Young Writers Society

In a darkened room was a table and a chair,
A candle sat atop, watching it's own glare.
Coming through the doorway was the star specked night,
A silent breeze swept through, bringing all of its might.

A siren's song could be heard for miles,
Her sweet, sweet chords -- Her seductive style.
Pitches held high are so pure and lifting,
She changed voice patterns -- She was rifting!

The midnight moon stopped spinning that moment,
The breeze stood still, venting it's own scent.
She walked through the wood, she wore red sleeves.
Her voice raised higher, breaking married eves!

Such a mistress as she could not be quelled,
She was her own well, her own soul to sell.
The pitch of fury rang through the trees,
Screaming, chanting, anything to please!

Her pure black eyes glowed with despair,
She shrieked, she sang, there was no one to care!
She thrust her voice to the moon, a pitch higher than silence,
She faded, she sang, her last song, her essence.

Peanut here to review!

A siren's song could be heard for miles,
Her sweet, sweet chords -- Her seductive style.
Pitches held high are so pure and lifting,
She changed voice patterns -- She was rifting!

'Style' and 'miles' don't really rhyme... is there any possible way to change that?

The midnight moon stopped spinning that moment,
The breeze stood still, venting it's own scent.

I absolutely love how you rhymed 'moment' with 'scent'! Great work!

Such a mistress as she could not be quelled,
She was her own well, her own soul to sell.

'quelled' and 'sell' don't really rhyme either... but I like your use of the word' quelled'! You made it sound so natural.

She thrust her voice to the moon, a pitch higher than silence,
She faded, she sang, her last song, her essence.

In that last line, all of those commas sort of break the pattern... I would watch that.

I liked this poem! It was awesome... you made the words wrap around each other in a beautiful dance... ... good job!

Hi Jon!! You request, I come!

A siren's song could be heard for miles,
Her sweet, sweet chords -- Her seductive style.
Pitches held high are so pure and lifting,
She changed voice patterns -- She was rifting!

Okay, I like the formatting you did here. But the reason this stanza stands out is because it's the only one in this poem that you did that with.

So, why not do that format with more of the stanzas, instead of just that one? That way, it doesn't look so lonely and weird. I can see other places in this poem where you can do that, too.
Just a suggestion, though. ^_^


Also, throughout the whole poem, it seemed like a lot of the rhyming was forced. Like here:

She walked through the wood, she wore red sleeves.

It seems forced, to me.

One more thing:

She thrust her voice to the moon, a pitch higher than silence,

I'm confused on this line. Silence doesn't have a pitch.
er.
It just sounds really confusing to me.


I love the meaning of this poem, Jon! It seems so mysterious. A figure, which we think as beautiful, turns out to not be. A beautiful voice, turned evil.
It's great, truly is.

Good job, Jon!

*Cat

Jon! June here, finally! I'm very forgetful of things that I am supposed to review.

So, congrats on winning our contest; I'm not sure if the points have been given out yet; let me know if they haven't, and I will immediately remedy that, dear.


Now! For a type of review I usually don't do...

In a darkened room was a table and a chair,

A candle sat atop, watching it's own glare.

Coming through the doorway was the star specked night,

A silent breeze swept through, bringing all of its might.

• In the first line, I could definitely see "was" being replaced with sat. Though that would raise the issue of repetition, seeing that sat appears in the following line, I think it would be beneficial.

• Glare would refer to a shine (such as from the sun) or an evil stare. Or whatever. To speak! I would think that glare could easily be replaced with flare, as flare is another name for flame.

A siren's song could be heard for miles,

Her sweet, sweet chords -- Her seductive style.

Pitches held high are so pure and lifting,

She changed voice patterns -- She was rifting!

One of the main issues that this poem carries, dear, is the changes in the manner of speaking. I notice that this occurs many times throughout your poetry.

It's like you're speaking in one way, and you switch. You're speaking about her (the siren) and then now you speak about pitches being lifting and pure. The change in tone disrupts the flow, dear, and kind of disturbs our concentration.

The midnight moon stopped spinning that moment,

The breeze stood still, venting it's own scent.

She walked through the wood, she wore red sleeves.

Her voice raised higher, breaking married eves!

In the second line here, dear, the inline rhyme of vent and scent is kind of a stagger. While it would normally be regarding as a good thing, I think that it's taking away from the poem, because our minds are expected to follow suit and look for more inline rhyme. Nevertheless, is there a synonym you can use for vent?

Such a mistress as she could not be quelled,

She was her own well, her own soul to sell.

The pitch of fury rang through the trees,

Screaming, chanting, anything to please!

In the first line, I would replace "as" with a semicolon. I hate to change so much in a poem that is not mine, but try it, and see if it helps.

I mentioned that because using little, itty bitty words such as "as" "for" "though" and so on so forth are very, very distracting. If not careful, one can easily change the tone of their poem with just one word!. So! Refrain from using them as much as humanely possible, especially when your poem carries such a beautiful rhythm and rhyme, dear.

Her pure black eyes glowed with despair,

She shrieked, she sang, there was no one to care!

She thrust her voice to the moon, a pitch higher than silence,

She faded, she sang, her last song, her essence.

Why despair, dear? Judging from the above stanzas, it seemed as if she was a free creature; wanting and enjoying her freedom such that she wouldn't care if anyone hear or not.

Also! There are some words that you can use artistically and use with figurative language and such-- but thrust isn't seemingly one of them, dear. I would choose a word that would fit this siren more; for now, it seems that she is a sweet creature, with a sweet voice. Thrusting her voice to the moon implies that she would give a rough, somewhat manly outburst of a sort.


- * - *- * -* -


You and fantasy.

At first, I found this poem confusing. I thought, before reading that by siren of the wood, you were speaking of the siren of a piece of wood (go ahead and laugh ). That's possibly only because I refer to woodsy places as "woods" and not "wood".


I do like the consistent rhyme scheme that did not falter in this, dear. I would suggest eliminating lines or words that change the tone of this, because you really, really, really, don't want to confuse your audience, dear.

Nice work on this! Keep it up!


Juniper