Abused

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Limp.
Breathless.
and Lifeless.

Pulled through a field,
like a toddler with a blanket.
Uncared for and beaten
Bruises cover her body.

The shovel slams,
into the dirt he lowers her.
A respected man,
a guard,
a father,
Lost his temper again

Beaten,
Scarred,
and tortcherd.

Another child lost to the hand
of an angry man.
Last edited by JustLaugh on Wed Apr 04, 2007 1:26 am, edited 2 times in total.
When I die, I want to go peacefully like my Grandfather did, in his sleep -- not screaming, like the passengers in his car.




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Typos scattered here in there. And in the last line, should be an.

Pulled through a plain,
like a toddler with a blanket.
"plain" doesn't make sense to me.

It was kind of bland for its subject matter. It's better than some abuse-related poems I've read, you focused on the who, but other than that you've still made the mistake a lot of people make with poetry. I don't feel anything. I don't think about anything. I haven't connected to the poem. This article might help: Emotional Poetry.

I don't think it was that bad, you used punctuation which is good! I don't always find punctuation in poetry from a fourteen-year-old. But, it would get a lot better if you wrote it so we could feel something. Otherwise, it is just words on a page and I, as insensitive as this is though honest, don't care. See what I'm getting at? :-D But it isn't too hard to fix.

G'luck!
“It's necessary to have wished for death in order to know how good it is to live.”
― Alexandre Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo




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Hmm...

First of all, word choice! You wrote "shovel slams" which... I like the shovel part, but I don't like the verb, just because when I hear the word "slams" I think of basketball. Yep. I suck.

Okay, with that said, let's go into the nitty gritty part of the critique, okay? :D

First of all, I love the imagery. From this poem, it seems like a man is burying a girl that he killed, and he is burying her in an abandoned field that nobody knows about and nobody cares. And that's just so awesome. There are so many abuse poems out there that an image like that is powerful and just stands out, making your poem unique from the rest. And, with the poetry market being as intense as it is, this is a good thing. A very good thing. Plus it ties in story-telling with poetry, and I cannot tell you how much I love that stuff. It's really really awesome. :D

I see that you've edited it, according to Claudette's suggestion, and that's wonderful because it shows me that you really do care about your poetry and want to be the best writer you can. So, instead of just going over the basics, I'm going to lay out a couple of thoughts or questions that come to mind while I'm reading this poem, since you seem to be a fairly advanced writer. Mull over those thoughts and questions, if you want, and have fun with re-editing this poem. It really does have amazing potential and I think you can make this into a completely awesome poem. :D

1) When I first read this, my first thought was that it sounded short. What purpose does the poem have by having short lines? If it had longer lines, how would the poem change? How would the poem change if the words were little longer? Play around with it and see which way you like better.

2) One of my favorite parts about this poem is the story aspect, just because it's there, skimming the surface, but only just barely. If the story was emphasized more, what would happen? How about if it was emphasized less? Try it both ways and see what happens? ;)

3) A question that popped into my mind when I was reading this was, "Who is this man?" In the poem, it says he is a guard, a father, a respected man, and an angry man. In what ways does he represent the guard? In what ways does he represent the father? The respected man? The angry man? How can you draw out these respective roles better in the poem?

Anyway, hope that helps! Happy writing. :D
Ubi caritas est vera, Deus ibi est.

"The mark of your ignorance is the depth of your belief in injustice and tragedy. What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the Master calls the butterfly." ~ Richard Bach

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We do have funerals for the living. They're called birthday parties.
— Jill Biden (fictitiously), Hope Never Dies