Young Writers Society

1

I’m going to need
you to clear out
for the night,
he says, as if I don’t have
a paper due in
the morning.

I’m going to need
you to clear out
for the night,
I have a girl coming,
he says.

I’m going to need you
to clear out.


2

I stand wrapped in the
white cinderblock
mausoleum of our dorm
pot smoke seeping in
underneath the door
and Fresh Prince reruns
droning above the

pizza stains on the
carpet spaghetti sauce
splattered on the microwave’s
insides clothes on
the floor aspirin
abandoned open on
the counter and

thesis unfinished
on my desk. I’m
ignoring the heat and
the embarrassing way my
roommate calls me his
gay friend around (one-night
stand) his girl but I

can’t write my thesis, and
outside my window the
Boston skyline stretches
distractingly overcast and
pregnant with the squawks
of seagulls and pigeons
holding smartphones
in the streets


3

on the pavement
beneath my drowsy
tenement my cigarette
tastes sour (all

cigarettes taste sour
this cigarette is no
better than any other
cigarette) and the

girl who sits behind
me in Class A tells
me about something
in Class B

is this going to
be on the exam?
she thinks the professor
is cute asks if

I agree not really she
has to go meet
a friend I didn’t
know you lived in this

building it was
nice talking thanks
for the smoke I’ll
see you in class on
Wednesday


4

from the window of an
electronics store some
aluminum casing seems
almost trendy enough to
reinvent me

I stare at my
reflection instead of
the man stretched
on the ground
beside the bar next

to the storefront,
where behind
the glass in the
silver back
of an iPod, I
look a bit like
Brad Pitt


5

the movie was different
says a man on the
bus when I
board it

the actors were
different and the
characters were different and

did you like it?
asks his prettier friend

it was different
says the first one

I check imdb
on my phone

the movie has
received a 5.6

I want to soften
the effrontery of their
conversation but I forgot
my headphones


6

we pass a wharf and the
water is as dull and
gray as the sky that
wraps over the city like
a giant white umbrella
against vacuum

I will not be turning
in the thesis unedited
tomorrow but the birds
above the water don’t
care


7

I decide that I
cannot stand the
sound of the mens’
voices anymore
and the bus
squeals to a halt


8

there are (male) prostitutes
when I step down the stairs

I must have forgotten that
they inhabit this type of
neighborhood at
night

I feel sickness in the pit of
my stomach and I
pull out my wallet
and wave one over


9

the man smells
like smoke and
saltwater up
close I stutter and
hand him the
money he
suggests a hotel I
agree we
leave

I do not enjoy the sex
I do not enjoy him
I do not enjoy anything
I fall asleep


10

when I put my
clothes back on and
walk back into the
streets I don’t feel like
everyone knows

people pass by me
and do not look at me
like I am dirty or at all
and some chatter into
their bluetooth headsets

it is almost morning
now and the sky is a
lighter gray than yesterday
I walk quickly and even
whistle a little

my paper sits on the
desk in my room but I
don’t think about either as
I move closer to both
the bus hisses

it stops before me
faced in a different
direction than when I
rode it the night before


11

the store is there
full of electronics
I must have forgotten that
it is next to the bar in
this neighborhood

I feel sickness in the pit of
my stomach and I
enter and I
want.

I pull out my wallet and
the cashier thanks me and
yes I would like a bag and
yes I would like my receipt emailed and
do you think I look a bit like Jared Leto and
did you know I have a paper due today and
did you know I have a cute professor and
did you know I envy my roommate and
did you know I was a virgin and
did you know I am a faggot and
did you know I am a whore


12

when I leave the store
and pass the homeless
man I stop in
front of the bar to
ask him what you call
a man who sleeps with
whores

he asks me if I
have any money
but I tell him I
spent it all on sex
and weed and
I am only
half-lying


13

outside my building I see
Class A girl again and
she asks me if I saw
5.6 movie yet

no, I tell her,
I’ve never heard of it

her boyfriend appears
from the glass doors
behind us and I
pretend that I would
not like to fuck him even
though everything that
comes out of his
beautiful mouth is
(gross) cheerful

they leave the same
way that she left the
day before and I
turn and go in
through the glass doors
behind me


14

I drop my plastic bag
with the trash on
the floor and
he appears in a
tank top with the
scent of futon and
cheap perfume
filling the apartment
and piercing my
brain through
my nostrils

hey roommate
do you want to
see my new
computer?

he hands me some
paper and the paper
is marked with red and
he says this is your
thesis I read it for
you with mine and I
say thank you so
much and he says no
problem man and I say
hey did you see that
new 5.6 movie yet and
he says yeah yeah
I saw that it was
different

have you ever thought this could possibly the start for a novel for NanoWrimo, and the fact it possesses the ability and the structure needed for the makings of a poetic novella.

Wow. Lived it. Loved it. Liked it.

This is the very extent of the social experience of advanced education.
I applaud you for taking the time to write it.
Yes it is a very long piece, a doosey I say.
However think of old Saxon poems from the 16th, they were complete books.

2

I stand wrapped in the
white cinderblock
mausoleum of our dorm
pot smoke seeping in
underneath the door
and Fresh Prince reruns
droning above the

pizza stains on the
carpet spaghetti sauce
splattered on the microwave’s
insides clothes on
the floor aspirin
abandoned open on
the counter and

this second segment kind gives me the goosebumps, and flashbacks.
All in all, a decent (long) read that must have taken a lot of thought and imagery to get right.
Its all about the human experience,

Maybe try cutting up the segments?

LosCadaver wrote:this second segment kind gives me the goosebumps, and flashbacks.
All in all, a decent (long) read that must have taken a lot of thought and imagery to get right.
Its all about the human experience,

Maybe try cutting up the segments?

I'm not sure what you mean by this. On another writing website I did divide it into two chapters...which made it more mangeable, I guess.

davantageous wrote:Wow. Lived it. Loved it. Liked it.

davantageous wrote:have you ever thought this could possibly the start for a novel for NanoWrimo, and the fact it possesses the ability and the structure needed for the makings of a poetic novella.

Thank you so much. And yes, I considered doing something like that, but two things have kept me back:

1) I am nowhere near good enough at poetry or creative writing to start working on something as ambitious as a novella, and,

2) I would have no idea how to structure an extended version of this. I could implement chapters, and have each chapter divided into subsections like the ones used above, but I don't know if that would work.

Anyway, thanks for the feedback guys. I really appreciate it.

*Claps* Brilliant! I love your style! This poem is really unique and I just have to say that I survived it because it really grabbed me.

I even have special feelings for the narrator- some sort of sympathy and as though I've known him for years! That like almost never happens to me when I read poetry, so kudos for that!

I have no negative feedback for you. It was well structured, it flowed well and the story was fantastic. I especially love how it seems to go back to the beginning and that really helps the reader to follow through the whole poem.

Great job! Keep writing!

- Mikko.

eastarcher wrote:I don't like this one. I don't like it, I don't like it.

Thanks in advance to anyone brave enough to tackle its atrocious length.

You're going to see this from certain people, but please don't have these disclaimers. We're taking time out of our days to read and leave feedback and criticism for you; don't make it harder on yourself! In the end, you'll get the effort you put in on here, so relax.

1

I’m going to need
you to clear out
for the night,
he says, as if I don’t have
a paper due in
the morning.

I’m going to need
you to clear out
for the night,
I have a girl coming,
he says.

I’m going to need you
to clear out.

All telling.

2

I stand wrapped in the
white cinderblock
mausoleum of our dorm
pot smoke seeping in
underneath the door
and Fresh Prince reruns
droning above the

pizza stains on the
carpet spaghetti sauce
splattered on the microwave’s
insides clothes on
the floor aspirin
abandoned open on
the counter and

thesis unfinished
on my desk. I’m
ignoring the heat and
the embarrassing way my
roommate calls me his
gay friend around (one-night
stand) his girl but I

can’t write my thesis, and
outside my window the
Boston skyline stretches
distractingly overcast and
pregnant with the squawks
of seagulls and pigeons
holding smartphones
in the streets

Look at your diction. Look at your line breaks (you end on weak words galore: in, the, and, etc.).

First, your diction goes from...a dorm room and life there, to food, to a thesis, then the city of Boston, the sky being impregnated, and then seagulls holding smart-phones. I can follow this, but by sensory detail of what I can experience from this...right now it feels like a video being played for me on the pull down screen.

3

on the pavement
beneath my drowsy
tenement my cigarette
tastes sour (all

cigarettes taste sour
this cigarette is no
better than any other
cigarette) and the

girl who sits behind
me in Class A tells
me about something
in Class B

is this going to
be on the exam?
she thinks the professor
is cute asks if

I agree not really she
has to go meet
a friend I didn’t
know you lived in this

building it was
nice talking thanks
for the smoke I’ll
see you in class on
Wednesday

Interesting. Your tone is managing to stay the same so far, though this feels episodic and somewhat rushed. I'm having a hard time doing much more than skim. You need finer details on what's happening and why I should keep reading.

4

from the window of an
electronics store some
aluminum casing seems
almost trendy enough to
reinvent me

I stare at my
reflection instead of
the man stretched
on the ground
beside the bar next

to the storefront,
where behind
the glass in the
silver back
of an iPod, I
look a bit like
Brad Pitt

The last stanza's effect you tell me. So far it's the most interesting thing and possibility and gives your speaker an interesting mental twitch that I want to know more about; otherwise you "tell-show" in the first two stanzas.

5

the movie was different
says a man on the
bus when I
board it

the actors were
different and the
characters were different and

did you like it?
asks his prettier friend

it was different
says the first one

I check imdb
on my phone

the movie has
received a 5.6

I want to soften
the effrontery of their
conversation but I forgot
my headphones

Uh-huh. Why do I care that this is happening? The tone is again the same, but it's going at a monotone drone. Also, the sections are progressively losing their unique appeal to stand alone.

6

we pass a wharf and the
water is as dull and
gray as the sky that
wraps over the city like
a giant white umbrella
against vacuum

I will not be turning
in the thesis unedited
tomorrow but the birds
above the water don’t
care

This reads like the first stanza and the ending of your second stanza don't talk enough. And the thesis being re-mentioned is very random. Far too random for a poem this long with so little referencing.

7

I decide that I
cannot stand the
sound of the mens’
voices anymore
and the bus
squeals to a halt

Why?

8

there are (male) prostitutes
when I step down the stairs

I must have forgotten that
they inhabit this type of
neighborhood at
night

I feel sickness in the pit of
my stomach and I
pull out my wallet
and wave one over

Interesting telling, but feels out of place. The entire poem is starting to feel like the keys of a piano are shooting off into space in a million different directions. Where's the music in the words that brings it altogether and is an easy to follow (relatively speaking) narrative?

9

the man smells
like smoke and
saltwater up
close I stutter and
hand him the
money he
suggests a hotel I
agree we
leave

I do not enjoy the sex
I do not enjoy him
I do not enjoy anything
I fall asleep

The first stanza barely delves into description that I can feel anything towards, the rest is just telling.

10

when I put my
clothes back on and
walk back into the
streets I don’t feel like
everyone knows

people pass by me
and do not look at me
like I am dirty or at all
and some chatter into
their bluetooth headsets

it is almost morning
now and the sky is a
lighter gray than yesterday
I walk quickly and even
whistle a little

my paper sits on the
desk in my room but I
don’t think about either as
I move closer to both
the bus hisses

it stops before me
faced in a different
direction than when I
rode it the night before

So homosexuality is a theme in this poem. Mkay. You've created scenarios where your speaker is with lots of men, then solicits one, has sex with him...and then we get this drone back to the beginning. All of the emotional power that could be arising from what you have is instead being listed and scientifically presented like a division of soldiers marching line by line, step by step.

11

the store is there
full of electronics
I must have forgotten that
it is next to the bar in
this neighborhood

I feel sickness in the pit of
my stomach and I
enter and I
want.

I pull out my wallet and
the cashier thanks me and
yes I would like a bag and
yes I would like my receipt emailed and
do you think I look a bit like Jared Leto and
did you know I have a paper due today and
did you know I have a cute professor and
did you know I envy my roommate and
did you know I was a virgin and
did you know I am a faggot and
did you know I am a whore

Now your voice has completely 100% lost me.

12

when I leave the store
and pass the homeless
man I stop in
front of the bar to
ask him what you call
a man who sleeps with
whores

he asks me if I
have any money
but I tell him I
spent it all on sex
and weed and
I am only
half-lying


13

outside my building I see
Class A girl again and
she asks me if I saw
5.6 movie yet

no, I tell her,
I’ve never heard of it

her boyfriend appears
from the glass doors
behind us and I
pretend that I would
not like to fuck him even
though everything that
comes out of his
beautiful mouth is
(gross) cheerful

they leave the same
way that she left the
day before and I
turn and go in
through the glass doors
behind me


14

I drop my plastic bag
with the trash on
the floor and
he appears in a
tank top with the
scent of futon and
cheap perfume
filling the apartment
and piercing my
brain through
my nostrils

hey roommate
do you want to
see my new
computer?

he hands me some
paper and the paper
is marked with red and
he says this is your
thesis I read it for
you with mine and I
say thank you so
much and he says no
problem man and I say
hey did you see that
new 5.6 movie yet and
he says yeah yeah
I saw that it was
different

You my friend have dozens of poems in this, but, you need to stop telling in your poetry and FAST. So much of this is like a straight up monologue honest to god telling of the events of any old person's life. That's fine, but you need to convey images, sense detail, poetic devices, etc. Your voice sifts through this, is here and there, and at times I feel like I see it happening, but then you transition to something else suddenly like rushed prose.

Long pieces are ambitious, and are often lost in themselves. Put this away for a while. Come back to it down the line and see if you can divide this more, cut out sections, pare down, reword, etc. I like the will and drive to write here and think there're more interesting things happening beneath the surface.

By the way, I just reviewed a poem by perdido which you might be familiar with already. "Disco Flowers", your poem vaguely reminds me of his. If you're not familiar please go make yourself acquainted. I think you'd benefit greatly. Ask me any questions you have.

MeanMrMustard wrote:Look at your diction. Look at your line breaks (you end on weak words galore: in, the, and, etc.).

First, your diction goes from...a dorm room and life there, to food, to a thesis, then the city of Boston, the sky being impregnated, and then seagulls holding smart-phones. I can follow this, but by sensory detail of what I can experience from this...right now it feels like a video being played for me on the pull down screen.

My telling, judging by this review, consists of two things. One is my action, and the other is my imagery. Neither is dissected helpfully, and I appreciate the time you took to review this... but "all telling" and other similar appraisals are not telling, or helpful.

I don't know what to replace this with, while maintaining the frantic stream-of-consciousness style I was trying to establish. What you believe to be incorrect has not been expressed with any real clarity.

In the future, I might look back, and, in retrospect, gain some understanding of exactly what I've done incorrectly (or ineffectively) here. But it wouldn't be much aided by this type of review.

Also, I broke on articles and insignificant words intentionally. I wanted to make my narrator seem frantic and despondent, and, whether it worked or not, It would be nearly impossible to do that without noticing.

MeanMrMustard wrote:The last stanza's effect you tell me. So far it's the most interesting thing and possibility and gives your speaker an interesting mental twitch that I want to know more about; otherwise you "tell-show" in the first two stanzas.

I do not know what this means or how it is different from what I should be doing (especially that first sentence). I get the idea that I've made some fatal error, but I know not what.

MeanMrMustard wrote:Interesting telling, but feels out of place. The entire poem is starting to feel like the keys of a piano are shooting off into space in a million different directions. Where's the music in the words that brings it altogether and is an easy to follow (relatively speaking) narrative?

This is, on its own, insightful and well-communicated. Thank you.

MeanMrMustard wrote:So homosexuality is a theme in this poem. Mkay. You've created scenarios where your speaker is with lots of men, then solicits one, has sex with him...and then we get this drone back to the beginning. All of the emotional power that could be arising from what you have is instead being listed and scientifically presented like a division of soldiers marching line by line, step by step.

I'm not sure how one shoots off in a million proverbially musical directions while simultaneously listing and scientifically presenting information. What I can gather from the pedantic blender of unexplained dogma you call a review is this: my information, though methodically and monotonously organized, seems far-fetched and/or irrelevant in the context of what I have been building so far. Enough to squash whatever emotional clout it has. But you didn't directly, sans metaphor, say that, so I don't know if I'm hitting the mark by stating this, or if my so-called line of soldiers is once again firing randomly.

MeanMrMustard wrote:You my friend have dozens of poems in this, but, you need to stop telling in your poetry and FAST. So much of this is like a straight up monologue honest to god telling of the events of any old person's life. That's fine, but you need to convey images, sense detail, poetic devices, etc. Your voice sifts through this, is here and there, and at times I feel like I see it happening, but then you transition to something else suddenly like rushed prose.

Long pieces are ambitious, and are often lost in themselves. Put this away for a while. Come back to it down the line and see if you can divide this more, cut out sections, pare down, reword, etc. I like the will and drive to write here and think there're more interesting things happening beneath the surface.

By the way, I just reviewed a poem by perdido which you might be familiar with already. "Disco Flowers", your poem vaguely reminds me of his. If you're not familiar please go make yourself acquainted. I think you'd benefit greatly. Ask me any questions you have.

This is the only part of the review that I found genuinely helpful. I get that it is too much telling (bland action), but you did call my first streak of imagery telling, so I do not know if that is the best of your offered cures. Also, the first real advice is here; step back, wait, and return with a widened perspective. Okay, I've got that. I've had that since I started doing any sort of creative work. But it's advice, at least.

So, I'm muddled. I'm inconsistent, dry, monotonously predictable, telling, and not in any climactic or redeeming way. Hell, in the small pieces that I picked up while reading you review, I agree. But good god, man...if you had picked apart just one or two characteristically bad stanzas, completely and directly, and then summarized, I think you would have gotten your point across clearer. And probably less cruelly.

I feel bad for being so ungrateful. I should, really; you took the time to dissect "review" my poem, after promising to do so ahead of time. Oh well.

Sorry, dear, but I'm going to have to agree entirely with Ol' Mustardy's critique.

As you stated in your appraisal of his review (which should be done in PM's if you have any problems so you're not bogging down your reviewing area), he states things like you're overly telling. And, as a writer, you should be able to look back and see why. Or to try and understand what he mean't. Merely, I don't suspect he should have had to cut every word up just to get the thought across that you're telling rather than doing and being.

Which is probably the only reason I'm reviewing this as of right now. Because you have a thought and an inkling, but your means of getting there are slim and varied. For instance, take a look at the very first stanza;

I’m going to need
you to clear out
for the night,
he says, as if I don’t have
a paper due in
the morning.

Poetry. Facets. Two words that we often put together but we never really have quite a strong definition of, and every poem is different. Every persons biases come forth when it comes to poetry, so critiquing it can be hard in that essence. This does not, of course, mean that there is no such thing as bad poetry. It also does not mean that poetry should be anything like prose.

And hun, this is prose.

You have one facet and it strangles itself the entire way through this poem. Poetry is beautiful. Poetry is finding beauty in even the most self-destructive of thoughts. As it goes, because poetry contains so many aspects, and all at once, it is like a bouquet of flowers. An eclectic mix of interesting, defining bits that keep it moving and progressing.

This, on the other hand, felt more like a single flower. A story. It trucked along like every piece of prose ever written. Did it contain metaphor? Sure did. Did it contain imagery? Of course. Answer me this, though. Does prose not have both these things?

You're writing this as someone who wants to tell a story, and you really try. I realize narrative poetry implies a story must be told but it is still poetry and should be treated as poetry. Just because you threw in profuse amounts of unnecessary enjambment doesn't mean it'll give the desired effect you want it to, or progress in the manner you tried to make it progress. It sort of clung to the same, basic consistency. Soupy.

You're on the right track, dear, but don't shoot every messenger that comes a-calling. Mustard is not the type to note things that aren't visible to him. Merely, he states what he sees to be wrong in his perception of poetry, so take it with a grain of salt and try to learn whatever you can from it. And that does mean finding things out for yourself.

After all, we're reviewers. We're not paid for this. We just want to help you .

~Walker

Hello eastarcher,
I'm going to echo Mustard's first point and suggest that you never lead with a disclaimer like that. The first thing I saw when looking at this poem was you (the author) saying "I don't like this one. I don't like it, I don't like it." That's not the best first impression and is just not something I need to know.

1 isn't a bad start. You set a solid tone, and the repetition works well for what you're doing with it. But then 2 comes in and you set up this whining drone that makes me hope you'll change to something less boring and irritating soon. Everything is stained and disgusting and you have an annoying, insensitive roommate. Cool. Why do I care? The issue is that you offer up this unpleasant scene, but don't give any insight that would make it worth my time to carry the burdensome dreariness of said scene.

Then 2 comes and it's more of the same:

on the pavement
beneath my drowsy
tenement my cigarette
tastes sour (all

cigarettes taste sour
this cigarette is no
better than any other
cigarette)

Why in the world do I care that your cigarette is of roughly equal sourness to all other cigarettes? Observation is a precursor to insight, it cannot stand on its own. You're observing, but not taking those observations anywhere.

4, 5 [insert pretentious attitude towards technology and pop culture here]

By the end of 6 I'm yawning. Observations of bland things tend to be bland:

we pass a wharf and the
water is as dull and
gray as the sky that
wraps over the city like
a giant white umbrella
against vacuum

I will not be turning
in the thesis unedited
tomorrow but the birds
above the water don’t
care

I'm not suggesting that dull, grey, uncaring scenes can't be used effectively. I am saying that dull, grey, uncaring scenes are not worthwile by themselves, and the only attempt at insight (the birds not caring) only continues the whining drone you've created.

7 Whatever you're going for here doesn't seem to be coming across. I think the previous reviewer's comment of "Why?" sums this section up better than I can.


I'm going to pause here for a moment. After 7 the poem changes so much that it doesn't seem like the two sides should be stuck together at all. Everything up to here has been pretentious and monotonous, and I feel that the poem would be better if those sections were scrapped altogether. They just don't offer anything worth the time it takes to read them and make the reader less likely to enjoy the significantly better back half.

7-10 draw some more interest by at least providing some movement in the character. He's doing something now rather than sitting around and observing. You do still occasionally get mired in diction that is purposely simple and rambling, but rather than adding character it ends up detracting from any possible impact. Example:

I do not enjoy the sex
I do not enjoy him
I do not enjoy anything
I fall asleep

It's not bad, and I recognize the feeling you were aiming for, but it doesn't do anything for me either. It just sits there and asks to be interpreted the way you want it to, rather than forcing me to interpret it.

This deserves some love:

people pass by me
and do not look at me
like I am dirty or at all

This was the first point where I said, "Hey, that's interesting!" You proceed to clutter it with an out-of-place technology reference, but there's something there, in that place where you realize the vacuum that sits between the personal and the social. Nice work.

do you think I look a bit like Jared Leto and
did you know I have a paper due today and
did you know I have a cute professor and
did you know I envy my roommate and
did you know I was a virgin and
did you know I am a faggot and
did you know I am a whore

It's not bad, and I recognize the feeling you were aiming for, but it doesn't do anything for me either. It just sits there and asks to be interpreted the way you want it to, rather than forcing me to interpret it.

12-14 seem to be trying to tie up these themes you've been incorporating throughout, and you don't do a terrible job. You have Class A girl and homosexuality and the 5.6 movie. It's a solid shot at using recurring themes, but it's dulled by the disconnect between each section. It's as if you're trying to wind these themes throughout, but the poem is disjointed in the first place, so it's impossible to get everything tight. I enjoyed your last couple lines, and they're another moment where you have a glimmer of good, deep meaning.

Overall, I can tell that you have the potential to put out some good stuff, but right now you're tripping over yourself. It seems that you're trying to write good poetry or write a cutting social critique, but writing isn't about trying. If you're trying, it will read like you're trying. Give yourself some freedom and see what happens.

Cheers,
Shade