The Slaver

The Slaver



Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Endless queasiness,
Pitching my stomach
Like a can full of rotten
Mush.

Women moaning
Their pitiful cries.
Of pain, of gut-wrenching
Hurt for them
And their young children.

Footsteps on the stair.
I don't care enough
To look.
A sailor's voice below deck
Sickly and fierce.
"Shut up!"
Then back up
To the fresh air.

He can't take
The smells.
Assaulting one's senses,
Of weeks old
Throw up
And decaying bodies.
So he clomps back up.
And leaves us
To our putrid misery.

Where am I going?
The endless question races,
With a startling finish.
Away from home
My family
The dusty dirt roads.
Away from everything.

I toss and turn,
Kicking some and
Hitting others.
Mumbling an apology
That you can't hear,
For lack of moisture in
My parched throat.

Until I drift off into
A worried daze.
To wake, yet again,
With someone's heavy body
Sprawled across mine.
Throw up, coating
My clothing.

Night is day
Day is night
There is no difference.
Not even a glimmer
Or the weakest ray
Of sun
To tell the
God forsaken hour.

Endless hours,
of endless fright,
Terrified.
Musty darkness enveloping
This big cage, I am in.
Rat's scurrying by,
Then laying to rest
On my feet.

They know I wont
Kick them off.
I can't.
No food, in three days.
The "food" they give us
Won't go down.
I've tried.
And tried.



So this is hell.


---This needs alot of work. Please critique harshly, I want it to be the best it can be.

YATTA!'s Note: Err....i hope this isn't about slaves. I really really hope that's not where you were going. Nevertheless, this isn't honest. The emotions aren't real. It feels like a lie. The writing is good, the imagery is good, but the emotion he is feeling is stressed. You really need to look inside yourself and come to terms with how it feels to be sick, caged, bound, and stowed away. It's not like it's a bad poem, because it isn't, but the emotions you are trying to convey aren't there. It feels cliche, or even like a stereotype of how you THINK it would feel, not how it is. The emotions seem so stiff that it's almost as if the man is indifferent or numb to it. It's okay, but you really need to try again, if you can't pull out these emotions, don't write about them because it's not the topic for you. I can't write a poem about being a mongoose from tokyo, I'm not ashamed of it so you shouldn't be upset if you can't pull out emotions that are apparently foreign to you. If you can't do it, don't worry about it, in time you'll learn. Meanwhile, all I can really say is TRY AGAIN.

In concerns to the poem (minus the emotions) it's long. I shouldn't be thinking about length in a poem, this isn't really a poem actually, it's more prose-like. If you wanna turn it into a story that'll be okay (but really, I personally would toss this one out because I don't think anyone who isn't mentally unbalanced can pull out such intense emotions). Err, as for like content here is the main stuff:

Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Endless queasiness,
Pitching my stomach
Like a can full of rotten
Mush. -<----(Mush? really, this is immature for such a serious
topic. Personally, I didn't like the simile at all)

Women moaning
Their pitiful cries.
Of pain, of gut-wrenching
Hurt for them
And their young children. <----(Awkward sentence: "of pain....children" and
also sounds fake)

Footsteps on the stair.
I don't care enough
To look.
A sailor's voice below deck(.)
Sickly and fierce(,)
"Shut up!"
Then back up
To the fresh air.

He can't take
The smells(no period)
Assaulting one's senses(:)
(No "of") weeks old
Throw up
And decaying bodies.
So he clomps back up (no period)
And leaves us
To our putrid misery.

Where am I going?
The endless question races,
With a startling finish(:)
Away from home(,)
My family(,)
(and) dusty dirt roads(;)
Away from everything.


I toss and turn,
Kicking some and
Hitting others(,)
Mumbling an apology
That you (when did I enter this poem?) can't hear,
For lack of moisture in
My parched throat.

Until I drift off into
A worried daze( no period)
To wake, yet again,
With someone's heavy body
Sprawled across mine.
Throw up, coating
My clothing.

Night is day(.)
Day is night(.)
There is no difference(--)
Not even a glimmer
Or the weakest ray
Of sun
To tell the
God forsaken hour.

Endless hours
of endless fright(;)
Terrified.
Musty darkness enveloping
This big cage(no comma) I am in.
Rat's scurrying by,
Then (lay) to rest
On my feet.

They know I wont
Kick them off.
I can't.
No food(no comma) in three days.
The "food" they give us
Won't go down.
I've tried(no period)
And tried.

So this is hell.

Well.................................................I fixed the punctuation mostly....

Anyway, it's interesting, but I just think it's a little too hard to pull of. Anyway, if you wanna go for it, good luck.

Yatta!

Alright... thanks so much! I'm gonna get a few more reveiws, then I'll probably scrap it. But thanks. I tried. =) And I guess it was a learning experience.

sounds....fun.
pretty much what that Yatta person said.
yeah.......


--monday--

heh, how do i delete this?