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Green

Sour apple acid burns
scorn pathways into tongues
blades tickling exposed skin
in unkept fields of carouseling imagination
leaves blow in the wind;
painting abstract masterpieces in the sky.
The bitterness of granny smith
sweetened now,
warmly baked into scrumptious pies.
You’re going,
going,
gone
when in traffic
I switch on.
Silence turns to songs of calm,
Like crickets rubbing a contagion
Abrasive and inviting,
A warm persona
Screams;
Clothing the leprechauns
that guard the gold of my rainbow;
they’re only there for me.
My movie magic making films;
so tragically romantic.
Boiling hot this habanero
melts the iceberg
saves titanic.
and all this
made possible
by one color;
enter me.

Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
How was my language use?
Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content

Comments

of a swirl of experiences around the color green. When I think about poems like this, I think the goal is to experience something as opposed to making a point. For me, the language is getting in the way of my experience - "scorn pathways into tongues." Because I can't understand this, it can't impact me. For me the most powerful verse is:

"The bitterness of granny smith
sweetened now,
warmly baked into scrumptious pies."

I can taste it, feel it, kind of nostalgically experience it (although my grandmother never baked a pie). But then I get to "Like crickets rubbing a contagion" and my experience is again blocked by my confusion. I'm not saying fill your poem with cliches about mom and apple pie but maybe make the language more accessible.

I think these stream of consciousness images can work powerfully. There was a poet here, Esker, who worked wonders with them. The language was simple but the images were startling. You might enjoy looking through his work.

have made all the comments and given you the critique that I would have. Did you mean [Scored] instead of scorned? ~ Geezer.
.

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