poetry critical

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The Good Old Days

Back in the day,
when life was cozy and relaxing,
full of cool surprises, one
didn't worry too much if the next day
never came,
the passed times never
the last times.
There was nothing but sunshine,
and the laughter of friends
revealing that life had so much it
wanted to offer,
give freely.
It's funny at times, how fun and
free things used to be.
Maybe it just wanted you to glow,
give liberation by being liberation.
Not sure though.
Either way, no point in
worrying about nostalgia, as this
is now, happiness at its extreme,
perfect prospects ahead of you,
never having to worry about the
new old days, just now.
And now you are out on the floor,
everything different in the worst way.
You envision yourself in the perfect days,
but that's all, that era passed away ages ago;
and you know that you took
your life for granted, but
the relentless pull of time
does not care, stealing your memories
with no recollection of what they
mean to you.
It sucks that you can't go back.

24 Feb 10

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retrospection - introspection - redolence - regret -- if memory is a lie then so am I -- memory is like a figure 8 moebious strip in that the act of remembering changes the memory, i.e., "A memory is only as real as the last time you remembered it. The more you remember something, the less accurate the memory becomes." - Proust was a Neuroscientist by Jonah Lehrer -- shall we be despairing that we are illusions at best and at worst soon to be forgotten -- soon to be recycled particles of light -- our Sun is a recycled Star from dead Stars before it, so we all come from Stars and to Stars shall we return, but first through the lowly worm --

nonetheless your romp down memory lane is done again and again -- some areas to look at for a smoother flow -- l6 - l7 seems to be missing a second person singular verb -- the glow-though rhymey is spot on --

it'd be sweet to change the past which can be done in an unequivocal epiphany moment, a life changing monad in time 'n space, like ripples on a pond, a smile on your face turning into song -- to be neither attracted nor repelled, neither compelled by the past nor future beckoned, all nostalgia and hope simply quelled ..

nice listen
 — AlchemiA

Alchemia, thanks for reading. repetition becomes boring at times, is what i realized. the memory lane extravaganza will go, when i figure out how to incorporate less.

your crits are gold to me, Alchemia. even if you tell me i did a good job, it is enough because then i can figure how i did a good job. likewise, if the piece is terrible, i can tear my brains apart trying to figure out what was so bad!


anyway. nice talking to you. i promise i do the best i can with changing what i can, and providing positive feedback on your feedback. but life has a funny way of changing things irreverently.

catch you later. actually, you'll probably catch me with your poetry, beckoning me to question things. just a compliment, however strange that may sound.

thanks again.
 — listen

ey, you're back!

are you sure you're ok?
this definitely reads so un-listen-like,
but i like that you're turning at
sharp corners now.

a breath of fresh air with grains
of melancholy in it, which is nice.

; )
 — fractalcore

nice line 'no point in worrying about nostalgia'.
nice poem.
 — varun

i played a game called DUST >>>>> ....................... (every day, until youy do that twenty four seven.)
 — listen

 — psychofemale