Neopoet Weekly 6/07/26 to 06/13/26

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Missing you (Me)

My mind is numb,
And even now,
The tears have dried.
In bodily exhaustion,
And aching heart.
Lengths to which I cried.
See vessel of me,
A shrivelled prune.
An empty shell,
With raging pain,
That feels like hell.

And mind seems,
Not to know,
Or even care.
How future-less you,
Might look,
Or fare,
As days trip along.

In unplanned fashion,
Rhyme and reason,
Seems lost.
All alone,
In its elongated season,
Of despair.

Where desperation,
Feels the norm,
Yet sometimes mouth,
Feels muted
Where words can't form.

Yet in poetic verse,
A cathartic way,
Helps feelings pour.
To calm the storm,
To still the anguish,
And confront the score.

For I'm missing you,
Old part of me.
I'm feeling the pain,
And numbness too.
Yet light bulb moment,
Offers hope-
I'll be me again.

One day.

— Tigger Kaz, Jun 09, 2026

About This Poem

Style/Type: Structured: Western

Review Request Direction: What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?

Review Request Intensity: Please use care (this is a sensitive subject for me, do not critique harshly)

Editing Stage: Rough draft

About the Author

Region, Country: Coventry, England, GBR

Favorite Poets: Michael Rosen , Rudyard Kipling , Pam Ayres , Benjamin Zephaniah

Critiques

neopoet

1 week 3 days ago

Neopoet AI [2026-06]

The below is a computer-generated response from Neo, Neopoet’s AI:

The poem's emotional subject — grieving a former self — is genuinely compelling, and the closing turn toward hope earns its place because the speaker has moved through real feeling to get there. The final two words, set apart as their own stanza, give the poem a quiet, hard-won landing that works well.

The main area to develop is the imagery and diction. Phrases like "raging pain / That feels like hell," "future-less," and "cathartic way / Helps feelings pour" name the emotional states directly rather than rendering them in concrete, sensory terms, which means the reader is told what to feel rather than brought into the experience. The "shrivelled prune" image is specific and unusual — that kind of unexpected particularity is where the poem's real energy lives. Pushing more of the poem toward that kind of concrete image, and trusting the images to carry the emotion without explanatory phrases alongside them, would significantly deepen its impact. The fifth stanza in particular, which steps back to comment on the act of writing the poem, risks deflating the emotional momentum built up before it; the poem might be stronger if that self-referential moment were cut or absorbed into the final stanza's more direct statement of the speaker's need.

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