FEEDBACK SECTION
8 posts in this topic.
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This is where you can get feedback on something you are writing, and you are not sure if it good or not, or if it well written enough to publish. Just come here for feedback (and maybe a trial "review") from your fellow peers and brothers and sisters-in-pens.
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I was just but a youngling,
just learning to walk and to talk.
I was beginning to explore-
the world that held so much,
mystery and excitement.
I was just but five years,
heading off to kindergarten,
leaving Mommy behind for the day.
To brave the large world,
all by myself.
I was just ten years old,
well I forgot what I did at ten.
I was just of sixteen years,
starting to blossom into a young woman.
Learning to spread my wings and
learning how to fly on delicate wings.
I was just of seventeen years,
starting to grow closer and closer,
to leaving the nest,
and becoming a “big bird”,
to survive all on my own.
Now I am seventeen going on eighteen,
stretching my feathered limbs out,
looking over the edge as I take a breath,
ready to soar to better places.
Does anyone have feedback that they would like to share with this delicate Tulip? -
It's a pretty good poem!
The only things I would say, is that it was a bit awkward to start with the 5 year gaps (birth,5,10), and then end with 2 years in row.
I did really like your stanza about being ten
~Hadj -
Hi, I thought I'd submit this for comments
I originally posted the exerpt here: Adrien In The Poppy Field
But I don't have the points, and besides, it's not quite ready, to published this somewhat improved version.
Let me know what you think, and how I can improve it
Adrien In The Poppy Field
[An exerpt from "The Poppy Field", a work in progress]
He was lying there. In the place where the birds sing. In the place where the poppies grow. The skies were blue, and bright as ever, the sun was warm and welcoming. In the grass, lay the outstreched body of Adrien, like a towel left out to dry. His short brown hair was soaked red with the liquid of his death, and his dark shirt was torn and stained. He reached his arm over his chest, and felt with his weary fingers, the round, metallic shape of the bullet. It came out of his shoulder with ease. The wound poored crimson onto the ground. The poppies that were red turned redder, and the blue sky was overwhelmed with clouds. Rain began to fall, and it camaflauged his tears. His breath was short and choppy, his vision blurred and fading. A small red bird flew over and sat on his hand. Adrien smiled, and the bird began to sing. It sang a sad song, and grew louder and louder, as its tears poured on to his outstretched hand. The bird flew away, and thunder cracked as it fled through the clouds. Adrien felt his eyes closing, the darkness consuming him. Fear was shining in his squinting eyes. Adrien chocked. His eyelids collapsed, and his pulse slowed to a stop. An hour later, another bird came down. And another. These birds did not sing, and their feathers were long in black. Another hour went by, and Adrien was nothing but a stain of blood, a scrap of flesh, and a the meal in the stomach of a well fed murder of crows. All that was left was washed out by the rain. The poppies turned red again, and the rain stopped, and the clouds parted. Birds were singing in the poppy field. -
Mentor critiques:
GreenTulip-
I really loved your piece. It was heartfelt and endearing and sweetly humorous all at the same time. Really, really good. A solid 9/10.
Hadj-
Amazing! The wording and descriptions had this lovely kind of poetic beauty to them, and they all flowed together super well. There was really nothing wrong with it that I could find, except you might want to go easy on using commas, but that's it. Oh, and two nitpicks:
"...The wound poored crimson onto the ground."
"Poored" isn't a word. You meant "poured."
"...and their feathers were long in black."
I think you meant, "long and black"?
Otherwise, fantastic. Both of you. Great work and keep writing. -
Thanks for those two corrections, and I'm glad you liked it!
Haha, yeah, i have, a problem, with using, too many commas,,,, -
I know that y'all don't know about me (well know A LOT about me) and you know next to nothing about my family, but I giong to share this. It's about my family.
The word family,
holds a mystery of the ages, does it not?
Having ties to blood and non-blood members,
makes it interesting.
My family is one that can seem average.
A working Dad and a working Mom.
Two sons and a daughter.
Dad is barely home always working even in sleep.
Mom works hard to provide for the one’s left behind.
One son unable to do anything,
the other who doesn’t apply himself.
A daughter, who is pushed to be the best she can be.
Leaving early in the morning,
just to come home late in the evening,
Dad reports to duty, to spend the day
surrounded by paper.
(Not finished yet) -
My submission for event 9 of the writing olympics. There's no discussions in the topic, so I thought I'd put it here to get some feedback.
Event 9: Me, Myself And... Challenge
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