Struggling Writers discussion

Have any poems you'd like immediate critique on? Just post them under this topic. Remember, NO LINKS are accepted. And you cannot post a gateway link to ALL of your stories. That's what the Your Writing testimont is for.

Type Away!

I'll begin first. I composed a poem on Mother's Day dedicated to my favorite mother, mine of course. One of the stanzas 'the grandma one' is a little out of topic. I need feedback asap!









Ode to the Mothers and the Breadwinning Matriarchs
To you, who molded Us with all our indepth flaws
and slight imperfections
Our wonderful mother


First in the bells of springtime
during the sounds of lambing
came the screeches of your first and eldest child,
who later would become your ambition to call Yours,
My sister


And next,
in the semester of Fall,
cast into bright arms never weak, nor old
l nestled by you.
And you were courageous enough to nurture me with loving care
shedding your principality over me
embedding your kindred words, wise all the more.

And slowly we grew,
patented by your morals
granted our academic success throughout adolescence.


For when you grew little
our Grandmother created you from
ribbons of gold and silver
and molded a Diamond
a shining star,
who evolved from a higher table of women
who I now honor my life to today.


So ode to all the mothers
with words of love and praise
while we spread their kindred goodness
and kind and loving ways
We should also think of Grandma
who conspirated the gift to Nurture and protect
For she mothered my dear mother
who mothers me without neglect.

I really like this, but the last stanza just seems very out of place. I think it's a combination of the rhyme scheme that suddenly appears, the change in direction, from praising your mother directly to calling the audience of the poem to praise all mothers, and the use of 'ode' in the first line. When you use 'So' in front of it, it makes 'ode' sound like a verb, and makes the reader stop and think what your intention is. I think if you stopped at 'my life to today,' or reformed that last stanza to be a last thought in your conversation with your mother, it would end very nicely as well.

Oh, and thank you for replying! Thanks, i noticed the last stanza was way off. The critique is very helpful

Ingrid wrote: "Oh, and thank you for replying! Thanks, i noticed the last stanza was way off. The critique is very helpful"

Glad to be of help. :) I loves me some poetry, and I write it often enough, sometimes I need to just sit and edit it for a while. :)

I am cold and tired
Waiting for my life to begin
Seems like all I do is wait
I just want to be me
Without any judgement

I am in the dark
And my blood is all I see
I feel it trickle down my arm
So I cry myself to sleep
All alone, my head in my wet hands

Death
Always on my mind
Would it make this go away
Sadness
Please leave me be

Just to be free
To speak my mind
And tell you the way I
Feel
And quit falling

I'd give anything
Just for that
Just love
And hate
Just so I could feel again


I feel as though the first part might be weird with the rest of it. Whatcha think?

i like it. the second stanza seems unrehearsed though and im not sure if it makes sense. for example , you can't see red in pitch darkness. so maybe you could describe the blood as 'a glowing funnel trickling down my arm in the painted darkness.' idk something that clarifies that part. otherwise this is really good. you took something bland and ordinary and made it into a fantastic poem.

Thanks

Darkness

Darkness hangs over my shoulder
And I must admit more and more lately it's been enveloping me
Reaching inside me with its thin black wisps
Sometimes I wonder if it went away, would I even feel anything anymore

Shadows, ghosts from my past
Stand there in the dark
Taunting me
Why?

The walls and concrete around my heart
Never did it any good
The darkness is starting to cave in
Will I cave in too?

Darkness crashing into me
One last chance to awake me from this nightmare
But I don't want to wake up, ever
I'll just stay here feeling numb for the rest of my life

There is no use to these ragged breathes that I take
Eighteen, pink pills down my throat
So that I will never wake again
Darkness is all I see...

Again, watch the length of the poem. Every line must be symmetrical. I'm looking forward to more intriguing poems of yours, which is a pleasurable comment since I don't look at poetry much. You have talent.

A splendid scrumptious feed
that serves my empty needs
White frosting caked on top
While slurping every drop

Yum!Yum!Mmm!
What an abrosias pie!
That satisfies me and fattens my thighs!
My splendid superb delicious love
that creeps like a critter right above
my lips, and oh how good it tastes
As I flicker my tongue to its sticking toothpaste
Licking its creamy and chocolate coated crust
that tires my belly, but I must! I must!
And again and again I crave for more
of the mouthwatering tarty goodness in store





(a 6th grade poem! unrevised and unedited!)

Nice poem Ingrid not really my kinda thing but it made me smile!

Here's another of mine:

I wish I could have said
More then a simple goodbye
I wish I could have
Held you and cried
I wish you could have
Seen the dark side of me
The side that scares and scars me
I wish you could see
Everything I am
Then maybe, you could help me
But instead
I stand alone
On a cliff, outside your world
And I wish you were here
With me.

Hi Critique Group,

I'm more used to writing papers/essays (my speciality area is normally the 'Emergence of Early Modern Europe). Anyway, lately I've been drawn towards poetry as a means of expression and wrote this little poem.

************************
Love is not possible in our street
The house has taken me, and rejected you
I want to care, I want to feel pain,
but there is nothing left
Now we walk through different doors
We pass each other with eyes unseeing
Waiting only to be released
Lingering past the point of no return
Seeking one little spark to ignite the storm
But the house has decided...
Love is not possible in our street.
--------
Brenda

I think I need to add some more verses - not sure, but would like some feedback.

Here's another little poem, any feedback would be welcome - thanks:

Inside the vacuum I sit
Carved out of molten lead
Nothing can penetrate
Nothing can get inside my head
I feel no pain
I feel no joy
There is nothing to gain
And nothing to lose

Inside the vacuum I sit
Long ago I chose my path
I cannot deviate now
I cannot lay my head upon the hearth
No chance to hear the song of the lark
To wander beside meandering streams
My song is the hells spawn in the dark
The primal scream that no one hears….

Inside the vacuum I sit!

I like this recent one. i had trouble identifying the narrator which should be apparent in the last stanza, each clue becoming more apparent in each stanza. perhaps write a third verse¿ and is it or was it a robot¿ some sort of slave for satan¿

Ingrid wrote: "I like this recent one. i had trouble identifying the narrator which should be apparent in the last stanza, each clue becoming more apparent in each stanza. perhaps write a third verse¿ and is it o..."

Sort of - not really a robot - actually I was inspired to write it after reading Crown of swords (Robert Jordan - 'Wheel of Time' series)when the main character was imprisoned in a box and tortured periodically, then put back in the box (he also has another person living in his head, and this person is half insane, maddened by hatred and regret!).

Now - thanks for the information about identifying the narrator, I will see what I can do about another stanza.

I appreciate your constructive feedback - Brenda

How about this Ingrid, I've added another stanza:

Inside the vacuum I sit
Carved out of molten lead
Nothing can penetrate
Nothing can get inside my head
I feel no pain
I feel no joy
There is nothing to gain
And nothing to lose

Inside the vacuum I sit
Long ago I chose my path
I cannot deviate now
I cannot lay my head upon the hearth
No chance to hear the song of the lark
To wander beside meandering streams
My song is the hells spawn in the dark
The primal scream that no one hears….

Inside the vacuum I sit
I am the saviour and destroyer of the world
I will return
There is no doubt of this
To cleanse and burn
and make my mark
To do what is written
and emerge from the dark
Then, beware, for outside the vacuum I will sit....

This is much darker and enticing¡ i really like it¡ the last stanza should jump out at the reader and yours did¡ im quite impressed.

Ingrid wrote: "A splendid scrumptious feed
that serves my empty needs
White frosting caked on top
While slurping every drop

Yum!Yum!Mmm!
What an abrosias pie!
That satisfies me and fattens my thighs!
My splendid..."

That was a wow, and cute for a kid to say....

Hey guys, here's one I'd like thoughts on:

Those eyes belie
sincerity of voice
Noxious tongue
which speaks volumes on deceit
till dry,
barren from wanting
but not getting
So he tries drinking me in
like wine to quench his heavy need
Heat
I am left in need
of a shield to protect me
and a shower
if the shield fails

Annalise wrote: "Hey guys, here's one I'd like thoughts on:

Those eyes belie
sincerity of voice
Noxious tongue
which speaks volumes on deceit
till dry,
barren from wanting
but not getting
So he tries drinking me i..."

I like what you are saying in that piece!

Ingrid wrote: "This is much darker and enticing¡ i really like it¡ the last stanza should jump out at the reader and yours did¡ im quite impressed."

Thanks Ingrid - your advice has been very helpful - Brenda

Lost inside the unsold
communication of the
hated lingering darkness
that we can't escape from
forever

Erie wrote: "Lost inside the unsold
communication of the
hated lingering darkness
that we can't escape from
forever"

a new style of poetry opened ! i like the unfinished lines that continue until that one, sinical word in the ending. It's like a horror sci-fi twist that reminds me of the Twilight Zone, or Edgar Allen Poe's poems. Great physique in the poem. Keep at it!

"hallucinations" by Dimitrios Spyridon Chytiris,
Part VIII


You headed home passing through the white arches of the square.
On the grass a couple is enjoying the chilliness of the night, but mostly what they enjoy is the night’s heat…

It has been ages since the last time you enjoyed the night more than what you enjoy your overcoat.
Then you would dance the night, now you wear the night,
It is an accessory to hide you from everyone.

You kicked the stuck door of yours and threw away your clothes on the floor,
on the bedside table, on the ceiling next to forests and sycamore trees of an old tale very sad that you had seen in the cinema and had read in a library.

For a moment you forgot again and took a look out your window, this horrible night.
You regretted it bitterly; you were blinded by these miserable bright little things choking the sky at night.

Yet you used to look at them for hours, what changed you?
From further down the street comes the sound of wind instruments of the Philharmonic rehearsing and reminds you of the band you used to march with in your military uniform and the noisy cornet.
In its sweet lullaby you lay on your side and sleep.

Critique please? This is one of my angry poems.

The Silent Fight

Overwhelmed, drowning, and trapped.
Choking through tears.
Whimpering softly, so as not to be heard
Regretting, but breathing.
Still alive.

Muddling through,
Though tried and true,
Will slowly kill me,
Though it helps you.

Buried alive,
Grasping for truth
Letting go.

Not sweet and innocent,
Docile and obedient,
But angry and stressed
Depressed

Sick and tired
Of being sick and tired
Crying, dripping
A rainstorm down my cheeks.

You cannot see it,
Refuse to believe it.
Tell yourself it's just a phase.
A passing, evanescent phase.

No. It is real.
It has been real,
Almost from the beginning.

The hate and bitterness
Has never left,
They have simply hidden in fear.

But it is a new day.
Not one to stand by,
But one to fight.

Bring your weapons,
Bring your spears.
And through the fears,
Through the tears,
Though you will guilt me,
Tilt me,
Your words will bite,
I will be here.
And I will fight.

♪ Tara ♪ wrote: "Critique please? This is one of my angry poems.

The Silent Fight

Overwhelmed, drowning, and trapped.
Choking through tears.
Whimpering softly, so as not to be heard
Regretting, but breathing. ..."

A beautifully written poem! Tinged with a hint of darkness, but i like it! I dont have any pointers. You write like I do when i write poetry, fragmented sentences that are clear cut and edgy. I would only suggest to be careful in where you break lines and stanzas because the rhyming is a bit off. Other than that i liked the message of the poem and the poem itself!

Dimitrios wrote: ""hallucinations" by Dimitrios Spyridon Chytiris,
Part VIII


You headed home passing through the white arches of the square.
On the grass a couple is enjoying the chilliness of the night, but mos..."

a really different style of poetry but i like! especially the descriptives; some people flair when using second person but it was abstract and intriguing. nice touch!

Okay, I'll be more careful on that. :) I wasn't actually going for a rhyming poem; I wanted to give the effect of sometimes having a rhyming, normal poem and sometimes breaking off into little bursts. And part of the whole stanza thing is that I don't edit a whole lot; I'll feel like writing a poem, sit down to write it, and just let it come out it a giant blurb. :) Thanks for the comments.

Ingrid wrote: "Dimitrios wrote: ""hallucinations" by Dimitrios Spyridon Chytiris,
Part VIII


You headed home passing through the white arches of the square.
On the grass a couple is enjoying the chilliness of ..."

Thank you Ingrid,you are very kind :D

how about this one? quite darker...


man of fog

A mist emerges making the trails dry up.
A river flows, white and sensually slow, along the road flooding the unclean concrete and suffocating the asphalt as it climbs with its claws from brick to brick, from stone to stone and from crack to crack like a macabre creeping plant dressing up the night in a snow-gray veil of a Corpse Bride.

Lights, indifferent before, now define the boundaries with straight lines and reveal islets of light in the bloated sea of fog. The wells steam with horrible smells, dance and seal themselves in a cloud that fell in love with the earth.

Grizzly form emerging through the miniscule hovering drops, defying the curse of gravity, slowly glide with your long black hair and the big trench coat like coal, flapping it like membrane wings always in a very slow tempo like dead heartbeats,
with fiery coals for eyes and a torn smile with red lips of smudged paint, wet clown with rotten lipstick.

You came with the stakes raised and the forefinger erect, souleater of men in this haze that your brownish boots hurt the pavements of our memories.
You eat your meal dropping down bodies puzzled and cloudy like window screens in the fog with tears rolling down to infinity spent freely but paid handsomely.
Feed our hunger gray dressed man of fog, with sweet oblivion and take away the Harpies with their sharp claws ripping our flesh,
Them all harsh, you all insane,
Feed us our own slices and drawn us in the sea of mist you made for our sake,

Oh! cursed beautiful creature,
Perverted mind,
Rebel of the monarchy of our conscience,
Miserable god of our debauchery,
Licentious lover of our desires,
Robust rapist of our dreams.
Harvest us your crops and then cover us with the mists on your hands,
man born by the fogs in our minds.

Wow!!! Powerful poem. Nice job. I quite like this one, especially the last stanza.

I seem to be drawn to dark poems. Hmm...

I got one it might not be that great but at least I tried

The lead.
we are the
lead now

we were made
to fly

fly as high
as the
blue sky

not to start
a fight

using our keen
sight

we can rule
the night

you may feel
some fright

you can use all
your might to
do what is right

to join us in
flight

and be the
lead

Here's one. For now I'm just calling it "Dream"

A wispy thought,
A faint, vanishing cloud.
Evanescent vapor.
Fading as you wake.

Starting as you doze,
Taking you places you can only imagine.

A child's fantasy,
a goal of a dreamer,
Wishes, desires.

March into the sunset,
Fade into the night.
Sleep, slumber.

Dream and wish.
Wake to find you forget.
To find that you can't access the place.
The place where your dreams are stored.

A wispy thought,
A faint, vanishing cloud.
Evanescent vapor.
Fading as you wake.

And another, titled "Skiing Sunset"

Getting late.
On vacation, on top of a mountain.
Dad is getting our normal clothes out of the car,
My sister and I took the lift to the top of the mountain.
Just one more run.
As I touch my skis to the snow,
it feels a little icier than it did earlier.
We stand and ski out,
keeping the poles out of our way.
Scoot out to the top of the mountain.
Look.

A canvas of color.
Rich purple, gold, and green.
Cotton candy pink and robin's egg blue.
Only a little gray.
Blue, dark to light,
And yellow, orange, green.
They bleed together yet stay distinct.

I turn.
Start slowly, go towards the lift.
Turn.
Make S's.
Drag my poles behind me,
Lift the inside foot,
Kick up powder.
Under the lift pole,
Picking up speed,
But not too much.
To the bottom.

Get over to the rope lift.
Poles in one hand.
Grab the rope with my gloves.
Hold.
Wait.
Be carried up.
Release.
Get out of the way.
Pop off my skis.
Look at the sky.
Gorgeous. Perfect.

There's Dad.
Time to go.
To drive to the hotel,
And then back home.

Get the ski gear off in the bathroom,
Put on jeans.
Take off the ski boots.
Put on shoes.
My feet feel so light!!!

Walk out.
There's some water from melted snow.
Out to the parking lot.
Look at the sky.
Gone.
No pictures.
Nothing.
Just the memory.
Kept alive in my head.

I've really been on a poetry kick tonight...

I just love the opening verse in dream. The language is so descriptive, and creates pictures in your mind and so true how elusive the dream is when you want to remember it in all its glory.

oops! - I was referring to Tara's poem - the dream....

I've never written poetry,I write stories...so this is a first for me.
JUST SMILE.
Happiness flows like a stream if you let it,
Just close your eyes and you'll see.
Then open them wide and look all around
Then you'll be happy just like me.

See that man with his lips curled downwards?
Just smile widely and watch.
If you look closely it's turned upside down,
Now he's smiling and smiling so much.

See that lady with worry on her face?
Smile at her and you'll see,
The look on her face because of your smile has curled her lips upwards with glee.

All it takes is a smile to make people happy,
Just keep smiling and you'll see,
So turn them frowns upside down,
And you'll be happy just like me.

Great job! :)

I know that a lot of people have been writing poems about depression and self-harm. With this in mind, I wrote a poem that's sort of to a dear friend of mine. :) Critique?

Look in from the outside
Everything seems okay.
But I know it's not.
I know it's all wrong.
Know you need a little help.
Look at me right in the eyes
And tell me everything's alright
And then I'll believe it's true.
But until you can do that
I'll be on your back
Because all I wanna do is help you.

Tell me,
When did you reach the breaking point
When everything was too much?
When did you reach the peak of hurt
Where stressed became depressed
When did you feel
That overdose of pain
That made you need to cut?

Oh, I want to help you.
Please believe me; it's true.
Oh, but you have got
To open up. Please.
Gotta open up to me.
Pour your heart into my soul.
Give me your past and dreams and hopes.
I really want to help you.
But, oh, you have to let me.
Let us make it right.
Oh, pretty please, let us fight the good fight.

Tell me,
When did you reach the breaking point
When everything was too much?
When did you reach the peak of hurt
Where stressed became depressed
When did you feel
That overdose of pain
That made you need to cut?

Too much.
It's too much.

Tara that just gave me the chills omg

Well thanks. :)

Still awake.

I should be asleep in bed
the duvet over my head.
but instead I worry.

Have the bins been put out?
have I time to write.
my emotion do fight.

aching body aching head.
I know I should really go to bed.
but I'm still awake.

Oh for goodness sake.
The bin lorry will keep me away.
that orange light so bright
still awake.

I know I worry,
to much at stake
because past two and
I am ...

still awake!

They can come early
or late.
even past eight.
but that doesn't matter

I'm still awake!

Very nice. :)

Voices
Everywhere I go
I can't escape them
Will they ever leave?

Voices
It's all I here
Tiny whispers saying,
"Kill yourself tonight."

Voices
Taunting me
Telling me strange things
Things I shouldn't be doing

Voices
Driving me crazy
Never shut up
Keeping me awake

Voices
Break my breaking point
Find a razor and a knife
And follow their instructions

Death
That's what I want
To get away from these voices
My one and only escape

Razors
Cut through my arm
Red fluid flows down
Tears peeking out

"Deeper,"
The voices whisper
And I obey
Deeper and Deeper

Darkness
It's all I see
No more light
No more voices

Yelling
And screaming
Of my poor parents
Finding me

Voices
They kill
They will murder
Anyone they see

Its

Its bad I know but its my first one...

It's actually pretty hard. I know that it can be REALLY hard to write about feelings and such in poems and I think you did a good job. The repetition is nice.

Thanks, Tara. It is very hard... I thought it would be easier.

Yes, Bridget. :) I think for me, the biggest problem is trying to put too much or include too many elements. I've written five (maybe more) poems about the same thing, and I want to give them each the full story that I'm tying to express, but I don't want to overload the poem either. :)

Same with me. I always put too much in my writing. I over describe or over explain. You should see my essays for school. I always have too much...