Some Poetry and Some Prose

[Syle]

Some of my poetry and such. You guys can critisize away, jist don't flame me, okay? I am a beginner writer, but I do appreciate constructive critisism that will help me write.

This poem is okay, but the ending seems weak to me.

"Masks of the Commom Man"

Veneers, masks,
Worn by everyone all the time.
Who can face the fear
Of nakedness, bareness?
Who can show themselves?
Who possesses that courage?

It seems the world
Has been invited to a never-ending
Masquerade party.
See? There’s one behind you,
She wears her mask of school,
A smiling countenance.

For what would we see if we removed that mask?
No longer a grinning face?
Would it be a set of tearing eyes,
Fearing their master’s return?
Would it be a face craving escape,
Attempting to flee the pain of life?

Look around you.
Just try to imagine these faces without the masks.
What would surround you?
Laughter, tears, pain?
Would you want to see your best friend
Like that? Could you?


This one is somewot simple, but I like it.


"Scars"

Warm rays of the sun shine,
Their light dissolving darkness.
Such light is received by unopened eyes,
Scarred eyes that have seen darkness too many times:
They cannot absorb light.

But perhaps in time,
The scars may fade
To few pained memories.
And perhaps in time,
Those eyes can look to the light.

Warm rays shine again,
Light winning against darkness,
Penetrating it.
Wide eyes view the light
And all scars are forgotten.


"Thoughts on Art and Beauty"

Hands cursed by thinness and sickness,
The knuckles bulging. They seem restrained by the
Skin they are contained within.
Artful hands, though.
They can create beauty, a surprise
From their starkly ugly appearance.
But beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
Is it not?


"The Failure of the Suburban American Society"

Comfortable and relaxed.
It lacks interest,
Faulting miserably at its false facaded attempt
To portray peace.

Wealth, typically.
The leather-covered car seats,
Comfortable and relaxed,
In their SUVs.

It falls on its face when it tries
To bear useful fruit.
It is like a tree in infertile soil,
And its pathetic and sad
Green cherries.

For they never develop past that.
They remain young and immature.

Inferior.


The last one I wrote when I was in a terribly pissy mood and was about to kill someone. So I ranted in my poetry. Anyhow, just give me your thoughts on these and how I can improve on them.