth, deteriorated from birth, the scolding mark in their mind, scaring them from loving, feeling and forgetting.
Wondering only in solitary packs, two or three at a time,
Called from non-existing phones, bursting with false friendships,
Only the laughter that comes from the pen, the ink that flows through naked bodies as red blood and memories,
Caught in safety nets which only exist in the imagination
Life’s which should be lived in day number one, not two,
Intimacy, romanticism, subsistence to the fashioned, crowd-pleasing, tasteless public's, no need for ['s] something worth taking from here to the stanza's beginning.
To where contemporary fools flush in hands full of insignificant and hopeful oblivion's.
Plucked from suburban prying hands,
Only to be thrown, chucked, abandoned,
Put out, rotting, the flesh of a thousand running down the iced out rivers,
Dead.

this has a lot going for it. it needs some to be stripped way in order to leave the good poem in there behind. mainly some of the beginning and some of the end. all in all, a good effort. a life of sheepdom is the route for many of us

thanks for the read.