Queen of Hearts

A wheel, rain bowed, starts spinning. I'm on it, or rather in it. It’s a geometrical plane of sorts; the colors are infinite and the points in all directions. Every three-sixty is my pulse. I am the wheel, and I’m condemned.
Here in my consciousness a Queen of Hearts speaks: she says, "Off with her head." So I’m sweating all the while and growing anxious. How do I render time or eternity if she takes off my very head?
My soul becomes a spindle, my skin the pinkish thread. I can't get off the wheel when I am its very columns. Every revolution is a tick-tock as I am thrust into intersecting lines of distinct and outlined chaos, my neck a plank of wood. The faster the spin, the faster the blur. The blurrier, the farther my vomit spews.
The clubs get lucky; for me, time is running out. When those Spades finally pierce and the cards play out, the crowd roars. Well I’ll be damned.
But, hey, Diamonds are forever.

Hi Carpediem and welcome to YWS.

At first I'd like to inform you that it's one of the YWS rules to give two reviews before posting your own work, so please do those before sharing anything else by you. The review to post ratio has usually been 2:1, but in one of these days it's being lifted up to 5:1 or so. This is just because too many works are posted and too little reviews given.

Secondly - and I'm sorry for still not getting to the actual review - the page is stretching because you didn't do any line breaks. This is not a crime, but it's so much easier for people to read when it's properly on the page. I would've edited it for you, but since this is a poem, I don't know where the line breaks are meant to be. Actually, I don't think you've intentionally not done any of them, and this makes your poem seem more like a paragraph from a story than a poem. You might want to rethink the formatting.

I really liked the basis of this piece. To be quite honest, I have a feeling I might even prefer it if it was a paragraph in a story, rather than a poem. The narration would seem stronger and more solid in a story, whereas in a poem this is sort of what to expect, at least for me.

Also, the wheel image is quite interesting, and I think you could expand it, thus avoiding the slightly repetitive feeling it seems to get toward the end.

The one thing I didn't like that much was the very end. I love all sorts of references, but this one just... it doesn't quite fit in, and it's too different from the atmosphere the poem creates. I don't really see the reason for it, anyway... although, I must say, it's somewhat intriguing, so I wouldn't suggest getting entirely rid of it. Maybe just clarify and expand? It seems expand is the word of today.

Thanks for the read, and I think this was a good start for your YWS career. =)


Demeter
x

So...the poem's pretty good but it has one huge flaw. It isn't a poem- it's a paragraph. And it's fine if you keep it the way it is because it's a really nice, descriptive paragraph. But if you want it to be a poem it needs some work. So I'm going to try (notice the "try"- I don't claim to be an expert or anything) to help.

A wheel, rain bowed, begins to spin.

I changed "starts spinning" to "begins to spin" because it seems to have more rhythm and flow more smoothly. Also, I would add a line break here.

I'm on it, or rather in it.

Right now, this sounds like a sentence snatched from a paragraph, not a line of a poem. You might want to reword it as a continuation of the previous line, such as "A wheel, rain bowed, begins to spin,/ I a hapless passenger with in." Not that my word choice is perfect, but you get the general idea. And this should be its own line, too.

A geometrical plane of sorts,
the colors infinite,
the points in all directions
Each three-sixty is my pulse.
I am the wheel,
and I am condemned.

Scratch the "it's" in the first line, delete a few unneccesarry verbs and conjunctions, add a few line breaks and its starting to look like a poem.

Here in my consciousness
a Queen of Hearts speaks:
"Off with her head,"
the queen says.
So I’m sweating all the while and growing anxious.
For how may I render
time and eternity
if she takes off my very head?

Once again, just change or delete a few words and add some line breaks. The line in bold needs to be changed but I wasn't sure quite what to do with it.

My soul a spindle,
my skin the thread,
I can't get off the wheel
as I am its very columns.
Every revolution a tick-tock,
I am thrust into intersecting lines of
distinct and outlined chaos,
my neck a plank of wood.

The faster the spin,
the faster the blur.
The blurrier, the farther my vomit spews.
The clubs get lucky,
Time is running out.,
When those Spades finally pierce
and the cards play out.
The crowd roars.
Well I’ll be damned.
But, hey, Diamonds are forever.

Once again, the line in bold needs work and there was a major need for some line breaks. Other than that, pretty good. I like the overall piece: it has great imagery and some really nice descriptions. The word choice is a little awkward in places, which I tried to help with. I've got to admit though, I didn't really understand what the piece is about. Which, of course, could be entirely due to my inability to understand much of anything. But still.

Anyways, good work, keep writing, and bravo!

-Meggy

carpediem wrote:A wheel, rain bowed, starts spinning. I'm on it, or rather in it. It’s a geometrical plane of sorts; the colors are infinite and the points in all directions. Every three-sixty is my pulse. I am the wheel, and I’m condemned.
Here in my consciousness a Queen of Hearts speaks: she says, "Off with her head." So I’m sweating all the while and growing anxious. How do I render time or eternity if she takes off my very head?
My soul becomes a spindle, my skin the pinkish thread. I can't get off the wheel when I am its very columns. Every revolution is a tick-tock as I am thrust into intersecting lines of distinct and outlined chaos, my neck a plank of wood. The faster the spin, the faster the blur. The blurrier, the farther my vomit spews.
The clubs get lucky; for me, time is running out. When those Spades finally pierce and the cards play out, the crowd roars. Well I’ll be damned.
But, hey, Diamonds are forever.

Hey this is great, poem or not it is poetic. I like the fact that it is breaking the rules
of what is normally considered to be a poem, this is just good writing.
I loved the whole thing really,
continue.

oi!another Blank-Verse!!!
it's not even organized like a poem, but I've seen worse.

The subject matter seems to jerk about at random.
the concept and the content run down hill like a tandem.

I've some idea of what you're trying to say but having a theme that well defined
is kind of the goal of making a blank verse...atleast one that's well refined.

you write like you're playing, but not winning
but, hey your new and just beginning.

i liked it. i am about the biggest alice in wonderland fan, so your title most definantly attracted me to your poem. i liked it. the poem didnt make much sense, but do most poems? dont listen to what other people say, becasue sometimes a poem is just random, and maybe only you can unterstand it. Its not like a story where you have to get people to understand it for it to get read.