The Thing

I am trying another failed poem. But oh well... Please critique.


It came from another planet,
Crash landed on the Arctic icepack,
And was frozen in a block of ice.

Scientists, inquisitive,
Dragged the icy thing
To their quarters
And wondered what to do next.

The thing decided for them.
At ten P.M. (by the moviehouse clock)
It thawed free and
Killed every scientist within reach.

For months afterwards
(Or maybe a day or two or only once),
I awoke from my sleep hollering
At ten P.M. sharp


It sucks yeah I know

Okay... glad this is under Other Poetry Dude. Please give some emotion.

Fly On,
Write On,
Fellow YWSer
TheNewHero.

Hi there Nick101. I'm Conrad, and I'll be reviewing this today.

So, the thing that I really have to ask you here is: just where is this poem going? You describe the plot of a movie, and then relate in one stanza to how it gave you nightmares for a while. It's kinda bland and doesn't really go anywhere. I suppose that could be forgiven if there was some kind of humor here, but there's not. This just sits here.

My advice? Try to build off of this a bit better. Maybe start over with a rewrite. This poem right now looks like you didn't even care when you wrote it. Try to rewrite it as though it actually matters.

Good job, and good luck

-Conrad Rice

I will add, (and Conrad's right about everything), but I would just add that one element that I think worked (and I think it was unintentional) Was the unreliable narrator. How you didn't know whether or not the sleep disturbance lasted for months or just for a day. I think you should try and keep that in there, but again... polish everything up and take a serious swing at it.

First off, what's a movie house clock?

It was interesting and I liked the twist at the end.

Keep writing!

First off, don't tell us the poem sucked. Let us get a chance to make our own judgements -and I'm sure ours aren't as harsh as yours. With that said, I want more from this poem. You've toed the water, now I'd like to see you jump in. What do the scientists look like? What do they plan on doing to the icy thing? Etc. Etc. Write and then erase. Whatever you erase will still be there in spirit and hopefully what's left behind is the best of what you've given.

Here's the thing about dreams - they rarely make any logical sense. This poem makes sense! Perdido said it, the narrator is unreliable, telling us a story he's unsure of. Give us more of that unsurity.