The "Critique Me" Thread
Andy_Mae said:The First Needle
The sharp pinch was there before I was ready,
the rough belt removed before I could get steady.
He said not to whimper and fight and holler,
or he'd have to use his hands as a collar.
Call the doctor, call the nurse!
I didn't use the needle first!
Breaking down from the inside out,
that's what it feels like while I shout.
The high fades and the low begins,
my heart beat slows as I contemplate my sins.
Fading faster and faster, whirling round and round,
could someone come, already, and put me in the ground?
There's a calloused hand over my mouth,
drowning out all of the cries and the shouts.
Arms pick me up when I finally settle down,
only to lay me on my back, in my own saliva, I'll drown.
Have I stopped breathing?
Has my heart stopped beating?
Has the world stopped spinning?
Are the drugs really winning?
Purple lights and mountains majesty,
no, wait, that's just the point of my knee.
Why am I picking at it? Why is there blood?
Oh god, am I going to make the place flood?
Dark room, no windows, just a lamp,
the back of my left hand held a stamp.
Hard floors, harder walls,
would anyone hear my cries at all?
Seeing everything, yet feeling nada,
heard another guy say something about a frittata.
All high, out of our minds, trapped in this little room,
as if waiting, waiting for our doom.
An air of relief as a girl stood and walked out,
and another, and another, what was this all about?
My feet were numb, my mind a blur,
but here was everyone else, not even concerned.
Finally, after what seemed like years,
I was able to stand and wipe away the tears.
Broken soul and shattered dignity,
nothing left but captivity.
Captive to it's wants, captive to it's needs,
again and again, as my soul bleeds,
I sit in that chair, strapped in,
and ride the ride that starts with a needle in my skin.
Andy Mae, here are my impressions, for whatever their worth.
You are throwing in words and phrases for the sake of filling in the empty gaps of what is intended to be a rhymer. Poems do not have to rhyme to be poems. If you remove the(se) elements that aren't necessary to the story, the story will improve.
Try writing an alternate version without any intentional rhyme to it.
The character gets injected with a drug, gets high from it and then comes down from the high. There should be more information to give the reader a better understanding of why this is all happening.
The sharp pinch was there before I was ready,
the rough belt removed before I could get steady.
He said not to whimper and fight and holler,
or he'd have to use his hands as a collar.
Call the doctor, call the nurse!
I didn't use the needle first!
Breaking down from the inside out,
that's what it feels like while I shout.
The high fades and the low begins,
my heart beat slows as I contemplate my sins.
Fading faster and faster, whirling round and round,
could someone come, already, and put me in the ground?
There's a calloused hand over my mouth,
drowning out all of the cries and the shouts.
Arms pick me up when I finally settle down,
only to lay me on my back, in my own saliva, I'll drown.
Have I stopped breathing?
Has my heart stopped beating?
Has the world stopped spinning?
Are the drugs really winning?
Purple lights and mountains majesty,
no, wait, that's just the point of my knee.
Why am I picking at it? Why is there blood?
Oh god, am I going to make the place flood?
Dark room, no windows, just a lamp,
the back of my left hand held a stamp.
Hard floors, harder walls,
would anyone hear my cries at all?
Seeing everything, yet feeling nada,
heard another guy say something about a frittata.
All high, out of our minds, trapped in this little room,
as if waiting, waiting for our doom.
An air of relief as a girl stood and walked out,
and another, and another, what was this all about?
My feet were numb, my mind a blur,
but here was everyone else, not even concerned.
Finally, after what seemed like years,
I was able to stand and wipe away the tears.
Broken soul and shattered dignity,
nothing left but captivity.
Captive to it's wants, captive to it's needs,
again and again, as my soul bleeds,
I sit in that chair, strapped in,
and ride the ride that starts with a needle in my skin.
Andy Mae, here are my impressions, for whatever their worth.
You are throwing in words and phrases for the sake of filling in the empty gaps of what is intended to be a rhymer. Poems do not have to rhyme to be poems. If you remove the(se) elements that aren't necessary to the story, the story will improve.
Try writing an alternate version without any intentional rhyme to it.
The character gets injected with a drug, gets high from it and then comes down from the high. There should be more information to give the reader a better understanding of why this is all happening.
Shn1010 said:The Red World
I tried to escape from this red world
I wished to lead a new life in reality
But when I attempted to break free
I realized that there was no way out
I’m trapped forever in this world
Until the color red flows into me
All the other colors will melt away
And I will be a part of the red world
Even at night time, the sun is there
I can neither dream nor can I sleep
The stars light the crimson sky
The autumn light fades and reappears
And the scarlet roses flourish in blood
In the midst of this scarlet world
I’m trapped forever in this world
Until the color red flows into me
All the other colors will melt away
And I will be a part of the red world
Even at night time, the sun is there
I can neither dream nor can I sleep
If I paint with the color grey
Will the color red fade away?
Would I live in a grey world?
A world of coldness and wrath
Even if I could create a new world,
The red world would be forever there
You already established the red is inescapable. Then you are asking if you can escape the red by painting with grey. Then you are stating you can't escape the red no matter what you do. There is too much contradiction.
Start over.
Inform the reader you are having difficulty creating your world because no matter what colors you utilize, it ends up changing to red or a redness bleeds through. Leave it to the reader to conclude that you can't escape living in a red world for whatever reason that is left unsaid.
I tried to escape from this red world
I wished to lead a new life in reality
But when I attempted to break free
I realized that there was no way out
I’m trapped forever in this world
Until the color red flows into me
All the other colors will melt away
And I will be a part of the red world
Even at night time, the sun is there
I can neither dream nor can I sleep
The stars light the crimson sky
The autumn light fades and reappears
And the scarlet roses flourish in blood
In the midst of this scarlet world
I’m trapped forever in this world
Until the color red flows into me
All the other colors will melt away
And I will be a part of the red world
Even at night time, the sun is there
I can neither dream nor can I sleep
If I paint with the color grey
Will the color red fade away?
Would I live in a grey world?
A world of coldness and wrath
Even if I could create a new world,
The red world would be forever there
You already established the red is inescapable. Then you are asking if you can escape the red by painting with grey. Then you are stating you can't escape the red no matter what you do. There is too much contradiction.
Start over.
Inform the reader you are having difficulty creating your world because no matter what colors you utilize, it ends up changing to red or a redness bleeds through. Leave it to the reader to conclude that you can't escape living in a red world for whatever reason that is left unsaid.
baltina said:Hi,
I have submitted two poems in the "Self" poetry section. First one titled "Should" and the second "Walls". I have never been taught to write poetry and would like to get some more opinions please.
http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/182794-should/
Should
I am a child who should be happy and carefree.
But I am different and don't dare to be me.
Children laugh and play each day.
But I hide in fear to keep the bullies at bay.
I am a child who should be happy to read.
But from this torture I yearn to be freed.
Children pretend and play make-believe.
But I wish I could run and forever leave.
I am a child who should be happy at home.
But I must be quiet and still like a garden gnome.
Children are happy to be with family.
But I wish to be an orphan so desperately.
I am a child who should have friends.
But I am in isolation with wounds to cleanse.
Children are encouraged and onward spurred.
But I am told to be seen and not heard.
I am a child who should have freedom and trust.
But I feel shame and a whole lot of distrust.
Childrens' ambition and diligence grow.
But I feel guilt, inferior, and full of woe.
I am a child who should develop creativity.
But in despair I stagnate in isolated captivity.
Teenagers search for their identity.
But I found more than one entity.
I am a child who should have been given hope, love, and care.
But I am overflowing with grief, anger and despair.
Adults' lives are filled with friends and family.
But my life is filled with loneliness and apathy.
Consider removing the Buts. They are unnecessary. And they slow down the reading.
This poem works.
It could have more impact if there was contrast in every verse.
For example, Verse 5 has no contrast and is much weaker than the others.
Same with Verse 7.
I am a child who should have friends.
But I am in isolation with wounds to cleanse.
Also, Verse 7 clashes with Verse 6.
Children are happy to be with family.
But I wish to be an orphan so desperately.
Being an orphan is in a way, a form of isolation. If you wish to be an orphan, than it is safe to say you wish to be in isolation. Yet the statement that you are in isolation comes across as undesirable.
You have a very solid emotional poem here that just needs some minor polishing.
The contrast in ( most of ) the verses is what makes it poetic.
I have submitted two poems in the "Self" poetry section. First one titled "Should" and the second "Walls". I have never been taught to write poetry and would like to get some more opinions please.
http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/182794-should/
Should
I am a child who should be happy and carefree.
But I am different and don't dare to be me.
Children laugh and play each day.
But I hide in fear to keep the bullies at bay.
I am a child who should be happy to read.
But from this torture I yearn to be freed.
Children pretend and play make-believe.
But I wish I could run and forever leave.
I am a child who should be happy at home.
But I must be quiet and still like a garden gnome.
Children are happy to be with family.
But I wish to be an orphan so desperately.
I am a child who should have friends.
But I am in isolation with wounds to cleanse.
Children are encouraged and onward spurred.
But I am told to be seen and not heard.
I am a child who should have freedom and trust.
But I feel shame and a whole lot of distrust.
Childrens' ambition and diligence grow.
But I feel guilt, inferior, and full of woe.
I am a child who should develop creativity.
But in despair I stagnate in isolated captivity.
Teenagers search for their identity.
But I found more than one entity.
I am a child who should have been given hope, love, and care.
But I am overflowing with grief, anger and despair.
Adults' lives are filled with friends and family.
But my life is filled with loneliness and apathy.
Consider removing the Buts. They are unnecessary. And they slow down the reading.
This poem works.
It could have more impact if there was contrast in every verse.
For example, Verse 5 has no contrast and is much weaker than the others.
Same with Verse 7.
I am a child who should have friends.
But I am in isolation with wounds to cleanse.
Also, Verse 7 clashes with Verse 6.
Children are happy to be with family.
But I wish to be an orphan so desperately.
Being an orphan is in a way, a form of isolation. If you wish to be an orphan, than it is safe to say you wish to be in isolation. Yet the statement that you are in isolation comes across as undesirable.
You have a very solid emotional poem here that just needs some minor polishing.
The contrast in ( most of ) the verses is what makes it poetic.
baltina said:Hi,
I have submitted two poems in the "Self" poetry section. First one titled "Should" and the second "Walls". I have never been taught to write poetry and would like to get some more opinions please.
http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/182809-walls/
Walls
I felt trapped within those walls.
I felt I would never leave at all.
I felt a prisoner in my family home.
Oh how I wished to freely roam.
I didn't believe I would ever leave.
I felt locked away in that house would you believe.
He always found me with a face of gloom.
Desperately had to escape my room.
Blood was spilt
Pain was built.
Hope would wilt.
He had no guilt.
He lived in anger.
He took in anger.
He savaged in anger.
He was anger.
He whispered in my darkness, "I love you..."
Many walls around me.
Closing in, no chance to flee.
I believed it was too late.
I believed sealed was my fate.
Who could help me when nothing could be said?
So my existence continued with dread.
He tried to kill my spirit dead.
But I was not yet bled.
One day anger met anger.
For a moment I was without languor.
Then the sword of rage was thrust in to the hilt.
And like a flower in the midday sun I did wilt.
I was an innocent child with a broken spirit.
I was an angry teenager with a broken spirit.
I became a forlorn adult with a broken spirit.
My parole finally came with the help of another.
Two women became my father and my mother.
I was born again at forty-one and had to grow up on the run.
Much learning I had to do and I had only just begun.
I feel like a child with much to learn still.
As I climb life's humongous hill.
Help to live a life I have support around.
But my spirit is still broken and cast down.
"Get out of my dreams" I yell each morning.
Both are long gone and not a day was lost in mourning.
Don't tell me it is possible to start my life again.
Through the pores of my skin depression and despair I obtain.
What chance did I have with the parents I had?
All I wanted was a loving mum and dad.
I feel trapped within these walls.
I fell...I will never get to leave at all.
I dislike emotional poems because they tend to have no focus, typically a release of random thoughts in no creative order.
This one is very focused, with the exception of these lines:
What chance did I have with the parents I had?
All I wanted was a loving mum and dad.
Move these lines to immediately right after
I was an innocent child with a broken spirit.
I was an angry teenager with a broken spirit.
I became a forlorn adult with a broken spirit.
What chance did I have with the parents I had?
All I wanted was a loving mum and dad.
and you end up with a more solid poetic ending of still being trapped despite having escaped.
I have submitted two poems in the "Self" poetry section. First one titled "Should" and the second "Walls". I have never been taught to write poetry and would like to get some more opinions please.
http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/182809-walls/
Walls
I felt trapped within those walls.
I felt I would never leave at all.
I felt a prisoner in my family home.
Oh how I wished to freely roam.
I didn't believe I would ever leave.
I felt locked away in that house would you believe.
He always found me with a face of gloom.
Desperately had to escape my room.
Blood was spilt
Pain was built.
Hope would wilt.
He had no guilt.
He lived in anger.
He took in anger.
He savaged in anger.
He was anger.
He whispered in my darkness, "I love you..."
Many walls around me.
Closing in, no chance to flee.
I believed it was too late.
I believed sealed was my fate.
Who could help me when nothing could be said?
So my existence continued with dread.
He tried to kill my spirit dead.
But I was not yet bled.
One day anger met anger.
For a moment I was without languor.
Then the sword of rage was thrust in to the hilt.
And like a flower in the midday sun I did wilt.
I was an innocent child with a broken spirit.
I was an angry teenager with a broken spirit.
I became a forlorn adult with a broken spirit.
My parole finally came with the help of another.
Two women became my father and my mother.
I was born again at forty-one and had to grow up on the run.
Much learning I had to do and I had only just begun.
I feel like a child with much to learn still.
As I climb life's humongous hill.
Help to live a life I have support around.
But my spirit is still broken and cast down.
"Get out of my dreams" I yell each morning.
Both are long gone and not a day was lost in mourning.
Don't tell me it is possible to start my life again.
Through the pores of my skin depression and despair I obtain.
What chance did I have with the parents I had?
All I wanted was a loving mum and dad.
I feel trapped within these walls.
I fell...I will never get to leave at all.
I dislike emotional poems because they tend to have no focus, typically a release of random thoughts in no creative order.
This one is very focused, with the exception of these lines:
What chance did I have with the parents I had?
All I wanted was a loving mum and dad.
Move these lines to immediately right after
I was an innocent child with a broken spirit.
I was an angry teenager with a broken spirit.
I became a forlorn adult with a broken spirit.
What chance did I have with the parents I had?
All I wanted was a loving mum and dad.
and you end up with a more solid poetic ending of still being trapped despite having escaped.
Harpalycus said:I have always written for myself and so I would be very interested in a proper critique of my writing. I won't call it poetry as I am still uncertain what that is. OK would be very grateful for a proper and no holds barred critique. And I do mean that.
Bosom Friends
The white cupped curve of haunting breast
Glimpsed through careless fold of denim,
Gripping eyes in panicked moving
Drowned by heave and swell of speaking
Darting where I dare not rest.
Do you feel my shamed voyeuring,
Do you mark my fumbled peering,
Sense the blood of floundered being,
By your laughter have you guessed?
As you smile and speak and flatter,
Locus of a strange attractor,
See the lust beneath the liar.
Know the need that lies within.
I had rather rip my eyelids
Than to have you see me seeing
Squirming gaze full gaffed and netted
By the shadowed sweep of skin.
Yet my eyes have ever wandered
Moon drawn as the fraught sea water
And my fear is half my needing.
Would you knew my secret sin.
I dreamt, last night, that I awoke to find you
Enfolded by the wave and moulded billow
Of clinging sheets, your bare arm out towards me,
‘Did you not know we loved at my behest.’
No, I did not know, nor do I know why
The long and unthought friendship heedless folded
And shoaled to shallow soundings of your body
To break the keel and backbone of my rest;
In smooth and sway of hip and arm’s perfection,
Till now, when friendship calls for selfless succour,
I stare, with such a hunger, at your breast.
It was very sensual to erotic until the ripping off of the eyelids. Snip or tone down that line and you have yourself a winner.
Bosom Friends
The white cupped curve of haunting breast
Glimpsed through careless fold of denim,
Gripping eyes in panicked moving
Drowned by heave and swell of speaking
Darting where I dare not rest.
Do you feel my shamed voyeuring,
Do you mark my fumbled peering,
Sense the blood of floundered being,
By your laughter have you guessed?
As you smile and speak and flatter,
Locus of a strange attractor,
See the lust beneath the liar.
Know the need that lies within.
I had rather rip my eyelids
Than to have you see me seeing
Squirming gaze full gaffed and netted
By the shadowed sweep of skin.
Yet my eyes have ever wandered
Moon drawn as the fraught sea water
And my fear is half my needing.
Would you knew my secret sin.
I dreamt, last night, that I awoke to find you
Enfolded by the wave and moulded billow
Of clinging sheets, your bare arm out towards me,
‘Did you not know we loved at my behest.’
No, I did not know, nor do I know why
The long and unthought friendship heedless folded
And shoaled to shallow soundings of your body
To break the keel and backbone of my rest;
In smooth and sway of hip and arm’s perfection,
Till now, when friendship calls for selfless succour,
I stare, with such a hunger, at your breast.
It was very sensual to erotic until the ripping off of the eyelids. Snip or tone down that line and you have yourself a winner.
Hmmm - it was not meant to be simply sensual and erotic but more about the hypocrisy of underlying sexual feelings for someone that one was befriending in need. So the terror stricken shame of being seen to be aroused by a glimpse of cleavage needs to be disconcerting revulsion. 'See the lust beneath the liar,' hence the savagery of the image. Actually I had already toned it down from the original rip my eyeballs but I still think it needs that dramatic explosion of fear to fit with the theme of the poem. But thank you for your time and input. At the end of the day all poetry is inescapably subjective.
Harpalycus said:Hmmm - it was not meant to be simply sensual and erotic but more about the hypocrisy of underlying sexual feelings for someone that one was befriending in need. So the terror stricken shame of being seen to be aroused by a glimpse of cleavage needs to be disconcerting revulsion. 'See the lust beneath the liar,' hence the savagery of the image. Actually I had already toned it down from the original rip my eyeballs but I still think it needs that dramatic explosion of fear to fit with the theme of the poem. But thank you for your time and input. At the end of the day all poetry is inescapably subjective.
Mission accomplished then.
I can find nothing else to criticize. Don't even have a single improvement to suggest.
Mission accomplished then.
I can find nothing else to criticize. Don't even have a single improvement to suggest.
Anonymous
Harpalycus, perhaps change "I had rather rip" to "I would rather rip".
Some of the lines do not need caps at the beginning. I catch myself doing the same when I write: capitalizing each line. (old school habit in my case)... but that's just a minor adjustment, and totally up to the poet whether or not to change.
Some of the lines do not need caps at the beginning. I catch myself doing the same when I write: capitalizing each line. (old school habit in my case)... but that's just a minor adjustment, and totally up to the poet whether or not to change.
An interesting point that has never occurred to me. As you say, old school habit. I shall certainly take that into account in future. Thank you. It shows what slaves we are to habit, how much we never question. And you are right about the would rather, which is grammatically correct, as it should be had better.
But I am going to play the poetic licence card on that one. For some unanalysable reason, had sounds marginally better in the line than would. At least to me. It may be the admittedly faint internal rhyme with rather. It may be simply that I have become familiar with it. It is probably because I am just pig headed. I will justify it on the grounds that it is internal speech and we do not always speak in perfect grammatical constructions. Thank you both for your time and suggestions. Much appreciated.
But I am going to play the poetic licence card on that one. For some unanalysable reason, had sounds marginally better in the line than would. At least to me. It may be the admittedly faint internal rhyme with rather. It may be simply that I have become familiar with it. It is probably because I am just pig headed. I will justify it on the grounds that it is internal speech and we do not always speak in perfect grammatical constructions. Thank you both for your time and suggestions. Much appreciated.
I have been working on a story for my Advanced Creative Writing Class and I was wondering if it's good thus far or if I should scrap it. I appreciate honest criticism. And you do have to read the first link before the second, otherwise some things don't make sense.
http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/186764-prologue-to-test-story/
http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/186896-part-one-of-test-story/
http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/186764-prologue-to-test-story/
http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/186896-part-one-of-test-story/
