Constructive Criticism @ MindSay 
the round table
[the pedestal]
Good morning! Today we have some new work to put forth for your words of constructive criticism from laine@Mindsay.
Per usual, please leave your thoughts and comments below. If you have
any questions, please consult the FAQ or email me. Thanks.
The Pedestal
Good morning! Today we have some new work to put forth for your words of constructive criticism from laine@Mindsay.
Per usual, please leave your thoughts and comments below. If you have
any questions, please consult the FAQ or email me. Thanks.
The Pedestal
You set me up this high
And my faults stand out
Like steaming bloody footprints
On marble, cold and white
You look at me
And see a goddess
Pale and perfect
You don't see the cracks in my façade
I look outwards
From myself
And the inside that I see
Feels ugly, ravaged, decimated
And I wonder,
When the marble cracks
And falls apart
And the core of me
The soul of me
Is exposed
Where will you
Be?
[Untitled]
Good morning. The following is a work for your constructive criticism by resplendence@Mindsay. Please leave your thoughts and constructive criticisms below. If this is your first time with us, please check out the FAQ for more guidance. Thank you for your participation and comments. Enjoy.
Untitled
I had a dream last night.
It was quite the dissapointment to wake up
and leave all my happy thoughts
stranded on my empty pillow.
Out of dream world and into reality,
my stomach growls for food,
so into the kitchen I go,
starving.
I miss my dreams.
They're so sweet,
I'm addicted.
A user with no volition.
The disappointment when you wake
after leaving such a beautiful delusion
is overwhelming.
Lost in despondency,
food means little.
The kitchen is just another prison,
and I'm seeking an escape
back to dreamland.
I miss my dreams.
They're so sweet,
I'm addicted.
A user with no volition.
Happy endings
are only existent
in somnambulist realities.....
Pierdo mis sueños.
Son tan dulces,
Soy adicto.
Un usario con ninguna volición.
[resplendence.mindsay.com]
Good morning. The following is a work for your constructive criticism by resplendence@Mindsay. Please leave your thoughts and constructive criticisms below. If this is your first time with us, please check out the FAQ for more guidance. Thank you for your participation and comments. Enjoy.
Untitled
I had a dream last night.
It was quite the dissapointment to wake up
and leave all my happy thoughts
stranded on my empty pillow.
Out of dream world and into reality,
my stomach growls for food,
so into the kitchen I go,
starving.
I miss my dreams.
They're so sweet,
I'm addicted.
A user with no volition.
The disappointment when you wake
after leaving such a beautiful delusion
is overwhelming.
Lost in despondency,
food means little.
The kitchen is just another prison,
and I'm seeking an escape
back to dreamland.
I miss my dreams.
They're so sweet,
I'm addicted.
A user with no volition.
Happy endings
are only existent
in somnambulist realities.....
Pierdo mis sueños.
Son tan dulces,
Soy adicto.
Un usario con ninguna volición.
[resplendence.mindsay.com]
[ Lifeline ]
Greetings. Here is a new piece for your consideration and constructive criticism from beti213@Mindsay. Please leave your honest thoughts and suggestions below. Thanks for your participation.
Lifeline
She watches and she listens
Aching for those tired eyes
The voice that throbs in torment
The head that sinks so deeply to his chest...
Is it wrong to want to hold him as he sleeps?
Erase the girl who branded him with sorrow?
To love a boy she barely knows?
Her heart yearns just to ease the pain he holds
If only he could trust her.
---
She sees him sink and throws the lifeline
Arcing through the silent air
It slides into his hands.
Those darting eyes across the ocean spray.
He pauses...
Two strangers locked in hope, but then
She chokes a scream
His eyes go dark, untrusting
He lets his hands fall slack
And takes the wave.
---
The bodies on this ocean floor are endless
She's thinking as she sails the sea alone
She takes one look behind her
Then lets the wind drive canvas towards the shore...
The precious line still bobbing on the waves.
[ beti213.mindsay.com ]
Lifeline
She watches and she listens
Aching for those tired eyes
The voice that throbs in torment
The head that sinks so deeply to his chest...
Is it wrong to want to hold him as he sleeps?
Erase the girl who branded him with sorrow?
To love a boy she barely knows?
Her heart yearns just to ease the pain he holds
If only he could trust her.
---
She sees him sink and throws the lifeline
Arcing through the silent air
It slides into his hands.
Those darting eyes across the ocean spray.
He pauses...
Two strangers locked in hope, but then
She chokes a scream
His eyes go dark, untrusting
He lets his hands fall slack
And takes the wave.
---
The bodies on this ocean floor are endless
She's thinking as she sails the sea alone
She takes one look behind her
Then lets the wind drive canvas towards the shore...
The precious line still bobbing on the waves.
[ beti213.mindsay.com ]
-- self promotion, sort of --
You love nothing better than a good piece of art.
It could be a photograph. Or maybe prose is what truly plucks your heart strings. Or poetry. Maybe it is an essay on a topic you are passionate about or that introduces you to an idea you've never considered before.
You've seen some good things in your life. You've read some wonderful work.
You've also seen some dreadful things and stopped reading others before even finishing them. At those times, did you look away or stop because those works had no hope? Or did you leave thinking they had potential if only they tried a new approach or edited a few words or phrases?
A few weeks ago I had an idea. If you are someone who enjoys reading, viewing, and or sharing art of all kinds with the purpose of discussing what works and what doesn't so that the art and artists can ever improve, you just might like it. It's a little place here at Mindsay that we who do participate call The Round Table. I encourage you to go there and check it out. Read some past works. Leave your constructive comments for the artists. Read the FAQ on the page to learn of the concept and post ways to improve the site itself. If you like it, add it to your network so you can see when new work is posted. If you really like it, please tell people about it. Participation is what makes it work.
I've posted a work of my own today to get you started if you've never been there before or have just been dying to tear my work to shreds (with the goal of making it better, of course!) It's the same piece I posted here last night, so no, you won't be experiencing deja vu or anything if you've read it already. However, the purpose of The Round Table is to give readers permission to be critical. I do love and appreciate when people leave positive comments on my work here (what writer doesn't?), and I am thankful for each and every one of them. If you've been holding back critical thoughts about my work for whatever reason, though, take a stroll to TRT and open your gates. If you like the piece, tell me why. If you hate it, tell me why. It's all in the FAQ. Check it out. Thanks.
It could be a photograph. Or maybe prose is what truly plucks your heart strings. Or poetry. Maybe it is an essay on a topic you are passionate about or that introduces you to an idea you've never considered before.
You've seen some good things in your life. You've read some wonderful work.
You've also seen some dreadful things and stopped reading others before even finishing them. At those times, did you look away or stop because those works had no hope? Or did you leave thinking they had potential if only they tried a new approach or edited a few words or phrases?
A few weeks ago I had an idea. If you are someone who enjoys reading, viewing, and or sharing art of all kinds with the purpose of discussing what works and what doesn't so that the art and artists can ever improve, you just might like it. It's a little place here at Mindsay that we who do participate call The Round Table. I encourage you to go there and check it out. Read some past works. Leave your constructive comments for the artists. Read the FAQ on the page to learn of the concept and post ways to improve the site itself. If you like it, add it to your network so you can see when new work is posted. If you really like it, please tell people about it. Participation is what makes it work.
I've posted a work of my own today to get you started if you've never been there before or have just been dying to tear my work to shreds (with the goal of making it better, of course!) It's the same piece I posted here last night, so no, you won't be experiencing deja vu or anything if you've read it already. However, the purpose of The Round Table is to give readers permission to be critical. I do love and appreciate when people leave positive comments on my work here (what writer doesn't?), and I am thankful for each and every one of them. If you've been holding back critical thoughts about my work for whatever reason, though, take a stroll to TRT and open your gates. If you like the piece, tell me why. If you hate it, tell me why. It's all in the FAQ. Check it out. Thanks.
[ Portrait of ]
Good day to you all. Summer laziness has struck me and as such I've been a bit neglectful of my duties here at The Round Table. Though I've not had any new works submitted by fellow Mindsayer for critique of late, I've also not posted any classics for your review. I'll have to schedule in some more time (and stir up some more energy) to keep up with that pledge. Meanwhile, thanks for your patience.
Partly because it was requested of me a few times by other critics, partly because perhaps I deserve a good lashing (of the constructive criticism variety) and partly because perhaps I could use the encouragement to motivate further productivity in writing, I have a work of my own for your review. The following is a poem for your constructive criticism by theracket@Mindsay. Please leave your honest thoughts and criticisms below. Thanks for your participation and assistance.
Portrait of
I write some of my best work on bathroom walls
he says between tugs on his Gauloise,
blowing grey smoke rings in the air
like some dirty verbal juggler,
black grime like dalmation spots
on his fingers and under his nails.
He says he wrote a piece yesterday
on the toilet paper dispenser
at the Burger King up the road.
Second stall as you enter,
he says,
his free hand now a panfish
swimming out the directions for me
through the smoky air.
It was a piece about waking dreams,
he says with a smile, revealing
yellow teeth like burnt summer grass and
a gap between the front two like
an opening into a cave where
kids pretend a red dragon lies dormant
but if you listen you can still hear it
breathing in and out and
in and out.
Perhaps you've read my work,
he says, spitting the smoke into the
air, this time like steam from a boiling
teakettle, or the fiery breath of that beast within,
not dead, but sleeping.
[ theracket.mindsay.com ]
Partly because it was requested of me a few times by other critics, partly because perhaps I deserve a good lashing (of the constructive criticism variety) and partly because perhaps I could use the encouragement to motivate further productivity in writing, I have a work of my own for your review. The following is a poem for your constructive criticism by theracket@Mindsay. Please leave your honest thoughts and criticisms below. Thanks for your participation and assistance.
Portrait of
I write some of my best work on bathroom walls
he says between tugs on his Gauloise,
blowing grey smoke rings in the air
like some dirty verbal juggler,
black grime like dalmation spots
on his fingers and under his nails.
He says he wrote a piece yesterday
on the toilet paper dispenser
at the Burger King up the road.
Second stall as you enter,
he says,
his free hand now a panfish
swimming out the directions for me
through the smoky air.
It was a piece about waking dreams,
he says with a smile, revealing
yellow teeth like burnt summer grass and
a gap between the front two like
an opening into a cave where
kids pretend a red dragon lies dormant
but if you listen you can still hear it
breathing in and out and
in and out.
Perhaps you've read my work,
he says, spitting the smoke into the
air, this time like steam from a boiling
teakettle, or the fiery breath of that beast within,
not dead, but sleeping.
[ theracket.mindsay.com ]
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