Fictional Prose Seeking Honest Critique
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Short stories and chapters from books and novels
Honest critique has been requested for these poems. Want to learn the art of critique? Join our Honestly Crafted Critique group.
Liziantus-Marantus
Poem Published
14th Feb 2025 11:03am
14th Feb 2025 11:03am
Things I Love
I love the smell of fresh wind.
And the colors of red roses.
I love the feeling of happiness.
That not always decomposes.
A memory I had long ago.
That to this day I don't feel foul.
I love the taste of sweet cheesecake.
A cup of juice and a breakfast pancake.
I love the way the wind blows.
The way the leaves rustle.
And the night sky shows.
Maybe his laughter or smile.
That you can listen for a while.
I love the way my pen feels in my hand when I write my poems.
Or with the feather of a hen.
...
And the colors of red roses.
I love the feeling of happiness.
That not always decomposes.
A memory I had long ago.
That to this day I don't feel foul.
I love the taste of sweet cheesecake.
A cup of juice and a breakfast pancake.
I love the way the wind blows.
The way the leaves rustle.
And the night sky shows.
Maybe his laughter or smile.
That you can listen for a while.
I love the way my pen feels in my hand when I write my poems.
Or with the feather of a hen.
...
#motivational
#uplifting
#ValentinesDay
88 reads
0 Comments
Liziantus-Marantus
Poem Published
13th Feb 2025 10:53am
13th Feb 2025 10:53am
Childhood Tales
Do you remember the stories we were told as kids?
About evil monsters and witches.
Vile characters with wounds and stitches.
When we all sat near the fire.
And we listened to our parents tell us the stories.
Like the story of an evil witch.
That used to be a normal human like all of us,
The story of an evil monster.
Who wasn't actually always one.
It used to be a pure creature,driven to do evil by pain.
By trauma or a painful stain.
The way people treated him for it.
And the names they would give it.
And...
About evil monsters and witches.
Vile characters with wounds and stitches.
When we all sat near the fire.
And we listened to our parents tell us the stories.
Like the story of an evil witch.
That used to be a normal human like all of us,
The story of an evil monster.
Who wasn't actually always one.
It used to be a pure creature,driven to do evil by pain.
By trauma or a painful stain.
The way people treated him for it.
And the names they would give it.
And...
#hope
#motivational
#philosophical #uplifting
#philosophical #uplifting
51 reads
0 Comments
Liziantus-Marantus
Poem Published
10th Feb 2025 11:11am
10th Feb 2025 11:11am
Once Upon A Dream
I had a dream the other day.
It was about a cat from a dimension far away.
The cat was magical and true.
It had purple fur,too.
The cat had nine eyes.
With yellow,rich color.
It floats,not flies.
And her fur shines.
The name of the breed was certainly unique.
""Purple ,arabic cat"".
The breed was certainly magical.
And something from a story-like.
The cat appeared in front of me with a friendly face.
And purred,rubbing its face onto my legs.
Maybe the cat was a magical being. ...
It was about a cat from a dimension far away.
The cat was magical and true.
It had purple fur,too.
The cat had nine eyes.
With yellow,rich color.
It floats,not flies.
And her fur shines.
The name of the breed was certainly unique.
""Purple ,arabic cat"".
The breed was certainly magical.
And something from a story-like.
The cat appeared in front of me with a friendly face.
And purred,rubbing its face onto my legs.
Maybe the cat was a magical being. ...
#dreams
#hope
#motivational #uplifting
#motivational #uplifting
81 reads
1 Comment
Liziantus-Marantus
Poem Published
7th Feb 2025 10:49am
7th Feb 2025 10:49am
Treasure Within
I think that everyone is a treasure.
Everyone is unique.
And when everybody is different,life is never bleak.
I see people as item filled treasure chests.
Quite literally,you could say.
Everyone's souls look a different way.
Some chests are full of rats.
And moldy cheese and fruit.
Some seem like they are filled with mold.
But are filled with the rarest treasures you've seen.
The ones who say they are filled with mold.
Can be the most different people you've seen.
I think that anyone could be a treasure. ...
Everyone is unique.
And when everybody is different,life is never bleak.
I see people as item filled treasure chests.
Quite literally,you could say.
Everyone's souls look a different way.
Some chests are full of rats.
And moldy cheese and fruit.
Some seem like they are filled with mold.
But are filled with the rarest treasures you've seen.
The ones who say they are filled with mold.
Can be the most different people you've seen.
I think that anyone could be a treasure. ...
#hope
#motivational
#philosophical
#prose
#uplifting
70 reads
0 Comments
Casted_Runes
Mr Karswell
Mr Karswell
Poem Published
6th Feb 2025 6:52pm
6th Feb 2025 6:52pm
Gentle Nell
This is an excerpt from a book I'm writing. Any feedback on things like the readability of prose and enjoyability will be greatly appreciated!
Nellie Gibson was known as "Gentle Nell" in the same manner of irony that allowed for enormous men to be called "tiny". She was, in truth, a nigh-on lunatic, though until recent months, collected enough to lead a band of criminals through several escapades. Her lieutenant was a man called Morris, who sometimes, on looking at her, wondered if she'd ever taken a man to her bed and pitied any that she had. She was not a...
Nellie Gibson was known as "Gentle Nell" in the same manner of irony that allowed for enormous men to be called "tiny". She was, in truth, a nigh-on lunatic, though until recent months, collected enough to lead a band of criminals through several escapades. Her lieutenant was a man called Morris, who sometimes, on looking at her, wondered if she'd ever taken a man to her bed and pitied any that she had. She was not a...
#fiction
#historical
#prose #violence
#prose #violence
131 reads
5 Comments
Liziantus-Marantus
Poem Published
6th Feb 2025 10:58am
6th Feb 2025 10:58am
Shadows
I know the shadows in my home.
Or maybe in my room.
Sometimes I see them at night.
And I wonder if they are evil.
I watch them in wonder.
With thoughts confused,medieval.
Sometimes they watch me from the corners at night.
But I am not scared.
And I do not feel fright.
Because I know shadows exist for a reason.
They are formed sometimes by the sun.
No shadow exists for no reason.
Maybe it was the sun that casted the shadows at day.
And our inner darkness at night.
Maybe they are there to keep the evil...
Or maybe in my room.
Sometimes I see them at night.
And I wonder if they are evil.
I watch them in wonder.
With thoughts confused,medieval.
Sometimes they watch me from the corners at night.
But I am not scared.
And I do not feel fright.
Because I know shadows exist for a reason.
They are formed sometimes by the sun.
No shadow exists for no reason.
Maybe it was the sun that casted the shadows at day.
And our inner darkness at night.
Maybe they are there to keep the evil...
#hope
#motivational
#uplifting
61 reads
0 Comments
Liziantus-Marantus
Poem Published
5th Feb 2025 10:56am
5th Feb 2025 10:56am
Dear Reader
This must be what they talk about.
When they enter the fictional world,in and out.
So let us travel to a fairytale.
Written fully by ink.
It may not be real,but it makes you think.
Read this story as it evolves.
And we get rainbow clothes.
Our story eventually subsides.
After a thousand magical nights.
This story will end - so let's go to Neverland.
Write our story in this magical land.
I know there's adventures that await.
Let me be Wendy to your Peter Pan.
And use a glass,ink filled pen.
Promise...
When they enter the fictional world,in and out.
So let us travel to a fairytale.
Written fully by ink.
It may not be real,but it makes you think.
Read this story as it evolves.
And we get rainbow clothes.
Our story eventually subsides.
After a thousand magical nights.
This story will end - so let's go to Neverland.
Write our story in this magical land.
I know there's adventures that await.
Let me be Wendy to your Peter Pan.
And use a glass,ink filled pen.
Promise...
#books
#dreams
#hope
#love
#uplifting
66 reads
0 Comments
michaelslove2
Poem Published
5th Feb 2025 7:05am
5th Feb 2025 7:05am
Her Picture
HER PICTURE
“Here it is Lyle,” Gary said handing him the picture. Lyle reached up from the hospital bed and
winced. The pain was excruciating.
“Who is she?” Gary asked. “I know I've seen her somewhere.”
“She's special,” Lyle said, looking into her crystal blue eyes smiling a little.
“Do you know her?” Gary asked.
“Yeah. Yeah I do,” Lyle said. “In a different sort of way maybe we all do.”
Gary grunted. “How you feeling buddy?”
“Okay,” Lyle said looking at his friend. “Just a little weak. It's...
“Here it is Lyle,” Gary said handing him the picture. Lyle reached up from the hospital bed and
winced. The pain was excruciating.
“Who is she?” Gary asked. “I know I've seen her somewhere.”
“She's special,” Lyle said, looking into her crystal blue eyes smiling a little.
“Do you know her?” Gary asked.
“Yeah. Yeah I do,” Lyle said. “In a different sort of way maybe we all do.”
Gary grunted. “How you feeling buddy?”
“Okay,” Lyle said looking at his friend. “Just a little weak. It's...
#anxiety
#confusion
#dark #fear
#dark #fear
66 reads
0 Comments
Casted_Runes
Mr Karswell
Mr Karswell
Poem Published
3rd Feb 2025 8:53pm
3rd Feb 2025 8:53pm
Miss Birdseed
The public house had long been haunted by some strange presence that upset slop trays and let beer dribble out from the taps when no one was looking, but it was not really about this that the publican's wife had come to consult the occult detective, Joshua Samuels.
'That's just the Pimlico poisoner, that is' said Mrs Godalming with weird alacrity. 'Back in my grandfather's day, the pub was frequented by bigwigs from Westminster on their way to County Hall, where Maggie Struthers was strung up by her neck in the place of execution for killing her husband and child with arsenic....
'That's just the Pimlico poisoner, that is' said Mrs Godalming with weird alacrity. 'Back in my grandfather's day, the pub was frequented by bigwigs from Westminster on their way to County Hall, where Maggie Struthers was strung up by her neck in the place of execution for killing her husband and child with arsenic....
#evil
#ghosts
#historical #horror
#historical #horror
61 reads
0 Comments
wallyroo92
Poem Published
15th Sep 2019 4:12pm
15th Sep 2019 4:12pm
Private Dick
I looked at my watch, it was nearly eight o’clock. It had been a slow night so I decided to close up shop when she walked in through the door like a cool night breeze.
She was a buxom brunette with a silhouette like magic and dreams. She wore a red and black dress that hugged her curves. This dame looked more dangerous than all the perps I had ever tailed.
She had an hour glass figure with hips like a stand-up jazz bass, ready to be pressed against you, to be plucked and played. She had red luscious lips so full and pouty she looked like she was constantly...
She was a buxom brunette with a silhouette like magic and dreams. She wore a red and black dress that hugged her curves. This dame looked more dangerous than all the perps I had ever tailed.
She had an hour glass figure with hips like a stand-up jazz bass, ready to be pressed against you, to be plucked and played. She had red luscious lips so full and pouty she looked like she was constantly...
#murder
#mystery
728 reads
4 Comments
James_A_Knight
Poem Published
28th Jan 2025 2:51pm
28th Jan 2025 2:51pm
THE ADVENTURE OF STUMPY AND THE DUMPSTER BOY
A three legged dog with brown curly fur waited in the alleyway.
The dog’s name was Stumpy.
The rain and ice had cracked the concrete. Years of waste had washed through. It was slimy and grey.
A boy of seventeen, ragged, hungry, and pale, was rummaging around a dumpster.
Stumpy barked.
A man dressed in beige grabbed hold of the Dumpster Boy and pulled him out. It was the manager of the Magnificent Burger House. He was sweaty and salty and his moustache covered his mouth.
“What are you doing in my Dumpster?”
The boy had hold of a bag of mouldy...
The dog’s name was Stumpy.
The rain and ice had cracked the concrete. Years of waste had washed through. It was slimy and grey.
A boy of seventeen, ragged, hungry, and pale, was rummaging around a dumpster.
Stumpy barked.
A man dressed in beige grabbed hold of the Dumpster Boy and pulled him out. It was the manager of the Magnificent Burger House. He was sweaty and salty and his moustache covered his mouth.
“What are you doing in my Dumpster?”
The boy had hold of a bag of mouldy...
#dogs
#dreams
#nightmares
92 reads
6 Comments
Liziantus-Marantus
Poem Published
28th Jan 2025 11:14am
28th Jan 2025 11:14am
The Poet
They say the poet's weapon is not a sword.
But their words and pen.
Sometimes,not a pen.
But a feather of a hen.
A poet's power can depend.
And cannot be measured.
They can win fights with just their words.
And open gates to new worlds.
Worlds they create and write.
They can be the kindest you've seen.
And create your fate.
A poet is like a god in their own world.
That they write on their own.
Their power can be unlimited if used right.
In their room,in their home.
They are the best ones...
But their words and pen.
Sometimes,not a pen.
But a feather of a hen.
A poet's power can depend.
And cannot be measured.
They can win fights with just their words.
And open gates to new worlds.
Worlds they create and write.
They can be the kindest you've seen.
And create your fate.
A poet is like a god in their own world.
That they write on their own.
Their power can be unlimited if used right.
In their room,in their home.
They are the best ones...
#happiness
#hope
#motivational #uplifting
#motivational #uplifting
77 reads
0 Comments
DU Poetry : Fictional Prose Seeking Critique: Short Stories and Chapters from Books and Novels (Page 4)
